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Jasper Lyle

by Mrs. Ward · English · Gutenberg #35307 · 803,170 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Jasper Lyle

Author: Mrs. Ward


        
Release date: February 17, 2011 [eBook #35307]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35307

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JASPER LYLE ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Jasper Lyle
By Harriet Ward
Published by George Routledge and Co, Soho Square, London.
This edition dated 1851.

Jasper Lyle, by Harriet Ward.

________________________________________________________________________

________________________________________________________________________
JASPER LYLE, BY HARRIET WARD.



CHAPTER ONE.

THE TRAVELLERS.

Kafirland!

People are beginning now-a-days to know where Kafirland is!

Verily they have paid dearly for their knowledge!

It is a beautiful land, with its open savannahs, its wooded glens, its
heathy mountains, its green and undulating parks--nature's plantations!
Pleasant to the eye is the sight of the colonists' sheltered farms,
surrounded by waving cornfields, and backed by noble mountains,
ascending in the distance, one above another, assuming every hue it is
possible to imagine, and finally blending their purple heights with
clouds all radiant with gold, or shaping themselves into canopies of
sombre colouring, and veiling the glories of heaven from the upturned
gaze of man.

But from these scenes the traveller may suddenly find himself translated
to the most sterile moors, stretching out in apparently illimitable
space, or bounded by bald rocks, which offer no "shadow from the heat,"
no "refuge from the storm."  In these tracts, the earth, resembling
lava, is bare of all but stones, except where some bright-flowering bulb
has struggled with its destiny, only to waste its beauty on the desert.
There is nothing living to be seen in these inhospitable regions, save
when the hungry travellers pause to "to kill and eat," and lo! as the
scent of blood rises in the atmosphere, a solitary speck hovers in the
sky, another, and another, and, like airy demons waiting for their prey,
the asphogels, the gigantic vultures of South Africa, keep watch over
the bivouac, in anticipation of the feast for which their instinct has
prepared them.

It was in the centre of an unsightly plain that three travellers were
arrested on their journey by one of those appalling storms which, in the
loveliest spots of Southern Africa, disenchant the mind, impressed with
the beauty of the wooded tracts, or the grandeur of even the solitary
wastes, with the sweet influence of balmy mornings, or the nights serene
and clear, sometimes shining more brilliantly than day.

All the morning symptoms in the air had warned the attendant of our
travellers, a knowing little bush man, of an approaching storm, and he
had urged his masters to advance with all the speed they could drive
into their patient and active steeds.  But the lightning soon played in
all its horrible brightness, piles of clouds like snow began to rise in
front; to the unpractised ear all was silent, but the bushman called a
halt, and dismounting, led the others with their horses behind a heap of
stones.

Thus partially screened, they awaited the mighty tempest.

The giant of the storm advanced as with a trumpet-blast from that part
of the horizon whence the lightning had telegraphed his approach.  He
came with a rushing sound resembling the passage of an invisible but
powerful host, the desert shook with the terror of his presence, the
clouds came slowly floating on, growing darker and darker, till their
hue was of a leaden aspect, and in a few moments, as with a roar of many
waters, the rains poured down their torrents, the winds whistled an
unearthly chorus to the plashing of the floods, the great stones rocked
and moaned, the thunder pealed, now muttering in ill-subdued wrath, and
now clattering overhead in ungovernable fury, then passing by to burst
its bolts on some far mountain-top, or on fair pasture-lands, where
cattle stood huddled together in terror and dismay.  There was silence
at length upon the plain.  "The earth trembled and was still," the
horses lifted their heads and snuffed up the refreshing air; the little
bushman groom, whom I shall describe by-and-by, drew the covers from the
saddles, and the two young men, his masters, shook themselves like dogs
on reaching land after a long swim.

"Well," said the younger, a man of slender frame, but not the less manly
in his appearance for that, "here is a precious specimen of an African
climate!"

"Yes, my good fellow; you are able to judge of it now," replied his
companion, Major Frankfort, whose darkened complexion and tanned
gloveless hands proved his experience in the country, and who solaced
himself and his friend moderately with a _sopie_ (dram), from the flask
stuck in his leather waist-belt, to which other appendages were fixed.
Neither did he forget the shivering but smiling bushman, May.  The name
is not in keeping with this very original little groom, but he had been
so named not without reason.

These two travellers, Major Frankfort and Mr Ormsby, were officers of
an English regiment employed on the frontier of the British possessions
in South Africa, and had obtained leave of absence for the purpose of
journeying together on a shooting excursion beyond the Orange River.

The younger one had never seen any sport beyond his father's moors, and,
albeit rather indolent and luxurious of habit, he found himself tempted
to accompany Frankfort into the interior of the country, where he was
told that droves of large game, of manifold species, were to be seen
herding together on the mountain slopes and spacious plains to the
north-east.

And now the sun burst forth, the clouds rolled away in heavy masses, the
plain stretched wider and wider in the clear expanse, and in the
distance the hills loomed large, till at length the peaks and tableland
stood out strongly defined against the sky.

The horses were well rubbed down and re-saddled, the travellers resumed
their route, and in another hour some signs of vegetation promised
comfort and repose.

Clumps of bush adorned either side of the road, the large starry
jessamine, the glowing geranium, the golden-blossomed green mimosa,
emitting a delightful odour from the bowers formed by nature's graceful
hand, were doubly agreeable to the eye that ached with gazing on a
barren space, and ere long the ripple of water sounded musically among
the trees; in another moment a clear stream delighted the eyes of men
and beasts.

Pleasant it was in that cool drift (ford) to feel the gentle gale
fanning the heated brow, pleasant to lift even the light felt hat from
the head, and halt beneath the over-arching boughs of willows and trees
of statelier growth, in which the monkeys chattered, frightening the
poor guanas from their hiding-places among the stones into the sanctuary
of the tall grasses and plants, prodigal of beauty in the deep solitude.

They crossed the stream, and after threading a defile thickly studded
with euphorbias and prickly-pear bushes, the honey-bird hovering about
them and striving to beguile them to those delicious nooks where bees
make their nests, and the coneys have colonies in the cliffs, they found
themselves upon another plain, dotted like a park with clumps of trees.
Here the bushman guide halted, and placing the open palm of his right
hand above the left, he measured the space between the sun and the
horizon, and, announcing that "it wanted one hour to sunset," gave his
horse the rein, and cantering on at a smarter pace than before, was
followed by his masters.

They soon came upon the track of waggon-wheels, next they found the
remains of fire and the _debris_ of a meal; at a little distance lay the
carcase of a poor ox, which had died probably from exhaustion, and round
it were assembled, in greedy conclave, what appeared to Ormsby's
unpractised eye a flock of sheep.  It was a company of vultures, seated
in a circle round their prey, and while some still ate, the rest,
unwilling or unable to move from the scene of the repast, kept close
order, and dosingly watched their hungry comrades with a ludicrously
stupified air.

Unwilling to disturb these scavengers of nature, the three horsemen
moved on, and soon looked down upon a valley, the quiet of which was
relieved by a farm-house of regular proportions; but the shingle roof,
bare white walls, and ill-tended garden had nothing picturesque about
them, although the valley was rich in corn, and a grove of fruit-trees
proved the capabilities of the soil; but these were planted without
taste or order.

Beyond, the scene was charmingly pastoral; a clear stream, a branch of
the river they had lately forded, wound through the vale, and from the
banks opposite the settlement was a gently-sloping hill, thickly wooded
in some parts.  On the open spaces cattle were browsing, unmindful of
the call of the Hottentot herds, too indolent to climb the steep and
drive them down.  The call was unheeded till it was accompanied by the
shrill whistle of a little Kafir boy, that whistle which acts like magic
on the cattle of South Africa; with one accord the creatures paused,
lifted up their heads to listen, and then the largest ox of the herd
turning to descend the hill, the rest wended their way after him to meet
these impish guards, while other herdsmen went to collect the great
flocks of sheep and goats, whose approach along the course of the river
was continuously audible enough to charm the most Arcadian taste and
ear.  The lowing of the cattle, the bleating of the smaller but more
numerous "creatures of the fold," the Kafir whistle, and the song and
laughter of the Hottentot girls, floated together in a sort of wild
harmony along the vale, and met the travellers in their descent; but not
the least agreeable part of the picture to the latter, was the sight of
their waggons drawn up upon a miniature prairie, or flat on the margin
of the stream, and the smoke, curling upwards from the bush, announced
the preparation for cookery, to which they were disposed to do ample
justice.  Their tents were pitched, they were evidently expected, and
the Hottentot courier, who had preceded them by a day, had done his
bidding and "made ready."

The hospitable Dutchman, the owner of the farm, was on the look-out for
them, for he stood leaning over his wicker gate and watching their
advance.

They cantered up, and replied to his "Good morrow,"--Frankfort
cordially, Ormsby with cold civility; but the Dutchman invited them
within, and Frankfort, feeling himself indebted for the permission to
_outspan_ (unyoke) on the farm-land, accepted the proffered attention,
much to Ormsby's disgust, for he was hungry, tired, and thoroughly
uncomfortable from the effects of the drenching he had got.

So was Major Frankfort; but these two men, though friends and
companions, were very different in habits and opinions.  Indeed, Ormsby,
had it been practicable, would gladly have faced about and given up that
expedition, so utterly annoyed was he with many _desagremens en route_;
indeed, he had been first induced to accompany Frankfort, because his
brother-officers had offended his manly pride by doubting his powers of
endurance on a _trek_ (journey) through the depopulated wilderness.

"You lazy dog, Ormsby," his colonel had observed to him one morning,
"how can _you_ talk of going up the country with Frankfort? he will
never make a sportsman of you,--you are always late for parade."

"I am never _last_, sir," replied the youngster to his commanding
officer, who happened that very day to have kept the parade waiting; a
thing commanding officers constantly do themselves, though they punish
their subordinates for the error.

"Humph!--You know nothing of sporting--you talk of the moors; why,
Frankfort has shot his five-and-twenty lions; besides, you would be
breakfasting at his dinner-hour, and grumbling that you have no cream
for your coffee as muddy as the water of the Fish River.  Tell us, now,
what time you got up this morning."

"I confess, that is rather a poser, sir; but I will ask my servant, if
you particularly desire to know," answered Ormsby, with a demure look,
which set some of the subs laughing.

"Can you tell when the sun rose?" asked Colonel J.

"No, sir," replied the saucy Ormsby, gravely; "he was up before I was."

It was the manner, not the matter, that made every one laugh, and
Ormsby, running his hand through his shining, but carelessly-arranged
hair, called to his servant to bring him his cigar-case, and the last
new novel he had received from England, in Hookham's box; then,
stretching himself at full length across a window-sill of the mess-room,
he took up a paper, declaring it was too hot for billiards; next he
ordered some pale ale, with which he solaced himself while he waited for
his novel and cigar, and having obtained these, began to long for
luncheon.

In great contrast to him was his friend Major Frankfort.  Though
possessed of attractions which would render many a man vain, Frankfort
was sadly insensible to the charms of a society in which he would have
been flattered and caressed.  The principal features in his character
were generosity, and its sister attribute, bravery; but there was withal
a certain reserve in his nature, which prevented him from being
appreciated, except by friends, and these were not numerous; for he was
neither a person to seek, or be sought--he was one who could not be
gratified by the commonplaces of every-day life.  His love of adventure
had its impulses, not in the excitement of the gay world, but in the
beauties, harmonies, and sublimities of nature.

The winter season had passed away without realising the expectation
formed by the colonists of a war with the savage tribes on their border,
and the months succeeding the rains were looked forward to by sportsmen
as a season of relief and enjoyments, after the _desagremens_ of a life
"under arms," without the excitement of "an enemy in sight."

How often it happens, especially in the naval and military professions,
that two men of totally opposite natures will become the most intimate
friends of the community to which they belong.  No two characters could
be more strongly contrasted than those of Edward Frankfort and Charles
Ormsby.  Characters may differ where natures may have attributes in
common.

Frankfort was generous and brave, so was Ormsby; but the latter was
often more generous than just, for he had never been taught the value of
money or opinion, nor how to discriminate between the faults arising
from folly, or those originating in misfortune.  Equally brave with
Frankfort, he was hasty in his judgments and impetuous in his decisions,
forgetting that fool-hardiness is no proof of courage, and that valour
is not thought the less of for being coupled with discretion.  But,
unlike Frankfort, whose candour was never obtrusive, Ormsby's openness
of manner often degenerated into egotism.

Frankfort was careless of appearances as far as mere fashion went;
nevertheless, his attire was always suited to the occasion.  Ormsby,
while he affected to despise those outward adornings which render men
effeminate, and consequently despicable in the eyes of those they most
seek to please, displayed a certain affectation in the tie of the loose
cravat which showed to advantage the beauty of his throat; the straw hat
he wore in the morning lounge was coarse, but of becoming shape, and his
shooting-coat, or loose jacket, hung on his shoulders as they would have
hung on no other's.

Pretending to despise the uniform of the soldier, he "sported" a costume
as little like an officer's and as much like a settler's as possible;
but to see him enter a hall-room in all the pride of scarlet and gold,
it was clear that he thought himself the finest there.  So Colonel J
said; but Ormsby was perpetually vexing Colonel J, the most selfish of
men, the most exacting of commanding officers.

This dash of conceit, however, was rather becoming to one so handsome,
so agreeable, and so open-hearted; and Major Frankfort found himself
making allowances for the young sub's faults, and at last taking
sufficient interest in him to endeavour to correct them.  Early
indulgences made this a difficult matter; but Frankfort saw, that though
the surface was overrun with weeds and rubbish, there was something
below worth getting at.  Little rays of light gleamed up at times, and
showed that there was good ore in the mine.

Unaccustomed to bestow his regard too readily, Frankfort might never
have yielded to the outward attractions of this fine young man, but duty
brought them together, and Major Frankfort began to like Ormsby against
his will.  Happily for the latter, the influence of such a character as
Frankfort's was not thrown away upon him; for his nature, as I have
shown, was capable of excellent impulses.  These, like goodly fruits
brought from shade to sunlight, soon ripened into sentiments, which
might hereafter become principles; but the future must not be
forestalled.

And all this time we have kept them at the gate of the poor Dutchman's
desolate-looking garden.

Major Frankfort shook hands with Vanbloem, or rather Vanbloem shook
hands with Frankfort.  Ormsby did not understand such familiarity, but
he suffered it with a better grace than he would have done had some of
his brother-officers been by, and permitting May to lead off his horse,
followed the Dutchman to the entrance of his neglected-looking abode.

Vanbloem's wife was a mild-tempered woman, too indolent to scold the
lazy Hottentot girls sitting in the garden, or rather yard, of the
dwelling, awaiting the return of the herdsmen, and totally regardless of
their charges, the children, who, rejoicing in the dirt, were busily
employed, under the tuition of a little Fingo boy [see Note 1], in
moulding most unclassical representations of elands, rhinoceroses,
sea-cows, elephants, and various other denizens of the hunting-grounds.

The aspect of the principal apartment and only sitting-room of the house
did not strike the travellers as inviting, and to Ormsby, the
slaughtered sheep suspended from the roof, with his head downwards, and
dripping with blood, was particularly revolting; turning his back to it
in disgust, he found himself face to face with two enormous people, the
grandfather and grandmother of the family.  He might have doubted their
being alive, but for the pipe in the patriarch's mouth.  The ancient
dame sat almost immovable, but a slight tremor in the head indicated
palsy.  A teapot stood on a little table beside her, and with her feet
turned backwards round the legs of the chair, and her arms folded under
her apron, she looked as if she had dressed herself in the round-eared
cap and ample gown of _voerchitz_, a coarse print, manufactured in
England, for once and for aye, never to be changed.  A felt hat crowned
the white head of the old man, and with more courtesy than the Boer
usually exhibits, he lifted it from his brow, but replaced it ere he
shook hands with Major Frankfort, who offered his palm at once.  Two or
three heads of round-faced Dutch girls, Vanbloem's elder daughters,
peeped in from a door leading to a back room; they vanished with a
giggle, and then one, less shy than the rest, came forward and ventured
to offer the "tea-water."  This was declined with thanks; but unwilling
to treat the civilities of these poor people with coldness, Frankfort
promised to say "Good night" before he and his friend retired for the
night.

They then proceeded to the outspan, and gave orders for the preparation
of their repast, while they bathed in the stream, yet warm from the
effects of the sun.

The pools under the alders were clear and deep.  How delicious it was to
cast aside the heavy coat, saturated as it had been with wet; how
refreshing to lave the weary limbs in the crystal bath!

Then what ample justice was done to the carbonatje (broiled mutton
steaks), and the stewed buck, and the "remove" of quail, to say nothing
of the glass of "warm stuff," when the sun went down and the cool breeze
came up the river.  Verily, our travellers enjoyed their repose on that
green bank with a greater zest than they could have done in a
well-appointed foam, after a more luxurious feast in this quiet-going,
"very comfortable" England.

It must be owned they had not a very military appearance, albeit they
are "armed and accoutred" for "the road."  Their jackets of drab duffle,
reaching to the hip, were rendered more useful than ornamental by the
capacious pockets; their felt hats were of that description long since
adopted by the patriarchal Boers of Southern Africa, and of late become
fashionable in England under the designation of "Jem Crows" and
"wide-awakes;" and the ostrich plume, wound round these, not only shaded
their brows from the fervid sun, but attracted the flies from their
faces, somewhat blistered by the alternations of heat and wind and rain.
Their trowsers of pliable brown leather stoutly resisted the thorns, or
rather spikes, of the mimosa bushes; their _veldt scoons_ (shoes) were
of the same material, but stronger, and fitted the foot as easily as a
glove; and their costume was rendered complete by the belt buckled round
the waist, from which was slung, besides the flask, a small pouch of
buckskin, containing gun-caps, a clasp-knife with numerous blades, and
various other articles necessary for the journey,--a pair of
long-barrelled pistols completing the equipment when starting for the
_trek_.  When riding without their waggons, they moved with a change of
linen in a small sabretache of tiger-skin, appended to the saddle, while
in a haversack was a good store of dried meat, hard-boiled eggs when
they were to be had, and biscuit; in short, sufficient, on a pinch, for
a good day's meal.

They rose to pay their adieux to Vanbloem and his family.  Frankfort was
unarmed, but Ormsby had by chance stuck in his belt his six-barrelled
pistol, then a great novelty in that far country.  Frankfort remarked
this on entering Vanbloem's gateway; but his companion explained that it
was not loaded, which was satisfactory, for the Dutch, though kindly
disposed towards English settlers, were no great friends to the
government, and, alas! there were not wanting men of a bad faction to
turn even a trifling action of this nature to bad account.

The glory of the sun had departed, but there was twilight, which makes
the summer day of the Cape so much longer and pleasanter than that of
the tropics.  The door of the great room at Vanbloem's stood wide open,
and the coarse, flaring, home-made candles shed their flickering rays on
a group assembled to look at the two Englishmen.  To the family party
were now added three or four Hottentot servant-girls, their woolly locks
concealed beneath bright-coloured _douks_ (head-kerchiefs).  They had a
smart air, for they were arrayed in flaunting colours.  Scarlet or
yellow bodices set off a striped or elaborately-patched petticoat, ample
in width and scanty in length, displaying ankles that fine ladies would
have coveted and feet proportionally minute.  A bevy of children, very
merry, very noisy, and very dirty, were chattering together at play, and
looking in at an open window, with the strong light falling on their
dusky forms, round which, their blankets loosely and gracefully draped,
were two Kafir herdsmen.  Their crisp hair, thicker than that of the
Hottentots, was elaborately _coiffe_, being stiffened with red clay;
round their well-shaped throats were necklaces of beads intermixed with
wolves' teeth, and sundry rude ornaments adopted as charms, having been
endued with certain magic powers by the witch doctors or rain-makers of
the tribe.  Their wrists were encircled by brazen bangles, and each
carried his snuffbox, a miniature tortoise-shell, with its long ivory
spoon appended by a brazen chain.

One of them was in the act of putting a spoonful of the mixture into his
mouth, when Ormsby walked up to him, and with great deliberation began
examining him with the same curiosity that a naturalist would have
evinced on seeing some newly-discovered animal.  Both Kafirs returned
his survey with a steady gaze.

In strong contrast to these sculptured and dignified-looking beings,
rose the noise of chattering among the other occupants of the house and
_stoep_ [the platform that runs along the front of all Dutch houses].
The old patriarch and his wife indeed maintained their usual
taciturnity, and sat just within the door, their chairs having been
moved there by their son, for the filial deference of the Dutch is
remarkable.

At last some of the Hottentots, who had retired to a corner of the
stoep, after a due examination of the travellers, began singing in a
soprano key; the men coming from the farm-yards and joining them in
deeper tones, all in perfect harmony, and some of the voices exceedingly
pleasing.

