Chapter Sixteen.
To Blows.
“Here come men, Nkose, and I think that they come to cause us trouble,” said Mfutela, shading his eyes to look up the road.
I followed his glance. A dark crowd was swarming over the ridge half a mile in front, and in the then rising sun I could make out the glint of assegai blades. That was nothing, since every man in Zululand at that time seemed to make a point of moving about with as many assegais as he could conveniently carry. But it was significant that at sight of us they should have halted for a moment, and then come forward at a run, shouting like mad.
“Is there to be no end to all these mischievous idiots and their larks?” I said, sourly and in English. And yet at the time I felt not altogether happy—things happen suddenly among savages. What if the tension on the Transvaal border had already brought on an outbreak.
“Hallo! What’s the row?” sang out Falkner, from the tent waggon, into which he had dived to fetch something or other. “Any more fellows whose heads want punching—eh, Glanton?”
“No,” I answered more sourly still. “Keep those itching knuckles of yours quiet for once—for Heaven’s sake.”
It was early morning as I have said, and we were in the act of inspanning. We had camped in an open valley, and in front lay a long acclivity of miry red track mapped out by ancient wheel ruts and rendered diabolical by a heavy rainfall during the night. It was at the head of this that the crowd had appeared, and looking at both I was all the less disposed to meet opposition with the good humour which is always advisable.
“Zulu nigga troublesome debbil,” said Jan Boom, the Xosa, who was fond of airing his English, and his contempt for those of his own colour who “had none.”
The new arrivals left us in no sort of doubt as to their intentions, for they charged straight for us, and waving their weapons roared out to us to stop.
“Tre-ek!” I yelled, seizing the whip from Mfutela, and letting out the long lash in a couple of resounding cracks which had the effect of making one fellow who was brandishing a war-axe within an ace of Tom’s nose—who was leading—skip aside with some alacrity. Jan Boom, who was driving the other waggon, was quick to follow my example, and to the accompaniment of a cannonade of whip cracking and ear-splitting yells, the two spans tugged out laboriously over the heavy miry road.
So far as our disturbers were concerned, I kept silence, by way of showing that I considered them beneath my notice, until I saw that their mouthings and gesticulations as they kept pace with us on either side, were likely to schrik our two horses, leading on behind, to the point of nearly causing them to break their reims and rush away the devil knew where.
“Who are ye?” I shouted. “Who are ye that come bellowing down upon me like a pack of kraal curs? You are not children either, for I see among you men with rings. Go away.”
But the ringed men, to my surprise, were among the most boisterous.
“Turn back, Umlungu,” cried one of them. “Turn back. It is the word of our father, Mawendhlela.”
Mawendhlela! The name set my misgivings at rest in a moment. Mawendhlela a chief by virtue of birth and possessions, a man who was no warrior but one of the few Zulus at that time who was addicted to gin, and disliked me because I had always steadfastly refused either to trade or give him any.
“Mawendhlela!” I echoed. “Hau! I go to a bull that roars louder than he. I go to Majendwa—to Majendwa I say. Now—go away.”
But this, to my surprise, they showed no inclination to do. On the contrary they closed up in such wise as to bring the front waggon to a standstill. Short of cutting a way through them there was no method of proceeding, and there were about a hundred of them, all bristling with assegais. I had my revolver on though it was not visible, and for all their numbers I made up my mind to shoot the first who should lay a hand upon my people or my oxen: for there are times when forbearance may be stretched to a dangerous limit. What would have happened next I won’t pretend to guess, but some sort of diversion must have occurred, for heads were turned, looking back over the way they had come. Then the crowd parted, precipitately too, some tumbling over each other’s heels in their alacrity to get out of the way, and through the lane thus opened there rode up at a furious pace, a man—a white man.
“Here, get out of this!” he bellowed, firing off a very blast of profanity. “Turn your blanked oxen round, and trek back—d’you hear? trek back a sight quicker than you came. D’you hear?”
“May I be permitted to ask why?” I said, sarcastically.
“No, you mayn’t and be damned to you. But I’ll tell you. Because I say so. That’s why. Because I say so. You’ve heard of me.”
“Don’t know that I have. Who might you be when you’re at home?”
