Chapter Thirteen.
What happened at Jekyll’s Store.
Jekyll’s Store, near Malengwa, was an institution of considerable importance in its way, for there not only did prospectors and travellers and settlers replenish their supplies, but it served as a place of general “roll up,” when the monotony of life in camp or on lonely farms began to weigh upon those destined to lead the same.
Its situation was an open slope, fronting a rolling country, more or less thickly grown with wild fig and mahobo-hobo, mimosa and feathery acacia. Behind, some three or four hundred yards, rose a low ridge of rocks, whose dull greyness was relieved by the vivid green of sugar-bush. Strategically its position was bad, but this was a side to which those who planted it there had not given a thought. The Maxims of the Company’s forces had done for the natives for ever and a day. There was not a kick left in them.
The building was a fair-sized oblong one, constructed of the usual wattle and “dagga” as to the walls, and with a high-pitched roof of thatch. Internally it was divided into three compartments—a sleeping-room, a living-room, and the store itself, the latter as large as the two first put together. From end to end of this was a long counter, about a third of which was partitioned off as a public bar. Rows of shelves lined the walls, and every conceivable article seemed represented—blankets and rugs; tinned food and candles; soap and cheese; frying-pans and camp-kettles; cooking-pots and high boots; straps and halters; Boer tobacco and Manila cheroots; all jostling each other, down even to accordions and concertinas, seemed only to begin the list of general “notions” which, either stacked on shelves or hanging from the beam which ran along the building parallel with the spring of the roof, filled every available space. Bags of mealies, too, and flour stood against the further wall; and the shelves backing the bar department were lined with a plentiful and varied assortment of bottles.
Not much less varied was the type of customer who was prone to sample their contents. Miners working for a wage, independent prospectors, transport riders, now and then a company promoter or a mining engineer or surveyor, settlers on farms, an occasional brace of troopers of the Matabeleland Mounted Police—would all roll up at Jekyll’s in turn; but by reason of the wide distances over which the sparse population was scattered, there were seldom more than a dozen gathered together there at once—usually less. But even there the characteristics of the gathering were much akin to those pervading similar groups as seen in older civilisation—the bore simple and the bore reiterative, the local Ananias, usually triplicated; the assumptive bore; the literary critic—the last especially in full bloom after a few rounds of “squareface” or John Dewar—and other varieties. Such characteristics, however, were well known to the sound residue of the assemblage, who would delight to “draw” the individual owners thereof—after the few rounds aforesaid.
Within the store and canteen part of the building about a dozen men were gathered when Moseley and Tarrant rode up. All were attired in the usual light marching order of the country—shirt and trousers, high boots and wide-brimmed hat. Some were lounging against the counter, others squatting on sacks or packing-cases, and all were smoking. Jekyll, himself, a tall man with a grizzled beard, and who had been a good many years in the country before the entry of the first Pioneer force, was dispensing drinks, with the help of his assistant, a young Englishman who had been ploughed for his degree at Oxford. To several of these the new arrivals were known, and forthwith there was a fresh call on the resources of the bar department.
“News?” said Jekyll, in reply to a question from Moseley. “Thought maybe you’d have brought some. There’s talk of a rising among the niggers down beyond Sikumbutana. Heard anything of it?”
“Not a word.”
“Gah on. There won’t be no bloomin’ rahsin’,” cut in a prospector, a Cockney ex-ship-steward. “Nothink but a lot o’ gas. The wy to treat niggers is my wy.”
“And what might that be?” said another prospector, a tall, bronzed, fine-looking man, who had taken his degree at Oxford.
“Why, one o’ my boys cheeked me yesterday, so I ups with a bloomin’ pick-’andle and jes lets ’im ’ave it over the bloomin’ boko. That’s my wy with ’em.”
And the speaker cocked his head and looked around with the defiant bounce of a cad with a couple of drinks too many on board.
“H’m!” rejoined the other man, drily.
“By-the-by,” said Tarrant, “I wonder what Mafuta did with my rifle and cartridges.”
Jekyll pricked up his ears.
“Is that one of your boys?” he said.
“Yes. He was carrying my gun and cartridges.”
“Well, there was no gun and cartridges with your donkeys when they turned up.”
“The devil there wasn’t!” said Tarrant. “Let’s go and look into it.”
They went outside, Jekyll and two or three others accompanying them. The three boys in charge of the donkeys were there. They had off-loaded the packs and taken them inside. Where was Mafuta? They did not know. They had last seen him about half way; after that no more. They thought perhaps he had been ordered to try and shoot some game on the way. Tarrant looked blue.
“Oh, he’ll turn up,” he said, in a tone which conveyed the idea that such a contingency was remote.
“Pity you trusted him with a gun in these times,” said Jekyll. “I’m afraid he’ll clear with it.”
“Wot’ll yer tike for the chawnce?” said the Cockney, who was one of those who had accompanied them outside.
“Oh, he’ll roll up directly,” said Tarrant, ignoring this specimen; “Mafuta’s a reliable boy. I’ve had him a long while.”