It was an old but popular air, one which had found its way, like an
angel's voice, across the waters, into the wilderness.  It was a hymn
sung to the tune of "Home, sweet Home!"

The sopranos were a little tremulous, to be sure, but true to time and
tune, and the bass voices gave solemnity to the chorus.

The associations it called up were strangely contrasted with the scene.
A rude dwelling, oddly peopled, standing in the midst of a wild garden,
ill-tended, but perfumed by orange-trees, waving their scented boughs in
the still air, while beyond, in dreamy profile, rose the boundary of
hills with the spacious silent landscape between; but the far mountains,
of brown and purple and pale blue, had faded utterly away into the
clouds of night.

"Home, sweet Home!"  Ormsby listened only to the air.  He was not one
accustomed to give way to those emotions of the soul which soften its
impulses and direct its thoughts to the gentlest and most hallowed ties
of earth; it must, indeed be confessed that he was too much inclined to
discourage such emotions and to quiz them, as it is called, in others;
but his heart, at this distance from the beloved and remembered faces
which had shone upon him at home, was disturbed by its reminiscences.

The air was identified with a lost sister, the pet of his boyhood.
There was a sudden vision of a long, narrow, day nursery, with many
windows looking out upon green uplands and rich waving woods, where the
fox-hounds used to meet; of another room, within, where old nurse Hetty
used to sit and sing to his consumptive little sister, who died
afterwards.

As he leaned against one of the rough pillars supporting a gable of the
building, his thoughts wandered back to those early days; vividly he
remembered that one on which his little favourite sister had been
carried away dead; with what terror had he watched the dark and
high-plumed hearse, with its fearful train of black carriages, all drawn
by solemn, heavy sable horses, waiting for the small coffin, to bear it
through the snow of the churchyard.  He remembered it was midwinter; the
ground and the trees and the hills and the roofs of the stables were all
white with snow; it powdered the harness of the coal-black horses, and
the carriages and hearse, as they wended their dreary way down the long
avenue of leafless trees, and through the lodge-gates and along the
road, till they were lost sight of below the slopes at the boundary of
the park.

He remembered hearing his younger brother begin to sing the familiar
tune, and nurse Hetty's dismay because she could not silence him, and
his mother, in her white dressing-gown, looking into the nursery with
eyes streaming with tears.

That air had long been forbidden in his father's house, and he had not
heard it for years till now.  Never had he been so nearly overcome by
tender recollections; he mastered his emotions by a strong effort, and
bowed civilly to Mrs Vanbloem's invitation to sit down.

The Kafirs had eyed him with some admiration, but were more attracted by
the appearance of Frankfort.  The Hottentot girls, having finished their
hymn, came in from the stoep and manifested their unqualified admiration
of his wavy chestnut hair, his brilliant eyes, and the gold chain that
peeked from the folds of his dress.  One gazed first at his glossy
locks, then felt her own scanty allowance of frizzled wool; another
cried, "good," "pretty," as she walked round him with a mixed expression
of surprise and delight, and the youngest of all laughed aloud,
exhibiting teeth finer than his own.

The Kafirs, having followed the Hottentot servants into the house,
seated themselves on the floor at a respectful distance.  Frankfort
begged Vanbloem to translate the remarks they were evidently making on
himself and his friend.  The handsome countenance and elegant figure of
Ormsby did not make so strong to impression on them as the more powerful
form of Frankfort, who was the taller of the two by some inches.  They
were, however, neither loud nor demonstrative, but eyeing him from head
to foot, they passed their deliberate commendations in their own
peculiar manner.  "Ma-wo!" had been the first exclamation of the younger
and more excitable Kafir, as the tall figure of Frankfort had cast its
shadow upon the wall, against which they leaned in indolent fashion, as
the travellers walked up the garden-path with Vanbloem--Ma-wo implying
astonishment.

The other had taken his observations at first in silence; but now he
observed to his companion, in a low musical voice, "Inkosi
enkulu!"--"That is a great captain."

"Eurci!" was the reply, when the other had satisfied himself that his
friend's judgment was correct.

Frankfort saw the eyes of both the Kafirs fixed upon him, and returned
their glances with such an expression of good-will, that they with one
accord held out two pair of hands, uttering the old imperative demand
peculiar to Kafirs, "Baseila,"--"Gift."

All savages are beggars, more or less; but the Kafir does not beg, he
_demands_.

Frankfort laughed, and took some sticks of tobacco from the vast pockets
of his duffle jacket, and would doubtless have been besieged for more,
but that the light flashing on the six-barrelled weapon in Ormsby's belt
drew the dark and gleaming eyes of the Kafirs upon him, and their
exclamations brought the rest of the household round him in a circle.

He drew the pistol from the belt to gratify the surprise and curiosity
of Vanbloem, who handed it to his father.  The patriarch had the
pleasure of exhibiting it to all, and so great was the astonishment and
admiration displayed, that Ormsby would have offered it to the farmer,
but Frankfort checked the generous intention.

The dissertation between the old man and his son was amusing; the
patriarch remarking that where the pistol might _wound six_, the _roer_,
the long gun of the Boers, _must_ kill all it aimed at.  The old man had
a hearty contempt for all new-fashioned implements of war, but his son
resigned the brilliantly-polished weapon with a sigh, which so touched
Frankfort, that he promised to select a single-barrelled pistol from his
collection of small-arms, and send it from the bivouac, as an offering
of good-will to the good-natured Boer.

Our sportsmen then took their leave, in spite of the kindly invitation
to sit down to the homely but plentiful table with the family of four
generations, beginning with the aged grandfather, and ending, for the
present, with the grandchild of Vanbloem, junior.

They found the waggons made snug for the night, and the cattle safely
fastened to the tressel-booms--poor things! they were liable to
molestation from wolves, close as they were to a thriving homestead.

May threw additional billets on the fire as his masters drew near--the
other attendants were fast asleep beneath the store-waggon, and
Frankfort and Ormsby prepared to luxuriate on the karosses spread within
their sleeping-tent, a species of pavilion, affixed to the ponderous
vehicle, their dwelling-place in rude weather, lined throughout with
baize, furnished with well-stuffed benches, and made complete with
sundry pockets, slings, straps, and thick curtains at either end.
Ormsby was sound asleep before Frankfort had inspected the preparations
for the start at dawn.  Having seen to the arrangements for replenishing
the fire for warming the coffee, having ascertained that the curtains
were closed against the invasion of an unexpected storm, that the arms
were secure--the horses safely picqueted, and the oxen safely _reimed_
(fastened with thongs of hide), he was just about to tie the last knot
of the tent-flap, when he fancied he heard some one breathing nearer to
him than any of the sleeping groups, as Ormsby had thoughtlessly
extinguished the light within the tent, and his low and steady breathing
proved his insensibility to sight or sound--Frankfort stooped down, and,
laying his ear to the ground, distinguished the pressure rather than the
sound of a step upon the short turf.

Without rising, he whispered from the tent, "May."

"Does the sir call?" asked the bushman, awakened in a moment, and
rolling himself down the mound, on which the store-waggon stood, to the
tent.

"Hush!" said Frankfort softly; "some one breathed close by."

May put his hand to his ear, but all was still, with the exception of an
occasional sigh from an over-tired ox or a muttered growl from one of
the dogs.  The ripple of the river tinkled pleasantly some yards off,
but not a breath of wind stirred the boughs.  The night was heavy,
though the stars were coming out, and it was impossible to say what
chance of discord existed among the elements.

May pricked up his ears like a little terrier, and Frankfort and he made
a reconnoitring tour round the bivouac; but nothing was to be seen.  The
bushman retired to his mat and Major Frankfort to his tent.

The Hottentots slept sound, the huge oxen uttered their periodical
sighs, the bats flitted about the tent, through which the moonlight
began to peep, and at intervals the whine of the wolf came up the valley
marring the silence, but too far off to disturb the sleepers and rouse
the dogs.  Frankfort gave a last glance at the Dutchman's farm.  It
looked exceedingly picturesque by that mellow light.  The whole scene
had an air of peace, little in character with the original possessors of
so lovely a soil.  Ah! there came the jackal's cry again, destroying the
illusion, and a responsive laugh followed, like mocking echoes from the
gibbering hyena.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 1.  The Fingoes are the remnant of some powerful nations, conquered
and enslaved by the Kafirs, whom they greatly resemble.



CHAPTER TWO.

THE BUSHMAN.

The little bushman, whom we have introduced as the attendant of our
English officers, must be more particularly described ere we advance in
a story in which he will frequently make his appearance.

The reader will consider his name--May--rather a misnomer for such a
creature.

He is about three feet and a half high; his head would be bald, but for
a few bead-like tufts of hair, scattered vaguely about the surface.  His
eyes are long, black, twinkling, and very merry, but his expression is
less cunning than that of the Hottentot physiognomy.  His nose! where is
it?  His mouth is wide, but his white teeth redeem this feature from its
ugliness; his skin is of the hue of pale gingerbread.

The countenance, however, is far from unpleasing; his voice is odd, with
occasional clicks in pronunciation, which May chooses to introduce,
notwithstanding his education.  The hands and feet are exquisitely
small, and the frame lithe and agile as a monkey's.  His costume is
copied from his masters; the materials are coarser, but the "wide-awake"
hath on him a more jaunty air, the feather a more "knowing" feel, and
this is fastened to the hat with a gilt bugle, the gift of some light
infantry officer, and much prized by May, who had managed to coax from
the same source an old red jacket, which he carries in the waggon-box,
and wears on Sundays when they halt in the wilderness.

May is a capital mimic, takes off various members of the Graham's Town
garrison, well-known as oddities; imitates with ludicrous gravity the
imposing air of the governor's brother, and elicits peals of laughter
from his Hottentot comrades, when, arrayed in Fitje's yellow petticoat,
he caricatures the dancing of an affected young lady, whom he has
watched through the windows of a ball-room.  But I must give you May's
origin, or you will wonder how this monkey came to see the world.

Behold a chain of mountains rising abruptly and with a bold sweep across
a most lovely wilderness.  From the colonial border these mountains look
exquisitely, but faintly blue, in the haze which hangs about them.  In
that busy colony how faint an idea can its inhabitants have of the wild
beings that dwell amid those distant solitary fastnesses.  In the
shelving rocks, in bowery nooks scented with the rich perfume of plants,
which in our land a queen would prize in her conservatory, beside the
clearest running waters, the little bushmen find their rest among the
coneys, the bright-eyed lizards, and the treacherous snakes; brilliant
birds flit round them as they lie at ease beneath umbrageous boughs or
in cool shady caves, shrouded by luxurious creepers; from the flexile
branches of the banian-trees the monkeys peer down upon what some would
consider almost their fellow-apes, and on the plains thousands of noble
animals in herds are enjoying the gifts of nature, "feeding in large
pastures."  An army of elephants is moving through the bush, on a
distant mountain; you cannot see them, but you can hear the loud
trumpet-cry of their leader giving warning of some intruder's stealthy
advance.  In the valley the lions are ranged like soldiers awaiting the
return of their scouts, and beyond, far beyond, just where the sunset
reveals a spot which has lain in the shade all day, behold the
advance-guard of the stately giraffe--two of them: the one with neck
outstretched and eye and ear keenly intent, now upon the plain, now on
the mountain-side, while his companion crops the fresh green herbage.  A
cloud crosses the sun, and the giraffes are seen no more; their
momentary appearance has drawn the bushmen-hunters from their haunts, to
gaze upon the shy and cautious animals.

There go the gnoos, tossing their manes, leaping, plunging, half in
play, yet dangerous even to their fellows; see how they wheel round,
advancing with eyes glaring through their shaggy forelocks.  A herd of
zebras are comparatively tune to these eager, restless things; but in
greater contrast to the gnoos are the heavy eilands, fat and sleek, fit
mark for the hunter's poisoned arrows.  There are ostriches, too,
stalking about; and nearer the bushmen's haunts, but wary of her
neighbours, the pauw, or the wild turkey of South Africa, has her brood;
far up in the air, between the clear sky and the fertile plain, rises
the secretary-bird, with the doomed snake in his beak.  The serpent
writhes in its new element, swinging to and fro; up! up! above the rocks
and sea, the bird swoops higher and higher to drop its prey upon a
table-rock; its back is broken.  Lie there, powerless, terrible, and
fatal, and doomed wretch, till your tormentor returns and finishes the
deed begun!

Sunset.  The plain is in a glow, except where the mountains cast a
shade, and this will deepen, as the shield of gold dips behind them.
The little honey-bird, which has been wandering in search of travellers
to coax them to the sweet nest it dare not itself invade, goes back
disappointed to await the morning splendour; the sprews, on wings of
green and yellow, go glancing past to their embowered rest; the homely
brown-looking canaries are silent in the golden-blossomed mimosa, the
English swallow trills her way back to the mission-house on the other
side the mountain range; the few goats possessed by the poor bushmen
return bleating to their rude fold, and ere long the wild beasts of the
forest and the valley will come boldly forth; the tiger from the dense
bush in which he has lain stealthily all day; then the jackal's cry will
startle the children lying on their miserable sheepskins, and the lion's
roar will answer it, rousing the echoes and terrifying the horses and
cattle of those who travel in the wilderness.

Such a scene as this presented itself one glowing evening many years ago
to the eye of a wayfarer, whose appearance with his pack-horse and
saddle-bags, and the somewhat lame condition of the animal he led, gave
proof that he had journeyed far and fast.  With home almost in sight, he
had outspanned his waggon in the valley, and ascending the hills had
found that darkness would overshadow his path ere the object he had in
view could be accomplished, if indeed it could be accomplished at all.
A mist was rising in white wreaths over the plain, till the vapour
became concentrated in a hazy shroud floating between the traveller and
his people below; his beasts were weary, and would probably fell if he
attempted the descent while yet it was light; besides, as I have said,
he had an object in view; so he sat down among the shrubs and rocks,
through which he had scrambled with some difficulty and much fatigue,
and began to ponder on what steps he must take to insure a safe bivouac
for himself and his jaded cattle during the night.

He was a good man, and would have had no personal fear even if he had
not been acquainted with the nature of the locality and its inhabitants;
but he had no mind to have his horses torn limb from limb by wild
beasts, and pitying them as their ears moved nervously backwards and
forwards, their eyeballs starting from their sockets, he regretted that
he had not delayed his expedition till the following morning.

There was no help for it now; the sinking horses looked piteously at
him, and he longed to take their saddles from their galled backs, but he
needed to look about him ere yet there was daylight: he regretted he had
not brought his waggon-driver with him, but always thinking of others,
he had overlooked his own necessities.  He grieved for his horses, not
for himself.

James Trail was the occupant of the mission-house, whither our English
swallow had trilled her contented way.  He was a childless widower, and,
bent on conquering his sorrow for his lost Mary by earnest attention to
his duties "in that path of life in which it had pleased God to call
him," he had made way for a married friend at his former station, and
with a few native herds, a faithful Hottentot servant, and a distant
relative, a trader in skins, ivory, horns, etc, had established a little
location in the lovely but uncivilised part of the country through which
he hoped to preach glad tidings of the Gospel; but the untameable race
of bushmen, whom he longed to attach to himself, looked at him from
their coverts like startled apes, and yelled, and shrieked, and
chattered, and once shot at him with their poisoned arrows, happily
without effect.

A trifling circumstance brought these mountain sprites to better terms.
One of a hunting-party was severely bitten by a puff-adder while
lingering behind his comrades, and Trail had discovered him, helpless
and terrified, and "like to die," by the side of a stream, to which he
had crawled with the vain wish to ford it.  The good Samaritan placed
his neighbour on his own beast, after applying a remedy he always
carried with him to the deadly wound; he took him home, and would have
kept him, but the wild creature had been a rover all his life, and
longed for liberty; as soon as he recovered, he fled to the hills to
join his fellows.  At times he would return, accompanied by a mate of
his own tribe.  One day he brought his children with him; another, two
or three wild hunters, clothed in fitting skins, sat down in front of
the mission-house, but would not draw near.  They waited for their share
of beads, their meal of mutton and bread and milk, and then scurried off
to their nooks to send down others.  Wretched creatures! these came in
the dead of night as thieves, and Trail, wearied with their
depredations, and grieved at his want of success among them, made such a
compact as he could, by means of signs, assisted by his knowledge of the
Dutch and Kafir languages.  On condition that they would permit his
flocks to feed in peace, he agreed to furnish them with game, Indian
corn, and beads.  The bushmen, knowing that if after this compact the
pastor's sheep were lessened in number, mutilated, or poisoned, their
messengers would be sent empty-handed from his door, each kept a
constant watch upon his neighbour, and this sort of truce had been kept
between Trail and the pigmies up to the time when the former was making
arrangements for a journey on business into the colony.

For a week previously to leaving his house to the trader's care with two
herds only, all, however, well provided with arms, the missionary had
seen and heard nothing of his wild neighbours, and learning from his
cousin, who had occasion to follow him, that they had not come down from
the mountains since his departure, our good minister resolved, when on
his homeward route, on penetrating the fastnesses which he had at first
visited with pious intentions, but from which he had been driven, in
such a fashion as would have made most men hesitate ere they set foot on
such dangerous ground again: he felt it was his duty to seek these
creatures.

He would have made a fine picture, seated on a grey rock which jutted
out in an angle from the great mountain, which from base to summit, was
seven thousand feet above the level of the ocean.  The plain lay some
hundred feet below, but the haze obscured it from the view.  Trail felt
very solitary between the sky and this shroud-like vapour; he looked at
the poor brutes still panting beside him, and deliberated, as he took a
survey from the rock on which he was perched.

There was not a sound now; even that restless caller, the
whip-poor-will, was quiet.  On each side of the traveller was a
comparatively clear space, behind was a scarp of rock overhung with
trees.  Securing his horses, he relieved them of their saddles and
bridles, laid his saddle-bags against the rock, and having seen that the
animals had length of _reim_ (thong of leather) to give them room to
roll at full length upon the moist grass, he determined to climb higher
up in search of the little colony, whose condition he had long deplored.

Trail was a man of about three-and-thirty; the features were homely, but
the expression of the whole was highly benevolent; the frame was thin,
and could not be called graceful, but it was neither ungainly nor
vulgarly awkward; the eyes were large, and when lifted up, shone with a
pleasant, not a sparkling, light; the hair was thinning on the temples,
and the brow alone showed that by nature he was a man of a clear and
fair complexion.  The rest was bronzed by climate.

There he stood alone, alone in that magnificent solitude; the purpose
for which he had come faded for a time from his memory, a gust of wind
swept the mist away from the side of the hill to which he turned, and a
part of the valley "lay smiling before him;" a stream of sunlight shot
athwart it, and he saw the wild tenants of the wilderness, disporting
and luxuriating as I have described; another gust opened the landscape
wide, and as Trail's eye swept the scene, his heart was lifted up in
admiration.  He turned the angle of the hill again, but the plain was
hidden from his sight on that side, he could see nothing of his people
and the bivouac below.  He paused under a tall yellow-wood tree, and sat
down again, his heart melting at the thought of what? his loneliness!
His head rested on his hands, and he went back, back to his wedding-day
at home in England, in the old church.  There he stood, hand in hand
with Mary (his old playmate) at the altar: by her side his sister cried
bitterly, behind him her mother sobbed aloud, and the father's silence
was most eloquent, for the lips were firmly closed, and the eyes blinded
with tears.  Younger children gazed sorrowfully on--and then--there came
the last parting.  A ship in full sail, James and Mary Trail leaning
over the side of the vessel while she is lying-to at Spithead; a boat
below, from which many last gifts are handed up.  A little sister
weeping heavily, the mother with her face buried in her handkerchief, a
young brother hastily wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, an
elder sister trying to sooth the father, who "would not be comforted."

They are all again before him: the boat pushes off; the old man
stretches forth his hands, blessing the voyagers; the sister waves her
handkerchief, the brother his hat, the mother tries to rise, but cannot,
as the boat is swayed between the white-crested waves, which soon part
the little vessel from the gallant ship; the yards are swung round, the
boat has faded to a speck, the bows dash through the sparkling waters,
churches, forts, and towers of the old town Mary Trail has never left
before, glide away from her aching sight, and she lies down like a child
to cry in her bridegroom's sheltering arms.

And lo! there is a grave, the first grave hollowed in the mound on which
a little chapel stands between two hills in Africa.  There are others
near it now, and a deep-toned bell sends out its hallowed call across
the river, and up the kloof and on Sabbath days there is a gathering
from many homesteads; but Trail has left this peopled spot for another.
He visits it sometimes, and sits by Mary's grave, but he can no longer
bear it as a dwelling: nevertheless, he would have stayed there had
there not been one at hand to take charge of the district.

