The Settler and the Savage, R. M. Ballantyne [best way to read ebooks .txt] 📗
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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“It’s not in the vley now,” replied Charlie; “come here yourself; I’ve found blood, and, hallo! here’s a newspaper! Why, it must be a literary lion! Look, Hans, can you make out the name?—Howker, Dowker, or something o’ that sort. Do lions ever go by that name?”
“Bowker,” exclaimed Hans, with a laugh. “Ah! my boy, there’s no lion in the vley if the Bowkers have been here; and see, it’s all plain as a pikestaff. They shot it here and skinned it there, and have dragged the carcass towards that bush; yes, here it is—a lioness. They’re back to camp by this time. Come, let’s follow them.”
As they rode along, Hans, who had been glancing at the newspaper, turned suddenly to his companion.
“I say, Charlie, here’s a strange coincidence. It’s not every day that a man finds a Times newspaper in the wilds of Southern Africa with a message in it to himself.”
“What do you mean, Hans?”
“Tell me, Charlie, about that uncle of whom you once spoke to me—long ago—in rather disrespectful tones, if not terms. Was he rich?”
“I believe so, but was never quite certain as to that.”
“Did he like you?”
“I rather think not.”
“Had you a male cousin or relative of the same name with yourself whom he did like?”
“Then allow me to congratulate you on your good fortune, and read that,” said Hans, giving him the newspaper.
Charlie read.
“If this should meet the eye of Charles Considine, formerly of Golden Square, Hotchester, he is requested to return without delay to England, or to communicate with Aggard, Ale, and Ixley, Solicitors, 23a Fitzbustaway Square, London.”
“Most amazing!” exclaimed Considine, after a pause, “and there can be no doubt it refers to me, for these were my uncle’s solicitors—most agreeable men—who gave me the needful to fit me out, and it was their chief clerk—a Roman-nosed jovial sort of fellow, named Rundle something or other—who accompanied me to the ship when I left, and wished me a pleasant voyage, with a tear, or a drop of rain, I’m not sure which, rolling down his Roman nose. Well, but, as I said before, isn’t it an astonishing coincidence?”
“It wasn’t you who said that before, it was I,” returned Hans, “but we must make allowance for your state of mind. And now, as we’re nearing the camp, what is it to be—silence?”
“Silence, of course,” said Charlie. “There’s no fear of Bowker reading the advertisements through, he has far too much literary taste for that, and even if he did, he’s not likely to stumble on this one. So let’s be silent.”
There was anything but silence in the camp, however, when the friends reached it and reported their want of luck; for the warriors were then in the first fervour of appealing their powerful appetites.
Next morning they started at sunrise.
Early in the day they came on the mangled remains of the emigrant farmers before referred to. At first it was supposed this must be the remnant of the band they were in search of, but a very brief examination convinced them, experienced as they were in men and signs, that it was another band. Soon after, they came in sight of the party for which they were searching, just as the Kafirs were making a renewed attack. Already a few volleys had been fired by the Dutchmen, the smoke of which hung like a white shroud over the camp, and swarms of savages were yelling round it.
“The cattle and flocks have been swept away,” growled Frank Dobson.
“But the women and children must be safe as yet,” said Considine, with a sigh of relief.
“Now, boys,” cried Hans, who had been elected captain, “we must act together. When I give the word, halt and fire like one man, and then charge where I lead you. Don’t scatter. Don’t give way to impetuous feelings. Be under command, if you would save our friends.”
He spoke with quick, abrupt vigour, and waited for no reply or remark, but, putting himself where he fancied a leader should be, in front of the centre of his little line, set off in the direction of the emigrants’ camp at a smart gallop. As the horsemen drew near they increased their pace, and then a yell from the savages, and a cheer from their friends, told that they had been observed by the combatants on both sides. The Kafirs were seen running back to the ridge on the other side of the camp, and assembling themselves hurriedly in a dense mass.
On swept the line of stalwart burghers, over the plain and down into the hollow in dead silence. The force of their leader’s character seemed to have infused military discipline into them. Most of them kept boot to boot like dragoons. Even Dally and Scholtz kept well in line, and none lagged or shot ahead. As they passed close to the camp without drawing rein, the Dutchmen gave them an enthusiastic cheer, but no reply was made, save by Junkie, who could not repress a cry of fierce delight. Down deeper into the hollow they went, and up the opposite slope,—the thunder of their tread alone breaking the stillness.
“Halt!” cried the leader in a deep loud voice.
They drew up together almost as well as they had run. Next moment every man was on the ground and down on one knee; then followed the roar of their pieces, and a yell of wild fury told that none had missed his mark. Before the smoke had risen a yard they were again in the saddle. No further order was given. Hans charged; the rest followed like a wall at racing speed, with guns and bridles grasped in their left hands and sabres drawn in their right.