“I’m Dolf Norbury. That’s who I might be. Dolf Norbury, d’you hear? I’ve got the trade up here, and I’m damned if I’m going to have any dirty winkler from Natal coming up here to make holes in it. Now—d’you hear?”
“Winkler” meaning a small shopkeeper, was meant to be offensive.
“Oh, so you’re Dolf Norbury, are you?” I said, pretending to be impressed.
“That’s right. I’m Dolf Norbury, and no man ever got the blind side of me and kept it. Now—clear.”
“Ah!” I said. “I’m Godfrey Glanton, and no man ever got the blind side of me and kept it. Now—clear.”
I thought he would there and then have tumbled down in a fit. It happened that I had heard a good deal about this Dolf Norbury, but had only seen him once, at Krantz Kop, and that some years before; on which occasion, however, he had been far too drunk to remember me now. He was a big, roaring, buffalo bull of a fellow of about fifty, who would be sure to gain ascendency among savages if he laid himself out to do so. He had Mawendhlela completely under his thumb, and that for a further reason than those which have just appeared, which was as well for himself, for the more respectable chiefs of Zululand would have nothing to do with him by this time. He would have been turned out of the country, or would have died suddenly, before this but that he had his uses; for he was a most daring and successful gunrunner among other accomplishments. With all his bounce he was not wanting in pluck, and could hold his own anywhere, and always had held it as some had found to their cost—he would add, darkly boastful. His record was uncertain, but he had an intimate acquaintance with the Transkein border and Pondoland: and talked the native dialects faultlessly; in short he was just the type that would drift into the position of “chief’s white man,” with all the advantages of self-enrichment which it affords—and these are not small if the thing is properly worked. The only thing certain about him was that for some time past he dared not show his face upon any square yard of ground under British jurisdiction—on pain of death in mid air, it was not obscurely hinted. In aspect he was heavy and powerful of build. His face, tanned to a red bronze, was half hidden in a thick and flowing beard just turning grey, but the jet black of his shaggy eyebrows had not begun to turn. Under them his eyes, black and piercing, glittered like those of a snake. Now they began to roll till you could see scarcely anything but the whites. He seemed on the verge of a fit.
“Don’t put yourself in a passion,” I said, for I had become cool in proportion to the other’s rage. “There’s no occasion for it, you know. Only I may as well tell you that I don’t take any man’s bounce, and the idea of you, or any other man coming along here to give me orders strikes me as a joke. See?”
“Joke does it?” he gasped. “You’ll find it a mighty dear joke.” Then followed more talk which it is impossible to reproduce on paper. “A joke does it? D’you know I’ve killed men for less than this—yes, killed more men than you’ve even fought. A joke eh? Now—you’ll see.”
He was just turning to the noisy crowd, who however had sunk into silence, and, with eyeballs strained, were watching developments, when Falkner, whose restraint had come to an end on seeing a white man, and therefore as he afterwards put it one who could stand up to him, instead of a lot of miserable niggers who couldn’t—lounged forward.
“Here, I say. You’ll hurt yourself directly, old man,” he drawled—I suspected purposely putting on his most offensive manner.
“Hurt myself will I—aw haw?” returned the other, imitating Falkner’s drawl. “Hurt myself will I, my blanked popinjay? But first of all I’m going to hurt you—I’m going to hammer you within an inch of your life, and I won’t promise to leave you that.”
He jumped off his horse, and Falkner winked at me, for this was just what he wanted.
“I say, you know, I can’t hit you. You’re too old,” he said, in a tone calculated to exasperate the other, and it had just that effect, for literally bellowing with rage Dolf came straight at him. At first Falkner undertook to play with him, but soon found that he had got his hands full, for the other had weight and was enormously strong, and although he was inferior in science his mad rushes were nearly as irresistible as those of a buffalo bull, which was just what he reminded me of, with his eyes swollen and glaring, and his beard red and shaggy with blood. But he was uncommonly quick on his pins, and did not fight blindly by any means—indeed for some time I should have been sorry to have risked a large sum on either of them. It was a battle of giants.