He had not long left this spot when I introduced him to the reader at
the early part of this chapter.  He rises, but not without effort: his
steeds are quietly enjoying the crisp herbage, and above, the baboons
are looking out from their hiding-places, and shouting aloud.  Trail
began to fancy his "little people" had caught sight of him, and were
calling to him from the rocks overhanging the platform on which he
stood.

He determined on seeking at once for some sheltered corner, where he
could kindle a fire, picquet his horses near him, and eat such provision
as he had brought, deferring his further search till dawn.  The
non-appearance of a single living being puzzled him, the more when he
discovered the remains of a fire, over which the wind had passed,
scattering the ashes.  It was evident that a meal of locusts had been
here cooked and eaten, probably some three or four days before.  Some
had been rejected, and some were mingled with corn lying amid the ashes.
A stray arrow or two was also to be found, and a bow, unstrung, rested
against a stone.  Whilst examining these evidences of human existence,
something rose heavily from a stunted bush: a huge asphogel, scared at
last from its lethargy, flapped its wings, rose slowly over Trail's
head, and floated down the mountain-side; another and another followed,
and our missionary felt assured that, dead or dying, some members of the
barbarian community were not far off.  He discovered a fearful group at
last.  It would be a sad task to describe the scene as it was depicted
by him to one who related the circumstances to me.  It was probable that
some part of the community had been absent on a hunting expedition when
the fatality occurred, which had destroyed three aged bushmen, four or
five women, old and young, all inconceivably hideous in death, and
several children.  One poor baby lay across its miserable mother's
bosom, apparently the victim of a snake, for the creature lay coiled up
beside the dead body, and a wretched little object had been mangled by
vultures at the entrance to the grot or cave into which the party had
apparently crawled to suffer and die together.

Trail had heard of whole families of bushmen dying from a surfeit of a
hearty meal of locusts,--from poisonous roots being mingled in their
cookery with the larvae of ants,--and of their sometimes falling victims
to the deadly enmity of some adverse tribes; but he saw it would be
dangerous as well as useless to penetrate the charnel-house further;
indeed he had taken as sharp a survey of the interior as the light
falling through a chasm would allow, and he shrunk from ascertaining
whether an inner cave existed.

Struck with horror, he had made up his mind to move some distance down
the mountain in spite of the coming darkness, when a feeble moan drew
his attention to a cleft in the rock, just at the entrance or mouth of
the cavern.

He knew it was the moan of a living being, and began to examine the
corner whence it proceeded, but all was in darkness; stretching out his
arm, he groped among the stones, and at length touched a clammy hand,
the fingers of which closed round his with a cold convulsive grasp.  He
drew the creature forth, and found it to be a little bushboy, probably
five or six years old.

It was our friend May.  He derived his name from the month in which he
had been brought into the Christian world, as Trail said.  Truly the
good man's laying his hand upon the little creature was a wondrous and
providential circumstance.  Poor, degraded, barbarous imp, thou wert a
frightful object; but the good minister looked on thee with the deep
anxiety and affection that those only feel who love their neighbour in
the true spirit of a Christian, and helpless and hideous as thou wert,
doubtless there were angels singing triumphantly through the golden
aisles of heaven as a herald on bright wings came among them with glad
tidings of a soul rescued from darkness.  It was thine, poor May, lying
lonely and desolate, and apparently forgotten, in that fearful darkness;
the day-star from on high was ready to shed its light upon thee, and
there was great rejoicing among the ministering spirits of the upper
world!

We cannot trace the melancholy facts of the deaths alluded to to their
sources; nine or ten unredeemed souls had passed the outer threshold of
this world, to that mysterious region whence none return with a record;
but whether the cause arose from accidental poison, or by the agency of
vicious neighbours, Trail never ascertained.  How the imp May had
escaped appeared a miracle; mayhap he had been absent gathering honey or
digging for roots; the goats had disappeared, if there had ever been
any; there was sheep wool on the bushes, but there were no sheep, and
the missionary concluded that the hunters had probably returned after
the calamity had befallen their fellows, and, in superstitious dread of
the locality, had hurried to change their quarters without any closer
examination of the spot than they had been induced to make from
curiosity or rapacity.

Speculation was fruitless, useless; May was rescued, and Trail, carrying
him to the bushes where the horses were picqueted, gave him such
nourishment as he could.  It revived him, and as soon as he could manage
it, our traveller descended with his steed and the child to a convenient
spot, where he lit a fire at the opening of a natural alcove.  Here he
again fastened his horse to a tree, happy in having found a spot watered
by a rill, which trickled down a channel among the rocks, and spreading
his _veldt combass_, a large rug made of dressed sheepskins, upon the
sward, he laid his saddle beneath his head, and not far from him he did
not disdain to place the weary and frightened being, whose sleep was
soon as peaceful as a Christian child's within "a fair ancestral hall."

The night passed without further adventure, for Trail's sleep was light,
and he kept up the fire at his feet, so as to prevent the intrusion of
the wild beasts of the neighbourhood.  At dawn he found his _protege_
still sleeping; and by the time he had made further but unavailing
search for some living evidence of the sad spectacle he had beheld, the
mist had cleared away from the hill-side, and he descended with his
child of the wilderness to the bivouac, where he found his people in
some alarm and uncertainty about his safety.

To untravelled readers the idea of leaving the dead unburied among the
rocks and caves must appear rather unseemly, to say the least of it;
but, in the first place, Trail's party could not have accomplished such
an undertaking by themselves; and, in the next, leaving the waggon and
its contents together with the oxen, would have been madness.  Add to
this, the chances were that a horde of bushmen might return to the spot
unexpectedly, and there was dearly no alternative but to make the best
of the early part of the day; for, although the mission-house was only
nine miles distant, the way lay between narrow and rocky passes, wound
up the steepest acclivities, and was at times difficult to penetrate,
owing to intervening clumps of bush, connected by a tangled growth of
underwood.

So the child was called May, in memory of the period of his rescue.  The
bewildered creature's language was utterly untranslatable; but, with the
keenness of perception so peculiar to his race, he soon learned to
express his wants in a curiously-mixed dialect of Hottentot, Dutch,
Kafir, and English, and this part of his education accomplished, Mr
Trail sent him to his friends at the larger mission station to be
trained into something like civilisation by good Mrs Cheslyn.

And now it may be told, in a few words, how May progressed in his
education; how he learned to sing hymns in a truer voice than the Kafir
children, whose notes, however, far surpassed his in melody; how he
loved to dance in the moonlight with the Fingo herds, when Mrs Cheslyn
thought they were all fast asleep in an old school-house, till their
unearthly chant brought Mr Cheslyn out among them; how when the truant
was punished, he would escape, stay away for days, and come back
afterwards with ostrich eggs; how he would sulk sometimes with his lips
out, and his eyes almost hid by the low frowning brow, run away again,
and again return; how he stood in awe of no one but Mr Trail; how, if
he was saucy to Ellen Cheslyn, it was for her sake he usually returned
from his wanderings; how he would watch her in the doorway, looking up
the road on those days when Mr Trail was expected; then as he caught a
glimpse of horse and rider, winding down the hill, he would ask her, in
Kafir, "Uza kangala nina? uza lunguzela nina apa?"--"What are you
looking for?  What are you peeping there for?"  Then, with a low
chuckle, he would spring over the _stoep_, topple head over heels down
the garden walk and through the gateway, and, with distorted limbs and
visage, hasten to give his friend and benefactor the "Good morrow,"
pointing back to the house to call attention to the watchful Ellen, and
then plunging into the thicket, laughing and singing, and as merry as a
cricket.

May's life had been comparatively free from care.  True, an outburst
from the savage tribes of Kafirs, to whom Mr Trail had been a gentle
and a kind teacher, laid his station, Westleyfield, even with the dust.
It was burnt to ashes, and all his little property with it, but his
wife, Ellen, escaped with her husband and infant to a Dutch lazar, or
encampment.  May accompanied them, sometimes as nurse, sometimes as
caterer, with a knob-kierrie (club), knocking down a buck or a bird
occasionally, and cooking the same as opportunity offered.  So they
passed on afterwards to the colony; but May, lingering behind one day,
looking for corn, which he believed to be buried in what appeared to him
a deserted _kraal_, or hamlet of huts, was pounced upon by the enemy,
who would have despatched him at once, but that one, more humane than
the rest, listened to the poor bushman's appeal, that he might be
permitted to say his prayer.  After a brutal laugh from the wretches,
who boasted that "God Almighty was dead in their land," they consented.

This circumstance saved his life.  As May cast himself prostrate on the
earth, a little party of _roed batjes_ (red jackets), commanded by a
sergeant, who happened to be reconnoitring in the neighbourhood, and who
had crept along the banks of a river, suddenly reared their heads, above
the cliffs of the Keiskama.  There lay poor May, praying aloud, while
the savages danced round him, declaiming on the greatness of their
leader, on his bravery, his prowess, flight or ten Kafirs leaped and
howled about the helpless bushman, flourishing their knob-kierries,
shaking their assegais, and varying their war-cries with imitations of
the wild beasts, to which they compared their leader: "Behold," said
one, "he is a tiger!" and there was a chorus, accompanied by the vicious
whispering growl of the stealthy brute: "he is terrible as a lion,
keen-eyed as an eagle, wise as the serpent."  Then the chorus-master
roared and shook his assegai, while the rest made their spears shiver
like the wings of passing birds, and the hiss of the serpent was
followed by the wild shout of attack upon their victim.

"The _roed batjes_!" cried the chorus-master, and the soldiers sprung
into the midst of the enemy with a hearty English cheer: the Kafirs gave
a yell of fear and disappointment, and May jumped up to find himself
surrounded by men he felt to be his friends, though they were almost as
strange to him, as regarded their appearance, as the foes from whom he
was rescued.  He gave an answering yell of triumph in imitation of the
chorus-master, as he saw the latter, with his kaross flying in the wind,
stop, mount on a stone, and fling back an assegai, which quivered
through the air, and fell within a few inches of the sergeant's feet,
who drew it up from the ground as a trophy.

"Well," said the sergeant, turning May round and round, "you are a nice
little article, ain't you, to make such a confounded row about: and
where the--did you spring from, you small chap?"

"From Westleyfield, sir," answered the bushboy, in a very tolerable
English accent.

To be brief, he related his story, and followed the soldiers.  An old
officer of the corps placed him in the service of his family; and, on
their departure for England, May was handed over to some one else, and
from his last master had been recommended to our travellers, Frankfort
and Ormsby, as an intelligent guide and trusty servant.

He had never rested after his rescue till he traced out the Trails, who
had terrible misgivings about him; but they could not prevail upon him
to return to Westleyfield; their settled mode of life was by no means so
agreeable to him as the one he led with the troops.  He could seldom be
coaxed from head-quarters, the band acted upon him as a spell; but he
grew attached to Captain Frankfort before he became his servant, and
hung about the stable with the groom, who was happy to find his
recommendation of May confirmed in a way that satisfied the sportsman.
The English groom remained at head-quarters while trusty May went up the
country with Frankfort and Ormsby.

He had married in the colony, and made a bridal tour into the Winterberg
mountains with his wife--a Christian Hottentot gin with a dash of white
blood on her father's side, of which she was justly proud!--to introduce
her to his friends the Trails, and repeated his visit on the birth of
his child, when Mr Trail christened the creature Ellen, after his wife.
They did not return to Westleyfield; that station was handed over to
the charge of an older missionary, whose tall sons made almost a
garrison of defence among themselves.

May returned to the colony with Fitje and his child.  Fitje, like
himself, had been brought up among people from whom she had imbibed
habits of civilisation,--would I could say, industry! but this would be
contrary to the nature of the Hottentot, however utter idleness and vice
may be overcome by good example: but they worked when they were
penniless, and, in spite of indolent propensities, Fitje made a good and
tender mother, and a most kind wife.  She loved gossiping in the
sunshine, she could not resist a dance to the music of the drums and
fifes; but she did not smoke a pipe, she was an excellent washerwoman,
and she was a regular attendant at the Dutch chapel.  She had a
Hottentot taste for smart _douks_, but she never tasted Cape brandy; and
when May fell under Captain Frankfort's care, she was so proud, that she
would not associate with her earlier acquaintance.  She and May had a
little Kafir hut to themselves near Frankfort's garden, and the family
of the bushman, his merry-hearted wife and good-tempered baby, presented
a picture as agreeable to look at, in a moral point of view, as that of
any independent gentleman on earth.

I think we left him retiring to his mat under the store-waggon of the
sportsmen.  Fitje and the child slept beside him soundly, albeit at
midnight the moon's rays slanted right across their swarthy faces.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning in Kafirland!  The air is filled with delicious perfume.  The
toman is spinning about in the hazy atmosphere, the jackals are quietly
wending their way across the plains, looking back at times, in brute
wonderment, perhaps at that great sun; the spider has spread her silver
tissue across the pathways to ensnare the unwary; and

        "Jocund Day
  Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain's top."

What a carpet of green and gold, variegated with the scarlet
"monkey-foot," the lonely, trembling, drooping gladiola, the agapanthus,
the geranium, brilliantly red as the lip of fabled Venus; the wreath of
jessamine and myrtle, and laurel boughs, in which the birds are awaking
to a world lovely to them!

Ah, what exquisite things hath Nature in her bounty spread before the
heathen!  They cannot be counted, they dazzle the eye and set the heart
bounding in the plenitude of a pure, inartificial enjoyment.

The Dutchman's settlement was beginning to teem with signs of life.  The
gates of the kraals were thrown open, and sheep and goats and oxen were
blending their voices with the incessant, uneasy chorus of the dogs,
while the herds divided the multitude to lead them to their separate
pastures.

The waggons of our party were already prepared to start; the hot coffee
had been thankfully enjoyed, the Kafirs paid in tobacco for their
offering of milk in tightly-woven baskets; and the Boer had come down to
say "thank you," for the pistol he had duly received.

Frankfort imparted to the Dutchman his suspicions, that some one had
been prowling about the bivouac in the early part of the night, but he
said it was unlikely; it was probably some cunning jackal, or a
herdsman's dog.  Frankfort could not help thinking it was some human
being, but Van Bloem said no.  May was already in advance of the
cavalcade, turning back now and then, with an impatient gesture at old
Piet, the chief waggon-driver, and Fitje, with her baby on her lap, and
gaily attired, is seated on the waggon-box of the largest vehicle, _en
grande dame_, being the only lady of the party.  Happy Fitje! no
rivals--the men of all degrees turn to thee with deference, thankful for
the aid of thy womanly skill, and cheered by thy merry laugh, albeit thy
mouth be none of the smallest.

"_Trek_!"  [Note 1]--what a shout!--"_Trek_!" the slash of the long whip
echoes many times, backwards, forwards, above, around, behind the
mountains and through the _kloofs_ (ravines).  May is waiting at the
turn of the winding road, half a mile off.  The train of men and
waggons, horses and dogs, moves slowly on, and the sportsmen ride gently
ahead.  But May keeps steadily in advance of all, and the dogs raise a
cry of joy as they catch sight of him when he pauses at the angle of a
hill, and stands there a minute or two, whistling as gleefully as though
he were "monarch of all he surveyed."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 1.  There can be no literal translation of this word of command,
but the oxen understand it well,--to them it means "advance," "on."



CHAPTER THREE.

THE SHIPWRECK.

We must now turn from the inland valley, with its homestead, its
cornfields, and flocks, to a very different scene,--a scene at sea.

On the day when our friends Frankfort and Ormsby were introduced to my
reader with the tempest warring round them, as they stood shelterless
with May upon the open plain, a solitary ship neared the south-eastern
coast of the great continent of Africa.  The hurricane blew there with
frenzied violence; the fiends of the storm were howling aloft among the
shrouds, the canvass cracked and rattled till it split into ribbons, and
was whirled away to the winds; the rudder had been torn from its place,
the masts groaned and shrieked, the waters frothed up in fountains of
spray, and at intervals the heavy surges swept the decks like clouds,
enveloping the vessel, and bearing it down with a force it could ill
resist.

The sailors were hanging about the ship, but there were few on deck, and
none in the shrouds, for there they could not keep their footing.

There were troops on board; the dull roll of the drum made itself
audible at times, when there was a lull, and volleys of musketry mingled
their signals of distress with the screams of affrighted women and
children,--and, alas! alas!--with the oaths of terrible men,--for it was
a convict-ship.

There were but momentary glimpses of the shore as the lightning flashes
rent in twain the dark masses of vapour hanging about the gloomy
rock-bound coast.  The captain could only guess where he was, for the
vessel had been driving all the night, and the character of the cliffs
was his only guide now.  He saw there was no help for them if the ship
continued to lie with her head to the shore, and he believed that a
sand-bank at the yawning mouth of a river would engulph them, unless the
hand of Providence cast them to the westward of this, where, as he
supposed, the sands sloped from the cliffs, on the summit of which stood
a small fortified barrack, occupied by a slender garrison of British
troops, who would render such assistance as their means permitted in
saving the lives of such as might be fortunate enough to be cast adrift
upon the coast, or be enabled to reach it by rafts, or in the launch.

The convicts had all been freed from their shackles in the early part of
the night--as soon, in fact, as the desperate situation of the ship was
ascertained; but they were kept between decks till some plan of possible
relief could be devised.  Some sat moodily in the corners of the ship,
awaiting the day, in sullen, gloomy despondency.  Some blasphemed; some
laughed in bitterness of heart, exulting in the idea, that man's
vengeance had been set at nought by a stronger power;--whether for good
or evil, they did not consider.  Some jeered at the soldiers, who bore
the jeers with unswerving spirit; and some of the women, God help them!
jeered the loudest!  One, indeed,--who had deeply considered her
position, and repented,--prayed aloud, and some drew round her to
listen, but these were few; others cursed their doom.  One soldier's
wife, a young creature with an infant in her arms, leaned against a
riven mast, crying bitterly, while her husband tried in vain to comfort
her.  Immovable as images were most of those iron soldiers, except as
they answered to the voice of command; true, even in the jaws of death,
to their country and their profession, they heard the blasphemy and the
jeers and the ribaldry of the wretched beings they guarded, without
evincing the slightest emotion.  Between the volleys of musketry, a
heavy gun occasionally boomed out its signal of distress, but it was
only echoed back from the gaping rocks of the dangerous coast; again the
small-arms awakened no answer.

Silence,--a voice of command from the poop, and all hands are called to
lower the launch.  The ship had struck several times against the sand,
shivering, as though terrified at being so assailed.  The gangways were
guarded, and the convicts not permitted to pass.  Few, indeed, attempted
it, though all had been unmanacled; but discipline, in hours of
difficulty and danger, is generally more than a match for strength.

The launch was lowered with a will, by those who would have no right to
enter it.  It was appropriated, of course, to the women and children,
and those who were to have the charge of it were appointed by lot.

There was no confusion; those who drew planks turned calmly away, and
went to other duties, while the guardians of the launch marshalled its
passengers in funeral order, and they were cautiously lowered into it.

There were two officers in command of the convict guard; the elder was
married; his wife looked quite a child, she was barely eighteen.
Melancholy it was to see her clinging to her husband, and begging to be
left with him on that deck, which began already to open its seams, and
show the water boiling below.  She threw herself on her knees at last,
and implored him to let her die there with him.

"Marmaduke, my love, my husband, do not send me from you;" and, turning
to the captain, who gently implored her, for the sake of her unborn
infant, to endeavour to save herself, she replied, in a voice of
indescribable calmness, "Sir, those whom God has joined, let no man put
asunder; I will not leave my husband."

Then a boy midshipman came forward, and begged the officer to take _his_
place in the launch, but Captain Dorian would not leave his men; and now
everything was prepared to cut away the boat from the ship, and Mrs
Dorian stood firmly by her husband.

I have alluded to the knowledge, such as it was, that the captain had of
the coast they had been nearing for so considerable a time.  He was not
mistaken in his conjectures that they were within gun-range of a part of
the shore guarded by a garrison of British soldiers.

See a signal!--the clouds have been lifted by the merciful hand of
Providence; and, though the answering gun from the tower of the little
fort cannot be heard, in consequence of the wind setting in-shore, and
the elements outvying each other in noise at sea, the flash is
distinctly visible.  Captain Dorian persuades the poor young creature
that there is help close at hand; appeals to her in the character of a
soldier, who expects his wife to assist him in setting an example of
firmness; points out to her the selfishness of her wish to remain thus
unmanning him in his military duties; and, passive, stupified, at last,
she suffers him to carry her to the ship's side, and she takes her place
in the launch.

Dorian looked at her as she lifted her eyes in a wild way to him.  She
stretched out her hands, as if imploring him to call her back.  A
white-crested wave sweeps over her, and throws her down; she tries to
rise; she sees her husband with clasped hands praying for her; she waves
hers in reply, and Dorian is called away on duty.