The savages did not await the onset. They turned, scattered, and fled. Many were overtaken and cut down. The Dutchmen sallied from the camp and joined in the pursuit. The Kafirs were routed completely, and all the cattle and flocks were recovered.
That same day there was a hot discussion over the camp-fires as to whether the emigrant farmers should return at once to the colony or wait until they should gather together some of the other parties of emigrants which were known to have crossed the frontier. At last it was resolved to adopt the latter course, but the wives and families were to be sent back to Fort Wilshire under the escort of their deliverers, there to remain till better times should dawn.
“Charlie,” said Conrad Marais, as he walked up and down with his friend, “I must stick by my party, but I can trust you and Hans. You’ll be careful of the women and little ones.”
“You may depend on us,” replied Considine, with emphasis.
“And you needn’t be afraid to speak to Bertha by the way,” said Conrad, with a peculiar side glance.
Charlie looked up quickly with a flush.
“Do you mean, sir, that—that—”
“Of course I do,” cried the stout farmer, grasping his friend by the hand; “I forgive your being an Englishman, Charlie, and as I can’t make you a Dutchman, the next best I can do for you is to give you a Dutch wife, who is in my opinion better and prettier than any English girl that ever lived.”
“Hold!” cried Considine, returning the grasp, “I will not join you in making invidious comparisons between Dutch and English; but I’ll go farther than you, and say that Bertha is in my opinion the best and prettiest girl in the whole world.”
“That’ll do, lad, that’ll do. So, now, we’ll go see what the Totties have managed to toss us up for breakfast.”
Before the sun set that night the emigrant farmers, united with another large band, were entrenched in a temporary stronghold, and the women and children, with the rescue party—strengthened by a company of hunters and traders who had been in the interior when the war broke out, were far on their way back to Fort Wilshire.
On reaching the frontier fort it was found to be in a state of excitement bustle, and preparation.
News had just been received that the treacherous chief Hintza, although professedly at peace with the colony, was secretly in league with the invading chiefs, and the Governor was convinced of the necessity of taking vigorous measures against him. The savages, flushed with success, and retiring for a time to their own land with the cattle they had carried off, found in Hintza one ready to aid them in every way. It transpired that he had not only allowed the stolen cattle to be secreted in his territory, but many of his own people were “out” with the confederate chiefs fighting against the colonists, while traders under his protection had by his orders been seized and plundered. A message had therefore been sent to Hintza requiring him at once and decidedly to declare his intentions. To this, instead of a reply, the savage chief sent one of his braves, whose speech and conduct showed that his wily master only wished to gain time by trifling diplomacy. The brave was therefore sent back with another message, to the effect that if he, Hintza, should afford any of the other chiefs shelter or protection, and did not restore the booty concealed in his territory, he would be treated as an enemy. It was also proposed that himself should come and have an interview with the Governor, but this invitation he declined. Sir Benjamin D’Urban, therefore, resolved to menace the truculent chief in his own dominions, and when Hans Marais with his band entered the square of the little fort, he found the troops on the point of setting out.
The force consisted of a body of regulars and a burgher band collected from all parts of the colony. Among them were hardy Englishmen from the Zuurveld, tough with the training of fourteen years in the wilderness, and massive Dutchmen from the karroo, splendid horsemen and deadly shots.
While the bustle was at its height a party of horsemen galloped up to the gate, headed by a giant. It turned out to be a contingent from Glen Lynden, under Groot Willem of Baviaans River, with Andrew Rivers, Jerry Goldboy, and several of the Dutch farmers of the Tarka in his train.
“Ho! here you are,” cried Groot Willem in his hearty bass roar, as he leaped to the ground and seized Hans Marais by the hand. “All well at Eden—eh?”
“Burnt out,” said Hans quietly.
The giant looked aghast for a moment. Then his friend ran hurriedly over the main points of his story. But there was no time for talk. While salutations were being exchanged by the members of the various parties thus assembled, Sir Benjamin appeared, mounted his horse, gave orders to several of his officers, and spoke a few words to Groot Willem and Hans. In a few minutes the troops were marched out of the fort, and next day reached the right bank of the Kei River.
This was the western boundary of Hintza’s particular territory. On arriving, the Governor issued general orders to the effect that Hintza was not “to be treated as an enemy.” No kraals were to be burnt, no gardens or fields pillaged, and no natives meddled with, unless hostilities were first begun by them, and that no act of violence should be committed until due notice of the commencement of hostilities had been given. “You see,” said Sir Benjamin in a private conversation with one of his staff, “I am resolved to take every possible precaution to avoid giving cause of complaint to the great chief, and to endeavour by mild forbearance to maintain peace. At the same time, it is essential that I should act with vigour because undue forbearance is always misinterpreted by savages to mean cowardice, and only precipitates the evils we seek to avoid.”
On arriving at a spot where a trader named Purcell had been plundered and murdered, the troops were met by several “councillors” from Hintza and from the chief
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