I confess to watching the contest with a very keen interest. The Zulus standing around, were still as bronze as they craned eagerly forward to watch this, to them, absolutely novel form of battle. My people standing exactly where they had been, were no less interested spectators. At last I thought to detect a sign of weakening on the part of the enemy. Youth and science was beginning to tell against sheer strength. Norbury must have realised this, for shaking his head like a bull about to charge, he hurled himself forward for a final effort, striking out with terrific force. Falkner got it full on the forehead, but managed to keep up. The other staggered back, and then as he was about to make another rush I saw his right hand go behind him.
“Drop that!” I said sharply bringing round the butt end of my whipstick upon the wrist. With a howl of rage he complied literally, as the sheath knife which he had just drawn leapt from his hand. I put my foot on it just as Falkner, rushing in, knocked him fairly and squarely out.
“Two to one, you blanked cowards,” he snarled, in between curses, as he picked himself unsteadily up, half stunned as he was. “That your idea of fair play, is it?”
“And this is your idea of fair play?” I said, holding up the knife. It had a good eight-inch blade and was ground like a razor. “Why you infernal murderer, did you think I was going to stand by and see you use it?”
“You’re a liar,” he answered. “I never pulled it. You knocked it out of its sheath yourself, just for an excuse to pack on to me two to one.”
“Liar yourself,” I said. “You’d pulled it all right. Now clear out, and by the Lord, if you try any dog tricks on us by way of being even we’ll shoot, you understand. This is outside British jurisdiction, you know. So look out.”
He gave me a look that was positively devilish, and which his battered and blood-smeared countenance did not soften, you may be sure.
“Look out yourself,” he retorted furiously. “What sort of a man are you to come in and try to sneak another man’s trade? I was here first, I tell you.”
“That’s all right. But you might as well have made sure I was trying to sneak your trade first. Instead of that you come charging up to me at the head of about a hundred armed scoundrels and start a game of bounce. Did you think I was going to turn my waggons, and trek back at your bidding, or at any man’s bidding, because if so you got hold of the wrong pig by the ear, that’s all. I hadn’t intended to go near your old soaker’s place—but now I shall please myself about it.”
“Will you? All right. You were saying something just now about being outside British jurisdiction. Well, remember that. You’re not out of this country yet remember, and while you’re in it you’d better keep a bright look out. Dolf Norbury ain’t the man to be bested all along the line—and I shouldn’t wonder if he didn’t begin now. So keep a bright look out, that’s my advice.”
“Oh all right. I’m not afraid,” I sung out after him, for he had jumped on his horse and was now riding away without another word. “Tre-ek!”
The whips cracked, and the waggons rolled forward, now without opposition. The turbulent crowd had completely quieted down, and although they still kept pace with us it was with a subdued sort of air. The reason was easy to read. We had come off best in the affair—wherefore it was obvious to them that we must be greater than Dolf Norbury. Of their first annoyance I took no notice whatever, treating it as a matter of such small account as not even to be worth remembering; and soon they began to drop off by twos and threes, till at last there was only a handful left—to whom I administered a suitable lecture.
“Think that skunk’ll give us any more trouble, eh, Glanton?” said Falkner, presently.
“Shouldn’t wonder. Anyway we’ll take his advice and keep a bright look out. He’s more than capable of trying a long shot at us from behind, if he sees his chance.”
“By Jove, but that’s a tough customer. If he’d only had science I should have been nowhere with him. It’s science that does it,” he added complacently. “Ever learn boxing, Glanton?”
“No. Yet I’ve held my own in a scrap on an occasion or two.”
“Well learn it. I can tell you it’s worth while. You get the science that way. We used to go in strong for it in the regiment, but there’s every chance of forgetting it here. These silly niggers can’t use their hands at all.”
“No, but they can use other things, and if you’ll take my advice you’ll keep yours off them. Keep them for fellows of the Dolf Norbury stamp.”
It must not be supposed that friend Falkner had come off light in the scrimmage; for in truth a goodly share of punishment had fallen his way. Both his eyes were badly bunged up, and he had a knob like a walnut over one temple. He further owned to the loosening of a couple of teeth. In short his countenance presented an aspect that would not have endeared him to those of the opposite sex on sight, say his cousins whom he had left behind. But he had held his own like a man, and of his pluck there could be no question at all; and I own that he had gone up very considerably in my estimation since the time of our earlier acquaintance.