He speaks coolly and decidedly; he gives the necessary orders to an old
sergeant, but is stopped by the screams of the unhappy women on the
deck, who are hoping that the launch may come back for them.  A strong
rope had been affixed to the ship, and it had been decided that this,
being also connected with the launch, should be fastened ashore by any
means that the will of Providence might offer.  The rope was strong, but
the rottenness of the ship's timbers was proved in a sudden and
appalling manner.  The poor soldiers had congregated in that part of the
vessel to which the rope had been made last.  I have already said that
the seams of the deck had opened, leaving here and there a large space;
still the captain, officers, and crew were in hopes that she would hold
together till she was driven on the sands, and by that time they
anticipated further help by means of the launch, the rope, and perhaps
some surf-boats, if the detachment possessed any, as was probable, from
the garrison being a depot for stores brought thither by coasters.

An awful crash took place; the great ship parted, and the poor anxious
watchers of the launch were precipitated into the foaming ocean.

The miserable convicts rushed upon what remained of the deck.  They
shouted, they sang, they chattered, they uttered ribald jests; they
climbed the rigging, and swung aloft.  It gave way under their feet.
Some seemed to revel in the freedom of the unchained air; they clustered
along the yards like bees.  Now the ship's bows are drawn into the
surge; now the shattered poop sinks beneath the waves; now the sea
overwhelms the decks, sweeping living aid inanimate things in its
vortex; and now, oh God! the great beams gape and yawn and part asunder,
and see the wretches are jammed in between; a mast is shivered, a block
falls, and strikes an old man down; his eyes burst from their sockets,
his head is bruised and battered, his limbs quiver, and his fingers are
convulsed.  The deck opens again; the bounding: sea bursts up, and draws
into its relentless jaws more than one victim!

The ship was fairly breaking up.  Some rushed to the forecastle, some
looked despairingly from the poop--Between the fore and after part there
was soon an impassable gulf.

At the scream, which drew the attention of Dorian and his sergeant from
the arrangements they were making, the former rushed to the poop.  He
saw the brave fellows who had been swept off struggling in the waters,
trying to regain the shattered vessel.  They perished every one of them!
At any other time he would have been stunned by the sight, but his eyes
are strained beyond it; fixed in an aching gaze upon the launch, he can
distinguish no one in her now; her passengers seem all huddled together:
he turns round on hearing the mast crashing over the ship's side; he is
shocked at the sight of the mutilated old man.  Again he turns; his eyes
seek the rocks, above which he has seen the flash of the signal-gun; he
fancies he hears the echoes rolling along the cliffs; he distinguishes
another momentary light; the launch is hidden between two watery
mountains, but she rises; he would give worlds to use a spy-glass, but
it is impossible; but he needs it not; he sees the launch again with
terrible distinctness.  She has turned over, she goes down!  He sees no
more; many of his gallant soldiers have perished in the boiling element
beneath him, and he springs forward in his despair to join his flair and
child-like wife.

They were found afterwards cast ashore, strange to say, not far from
each other; and the captain of the detachment, as commandant of the
fortress, read the funeral service over them with a faltering voice;
they sleep together in a grove of oaks.  The spot was chosen because the
trees that flourished there reminded passers-by of England.

Signals were now distinctly heard from the heights, and soldiers were
gathered on the cliffs watching the ill-starred convict-ship.  Oh, to
see the arms of the maddened wretches stretched towards the shore!
Some, like Captain Dorian, cast themselves in a frenzy upon the angry
waters; some strive to lash themselves to spars; another boat is
lowered, with provisions hastily thrown into it; three or four bold
spirits tempt the surges in the fragile bark, and it is swept towards
the river's mouth, is whirled round in the sparkling eddies, and
disappears.

It is of one of these "bold spirits" I have to speak.

I have said that the convicts were relieved from their fetters as soon
as the vessel became unmanageable.

Sternly awaiting his fate in a dark corner of the labouring and bunting
ship, sat a man of some eight-and-twenty years of age; his arms were
clasped round a gun, and thus he steadied himself as well as he could.

Strangely indifferent he seemed to the howling of the winds, the
rattling of the cordage, the falling of spars, the crash of timbers, and
the imprecations of his fellow-convicts amid the scream of frightened
women.  At times he sneered at the frantic gestures of a soldier's wife,
who was sitting on the deck, with a baby on her lap, rocking herself to
and fro and bemoaning her hard fate, and that of her family, most
bitterly, at the same time directing her husband and children in certain
preparations for leaving the ship, if they should be so fortunate as to
succeed in doing so.  Her advice and admonitions were interlarded with
various expressions of terror, sorrow, affection, and anxiety.

"Oh, Micky O'Toole!  Och, wirasthrue, my darlint; sure when we played at
the same door-step as childer, I didn't think we'd come to this.  Och,
Larry, my child, the mother that owns you is breaking her heart.  Alice,
say your prayers, fast--say them fast, allannan; true for ye, my
darlints, this day we'll be in glory; pray up, Ally, pray up, Larry, the
saints be wid us.  Micky O'Toole, what did you do wid the little bundle
of cloth I put up to go ashore wid?  Oh, the vanity of me; sure didn't
the priest tell me I'd be punished for setting myself up wid a sunshade
(parasol), when you were made a corpular.  Ochon a rhee, my heart is
broke!

"They'll be missing us at the harvest, Micky; they'll be dancing widout
us, and we drowned--drowned.  Oh, Micky!"  A wailing cry from the baby
made its mother weep more bitterly, but still she occasionally recalled
her scattered wits to console her children.

Not far from Lee, the convict, was stretched, in a listless attitude, a
young man, who seemed little more than twenty years of age.  He also was
one of the condemned; but no one could have recognised him as a criminal
by his appearance, which was exceedingly prepossessing.  His thoughts
were apparently wandering; for though his countenance expressed awe,
there was resignation also.  He was looking for a better life than the
career mapped out before him as a felon.  In the great crisis taking
place, there was hope for him somewhere.  The wretched welcome any
change.  He awaited it passively.

But his heart was touched at sight of a penitent creature, who bewailed
her past errors in an agony of self-reproach, as she uttered the names
of father, mother, brothers, and sisters; at times exclaiming, "Oh
Jamie, Jamie, ye'll be sorry when ye hear of poor Jessie's end."

"Mother, mother!" was the last appeal of the unhappy young woman, as she
was washed away by the booming waves through a gap in the wreck.

But Lee saw not this; he was smiling at the scene between Mrs O'Toole
and her family.

Ere long he had unlashed the boat, assisted in throwing in provisions,
and, casting himself into the frail vessel with two other comrades,
committed himself to what he called chance.

At length the muskets ceased their roll, the drum its sullen round.  The
ship had struggled bravely; the fore and after parts sometimes jamming
each other, and then parting.  Both were now engulphed.  The death-cry
rose above the roar of the foam, and the noise of falling spars and
blocks; and sea-chests, ship furniture, all that had been carefully
gathered together by the hand of man, were cast into the ocean.

Now a man, lifted on the crest of a wave, saw his wife, and struggled to
reach her; but she was swept past him with her eyes glaring madly.  Now
a woman, with features all convulsed, snatched up some passing child,
and cast it from her when she found it was not her own.  Now the prow
neared the shore, and a young officer sprang from the bowsprit into the
sea; dizzy with the leap, he closed his eyes--and opened them--oh,
blessed hour!--in a tent pitched on the cliff for the reception of those
cast on the strand.

The detachment of English soldiers had assembled on the cliff at the
first signal of distress fired from the convict-ship.  They had waited
there from midnight until dawn, knowing by the nearer sound of the guns
and small-arms that she must be driving towards the shore; but they
could give no aid; they could only abide the issue patiently, and
meanwhile make such preparations as might possibly be useful.

The barrack they occupied was situated on the western bank of a river,
the entrance to which, in the present agitated state of the open ocean,
formed almost a Maelstrom.  As day dawned, and the convict-ship was seen
driven in-shore, it was evident to the lookers-on that she must go to
pieces; for fringing the shore was a narrow line of sharp and jagged
rock, and at the very edge of this the ship's bows were already beating.
Still it was doubtful on which side of the river she might be cast
ashore, or whether, indeed, she might pass the whirlpool foaming at its
mouth; for the ledge or shelf, over which the breakers burst with
increased violence every hour, extended across the opening, and made a
bar, which rendered it unnavigable.  On either side of the stream the
sands stretched for miles, and the ocean washed the shore with a hoarse
and endless roar; but not with such destructive powers as it did above
or below the river's mouth.  On the western side, especially, there was
more chance for the poor creatures struggling for their lives, inasmuch
as the sands beneath the cliffs were not of that shifting nature which
rendered anchorage impossible on the eastern limits; besides which,
whoever escaped drowning, by being flung upon the eastern bank, stood a
chance of having his brains dashed out by detached masses of rock that
had rolled from the cliffs, and were embedded in the shore.  Near the
mouth of the stream, indeed, many an incautious rider, on his way from
Kafirland, had been well-nigh overwhelmed by the quicksands.

Fortunately for those who had outlived the storm so far, the tide drew
the two divisions of the wreck, partially submerged as they were, on the
safer bank of the stream; the colonial side, in feet, of a river
dividing the territory of the British settlers from the "neutral ground"
of the savage inhabitants of the north-east.  It was found afterwards
that the two portions of the ill-fated ship had been connected by means
of various spars and cordage interlaced beneath the waters; but she had
not been many minutes fairly among the breakers ere she literally
crumbled to pieces, and scattered her timbers on the waters.

Out of three hundred souls, not more than eighty were saved.  Some swam
till their strength was exhausted, some gave themselves up to their fate
like the young soldier, who spread out his arms, closed his eyes, and
plunged from the poop to the sea; some clung to spars, boxes, tables,
hencoops, anything that came in their way.  All who reached the shore
received the hospitable care of the kind soldiers of the fort, and
afterwards pursued their different routes and destinies as Providence
directed, after preserving them for the fulfilment of its own wise and
grand purposes.

The boat which had been disengaged almost unperceived by Lee, and the
two other convicts, continued to buffet the waves most gallantly.  It
reached the entrance of the river--here the rowers used their strong
arms for a time in vain, and there seemed no other prospect than that of
being engulphed, when suddenly the boat rose, as if lifted in air, over
the bar of rocks I have described, and, shot into the stream, was sucked
into a kind of whirlpool, where it spun round like a top, filled and
went down for a few minutes, but came back to the surface empty.  Lee
was drawn down with his fellows; his eyes and ears filled, and his
senses failed him: he had an indistinct vision of the convulsed features
of the other two struggling below him, and of a gurgling sound from one
who tried to scream; but all afterwards was blank till he came to his
recollection stretched on a bed of sand, which ran inland from a creek
overhung with bush.

It was a considerable time before he could bring himself to understand
the reality of his position; but at length he rallied his intellect, and
sat up to look around him.

The storm still raged--not a vestige of the wreck was to be seen, and
the boat, broken in pieces, was lying high and dry between the rocks,
with which the bush was intersected; the body of one poor drowned wretch
was floating, all swollen and disfigured, in the creek.  Jasper Lee rose
by a sudden impulse, and scrambled as far from the sight as his cramped
and aching limbs would allow him; the stunted bush or scrub, by which he
tried to climb the cliffs, gave way in his hands, his feet slipped on
the streaming and slippery weeds; but he reached a ledge at last, and
taking "heart of grace," he scanned the prospect before him.

Evening was advancing, though as to when the sun was likely to withdraw
his influence from that hemisphere, it was impossible to say.  Sky and
ocean were blended together in a hue of lead, and the glancing wings of
sea-birds looked like gleams of silver light between the angry heavens
and the warring sea.  His eye fell only on the void expanse.  He had
cast himself down on an angle of the cliffs which jutted far out, and
during a momentary lull, the wind brought the sound of drums from the
garrison on the opposite shore.  He looked down immediately below, he
perceived some rotten pieces of timber floating by; he expected to see
some human creature still living, for many had lashed themselves to
spars and masts, and might yet be tossing about at the mercy of the
waves.  He stretched himself as far forward as he could, and looking to
the westward, where the light of day was lingering longer than
elsewhere, he distinctly saw groups of soldiers, engaged in assisting
those who had been cast ashore below the fort.

He fancied he heard voices, he looked down.  Immediately under his feet
there were, as it seemed, phantoms floating by; some dead, some with
agonised faces and beseeching hands lifted out of the white foam, and
one saw him--she was young and fair, with long tresses, all unbound,
clinging round her white throat and bosom; she seemed to give a gasp of
hope; he leaned over; hardened man as he was, he would have given much
to have saved her; the swell brought her nearer, she saw him; still she
herself tried with desperate energy to catch a ridge of rocks,--she
reached it, the heavy waters swung her forward with terrific violence,
the sweet face was lifted up again.  Lee was about to cast himself at
all hazards from his position, when a stream of blood darkened the white
spray, and the head of a shark came up, its huge jaws were filled with
the mangled and bleeding limbs of its victim, and the horrible
sea-monster drew its prey into an inlet where it had been driven by the
storm.

He buried his face in his hands, turned sick, and almost fainted; after
this he looked no more towards the sea, and ere long found himself
obliged, for safety's sake, to reconnoitre the locality in which he had
awoke to consciousness after so narrow an escape.

His condition was forlorn enough; his clothes hung in shreds upon him,
his hair was matted with brine, his body was sorely bruised, his hands
and feet lacerated; but it must be confessed, that, in spite of the
horrors he had witnessed, his spirits rose fresh and buoyant, as he
remembered that he was at liberty; though houseless, naked, cold,
hungry, and bleeding, it was not in his nature to despair.

He turned his eyes again to the westward, and on climbing higher, he
discovered the wall of the fort, with its tower in the angle and its
looped parapet.  Soldiers were still straggling up and down the cliff,
intent, as they had been for hours, on their humane efforts in saving
life, and the remnant of property which had been thrown ashore with the
tide.

"Ha!" muttered the convict, "I am on the right side of the river;
they've had their glasses out at the fort, no doubt; but they cannot
pass this, frothing as it does at the mouth, like a wild beast, for a
week to come.  Well, some will fancy themselves in luck when they get
within those four tall walls, and some may have their chains dangling
about their heels again; but this way of escaping death is not to my
taste.  I have work before me, I know; but what would life be without
any difficulties!  What a stupid life would Adam and Eve have led
without sin!  A true woman, Eve; disobedience gave the flavour to the
fruit!  Well, I have no objection to difficulties, and although I don't
abide by the trash that gives chapter and verse about first causes, I
know I have not been planted on this continent again for nothing.  It
must be owned, though, that I have had a precious welcome;" and, wiping
the blood from his temple, he sat down again, for he was somewhat
exhausted in body, though untiring in spirit.

The clouds fell lower and lower, and shed no more reflected light; a
pitchy darkness followed.  Lee gathered himself up between the bush and
the wet and slippery bank, and lay down to dream of a surging sea, of
pale beseeching faces and mangled bodies of young and beautiful women.
The tide was again rising, and he dared not descend, so he determined on
waiting till the dawn, and then commencing a search for the provisions
which had been put into the boat, and which he hoped he might find
attached to some fragment of her wreck, for they had been securely
lashed to one of the seats.

Towards midnight, as the tide receded, the fury of the tempest seemed to
abate, and just as day peeped with affrighted eye from the east, our
convict ventured from the shelf on which he had been uneasily stretched
during the hours of darkness.

A dense fog hung over the river; the wind came in gusts from the ocean,
and some of the trees above the cliffs were torn up by the roots and
cast midway among the stones and scrub.  The solitude was perfect to a
man in Lee's position, and the tide having left a spacious strand, he
let himself down from his covert, and began to make a search for the
necessaries of life.

The wreck of the boat was lying where he had seen it the preceding
evening, and, after a patient search, the hungry man discovered the
bundle of provisions.  It was saturated with wet, the rain fell around
in torrents, there was not a spot of ground on which real repose could
be sought; but Lee sat down and satisfied his wants with a relish
indescribably keen.

Let us take a view of him, resting on the dreary strand, having
refreshed himself with a moderate meal of biscuit and salt pork, the
latter, of course, uncooked, but to him most savoury.

In the prime of life, highly favoured in personal appearance, with the
spirit of intelligence lighting his clear grey eye, and with the stamp
of the better class upon his frame and countenance, how came he there--a
convict?

At this moment he was intent chiefly on one point: he was determined to
avoid all chance of further captivity or restraint.

As the fog was lifted from the river by the evening breeze, he felt the
necessity of keeping out of sight of any stragglers about the opposite
heights.  He inspected the bulky package of provisions: a bag of damaged
biscuits, some lumps of salt pork, a case of dried fruit--cabin
property--a canister of cocoa, and various other articles, which had
been hastily thrown into a bundle, and now adhered together like glue.

These stores were exceedingly precious to one in our adventurer's
condition.

But the clouds began to gather again; floods of rain poured their
torrents down the channels in the cliffs, and he determined without
delay, and unmindful of his fatigue, which he felt the more after his
meal, to seek a hiding-place which would be secure from intruders,
although there appeared little chance of any one intruding on his
territory.

All along that riverside deep indentations had been made below the
cliffs by the encroachments of the sea, and Lee was not long in
discovering a cave which penetrated far under them.  There was not much
time to lose in conveying the provisions to this covert ere the path was
rendered soft, and therefore dangerous, by the swell of the tide as it
turned again, and Lee was beginning to doubt the safety of the shelter,
when, on drawing his bag of provisions to seek stowage for it at the
furthest limits of the recess, he discovered that the chasm was deep and
wide, and lighted slantwise by an aperture many feet above the level of
the river.  His thirst had been heretofore allayed by the channel of
rain-water rippling down the face of the cliffs, and he was beginning to
doubt how he should be supplied in his retreat it compelled to remain
there anytime after such supplies should cease; when, to his
satisfaction, he convinced himself that a little stream, which trickled
into the cave through a crevice, had its source in one of those
bountiful and sweet springs so often discovered near the sea-shore, and
which, in spite of their brackish taste, are so exquisitely refreshing
to the exhausted traveller.

This was just one of those pieces of luck which often seem to rise in
aid of the vicious,--but we may not question the decrees of Providence.
God has his own reasons for letting the tares thrive for a time, though
the harvest of wheat be thin.

On the whole, Lee had reason to rejoice in having discovered such a
retreat for the present.  He had sufficient stores to support life for
some days; he was free, after his own ideas of freedom; space before
him, above, around, with nothing to guide him but his own free will; he
thought not of check or hazard, for no man held authority over him.

Misty, vague, dark, dreary, was his future; but it was not so utterly
lost in the darkness as it would have been to a stranger on that great
continent of Africa.

Contented at first with the comparative shelter he had so opportunely
discovered, he had seated himself on a stone, and surveyed the interior
of his domicile; but the various plans which floated about his busy
brain wanted gathering together and arranging, and he found himself ere
long overshadowed by the gloom of night.  Though his wits were sharp,
his body was weary, and growing stiff with cold.  The river murmured
hoarsely past the cave; the wind came in gusts through the crevices of
the rocks, and penetrated to the very marrow of his bones.  The outline
of the opposite bluff looked like the frowning profile of a giant, when
at intervals the clouds were parted by the broad flashes of lightning;
for the storm at times still wreaked its fury against the rugged coast.

Having collected the damp leaves of fallen trees together in a heap, the
convict made a very tolerable bed, throwing over them a long strip of
green baize, the table-cover of the cuddy, which had been appropriated
as a wrapper to the provisions.

The wind still kept up its "sound of mournful wailing," and whistled
through the gaps in the cave; the spray foamed within fifty yards of the
entrance; the thunder came back at times with a mutter frill of wrath,
and his clothes were still wet; but our convict was lulled to sleep by
the roaring of the mighty elements, which held their strife around his
place of refuge.

Now and then he started up, as livid faces rose before him in his sleep;
and at last the excessive cold roused him, and he was thoroughly
awakened.  Darkness was around him, and the stream, flowing down its
channel, dripped over on to the stones, and plashed upon his almost
benumbed feet.  He crawled towards the aperture; there was a little
light, just enough to watch the tide, till, by its retrograde movement,
he was able to make a random guess at the "time o' night," or rather
morning.  Shivering and melancholy, he crouched, with his head upon his
knees, and, as his eye got accustomed to the outer atmosphere, he began
to see stars.  A body of clouds floated seawards, the wind veered about,
and he again perambulated the shore in search of something for fuel.
Day advanced, and he stumbled over a few cask-hoops; they were soaked
with wet; but with the help of a remnant of a well-pitched spar from the
wrecked boat, he determined on tiring to kindle a fire.  Flints were
searched for, and again Providence provided for his present wants.

He re-entered the recess; but, on consideration, deemed it prudent to
take some further steps for insuring his concealment.

The rocks had been so washed, while the tide was up, by the spray of the
surging river, that some of those which hung over the cave were
loosened.  It was a matter of skill and difficulty to separate even the
smaller ones from the earth in which they had been imbedded; but Lee was
a man of great personal strength, and, one block giving way, it bore
down with it a heap of sand and a tree, which had been uprooted, thus
undermining all that immediately surrounded it.  The whole mass fell in
front of the cavern.

There was not much time to lose, as the daylight might betray the
refugee; so making a passage for himself through the stones and rubbish
forming his barrier of defence, he re-entered his hiding-place, and set
to work to light a fire.

This was not easy; at one moment a stick would catch the flame, blaze
up, and disappoint him by dying so gradually away as to keep him hoping
to the last; at length the pitch grew hot.  He had uttered oaths enough
to bring the spirits of fire to his aid.  The smoke rose in little
columns, and made his eyes smart with pain; but he persevered till the
light danced upon the steaming and jagged walls, showing him his shadow,
monstrous and undefined.  The vapour found vent in the aperture opening
to seaward, through which the spray had ceased to drift; and ere long
some slices of ship's pork hissed on the glowing billets.  A soldier's
tin served as a kettle and drinking-cup, and Lee contrived to make
something like a cup of cocoa.  After such refreshment his blood flowed
more freely in his veins, and he once more lay down to rest, intending
to keep his wits about him though sleeping, and to replenish his fire,
with a cautious observance of the outer atmosphere from time to time;
for, although a turbid and swollen river intervened between him and the
colonial side of the country, he had no mind to be tracked, by the smoke
of his bivouac, by any wanderers, whether Europeans or natives.

He felt, indeed, tolerably secure; rightly judging that the Europeans on
the western bank would have enough to do on their own ground, and that
the few _whom he knew_ to be scattered to the north-eastward would be as
unlikely as the natives to hear of the wreck while the heavy rains
filled the rivers to overflowing and rendered the ground dangerous and
toilsome alike to riders and pedestrians.  If Kafirs did venture out on
foot, he knew enough of them to satisfy himself that their journeys
would be undertaken to some better purpose than loitering on the coast
without sure prospects of plunder.

He again lay down, and enjoyed that species of repose which gives ease
to the body without completely deadening the powers of the mind; and it
must be owned that his conscience was by no means so harassed by trouble
or remorse, as from his outward position one would think it must be.  In
his own estimation Lee was an ill-used, unfortunate man; and, as to the
latter, truth to tell, his reasons for thinking so were not altogether
fallacious.

He is a felon; but the circumstances which have brought him to his
present condition have met with extenuation from some: of this,
by-and-by.

Hush! the earth is loosened without; Lee hears it faffing about the
entrance.  Some small stones come clattering down, and then there is
silence.

The strong man's heart beats, and he clutches the clasp-knife hanging
round his neck, and tries to open it, but his hand trembles; a strong
current of air rushes in, the fire flickers up, and the shadow of a
man's face is for an instant traced on the rocky side of the cave.

It is suddenly withdrawn.

Lee revolved the circumstances of his case in a few seconds.  He felt
sure it was a white man's shadow, even at that momentary glance; the
outline of the loose cap and prominent nose was unmistakeable.  It might
be a mend--a fellow-convict--a sailor; if the latter, Jack would die
rather than betray the fugitive.  But if it were any who might, after
all, turn informer, he would doubtless report that the cave was
tenanted, and bring down a file of soldiers upon him, unless the
clasp-knife settled the question, which it was not likely to do in its
rusty condition.  Lee's powers of body were a little impaired by the
perils he had undergone, and the exertions he had been obliged to make
in screening his hiding-place, as he hoped, from all observers.

But he was discovered, that was certain.

"Who comes there?" he cried, in a voice that shook more than he wished
to confess to himself.  "Enter, I am armed."

"Lee," hoarsely whispered a voice, issuing from lips within which the
teeth chattered audibly,--"It is I, Martin Gray."

"And where the devil did _you_ cast up from?" asked Lee, in no very
gracious voice, and sitting up with ears and eyes now wide open.

"I am starved, and miserable, and hungry," was Gray's reply, as he
scrambled through all impediments in his path, and crawling into the
cave, began unceremoniously to draw together the embers of the fire.

"Are there any more of you?" inquired Lee, hastily.

"Not one.  I have been skewered up in a hole ever since I was flung
ashore.  I got hitched on to the rudder of the boat when it broke away,
and except a few bumps, I was all right when I got driven in between the
rocks, and there I have been wedged for hours, for I dared not stir,
except in the dark, when I could find nothing.  I had no mind to be
caught by the soldiers up there on the hill, so I have been creeping
along under the rocks looking for luck in some shape or another, and
what should I see, but a glimpse of light from this quarter?  Friend or
foe, it was all the same to me; I resolved to take my chance, and here I
am."

Martin Gray was the young man I have alluded to as lying passively on
the deck of the staggering ship--he had, like others, sprung into the
sea, to take his chance, and clinging to a spar, had been providentially
washed ashore.

Lee had had much opportunity of judging of Gray's character, which,
though not without good, wanted strength and resolution; he was less
wicked than unfortunate.  There was this difference between the two: Lee
would most probably, under any circumstances, have been ambitious,
selfish, and unsound in principle, while Gray, with better fortunes,
would have made a respectable member of society: warm of temperament, he
was docile of disposition; he was, in fact, the very person to be
influenced by a strong and determined mind, under circumstances like
those in which he was now cast.

In Lee's forlorn condition, he felt there was comfort in fellowship,
with so "safe a fellow as poor Gray," and he therefore set about
proffering hospitality to his guest with a good grace, especially
considering the limited extent of his larder.  The meat again hissed
upon the coals, the batch of damp biscuits was re-toasted, and Gray
brewed another cup of cocoa--what a treat it was!

If you have been shipwrecked, reader, as I have been, you will
understand this.

Gray having dried his torn clothes, and satisfied the inward cravings of
nature, not without warnings from Lee on the dangers of indigestion from
too hurried a meal after a long fast, which warnings were entirely
self-interested, recommended that the fire should be extinguished, lest
its smoke should betray their hiding-place at sunrise; "though, to tell
the truth," the young man added, "I am much more inclined to surrender
myself than to take my chance; for what is to become of us?"

"Surrender!" cried Lee; "what, with such a country before us as I know
this to be?  No, no, my lad, you'll not surrender; trust to me, there is
nothing to lose by taking our freedom, and what prospects are there
before us, if we give ourselves up?  You, for one, would be packed off
to New South Wales by the first opportunity.  As for me--I have said it
before--I had rather fall into the hands of God than those of man: here
is space enough for even my free spirit, and with a little caution, and
patience, and perseverance, I will take you into safe quarters for
life!"

Gray was too weary to enter upon further discussion, and the two
convicts stretching themselves side by side, the former was soon dead
asleep, while Lee lay meditating an infinite variety of plans.

"This youth is safe," soliloquised the host of the the cave; "he must be
taught to keep my counsel and his own, for although hereafter he may be
rather an incumbrance to me than of use, it will not do to let him go,--
he would betray me, to a certainty.  He has roughed it and seen service;
though he is not clever, he has lots of pluck; on the whole, perhaps, I
may make him useful, and it would be deuced lonely work to find my way
across the country without any help.  We must look about for arms; I saw
large pieces of the wreck drifting this way after the crazy old craft
went to pieces.

"I wish I had not seen that girl, though.  I cannot forget her; how the
blood bubbled up with the foam!

"The wind has changed, I suspect, but the river will be impassable to
those red-jackets for days to come; we must collect our traps together
without loss of time, and make ready for a start; I must do the amiable
to this lad; he is a soft-hearted youth, I know.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"That fellow Tanner, I wonder if he is still trafficking up there in the
kloof; he is an infernal rogue; I hope he won't turn informer--I think
not, though, for I could betray him, and he knows it."

He rapidly chalked out in his mind's eye a map of his plans, and as he
heard the wind again veering about to all points of the compass, and at
last return to its deadly quarter, from which it had breathed its fury
on the hapless ship, he rubbed his hands cheerfully together.  "Blow,
gentle gales," said he, and as Gray answered the apostrophe with a loud
snore, Lee laughed and lay down, taking care to appropriate to himself a
goodly portion of the green baize coverlet.  Ere long he, too, was in a
dreamless sleep.



CHAPTER FOUR.

THE DESERTER.

It is time to give our reader some further insight into the
circumstances which had brought these two sleepers to their present
condition, for they will occupy a prominent and peculiar part in the
narrative.

Although Gray is the last adventurer on the scene, I will give him the
precedence, since all that is necessary to relate concerning his
previous history may be comprised in the following sketch.

He was the foremost boy of the village school of M--, industrious,
high-spirited, and well-looking; he made slow but steady progress in his
education, and his pastor entertained fair hopes touching his future
prospects; but these hopes were suddenly overclouded by Gray's enlisting
into a company of artillery quartered at a neighbouring town.

Thus it fell out.  Let us go back to his earliest days, when he had been
accustomed to stop at his uncle's garden-gate to call for his cousin
Katy on his way to school.  She would come with her school-bag hanging
on her arm and singing down the walk as merry as a bird, and hand in
hand they would wend their way along the lane to the school-house, where
they parted at the porch with a tender but most innocent farewell, she
for the girls' class, he for the boys'.  On Sundays they stood side by
side round the pulpit to recite their catechism--often, however,
threatened with a separation, because Martin Gray _would_ prompt Katy.

On Sunday evenings in the summer prime they sat beneath the apple-trees
in the garden belonging to Martin's bereaved father, and on winter
nights it was cheering to see the light glowing on the walls and shining
through the cottage casements; for there were the three assembled round
the fire, Martin reading to earnest auditors.

A sorrowful evening hour it was for Katy, when her cousin parted with
her at her own door.  Love, and joy, and peace, all departed with him,
and she exchanged happiness for the misery of finding her father and
mother quarrelling after their return from the alehouse.  Morning would
chase away the sad thoughts the darkness had brought.  Morning brought
healing on its wings, for then Katy and Martin were again hand in hand,
singing through the lanes, and gathering primroses or crocuses on their
way to the school-house.

Then Katy "got a place;" her mother thought it a very fine thing indeed,
to have her daughter admitted as under-housemaid at the Hall.  Katy and
her cousin met at church on alternate Sundays, Katy growing smarter and
prettier in Martin's eyes every time he saw her; but he began to find
out that the dashing valets, who accompanied their showy masters to the
Hall, were freely permitted to join him and Katy in their summer evening
strolls.  He remonstrated.  Katy was clever and self-opinionated.  She
replied that she was not a school-girl; he quizzed the valets; she
observed they were _gentlemen_ to him, adding that Mrs White, the
housekeeper, thought she demeaned herself by keeping company with such
as he; he grew angry, Katy laughed at him, and one of her admirers,
passing by, hearing the laugh, paused, stepped up to her, learned the
cause of the merry peal, and walked off with her in triumph.

She looked in vain for Martin at church on the following Sunday; she
dawdled through the churchyard, and her friend, "My Lord Wellor's
valet," overtook her: he thought she was lingering for him.  She did not
drive him away, as she had discarded poor Martin Gray, with a laugh, but
she was evidently thinking of some one else.  With all his vanity, he
guessed as much, and quitted her to join some gay ladies'-maids, who
were flaunting along the meadow path.  Katy never noticed them, though
they watched her all across the meadow, out at the gate, up the lane to
the turnstile, where she stood for a while, but turned back, and so met
the giddy party again.

It was now her turn to feel the bitterness of laughter, when directed
against herself; for the prettiest of the party, a rival of hers in the
affections of Lewis the valet, cried out, "Well, Mistress Kate, were you
looking for your sweetheart, Martin Gray?  It is all of no use, my dear;
he is gone for a soldier."

"Gone for a soldier!"  Katy passed the giddy waiting-women and their
obsequious attendant, and hastened to the nursery garden of Martin's
father.  He was sitting alone beneath the apple boughs.  The pathway was
unswept, the clove pinks streeling over the neat box borders.  He looked
very sad, indeed.  "Uncle," said Katy, with white lips, "where is
Martin?"

"Gone for a soldier, Katy," replied the old gardener, striking his
gnarled oaken stick angrily on the gravel path.

"Oh, uncle!"  Katy burst into a passionate fit of weeping.

"It is no use crying now, Katy," said Gray, "it is too late;" and
rising, but not without difficulty, for he was an infirm man, "well
stricken in years," he walked towards the cottage, Katy following him
like a culprit.

The elder Gray did not close his door upon his pretty niece; in truth,
he could only suspect her as being the cause of his boy's departure, for
Martin had formed some military acquaintances latterly; but one of; his
son's last acts had been to collect some gifts, which this father knew
to be "keepsakes from Katy," and these were lying on the window-sill,
packed up and addressed to "Miss Katharine, at the Hall."

Martin had left; the cottage two days before with a sergeant of
artillery, who had long had designs of enlisting so fine a young man,
and from the adjoining town had addressed, a few lines to his father.
He spoke of his wish for other countries, of the Artillery service being
one of a superior character, as he considered, to the Line, and
anticipated great satisfaction at speedily embarking for Gibraltar; not
a word was said or Katy, not a single regret was expressed at the idea
of leaving his native village, and from the style of the letter, it was
very evident that it was written as a matter of duty to the old man--all
sorrow at quitting him was superseded by the anticipation of visiting
far lands.  The father laid the letter on the table, and observing, for
the first time, the parcel on the window-sill, he wiped the mist from
his spectacles, read the direction, and formed his opinion of Martin's
reasons for leaving home.

"Don't open it here, if you please," said old Gray, as he put the parcel
into his niece's hands.

He sat down in his accustomed corner; Katy placed herself in the tall,
old-fashioned arm-chair in front of the window, and Martin's dog, a
long-haired shaggy terrier, lay with its nose to the ground in an
attitude of expectation, which had doubtless been increased by the
entrance of Katy; as she had come, he thought his master must soon
follow.

There were various trifles belonging to the lad scattered about the room
and its walls.  The whip he used when he drove his father's cart into
town--Katy had often heard it _whish_ close to her ear as the tip of the
lash touched the smart blue ribbons of her bonnet, causing her to turn
round sooner than she had intended, though she had recognised the steady
"trot, trot," of the rough-coated aged pony long before.  A starling
hopped up and down its perch in a cage manufactured by young Gray, and
made its alternate appeals to "Katy" and "Martin."  Festoons of birds'
eggs hung over the neatly-carved wooden mantel-shelf, also the handiwork
of Martin Gray; and a few of his pencil sketches, of much promise, were
wafered against the clean white-washed walls.  His books were all in
their usual places on the shelves he had made for them; and the cat--
ungrateful creature--purred with unaltered complacency, as she sat on
the door-mat woven by the ready fingers of her young master, to whom
Katy had given her three years before.

Heartless Tibby!--she nodded and dozed, and blinked her green eyes at
the sunset, and washed her face with her white fore paws, just as she
had done two Sundays before, when Martin was calling to her in vain from
his seat beside his father under the apple-trees; but poor Grip was ill
at ease, whining from time to time as he looked at Katy, then at the old
man, at the open door, at puss--the selfish, the luxurious, the
apathetic, the antipodes of Grip himself.

Katy found, after sitting there some minutes, that her uncle could not
speak.  The very clock was silent, for it had not been wound up on
Saturday night; it had always been Martin's task to see to that.  She
went up to the old man, kissed him, and wished him good-bye.  He
suffered all this, and at last faltered out a few words intended to be
kind.  She looked back as she went out, but he said no more.

She never saw him again.

Next day the cottage door was closed.  Evening came, the old man was not
under the apple boughs as usual; the door was still closed.  Some
neighbours opened it, and entered the chamber; old Gray lay on his bed,
as if in a calm sleep--he was dead.

Deep in the night a step came up the gravel-walk of the garden; Grip
gave a low whine, the latch of the door was lifted, and Martin Gray
entered.  The unusual sight of a light at that still hour of village
repose had prepared him for sickness, and he trembled exceedingly as he
crossed the threshold.  Friends were sitting there; he gazed at them
with a bewildered stare, walked up to the bed, whither he was followed
by the watchers.  One of them, a kind old woman, laid her hand upon the
sheet that covered the body, but Martin whispered, in an unnatural tone,
"Lift it."

She uncovered the face of the dead, and Martin Gray fell fainting on his
father's breast.  They drew him into the garden, the soft summer air
revived him, and he sat down upon the door-step of his home overwhelmed
with grief.  In vain poor Grip licked the tears that fell through his
trembling fingers; in vain the faithful beast whined, and thrust his
nose into his young master's bosom; his sympathy was unheeded.

The youth got up, walked again into the house, looked once more at his
father, felt his brow, on which a few bright silver hairs were smoothly
and decently parted, kissed it, and, saying to the old woman, Margaret
Wilson, "You will take care of all," he gave a glance round the room,
his eye resting for a moment on his father's vacant seat and Katy's
high-backed chair, and then, shaking hands with two other kind-hearted
watchers, he passed out again; Grip watching him, and waiting vainly for
the whistle with which it had always been his master's wont to summon
him.

The door closed, the latch fell, the step upon the gravel-walk receded
quickly, and Martin Gray was never seen again in M--save by one person.

He paid it one more visit though, after his return from Gibraltar.  His
journey to his native place was made sometimes on foot, sometimes by a
lift from a waggoner, or good-natured stage-coachman, who felt for the
weary traveller, with his knapsack on his back, and sometimes in those
barges which slip so lazily and pleasantly along the deep-winding
streams of England.

It was in one of the last conveyances that he found himself sailing
slowly up the river in which he had so often fished when a boy; it
looked narrower to him than it had done in his youth, but the
over-arching trees were taller and thicker than of old.  He recognised a
pool where he and Katy had drawn their pumpkin boats together; the alder
bushes shaded it now, and it looked cold and gloomy, for the sunlight
could not penetrate it.  As the barge neared the bank, he offered
payment to the bargemen, but they refused it--he sprung ashore, and
plunged into the thick coppice that formed part of the grounds of the
Hall where Katy used to be.  He came to an open space, near which stood
the ruins of an old keep, part of the ancient castle residence of the
first owners of the soil.  In early days, it appeared to him as
something grand and stupendous; now he was surprised to find the windows
and doorways so near him as he stood beneath the mound.

Having no mind to be recognised at once, he withdrew from the open
ground to the shrubberies, and choosing a sequestered spot where the
rooks were congregating in the old beeches, he sat down upon the leaves
which the winds of autumn had gathered together in a bank.

It was a lonely place, but from the hawthorn hedge which bounded it
there was a view of the meadows and farm-buildings belonging to the
landlord of the Hall; and he lay contemplating, with something of
pleasurable feelings, the variegated landscape of cornfields and green
uplands--the sweet scent of beans reminded him of those autumn meetings,
when the corn was carrying.  There was a cart, loaded with golden
sheaves, standing under the elms of the great meadow, and another coming
down an opposite hill, with laughing children on the top--their voices
rang distinctly across the fields; the sun was glittering on the bright
weather-cock of the church spire, and Martin Gray took up his knapsack,
which he had unstrapped from his tired shoulders, and resolved on
yielding to the impulse which tempted him, to join the reapers...
Voices in the lane close by!  There was a laugh, prolonged, and rather
loud, but musical and merry, if not cheerful, and two people advanced
arm-in-arm.  The forage-cap with its gold band, the blue surtout and
glittering scales upon the shoulders, bespoke the officer of artillery,
as Martin lightly concluded from the company quartered in the town; but
the other, the lady--

The _lady_!--a bonnet with bright-coloured ribbons--ah, Gray thought of
Katy's garish taste!--placed far back on the head, revealed a face
encircled with hair of that rich wavy brown only seen in England.  The
curls fell heavily upon the swelling bosom--the large dark and shining
eyes, the red lips, the brilliant cheek, were all of a character too
full and decided for Katy; and yet--Martin stole along the hedge,
keeping pace with these two people; the gentleman, young and showy, with
his cap set jauntily on his shapely head, and she, the woman--for
girlhood was passed, face and form were in their prime--was arrayed in
attire that ill agreed with Katy's condition.

But it was she--her large shawl slipped from her shoulders, and she
turned to gather up its gaudy folds; she spoke, laughed again, the white
teeth parted the scarlet lips, and Martin knew her.

He stopped, breathed shorter, and she passed on, after the shawl had
been adjusted, and the lover, or husband, had put aside the sunny hair
and kissed the smooth forehead of that laughing, beaming face.

Whether wife or mistress, Gray felt she was lost to him, and he sat down
again upon the bank of leaves, till the shadows of the old elms
stretched themselves out like giants on the meadow-grass, and the song
of the reapers mingled with the hum of voices in the village; then he
rose, buckled on his knapsack, and made his way through many
well-remembered paths, past the old school-house, to the garden-gate
opening upon his father's little property.

Again he trod the well-remembered path, again he lifted up the latch,
and, as he had hoped and expected, found old Margaret by the fire; age
made her feel the cold, though the glow of autumn was in the sky.

She recognised him at once, in spite of growing infirmities; perhaps it
was because, as she said, she had been expecting him, for she had saved
what rent she could afford to pay out of earnings from the garden, and
had it ready for him; but he set aside all questions of finance and
property, and sat down beside the old woman's spinning-wheel.

Something whined and moaned at the back-door.  Margaret rose, opened it,
and Grip crawled in.  He had waited, as it were, till his master came
before he _could_ die.  He dragged himself as well as he could along the
sanded floor, lay down at Martin's feet, licked his shoes, tried to
reach his hands, fell back, uttered a long, low whine of joy, and _died
upon the cottage hearth_.  Dame Margaret gave the history of Katy in a
few words.  She had been encouraged in her insatiable love of dress by
the housekeeper at the Hall, who had her own ends to gain by the setting
off of Katy's beauty; father and mother, brought to the lowest ebb of
vice by drink, quarrelled between themselves about unholy profits, and
their daughter finally exchanged her place at the Hall for a dwelling in
the town, close to the barracks.  She had no shame now, Dame Margaret
said, and Martin listened in bitter silence to the tale, and that night
departed.

He turned and looked at his old home from the garden-gate.  The light
shone through the casement and streamed in a glittering line along the
gravel path; the gentle breeze of autumn lifted the boughs of the trees
and murmured through the neighbouring woods; the hum of voices in the
village had died away, the "watch-dog's honest bark" breaking the
silence now and then, and there was but small stir in the long irregular
street as Martin passed through it.

No one observed him, though some were lingering about the old coach-inn,
expecting the one-pair-horse vehicle that travelled through it "up to
London."  He went on his way, avoiding all the pleasant lanes and paths,
through which he had walked in youth and sunshine, and reached a spot
where four cross-roads met.  He remembered the time when he and Katy
would tremble if benighted here, for the place was said to be haunted:
there was some old tradition of a suicide being buried beneath the tall
white hand-post, with a stake through his body, and not a villager would
pass this way alone after sunset.

But now Martin Gray sat down at the foot of the hand-post, in the
twilight, and hailed the coachman when he came up, much to the old
driver's surprise, as he drove along the road, whistling in solitude,
for not a creature was on the top of the vehicle.

Gray climbed up beside the coachman, and, looking back upon the village
from the summit of a hill, distinguished only a few twinkling lights;
but beyond it the windows of the great house shone resplendent:
doubtless it was filled with company, and poor Martin turned from such a
view with a heavy sigh.

The coachman tried, without success, to engage him in conversation, and
then lit his cigar, leaving his passenger to his own melancholy
thoughts.

I must give one or two more scenes in the life of Martin Gray ere I
again bring him forward in companionship with his fellow-convict.

One fair summer's day, a body of troops was embarking for foreign
service.  Among the rest was the company of Royal Artillery to which
Gray belonged, and the officer who had just assumed the command was no
other than the same Captain Trafford, whom he had seen walking with his
old love, Katy.  Three years had elapsed since that memorable evening
when Martin quitted his native village; but had he not then learned the
name of this officer, he would have recognised him at once.

The steamer which was to convey the detachments to the transport lay
alongside the quay of a great mercantile town in England.  There were
crowds standing alongside to wish their friends farewell.  A gay
regimental band had accompanied the troops, and they passed through the
throng, cheering as they marched.  There was not much delay in getting
the steamer underweigh; all the poor property the men possessed was
strapped upon their backs, and they were not long on board ere they
turned their faces to the shore to give a parting hurra!  There was a
struggle between the policemen and some of the crowd at the gangway, but
it was soon over, the people giving way.  The cheers rose from the deck,
there was an answering hearty shout, and the steamer dropped slowly down
along the quay side.

A woman had pressed onwards to take a last look; her cloak was dropping
from her shoulders, her bonnet hung at the back of her head; the rich
hair was cast back from her wan, thin face; her dress was torn,
disorderly, and soiled, but Martin Gray recognised her instantly.  It
was his lost love--his once bright-faced cousin Katy.

But she did not see him; and as he gazed with aching eyes and beating
heart upon her, he heard a comrade say, "That is the girl that followed
Captain Trafford all the way from London.  I heard him last night, when
I took the orderly-book to the inn, swearing at her, and telling her not
to follow him.  I was sorry for the poor thing, for she was so tired she
could hardly stand, and leaned against the wall, staring at him and
crying terribly; but he sent for a waiter and had her turned out.  She
gave me such a wild look as she passed me by, I shall never forget it;
but I could not help her, you know."

The crowd dispersed, but Gray saw a single figure standing alone at the
end of the quay, watching the steamer to the last.  She stretched out
her arms, leaned forward, and plunged into the water.

His involuntary scream brought others to his side, and the news soon
spread along the deck that a woman had drowned herself.  Some women had
approached nearer the after-part of the packet than was consistent with
the regulations, and openly coupled her name with Captain Trafford's.
He came forward, and, in a furious tone, sent them forward, and placed a
sentry on the spot they had invaded.

Some humane ladies of the party requested the captain of the steamer to
let them know the fate of the unfortunate young woman, and late at
night, as the ship's bows began to ruffle the waters, and her sails to
fill, a fisher wherry hailed her, and a note was sent on board.

It was speedily whispered about that Captain Trafford had been the cause
of the poor young creature's death, but there were no outward signs of
regret on his part; he was as brusque as ever among the women and
children when on duty between decks, and as intolerant and overbearing
as usual towards the men of his company.

They hated him cordially--they had always done so; but after the sad
incident I have recorded, their dislike increased.

Martin Gray buried his sorrow in his own breast.  None ever knew that
the unhappy girl who had cast herself despairingly into the waters was
his cousin.

Some trifling dereliction from duly on Gray's part brought a violent
reprimand from Captain Trafford.  The young soldier responded in a
strain equally excited, and the result was the imprisonment of Gray in a
solitary cell.

Some days after, Captain Trafford, being the offices on duty, visited
the prisoner.  The sentry at the adjoining guard awaited the officer's
return, and the sergeant, at length growing uneasy at the delay,
proceeded to the cell.

Trafford lay on the ground at Gray's feet.  He had evidently been
stunned by a blow, for he was insensible.

Gray made no defence, merely remarking, that he "had paid an old debt."

Had Captain Trafford died, the young soldier must have been hung; but
the former lived to give his evidence at the court-martial, the
sergeant's corroborated the captain's, and the prisoner pleaded guilty.

But ere the sentence of the court was ascertained, Gray, through some
sailor friends, managed to escape from prison, got on board a merchant
ship where hands were wanting, and worked his passage home.  He was
easily traced, was seized as a deserter, and the result of another trial
was transportation for life.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The convicts who had been rescued from the wreck by the soldiers of the
fort were of course handed over to the proper authorities in South
Africa.

Some met with a merciful destiny, some continued their evil practices--
these were sent on their way.

The wreck of the _Trafalgar_ became matter of history in an age when
philanthropy, or the affectation of it, takes the lead in public.

"Ha!" said Lee to his companion, when they heard, some months after, of
the fate of felons like themselves, "what a fool you would have made of
yourself if you had given yourself up as you wished."

Poor Martin Gray would at the moment this was said have gladly changed
places with the hardest-worked convict in Norfolk Island.

But I must not anticipate my tale.

I have said that Lee had "rapidly chalked out in his mind's eye a map of
his plans."  These were rather facilitated in prospect by the unexpected
advent of a companion; and on rising the following morning, he drew out
such a sketch of his intended operations as induced Gray, of necessity,
to assent to them.

In the first place, he, Gray, knew Lee to be a desperate man, albeit
certain indulgences, the result of a morbid spirit of philanthropy--an
endemic peculiar to England--had been granted to the latter on board the
convict-ship; and he had thus, comparatively with the other voyagers,
been placed beyond complaint.  Secondly, there was only the alternative
of giving himself up as a deserter.  On the one hand, was infinite space
in a fine country, with strange promises from his comrade, a daring and
clever man; on the other, at best, a renewal of servitude under a yoke
he had been taught by a miserable fatality to dislike.

Their resolution once taken, they determined, with wise precaution, on
leaving no traces of concealment in a locality so dangerous by its
proximity to the military post; for, although the river to the westward
still remained impassable, and there was no likelihood of an invasion
from the eastward, it was not to be doubted that ere long the scene of
the wreck would prove of sufficient interest to bring some to the spot
in search of such plunder as the tide might cast up.  This territory,
held, in Kafir parlance, by "the sons of Congo," contained, besides the
kraals and pasture-lands of its chiefs and their people, a few traders'
huts, and three or four mission stations, all widely separated from each
other.



CHAPTER FIVE.

THE FLIGHT INTO KAFIRLAND.

Perseverance and the instinct of self-preservation will effect much
that, under ordinary circumstances, would be abandoned as impossible.
By working at night within the cave, and at dawn at the outer entrance,
they contrived to loosen heavy stones, and piled them together so
cleverly, that they felt sure that in a day or two all traces of their
hiding-place would be obliterated, especially if the surf increased.

Starting in the depth of a stormy night along the coast, at the imminent
risk of their lives, they resorted by day to the rocks, where they ate
such a portion of the provision they carried as served to keep up their
strength.  There was no scarcity of water, the heavens still poured
forth their floods; at times they were almost blinded by the rain, and
had not the heavy fogs occasionally rolled themselves up, they might
have perished.  For his own wise purposes, God chose to lead these two
men in safety through the storm, and on the third day of their journey
they entered a dense bush, crept along the bank of a stream, the
Inzonzana, forded it in safety, and, having waited till nightfall to
cross the open plains northwards, they about midnight entered a narrow
gorge or kloof, and lay down to sleep; nor did they wake till the sun,
for the first time since their _entree_ upon this stage of their
existence, came from his chambers unveiled, and rejoicing as a giant to
run his glorious course.

"We are all right now," said Lee, "and we may light a fire in this dip
under the cliff; we may wait again till night-time to pay a visit to my
friend up there," pointing to a mud hut on the slope of a mountain,
which Gray would not of himself have discovered.  "And so now to dinner;
there is a scrap of pork left; our smoke will not attract attention
here, so we may make ourselves comfortable; you will see fires in all
directions by-and-by."

And so it proved.  The swollen rivers had detained many a Kafir from a
thieving or hunting expedition; but Lee knew he was some distance from
any kraal of importance.  However, in case of any unexpected visit from
rovers, he selected the densest part of a thicket for their bivouac till
evening.

The sun went down, and the cool breeze, which stirred the surface of the
stream, fanned the travel-stained faces of the wanderers.  The sprews
and smaller finches, the canaries, the titmouses, and the blue birds and
the Cape chlories--a whole airy colony, in fact, of bright-winged
creatures--began to flit about the bush preparatory to taking their
pleasant pest among the myrtle boughs and dwarf lilacs, and soon woke
the adventurers, who had sought repose in that small Eden.

Gray sat up, and the scene had its influence on his mind, which was not
yet as a garden utterly laid waste and tare-sown.  Gentle thoughts stole
over him, and he longed for the wings of the doves crooning near him to
fly away and be at rest; but such thoughts became as a bottle in the
smoke when his companion awoke himself, and, rousing Gray by a rough
shake, bid him get up from the bed of dry leaves on which they had
reposed themselves with a comfort rare to their wearied frames.

Lee's mind was wide awake.  Now that he had readied a place of
comparative security, for he knew well where he was, which was more than
Gray did, he, Lee, almost wished that the latter had been drowned with
the other victims of the storm; but the wish was idle--there he was--his
fellow-convict, his comrade.  It would not do to lose sight of him; he
was at his mercy, for the deserter might earn his pardon by betraying
his companion.

As Lee considered these points, he did not by any means contemplate
getting rid of Gray by violent means.  How many men, from whose misdeeds
originate death and misfortune, shudder at the abstract idea of
slaughter in cold blood.

  "The breeze that stirs the stream,
  It knows not the depth below."

And the little bubbling spring, that rises with diamond brightness amid
the flowery turf, wots not of the desolation it may spread in its course
if unrestrained.

But Lee's career had been little checked in its evil nature; and I
question if Gray had been thoroughly disabled by rheumatism or fatigue,
whether his companion would have had any compunction in leaving him to
the mercy of stray Kafirs or wild beasts.

But, as matters stood, it was clear he must not be lost sight of; so
Lee, on hearing his companion complain of cramped limbs, made a virtue
of necessity, and bid him take courage, and follow him to the trader's
hut.

With some little difficulty they scrambled across the stones lying in
the bed of the gorge, through which a swift rivulet was rushing.  Had
there been water enough to drown Gray, and had he fallen into it _by
accident_, I know not how he might have fared.

But they reached the opposite slope dotted with granite heaps and mimosa
clumps, climbed the mountain steep, and traversed another path.  The
moon, like a blazing shield, rising above the distant mountains, lit the
plains, but the nearer hills were yet in deep shadow; and it was not
till the wanderers were in full advance upon the ill-tended garden
fronting the hut indicated by Lee, that they discovered, some paces from
them, what appeared a herd of cattle.  They drew back stealthily, for
Lee's experience of the country made him cautious, and sunk down in a
hollow beneath the thickest bush at hand.  Each held the other by the
arm; they scarcely breathed, and paused with fixed eyes and rigid limbs
for many minutes.

At length a rustling sound arose among that mysterious crowd, the
shivering noise of assegais announced its warlike calling, and a Fingo
chief marshalled his phalanx with their shields of bullock hides,
beneath which they had been resting till the rising of the moon.  Keen
watchers of their great mother, Nature, they had calculated to a nicety
the darkest nook for a shelter to rest beneath their shields preparatory
to their march at night.

It was clear they were on a mission of vengeance, for the few Kafirs,
whose fires had appeared during the day, were either too terrified to
leave their lairs, and give warning of an enemy's approach; or, what was
more probable, the band of warriors had moved unnoticed to the spot.

In perfect silence, and within the shadow of the hill, the chief put his
force in order; ere long they were on their march.

Not a sound was now heard upon the hill-side, but a measured tread of
distant feet was distinctly audible to the convicts, as, impatient of
delay, and, it must be owned, rather disheartened, they lay with their
ears to the ground listening to the receding footsteps of the Fingoes
along the edge of the ravine.

"What a life we are to lead in this savage country!" murmured Gray, who,
ill, weary, and unhappy, would have given worlds to have been at his
duty as a soldier again.

"Silence, fool! and follow me," was Lee's reply.

There was nothing for it but to obey.  They crept cautiously into the
garden fronting the trader's hut; it was a desolate piece of ground;
such plants as had once flourished were trodden to the earth; the door
was torn from its hinges, and there was light enough from the moon to
see that the interior had been rifled of some, if not all, of its
contents.

The two men sat down upon the earthen floor of the despoiled abode; the
one cursing, the other moaning in the anguish of pain and weariness of
heart.

A man's form suddenly came between them and the moonlight that shone
upon the opposite mountain.  A pistol clicked in their ears.

"Who have we here?" said a stern voice in English.  The convicts rose to
their feet, and in a moment all three men stood together in the clear
and radiant atmosphere.

But, to Lee's disappointment, the man, who had just issued from some
place of concealment near them, was not the person he had expected to
see, and on whose co-operation in his plans he relied, inasmuch as he,
Lee, had some claims on the trader's good-will; and, compelled by
circumstances to be prompt and truthful, he plainly admitted his
surprise and regret.  Then, without satisfying his interrogator as to
his identity or his comrade's, he inquired abruptly, "Where is Tanner?"

To this he received, instead of a reply, the unsatisfactory answer of
"What's that to you? and who the devil are you?"

The pistol was again elevated, but Lee coolly put it aside; and,
sensible that his desperate position could only be defended by hardy
measures--seeing, too, that the peremptory tone of his opponent was that
of a man whose privacy was not to be further invaded against his will,
answered in a steady tone:

"I am not a spy, you may trust us both; lead us into your cabin, or we
must climb higher up the hill to the hut where Tanner kept his powder in
old days.  If it is not standing now, there is a cave near it, and we
can light a fire there in safety.  My companion must have an hour's rest
and food, and we shall be secure enough there.  To tell you the truth,
we are both hungry, and have travelled far."

It was clear that the speaker knew the ground on which he stood and the
calling of the trader, who, to outward observers travelling the country,
carried on a harmless traffic in ostrich-feathers, skins, horns,
tobacco, snuff, and such comforts as civilisation in her slow march
through Kafirland had taught the use of to the natives.  Puzzled, and
rather disconcerted, he led the way to the hut.

It had a counter, shelves, weights and scales--all the accompaniments of
legitimate trade; but on striking a light, and holding it up, both
visitors and host were soon made aware of the devastated state at the
stores.  The shelves had been cleared of their blankets, the walls were
bare of all but the nails to which beads and bugles had been suspended
in tempting array; the tobacco had been swept from the counter, the
remnant of tobacco-pipes lay broken on the trampled floor, and scarce a
vestige remained of any portable wares.  A bunch of common candles
hanging in a corner had escaped the notice of the thieves.  One of these
the host took down, and, going into an inner room, returned with the
welcome intelligence that there was something yet left in the locker.

Either overlooking the entrance to this inner apartment, or having found
sufficient plunder to satisfy themselves, the thieves had here left all
intact.  The marauders had been Kafirs, who, not aware of the Fingoes'
proximity, had swept off all the property they could readily dislodge.

The Fingoes bore the odium of the theft, but they were only intent on
repossessing themselves of their own property.

A bed covered with skins stood at one end, a chest, a bench, and a
common table of yellow-wood at the other; a few household utensils
completed the furniture; the window was darkened by a rude shutter, and
the ashes of a wood fire were on the hearth.

Drawing a few sticks together from the scattered embers, the host, a man
of determined aspect, re-lit the fire, replenishing it with a billet of
wood, and in a short time the three men were seated together on the
ground with closed doors.  A repast of dried buck and some mouldy bread,
which did not look particularly inviting even to wayworn travellers, was
spread before them; and the large chest being removed, some clay, which
had been spread to give the surface the same appearance as the floor,
was cleared away, a heavy stone was lifted, and the master of the hut,
descending an aperture, brought up a tiny keg of Cape brandy, filled the
flask he carried in his huge pocket, and, replacing the keg, the stone,
the trap-floor, and the chest, handed a tin cupful of the burning liquid
first to Lee and then to Gray.

All this, of course, had not been done in silence.  The host, who called
himself Brennard, recounted how he had been absent on a trading
excursion for some days to Fort Beaufort, a garrison in the northern
part of the colony; how, on his return, his horses and oxen had fallen
lame, and he had left them at a brother-trader's station; how he had
talked homewards with a pack-ox carrying some of his stores--the ox was
now fastened to a stout oak far down the adjoining kloof; how he had
advanced to reconnoitre, having heard the Fingoes were on march against
Umgee's people, who had stolen Fingo cattle; and how, after watching the
phalanx advance upon their silent path to his own property, which they
despoiled sad left, he had been astonished to meet two white men on his
ground, one of whom was evidently no stranger there.

Gray remained contented as an auditor to a conversation begun by
Brennard in Dutch, and carried on by Lee, who admitted in English that
he had been in the country before, and that he had known Tanner, the
first trader on the station; but the dialogue was soon wholly carried on
in Dutch, which was incomprehensible to the deserter.  He learned,
however, that Tanner had been shot on the other side of the Kei in a
conflict with the tribes there.  Brennard, who had been his agent beyond
the Bashee, knowing that the head-quarters of the business needed
looking after, left a deputy on the coast, near the Umtata river, and
removed himself to the hut in the hills.

In a word, Brennard was a dealer in gunpowder, which he sold secretly to
the tribes on the English frontier; and the men on the coast were the
established consignees of arms from British artificers.

Lee, of course, soon enlightened Brennard on the subject of his former
acquaintance with Tanner; but how it first came about was a mystery to
the trader.  He was beginning to consider how he might sift this out,
and both convicts were on the point of reminding him that they should be
glad of some change of raiment, when a long low whistle, from the side
of the hut nearest the hill, interrupted their plan of operations, and
the trader, rising, prepared to leave the hut.

His pistol lay on the bench, Gray seized it.

"Put it down, Gray," said Lee; "I know my man now; besides, you fool, do
you suppose he would have left a loaded weapon behind him if he was
bringing an enemy upon us?  Put it down, I say," and he took it out of
the hand of the deserter, who, as his prospects opened before him, began
to deplore his state, and longed, with thoughts half-bewildered, to free
himself from the net he felt gradually closing round him.

Lee read mistrust, and what he called fear, in the face of his
unfortunate companion.  The mistrust was unmistakable, but the fear was
that which a heart, born as honest as human nature can be, feels when
involved in wrong-doing, from which there is no escape.

"Stay, Brennard," said Lee, indicating an assumption of confidence in
Gray.  "I suspect I know what that whistle means.  I have no secret from
my friend here," laying his hand on the shoulder of the deserter as he
spoke.  "I have told you as much as need be of my tale, and now let us
make a bargain--there is nothing like plain speaking in great
emergencies; and as I have a pretty strong notion that through your
information we might be handed over to the authorities, I do not mind
reminding you that we might do the same by you; and that while our fate
would only be re-transportation--for we have escaped from the wreck of
the _Trafalgar_--_perhaps_ yours would be a dance in the air.  Whether
the hut in the kloof is still in its old place, I cannot tell; but a
commando out here would soon rout out your stores, and either take you
prisoner, or set a price on your head.  At any rate, the game would be
up with you as a respectable British trader,"--Lee laughed
heartily--"and you would be at the mercy of the Kafirs or the Dutch,
into whatever territory you might wander."

He whom the convict so addressed was a man of powerful frame--
deep-chested, and rather short-armed, every limb proved strength; backed
by a couple of Kafirs, he might have despatched his visitors; but,
although a dealer in contraband stores, and accustomed to danger, and at
times to scenes of warfare, in which he was supposed to take a part
against the very population he helped to arm,--although, in fact, he,
like Lee, was a traitor, he would have hesitated at a deed of
cold-blooded murder on his own hearth.

In a word, no two men could have better understood each other than Lee,
the convict, and John Brennard, the trader of the Witches' Krantz
(Cliff).  As for Gray, he might truly be considered, what a late ruffian
was described to be, "the victim of circumstances,"--with wearied body
and aching heart, he sat by, a passive listener; passive, because he
_could_ not help himself.

The low whistle was repeated, and Brennard, opening the window-shutter,
responded in the tone of a wandering, hungry wolf: then the signal came
clear but slow, and with evident caution, and moving in am upward
direction, died away in some hollow of the hill.  Then Brennard, closing
the aperture carefully, proposed entering on a solemn compact with his
new acquaintances, to which they agreed.

Strange indeed is that species of oath, which binds bad men together,
and which may truly be considered as founded on a superstition, of which
the devil is the founder.  There are many to whom the nature of such an
oath is sacred, who will rob, murder, desolate the home of the
industrious and virtuous, and commit every crime which by that oath they
are bound to enter upon, in partnership with others as "blind of heart"
as themselves.  In these compacts, they swear by the Bible, thus
blasphemously making the word of God a witness and a guarantee for sin.
Aye, and such compacts have been kept inviolate, even at the gibbet's
foot, and beneath the bloody guillotine.

And, after all, what is an oath, in the opinion of a truly honest man?
A seal set upon the word of a villain, who only tells the truth because
the fear of punishment on earth compels him to do it.  He who lies to
God daily, would hardly hesitate to lie to man, but that he lets "I
dare, not wait upon I would," and trembles, like the Chinese and the
Kafir, not at commission of crime, but at the disgrace and punishment
which must follow its discovery.

They stood up, did those three desperate men, in the low and narrow
room; the owner of the wild domicile held the book in his hand, for
there was a Bible in the chest.  They opened the unholy compact with the
words "I swear."  As they spoke, their eyes were fixed distrustingly on
each other, not on Heaven, the witness they invoked, and Brennard was
proceeding to dictate a certain form, with its set phrases of "betrayal
of brotherhood," "rights of partnership," etc, when the whistle came
back from the krantz above, descended gradually down the hill-side,
paused, chirruped like a bird, a gay, innocent bird, and a low tap at
the door was followed by a voice of most musical sweetness.

"Vuka u zishukumise"--"Awake and be stirring," said the voice.  It was a
woman's.

"Urga lungenalake?"--"Are you ready?" asked Brennard.

"Ewa--urga kuza ni nina?"--"Yes--when are you coming?"

"Dirge za"--"I am coming now," replied the trader.

On which another voice added, "Lexesha kaloku"--"Now is the time."

A quick but gentle sound of unshod feet patted past the window, there
was silence again in the outer air, and the three Englishmen resumed
their attitude; Brennard in the centre with the Bible--it had the names
of brothers and sisters beneath his own in the fly-leaf--he had kept it
by him in the wilderness--and the two others with their palms spread
open on the cover.  They went through the formula again, the oath was
sealed by a kiss upon the sacred record, sad it was restored to its
resting-place, whence it never emerged but on extreme occasions like the
present.  The fire was extinguished, and once more refreshing themselves
with a sip from the flask, the light was extinguished, and all three
passed out from the hut, the door was drawn to, as well as its
dilapidated condition would allow, and passing through the garden and
advancing a few yards to the right, they turned the profile of a hill,
descended a steep pathway leading to a dense bush, and in a few minutes
distinguished the hurried tread of naked feet upon the crisp leaves and
underwood; a group of women pattered through a narrow glade, and,
passing our adventurers in silence, led the way into the kloof.

Lee recognised the locality as he advanced, step by step, down a
declivity intersected with blocks of granite and tufts of scrub, or low
bush; the murmur of a rivulet making its way over the stones was
audible, and the distant cry of the jackal hailed the coming of the
night.  Here Lee remembered well to have rested on shooting excursions
in former days; here he had listened to many a tale of Tanner's, and he
could guess the exact spot for which they were bound--the three men in
advance, the Kafir girls in Indian file following.  So they proceeded,
till the darkness of the glen deepened, and putting aside a large alder,
they bent their heads, and found themselves beneath a magnificent
oak-tree, to a branch of which was fastened a large ox, black as Erebus.

Motionless and patient he stood with his heavy load upon his broad back,
for Brennard had intended returning to the spot sooner than
circumstances eventually permitted him, and he bent his head in loving
recognition of Amayeka, whose sweet voice welcomed her favourite.  The
unusual roughness of the weather had detained Brennard longer on his
expedition than usual, and Amayeka and her companions had kept their
watch day by day in the hills.

I know not a more perfect model of obedience and endurance than a Kafir
woman.  With the white man, she is never thoroughly tamed.  You may take
her under your care in childhood--you may accustom her to English
habits, dress, and religion; but once let her taste of freedom, and she
is like a bird on the wing again.  True, however, to the instincts of
her nature, she bows to the thraldom of her race, wields the pickaxe and
the hoe, submits cheerfully to her occupation of "hewer of wood and
drawer of water," yields obedience to her task-masters, abjures her
European costume, albeit she delights in a broidery of many-coloured
beads, and sits meekly silent when bartered for by a lover, who, as a
husband, makes her one of many slaves.

Such was Amayeka, who had been reared from the age of six years at a
missionary station, near the Caledon river; but from this she had been
withdrawn by her father Doda when she was fourteen, and during the
year--for she was now but fifteen, the prime of a Kafir maiden's life--
she had thrown off her European habits in every sense, retaining only
the language, which she spoke with the grace so peculiar to her nation
when educated.

I specify her age from general calculation; her father could only count
her years by connecting her birth with a period of great drought.

She and her companions, all older than herself, had been sent by Umlala,
a petty chief, to convoy the treasonable stores brought from the colony
in Brennard's wagon, and transferred to Zwartz's back, at a secret
station on the banks of Somerset River.  This done, a sagacious old
Kafir had led Zwartz through an intricate defile to Witches' Krantz, and
fastening him to the "trysting tree," returned as herdsman to the
trading wagon, with its span of draught-oxen, on the banks of Somerset
River.  For days these poor girls of Kafirland had sat watching the
changes of the atmosphere from the mountain slopes.  Their food was
parched corn and strips of _biltongue_ (meat dried in the sun), supplied
by a cleft in the rock, where they had long ago established a simple
larder.  Apples, from the banks of the Kei and the Gonube rivers, varied
their repast occasionally, and a large light basket of sour milk,
brought to them from a distant kraal, was a delicious addition.  They
were very merry; they laughed, they sang, sometimes hymns, taught them
by Amayeka; they danced, ate their frugal meals, and slept soundly,
pillowed on flowery turf, with heaven's own canopy of blue and gold
above them.  If the clouds rose, they withdrew to the caves in the
mountain-side, and these recesses were their shelter, when a scout come
to tell them that Jocqueenis' Fingoes were on a march into Dushani's
country, to "eat up" the son of Ixexa.  For, however quiet and unpeopled
the hills of Kafirland may appear, there are always scouts on the
look-out.  These tribes carry out the prophecy against the sons of
Ishmael, "their hand shall be against every man, and every man's hand
against them," hence they are ever on the watch.  But all this time our
adventurous group are waiting together in the glen.  Here Brennard
unslung his haversack from Zwartz's yoke, taking out of it such articles
of raiment as he chose to retain for his own use, bestowed it, with some
acceptable gear, on the convicts.  The flask of Cape brandy was added to
the stores, and to each was given a small double-barrelled pistol.  Thus
partially provided for, the three bade each other farewell, for it was
necessary to make as much way as they could before morning, and the
defile being threaded, some hours of repose might be obtained in a place
of security, to which their female guides would direct them.

Brennard, having watched the party as far as the rays of the moon
flickering through the tracery of the trees permitted, returned to his
domicile, there to accomplish such repairs as he could single-handed;
and this done, to return to Somerset River for his wagon, and forward
information to the authorities of the delinquency of the Fingo
marauders; but long before the trader had noted the outrage on paper,
the warriors had stalked through the enemy's kraal, and possessed
themselves of the cattle they called theirs, and crossing a stream about
nine miles to the north, soon chanted their song of triumph and defiance
from their own territory.

As the reader will readily infer, the compact to which I have alluded
involved a treaty of partnership between Brennard, Lee, and Gray, in the
secret traffic of arms and ammunition with the tribes to the north-east
of the Cape colony.  The deputies left by Brennard near the coast held a
situation of little danger, since there was no legal restriction on the
sale of arms; nevertheless, a certain caution was necessarily observed
in the transmission of such stores from Cape Town, lest the eyes of the
authorities should be opened to a fact, at present only suspected by the
non-commercial settlers.  The powder traffic, demanding greater care and
secrecy, was not so easily carried on, and it had long been obvious to
Brennard that it would be highly advantageous to establish an
intermediate agent between the Gonube and the Witches' Krantz, for the
disposal of the gunpowder, and the surer interchange of Kafir goods in
return.

This offer Lee readily accepted, with a reservation that, if it suited
his purpose hereafter, he should proceed to the locations lately
established to the eastward by the disaffected Dutch.  As to Gray, a
spell seemed to bind him to such measures as Lee chose to propose.

I have shown that Lee had given Brennard only such details of his early
acquaintance with Tanner as he thought necessary, and the trader, as he
climbed the hill again, wondered, within himself, at the mysterious
influence which had thus suddenly been imposed upon him.  Who Lee was,
or what his position had been in Southern Africa in former days, he
could not tell.  All he knew was, that he was a runaway convict, that he
had been acquainted with Tanner, and that he had a thorough knowledge of
that part of the country, and of all the secret nooks for keeping
contraband stores.

Brennard also felt quite certain that Lee would not have admitted his
real condition as a runaway convict of the wreck of the _Trafalgar_, had
it not been an event of publicity which would elicit close inquiries;
and as there would, probably, be some survivors who had witnessed Lee's
escape in the boat, it would at least be conjectured that he had reached
_terra firma_ and made his way into the interior, where he might become
a dangerous assistant to the Dutch, who were known to welcome such
desperadoes to their gloomy councils.  In a word, Lee knew himself to be
a marked man, and, in such an exigency, there was nothing like binding a
useful coadjutor, like Brennard, by ties which, if broken by one, must
be the ruin of both.

When in the cave, after his preservation from shipwreck, Lee had shaped
out a somewhat crude plan for the future; he certainly entertained a
vision of self-aggrandisement, of leadership among the malcontent Boers,
of founding a settlement, and opening a career of rule; but a new
incentive to be "up and doing" presented itself unexpectedly before him,
and a fresh impetus was at once given to his desires of organising a
party among a people ripe for rebellion, by the perusal of a paragraph
in an English newspaper, of a comparatively late date, which Brennard
had brought with him from the interior, and given to Lee to beguile him
on the stealthy march, in company with the unwilling and melancholy
Gray, and the dusky maiden guides of Kafirland.

It was on the evening of the first day's march that the instincts of
ambition within the convict's breast assumed a new direction.

Through what deep and tangled footpaths did those patient maidens lead
the party!  A curious sight it was to Gray, a stranger in that far
country, as, lingering behind the rest, he watched the group wending its
slow way, now under the shadow of the great krantzes, now waiting for
him, beside some tiny stream, that shone like steel under the "Green
willows with the hanging boughs."

He could not run, and had he been able to do so, he knew not his way.
He could only guess by certain constellations, known in both
hemispheres, that he was journeying eastward, and he wandered on like a
man dreaming that a fiend has fixed an evil eye upon him, and beckons
him to a doom he cannot resist.  Gray felt that Lee never lost sight of
him.

It was at night that their longest marches were made; but when the sun
came fairly up, the girls were generally able to point out the
established resting-places, where a commissariat of biltongue and Kafir
corn lay hid in some rocky storehouse.

In these halting-places all slept through the golden hours of noon, the
women at a prescribed distance.  There had been five at first starting,
and the party had been increased by three more joining them in a kloof,
almost impassable from the density of the bush.  Zwartz lay like a
guardian in the centre of his female friends; they petted and talked to
him at times, calling him all manner of endearing names, but Amayeka was
his best friend; and Gray, sorrowful and restless, reclined always
within arm's length of the wary Lee.

The latter was the first stirring.  It was a sultry afternoon on the
first day's march, and Lee took from the haversack the paper Brennard
had slipped into it at the Witches' Krantz.  The paragraph I have
alluded to was as follows:

"We regret to learn that the indisposition of our governor, Sir
Marmaduke Faulkner, still detains him in England, and that General Sir
John Manvers has been requested to take command of the frontier forces
at this critical period, when it is pretty well understood, by such as
choose to open their eyes to the fact, that the Kafirs are rife for war,
and that the Boers to the eastward are only waiting a favourable
opportunity to proclaim their disaffection.  Sir John may be daily
expected from Cape Town."

"So," said Lee, his chest heaving, his eye dilating, "_he_ is here!
Well, there will come a day when we shall stand face to face, openly, as
foes; I may fail of success, I may be beaten for want of a regular
force, but I _may_ be revenged--revenged;" and the tone in which he
uttered this aroused the sleeping deserter.

Lee held a parley with Gray, but did not enlighten him fully on the
subject of his enmity to the man who would soon be first in authority
over the wide territory through which they were roaming.  He gave him to
understand, however, that his final object was not to join a tribe of
savages in a fight against his countrymen; once well on the
north-eastward, there would be no difficulty in proceeding by degrees to
those settlements where many Dutch farmers lay bivouacked, with all
their poor household and farm property about them.

The character Lee had assumed for himself and friend was one which quite
suited his disposition, and would greatly facilitate his movements; the
Kafirs would welcome him as a trader, and pass him safely on as such;
while the Dutch would receive him as a confederate, and hail with
satisfaction so able an assistant as Gray, a deserter from the Royal
Artillery.

Night fell.  The Kafir girls re-adjusted Zwartz's burden; they
frequently lightened it by carrying skins of gunpowder on their heads,
which they did with perfect ease and grace, and Amayeka, uttering the
simple warning, "It is time," passed on, lingered on the hill-side to
point out the smoothest cattle-tracks to Gray, who, as his limbs
recovered their elasticity, tried to reconcile himself to his fate by
admitting the pleasant influence which the glittering eyes and brilliant
smile of Amayeka shed on his moody moments.

Having passed through many intricate defiles and glens of indescribable
beauty, they emerged, in about a fortnight from the first night march,
upon a more open country.  These plains were dotted with kraals, from
each of which some "Great man" came forth; Amayeka acted as interpreter.
A day was fixed for meeting in a secret spot, where a due exchange of
goods was to be made.  The wagons sent by the agent from the Gonube were
already, with hides and horns, waiting there, and these were to be
despatched by trusty convoy to the Witches' Krantz; Doda, the great
councillor or the principal chief, firmly believing that unless the
tribes kept to their agreement with Brennard, the latter would withhold
the supplies and betray the storehouses, or rather storehuts, which held
the arms and ammunition of Kafirland.

A stronger would not have distinguished these huts from others of the
hamlet, but day and night three dusky guards kept watch and ward around
than, for fear of treachery or fire.  These guards wove baskets, or
shaped out bullet-moulds, or bound the assegai blades to the slender
shafts; they did anything apparently but keep sentry over the domicile
they so cautiously protected.

On the twelfth day of the journey, having headed the Imkwali river and
traversed a plain, our travellers suddenly dipped between two hills, and
on ascending the last, found themselves in front of an amphitheatre,
over which Umlala's kraal and pasture-lands were spread.  It was the
chief residence of Umlala and his _hemraaden_, or councillors.

Behind this green space rose a range of purple heights; nearer to it,
and sheltering the village from the north, was a chain of low hills, and
the sides of these were dotted with thousands of beautiful cattle.  The
whole population of this territory was astir.  Over one slope a
hunting-party wound its way, below were children riding races on the
backs of oxen, far too sleek for such an exertion; girls were laughing
and talking together under the noble groups of trees, but the great mass
of Kafirs had gathered in a crowd in an angle of the kraal.  Amayeka, on
perceiving this, bid the convoy await till her father should be sent
for.

Doda came, he having, as I have shown, already held communication with
Lee on the road, and he now invited him to the front of his hut until
Umlala should be ready to receive him.  Ere long, a summons arrived, and
Lee proceeded to a conference with Umlala.

The chief was seated on the ground, surrounded by several of his
hemraaden.  The subject of conversation had for many days touched upon
the preparations for war, which, for months had been secretly
progressing in Kafirland; and the intelligence which Amayeka brought,
and which Lee confirmed, was soon conveyed by Doda: he told Umlala that
the white men were making ready for battle.  Even now, it was said, the
white chiefs were beginning to count their red men by tens, for they
were many.

No immediate or noisy demonstration followed this announcement.  Umlala
sat, to all appearance, in deep thought, Doda waiting at his right hand
till it should please his chief to address him.

At last, having matured his thought, Umlala said, in a low and distinct
voice,

"Amakosa noburoti bona"--"The Amakosa are brave."

The crowd testified their satisfaction by a murmur of assent that rolled
through the assembly like the swell of an ocean wave.

"Our chief is wise," said Doda; "without him we are as the land in
drought--as a bundle of sticks scattered for want of a cord--as people
journeying on vast plains without a purpose, without landmarks.  It is
he who leads us from dark places, and sets our feet on open ground--we
are his children--hear him."

"Umlala," answered Amani, "is my mouth, let him speak."

"Our ears are open," said Doda, and sat down with an uneasy glance at
Amani.

For Doda was peacefully inclined--that is to say, though war was in his
heart, he had tasted of the blessings of civilisation.  He had seen his
daughter, "sitting in the sun and eating honey," living under virtuous
influences, in peace and plenty, at the mission station, and it was with
inward reluctance that he had obeyed his chief in withdrawing her from
thence.  It would have been useless, as well as impolitic, to oppose his
sentiments openly to Umlala's inclinations, especially as of late the
malcontent Dutch had been tampering with the chiefs, and some mercenary
and unprincipled traders had profited by the aspect of affairs to
increase their traffic.

Amani rose.  He was the rain-maker, or witch doctor, of the tribe--one
of those wicked magicians of the country, who, taking advantage of the
Kafir belief in evil agency, manage, with extraordinary tact, to turn
the very changes of the elements to bad account.  By his cunning and
audacity, he had made such predictions and revelations as had obtained
for him paramount ascendancy over his chief, and consequently the whole
tribe.  Doda both despised and dreaded him.  He had missed him lately
for several days.  Amani was supposed to be in the retirement of the
hills, preparing charms and incantations for the ceremony they had
assembled to witness, the induction of the young warriors into their
calling.  But Doda, who had his scouts ever on the watch, felt sure that
the wizard had made a hurried march to some secret place of meeting with
Brennard, who would have given him the last colonial news; and, armed
with this, he could easily forestall Amayeka and her white confederates,
since Amani could travel faster and by nearer paths than they could
traverse in a body, and with Zwartz, encumbered with their contraband
stores.

It was soon clear that such was the case.

Amani began his address by saying, that Umlala's eyes were open.  Amani
himself had predicted mischief.  He had told his chief that the great
white captains were coming to speak to them with guns; but as for the
red men they had now on the borders of the colony, _they_ could be
counted in a day, they were _not_ many.  He called on the sons of Congo
to sound the war-cry from the highest mountain-top.

"Swear," said he, "by the bones of Congo's forefathers, to drive the
Amglezi to the sea which spits them up.  Behold, we will turn the
hail-storm of their fire to water--it shall be as water poured through a
broken calabash.  What right has the white man to put his foot before us
on our war-paths, when we choose to quarrel with the Gaikas about grass?
The bad people of Gaika steal from us--he shares the plunder--then we
take up arms against him--the white man comes, and tramples down our
corn; he begins the war, and will not let us rest in our huts, though
our fight with Gaika is no business of his.  Gaika calls himself the
white man's friend; he is a liar--he hates the white man--but likes to
sit where he will in the colony with his eyes open.  He stretches out
his hand, and the Amglezi fill it.  The Amglezi are fools, and believe
him.  He does not steal their cattle himself, but sits still upon the
hills, and sees it go by to the kloofs in the Amatolas; and quarrels
with us when he finds us there waiting to share the plunder that belongs
to all the land--our land--a land that will soon be dead to us, for
shall we reap the corn we have planted?  Gaika is a woman--he will not
fight us himself, but lifts up his voice, and cries aloud to the white
men, who come among us like locusts, and eat us up, and then pay Gaika
in beads and buttons for his treachery to his brothers.  Let the Amglezi
come--let them kill the last man of us--but let not Umlala's children
put their necks under the foot of Gaika.  Better to be dead lions in our
own kraals, than live dogs in the Amglezi's territory.  The white man
calls himself the protector of the Kafir tribes dwelling on the borders
of the country he has made his own; but we are oppressed by his
protection, and we will not have it; and we know, too, that some of the
Amglezi are with us in heart; for they tell us we are wronged, and bring
us arms and powder wherewith to regain our rights."

Doda thought within himself, "we pay for such stores;" but the thought
rested in his breast, for he dared not express it.

Amani proceeded, waving aloft an assegai, which quivered in the grasp of
his muscular palm:

"Awake, sons of Congo! shout from the mountain-tops! the valleys are
waiting to reply--we have sat still long enough.  Behold the children of
the foam will multiply, and come and drive us like monkeys into the
rocks.  Shall we consent to sit there in darkness?  Shall our young
warriors be mown down like early grass, or be driven into the sea like
ashes before the wind?  Shall our cattle be taken from us, to languish
in new pastures?  Shout, young warriors of Kafirland! shout, for the
elders of the tribe are women--their hearts grow white.  Our old women
would laugh at the old men, whose eyes are unclosed, but that their
hearts tremble as they think of the strong hand of the Umburghi.  Hark!
the young women of Kafirland, the daughters of Congo, call to us in our
sleep.  Answer them, and let the war-cry be echoed back from the Kei to
the Amatolas.  Let Gaika know that we are men.  Then shall he be
ashamed--then shall he uncover his face, and turn it towards us, and we
shall have light."

The Kafir girls, armed with assegais, and ranged in a double semicircle
behind the councillors, responded to this appeal with a shrill chorus,
their weapons rattling like the leaves of a forest in a gale of wind.
Amani ceased speaking, but they took up the strain.

"Busa Abantu u ba hlanganise"--"Sound the alarm! gather the people
together,"--they chanted over and over again in a tone of triumph and
defiance.  "Uya biswa go yithlo"--"You are called by your father."

"You are called, you are called," was repeated many times, till the
young hunters paused on the hill paths, and, looking down, waved their
muskets, for most of them were thus armed.  Some threw their assegais
and knob-kierries into the air, and cried, "Izapa, izapa"--"Come on!"
Six or seven women, the mothers of the kraal, stood round a skin
stretched on sticks to the tightness of a drum; this they began to beat,
now loud, now low, now in slow time, and now in quick, accompanying the
measure with their feet, and repeating the cry, "Sound the
alarm"--"Silathtekile"--"we are lost!"--the strange chorus rising,
swelling, dying away into a cry of wailing and despair, and again
filling the amphitheatre as it was taken up by the whole population of
the valley.

Suddenly some of the newly-elected young warriors, twenty in number,
stalked from a hut set a little apart from the others of the kraal, and
Lee was thoroughly startled by their appearance.  Whitened from head to
foot with a preparation of ashes and chalk, their ghastly hue contrasted
in a most extraordinary manner with the dusky colour of the rest of the
tribe, some of whom drew as near as custom permitted, and united in a
shout of welcome.

The faces of the youths were almost concealed by a thatched head-dress
of reeds, surmounted by two tall and slender leaves of the palmeet
plant; round their waists, and depending to their knees, were kilts of
the same texture as the head-gear; brass bangles shone upon their arms
and ankles, marking the exquisite contour of their limbs; and, shaking a
reed in his hand, for as yet they were not permitted to wield the
assegai, a youth advanced in pantomimic fashion.  At one moment he would
spring forward with a bound like a tiger's, the next he would glide
onward as a bird skims the surface of the earth; then rising suddenly,
he would execute a pirouette in a style that would establish the fame of
an opera dancer.  Anon he would balance himself on tiptoe like a
Mercury, then wheeling round, and again springing into the air, would
come down with an _aplomb_ that stirred the spectators to loud applause,
the men crying "It is good," the old women drumming loud and sharp in
the back-ground, the younger ones advancing, retreating, and chanting
shrilly to their accompaniment of rattling assegais; the spectators in
the distance adding their meed of admiration, their cries of applause
and encouragement echoing along the hills, and dying on the air, till
taken up and repeated by the herdsmen in the valleys.

Umlala had been too much excited to hold a parley even on the important
question of gunpowder traffic.

The chief and his councillors ceased to speak.  Doda led the white men
away, Amayeka following at a distance.  A hut was set apart for their
accommodation, and a huge steak, cut from an ox slaughtered in honour of
the young warriors' installation, was sent to them by Umlala, together
with some baskets of sour milk, and a good store of Indian corn.  The
bearer closed his message with the usual demand of _baseila_, which Lee
answered with an English oath, and Gray responded to by sending the
chief some tobacco.

As the night fell, the dark but shapely arm of Amayeka pushed aside the
wicker door of the hut, and set within it a small English saucepan
containing some fresh eggs, a little pipkin of clear water, a few grains
of salt--a great prize--and a cake made of coarsely-ground flour.  Gray
would have followed her to offer her thanks, but Lee restrained him at
the doorway.

Ere closing it for the night, they looked out.  The hills were silent,
but, between the summits and the sky, a scout at times appeared, moving
here and there in communication with others.  The watch-fires began to
glimmer, the cattle were settling in the kraals for the night, but the
hamlet was still astir, and the dull beating of the great primitive drum
went on.  The stars came out, the Southern Cross shed its light upon the
wild scene, and the young warriors still kept up their ghost-like dance
upon the dewy turf, one party relieving the other, as did the
singing-girls and elder women.

Long after the fire in the centre of the convicts' hut had been
extinguished, did both the inmates, stretched on karosses, try to
collect their somewhat scattered senses together.  Still the weary drum
beat on--still the shrill chorus rose and fell upon the clear night
wind, and at times the shout of some excited dancer pierced the air.
Lee, in wish, sent them to the infernal regions--whence, indeed, a
stranger might infer they came--and tried to frame plans connected with
the insurgent operations of the Dutch.  Gray strove to pray, but knew
not how--poor wretch!

"Ah," thought he, with a heavy sigh, "would I were once more a soldier,
and an honest man!"

And with this vain wish he fell asleep, and dreamed he was a little
child again, kneeling on the hearth beside his mother, and repeating to
her the simple prayer she used to teach him at eventide.



CHAPTER SIX.

THE KAFIR SPY.

We left Frankfort and Ormsby with their cavalcade of wagons, horses, and
attendants, pursuing their way to the north-east.

I have no intention of giving you a detailed account of this part of
their expedition, since they are not presented to the reader in the
character of mere sportsmen--indeed such narratives belong to more
experienced hands than mine, albeit, ere their able works appeared, I
had collected a few anecdotes, which would now present no novelty.

May, the bushman guide, still headed the cavalcade, a unique
advance-guard, closely followed by two or three of the queerest-looking
mongrels possible, of which his favourite was a species of
water-spaniel.

A fine bloodhound kept close to Ormsby's horse's heels, never
condescending to join May and his scratch-pack, and scorning all offers
from the bushman's cuisine; the only symptom of toleration of inferior
caste shown by the aristocratic dog was a passive endurance of the
infant Ellen's caresses, when she crawled through the grass to Major
Frankfort's tent, into which the yellow face of the little imp no sooner
peered, than she was snatched up by her father, and carried back to
Fitje with a gentle rebuke.  "The sir was kind," May said, "and he would
not have him imposed upon."

In many ways this stunted creature of the wilderness displayed a
refinement of feeling not always met with among worldly beings, jealous
of infringing on the conventionalism of society--people who meet you
with "Unmeaning speech--exaggerated smile," and measure their civilities
by the length of your purse, or your position in fashionable life.

And are these less treacherous than the savage?  Verily, I believe that,
in spirit, they are just as deceitful.

But let us leave them, and return to our party.

There they go up the hill--May in advance with Spry and Punch, and
Floss.  The sun is blazing out, and our bushman winds his
bright-coloured _douk_ round his head, and tramps round the angle of a
jutting rock, staff in hand.  Before he does so, he looks back to see
how the cavalcade gets on, lights his pipe, and alternately smoking, and
singing, and whistling to his dogs, he proceeds leisurely along.  At
last, even he, of the active limbs and bronzed skin, begins to pant--his
shadow shows like a frog beneath his feet; tired as he is, he laughs at
it, spreads out his hands, whistles an opera air he has picked up from
some military band, and capers in the glowing light, till wearied, he
sits down on a block of granite, beneath a stunted bush, unslings his
three-string fiddle from his neck, and plays with great skill,
considering the means at hand, the rattling, saucy air of "Rory O'More."

And he was at it right merrily, when the first wagon, with its oxen
smoking and breathing heavily, reached the spot he had chosen as the
outspan, where a more solid breakfast was to be prepared than the one
that had been hastily snatched at dawn.

The country, although only about nine miles distant from the picturesque
locality on which our party had rested during the night, was now of a
totally different character; great plains, only relieved here and there
by low bush, or huge masses of stone, stretched out for miles before the
traveller's eye, and the noble natural parks through which they had
journeyed the preceding day were hidden from their view by the
undulations they had traversed.  In the distance, between the arid earth
and the glowing sky, at the edge of the horizon, stalked a company of
ostriches, apparently the only tenants of this great solitude.

There was something very grand, and even affecting, in the contemplation
of such a scene; at least, so thought Frankfort, whose heart expanded
under the impression produced by Nature in her state of lonely majesty.
Here she was not lovely, but sublime; the infinity of space, the
shadowless land, the unclouded sky--too dazzling for mortal eye to dwell
upon--the awful silence, all seemed more fully to betoken the eternal
presence of God, than in green places where shelter was at hand, and
where, therefore, the solitude was not so apparent, so vast.  The very
cries of wild beasts give life to the jungle--but here the human voice
broke abruptly on the stillness of the plains, as if it had no business
there, and Frankfort was thoroughly disenchanted of his sublime mood in
contemplating the almost awful expanse, as May scraped his fiddle ere he
laid it down to attend to Ormsby's inquiry as to "where his cigars had
been packed."

It must be owned, that Ormsby had no taste for the sublime or the
romantic; indeed, there are not many men in the world who would have
found food for contemplation in the desert scene before them; and as for
our young sub, I am forced to admit, that by the time he had smoked
three cigars, he began to wonder what he should do with himself when
breakfast was over.

Frankfort had stocked the wagon with many more luxuries on Ormsby's
account, than he would have thought of providing for himself; and the
meal, spread out on the shady side of the wagon, was by no means
despicable.  Excellent tea, devilled biscuits, cold tongue and honey, an
offering from Vanbloem, and added to these were savoury slices of
porcupines, a viand from which, in its raw state, Ormsby had turned away
in disgust, but to which, when cooked, he addressed himself with a keen
relish.

The panting oxen had been turned loose to seek what provender they could
among the tufts of grass on the sandy plain--the sun shone upon a _vley_
(pool), about a hundred yards from the outspan; the place had been
selected by May, because he knew there was no better bivouac for miles
in advance.  Like many other bright things, the pool shone with a
delusive lustre; it offered but a muddy draught to the thirsty
traveller--but drivers, _foreloupers_ (leaders of the draught cattle),
guides and oxen, plunged therein their parched lips, and drank
thankfully of the slimy waters...

"There is certainly nothing like judging of things by comparison,"
observed Frankfort, as, after a thorough enjoyment of his breakfast, he
laid his head on his saddle under a stunted bush, and, taking out a
book, prepared to indulge himself, as he called it, till it was time to
assist May in re-packing and preparing for advancing.

May trudged on with the dogs, and halted again in due time, in a similar
locality, where the solace Ormsby sought was another meal, combining
dinner and supper.  An omelette from the egg of an ostrich, whose nest
had been raked out of the sand by the keen and persevering May, was not
a bad wind-up to a refection of game; a cigar and coffee followed, and
while the ostriches were still stalking in the light, the wearied party
were glad to make ready for the night, and lay their limbs at rest.

For two succeeding days nothing occurred to distinguish the one from the
other; there were the same arid tracts, the same glaring bivouacs, the
chilly midnights and dewy dawns--the same porcupine breakfasts, venison
dinners, and omelette remove.

On the third day they found themselves on the borders of a river, rapid
and circuitous in its course, and fringed with bush, and here Ormsby, in
a fit of _ennui_, determined that May should get up a regular porcupine
hunt by moonlight--midnight was the time chosen.

Their tents were pitched on the riverside in expectation of remaining
there some days, for, calm as looked the current, May, from certain
indications, expected it to rise and swell beyond its bounds.  Besides,
here was shelter and pasturage for the tired cattle.

"So much for things by comparison again," said Frankfort, as he sat down
under a foe willow.  "Those who sleep in well-curtained beds this night
will hardly enjoy their rest as we shall do for the next three hours."

Ormsby's thoughts had been floating about in the clouds of his cigar,
the fifteenth since the morning; but as he cast the remainder of it from
his lips, he said, "Ah, all this may be very fine and sublime, as you
call it; but, for my part, I wish I were going to take my rest in the
orange-room at Ormsby Park."

The contrast of the orange-room at Ormsby Park with the willow drapery,
the starry roof and the silver moon walking demurely in the sky, at once
dragged Major Frankfort from the sublime to the ridiculous, and he burst
out laughing; but his mirth was checked by Ormsby whispering, "Hush,
there is some one in the bush near us; I heard a branch crack--it can be
none of our own people--they are all sitting together over the fire,
listening to that three-stringed lute of May's."

"Hush, there it is again!--some restless baboon, probably," remarked
Ormsby.

"No, the bush here is not thick enough for them."

At this instant, May came from the fireside circle.  The night was so
clear that he recommended attacking the porcupine in his haunt at once,
and sleeping after the sport.  On being told that some one was hovering
about, he laid his ear to the ground, but could detect nothing.  Ormsby
reminded him that he had been under the impression, ever since they left
the Dutchman's valley, that some one was hovering about.  Had Frankfort
stated this opinion.  May would have put some faith in it; but he did
not like Ormsby.  The latter was perpetually scolding and ridiculing the
poor little bushman; and so, as the idea of the stealthy visitant
originated with the young subaltern, May chose to ignore it; but he
determined, nevertheless, on keeping a sharp look-out, and was as much
puzzled as his masters as to who the spy could be.

They were a tolerably large party; and, knowing the character of the
locality, and the tribes near it, he felt sure that the enemy, if enemy
it was, mustered in no force: so they set out on the porcupine hunt.

The bushman had already tracked out his victim for the sport.  The poor
little creature had set the dogs at defiance on being first discovered,
and kept them at bay till it managed to retreat to its hole.  So there
he was, poor fellow, with his ears, almost like a man's, stretched wide
open, listening for his expected besiegers; for, once disturbed, he was
thoroughly uneasy, and all his quills, though lying close to his body,
were ready to shoot out into a panoply for his defence when his castle
should be attacked.

May tried to get a peep at him in his hole, but he could only hear him
panting; so he fastened the bayonet, with which he had taken care to
provide himself to the long bamboo of old Piet's wagon whip.  It was
very sharp at the point; our bushman had taken care to cleanse it from
the rust it had imbibed in the damp ground, in which Ormsby had
occasionally planted it as a candlestick by his bedside.  Armed with
this weapon, and followed closely by the dogs, whom he encouraged and
exhorted in the queerest jargon that can be imagined, Frankfort and
Ormsby carrying sticks, he led the way along the banks of the river, and
soon reached the hiding-place of the poor little beast.  The dogs gave
tongue at once.  May, as I said, tried to get a peep at him, but he
could only hear him panting.

Floss soon got pricked in the nose, and retreated--only, however, to
return to the charge, and scratch and yelp in vain.  Spry and Punch kept
steady sentry, warily taking their opportunities of making an entrance.
At last the earth gave way, and the "wee beastie" emerged from his den,
with all his darts prepared for the charge.  His mouth was but a
mockery; he could not bite; so he turned his back again upon the foe,
and as they approached, opened out the weapons that nature had given him
to save himself.  These Ormsby believed would be shot out like arrows;
but, as May said, the _schelm_ (rogue) was too _slim_ (knowing) to part
with his arms entirely, adding, that "English man" was "too fond of
_making_ stories, and," with a sly smile, "too ready to believe them."

The creature, however, made his backward charge, again and again rolled
himself into a ball, with all his quills "on end," and after gathering
strength for another battle, fought his foes gallantly, till May,
fearing the dogs would make a meal of him, drove his bayonet into the
soft part of his body, and laid him dead upon the threshold of his home.

Ormsby was delighted with the novelty of the porcupine hunt on the edge
of that winding river, its waters flashing in the moonlight, and
clamouring along between the stones, or gurgling in little creeks of
mossy rock.  Here a bank stretched out into the stream, with a group of
willows hanging their tresses over their own inverted shadows; there the
grey cliffs were broadly reflected in the waters, and the frogs kept up
a perpetual though most unmusical chorus from the pools in the drift.
Up the stream the murmur was beginning to increase to a roar; and, in
some dread of the torrent suddenly swelling, May scrambled up the bank,
and shortened the way to the bivouac, where the wagons were drawn up in
great precision, and where all were sound asleep save Marmion, who
"bayed the moon" loudly at the approach of his master.

Ormsby, in horror of "creeping things," had latterly taken it into his
head to sleep in the wagon, instead of sharing the tent with Frankfort;
and still convinced that some one was hanging about the neighbourhood,
he determined to keep watch till dawn; but fatigued by his midnight
sport, he was soon overcome with drowsiness, and the bright African sun
was shining on his face, and May laughing quietly over him, as he woke
with a start, and seizing the bushman's hand, examined it intently, to
May's great amusement.  Frankfort, too, was looking in upon him, and
Marmion, with his fore paws on his master's chest, had his great eyes
fixed upon him lovingly.

"I have had the oddest dream," said Ormsby.  "I felt, as I fancied, a
hand clutch mine: I grasped it tightly; and when I thought I had got it
quite safe, I found the arm was gone, and only the hand, hard and cold,
was left in mine."

"And here it is, I suppose," said Frankfort, laughing, and taking up the
six-barrelled pistol, which Ormsby always placed beside him when lying
down at night.

May shook his head very solemnly, and then begged the "Masters" to
follow him, and he would show them who had lifted the pistol.

The bushman led them through a mass of tangled underwood, to a copse all
interlaced with wreaths of starry jessamine and wild convolvulus, and
softly putting aside a geranium-bush, entered the covert, followed by
the others.

Bending low, and creeping after him, they found themselves soon in the
centre of the thicket, surprised to see scattered about fragments of
bread and meat, and some broken bottles; in short, these were the
_debris_ of a meal eaten on the spot.

Lifting up a bough, May showed them a young Kafir stretched on the
grass, and wrapped in profound repose; near him were three assegais.  He
lay with his head supported by his dusky arm, his dark and
finely-moulded limbs offering a study for the sculptor.  But the frame
looked worn, and his hair, long neglected, was of its natural hue,
instead of a dull red, from the clay usually employed in adorning it.

Frankfort and Ormsby did not at once recognise the young Kafir servant,
Zoonah, whom they had seen at the Dutchman's farm, but May informed them
who the sleeper was.

Frankfort, surprised at the bushman's want of caution, placed his
forefinger on his lips to enjoin silence.

May pointed to an empty bottle near the Kafir, and, taking it up, turned
it upside down with a knowing wink, as he proved that it was empty.

"But," said Ormsby, "when the rascal wakes he will be off; and, as he
has been lurking about for no good, we had better secure him; he would
soon outrun the dogs.  Some fellows would shoot him, and serve him
right; he would murder us if he dare."

"No, master, no," replied May; "a Kafir won't kill you to get nothing by
you; he would, if he could, sell your skin; but he don't want to make a
row for nothing; it's all different when his blood is up.  

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