Returning from the huts, they became aware of a certain amount of excitement in front of the store. A trooper of the Matabeleland Mounted Police had just ridden up. The rising was a fact, and he had been sent round to warn everybody to come in to Bulawayo if possible; if not, to collect together and form laagers. Several prospectors and miners had been murdered in the Sikumbutana district, but how far the outbreak had spread could not as yet be determined. He was on his way to warn Hollingworth; after that, if he could manage it, he must get through to John Ames’.
The excitement produced by this news was mingled with consternation. Half of those there collected were unarmed. Those who had weapons had left them behind at their camps; while some, with the habitual British carelessness which passes for intrepidity, had not even got any there.
The police trooper’s horse was offsaddled and put into one of the huts which did duty for stable for a feed and a brief rest, and then the whole party re-entered the store to discuss the situation and a fresh round of drinks. While this was in progress some one reported a party of natives approaching from the open side in front of the house. Quickly Jekyll got out a powerful binocular.
“There are about thirty of them,” he said, “but they’ve got no guns—only knobkerries and some axes. On the face of the latest news I believe they mean mischief. Now, chaps, we’ll startle ’em some. They won’t know there’s a whole crowd of you here. They’ll think there’s only me and Selwyn to deal with. Who’ve got guns?”
Seven answered in the affirmative.
“All right. Now then. You, Carbutt and Harris, get to that front window in t’other room—don’t let ’em see you, though. I’ll go out in front and indaba them. Selwyn ’ll stand in the doorway lighting his pipe—and when I sing out, ‘Let go,’ blaze away into the foremost of them. I shall want some men to go outside at the back of the house, though.”
All volunteered.
“No. You three’ll do”—indicating the policeman and two others. “Directly you hear the first shot fired, whip round to the front and blaze into them for all you’re worth. See the plan?”
“Rather, and an A1 plan it is,” said Moseley, who was one of the rearguard, slipping a couple of heavy buckshot cartridges into his shot-gun.
Those for behind scrambled through the back windows—the other two were already in position, one armed with a Winchester, the other with a Lee-Metford. Hardly had they done so than the natives emerged from the sparse bush in front.
There was nothing warlike in their aspect; indeed, to all appearance, they might have been a gang of boys travelling round to look for work in the mines. They halted about fifty yards from the house, and Jekyll, in pursuance of his plan, strolled about a dozen to meet them. Then he called for a couple of them to come up.
Who were they, he asked, and where going? They were looking for work, the spokesman answered. Could the ’Nkose take any of them on? Jekyll observed that perhaps he could do with two or three. Selwyn, the English assistant, was standing in the doorway, carelessly lighting his pipe. Others now began stealing up towards the two spokesmen. The savages little knew into what a trap their treachery was leading them. Then a shout arose from among them:—
“Tyay’ Amakíwa!” (Strike down the whites.)
But, simultaneously with the rush made upon Jekyll, and for which the words were the signal, the rifles of the two men at the window crashed forth in one report. The two foremost Matabele dropped dead, while the three men stationed behind the house were in position at once, and simply raked the whole crowd. Again and again the magazine rifles spoke, and between them and Moseley’s buckshot the result was that a little more than half the treacherous assailants were running for dear life and for the nearest bush; while Jekyll, who had not stirred throughout, stood re-lighting his pipe as if nothing had happened.
“Sharp work, chaps,” he said, as they all came out to see the result. “We’ve taught them how to fight the devil with fire—eh?”
The transformation was marvellous in its rapidity. The place which, five minutes before, had been the scene of a peaceful gathering, was now one of slaughter. More than one there present, who had never witnessed death by violence, gazing upon the stark, bleeding corpses, looked uncomfortable.
“Here’s one who isn’t dead,” said Jekyll. “Let’s see if he’ll give away anything.” And, bending down, Jekyll began to talk fluently in Sindabele. But the wounded man, a big, evil-looking savage, answered never a word. He had a bullet through him, and a couple of grains of heavy buckshot, and was bleeding profusely. The wonder was he was still alive. To all of Jekyll’s questions he answered nothing.
“I sy. ’E’s a bloomin’ impident black beggar, I don’t think,” said the Cockney, giving the prostrate native a push with his foot that was more than half a kick. “Wish I ’ad my bloomin’ pick-’andle ’ere.”
“Oh, shut up, Higgins, and leave the nigger alone,” said the man who had first taken exception to the swaggering cad’s bounce. “We don’t do things that way here.”
“’Ere, I sy, I’d like to know what I’ve done. Cawn’t a chep mike a bloomin’ blanked nigger awnswer a question when a gentleman arsts ’im one—hy?”
But whether this feat was practicable or not was destined to remain unrecorded, for at that moment came the crash of a volley poured from the line of bush wherein the discomfited barbarians had disappeared, and the vicious hum of missiles overhead and around, knocking chips of plaster from the walls of the house. Two men staggered, only wounded though, among them the police trooper, who was shot in the leg.
“Get inside, sharp,” sang out Jekyll, himself hauling in one of the wounded. “Stand ready. They’ll charge directly.”
Hurriedly, yet without panic, the men regained the shelter of the house. At the same time a cloud of savages, who had wormed their way up through the long grass, rose on the edge of the bush, and again poured in their fire. Again the bullets whizzed overhead, some penetrating the plaster wail, but no one was hit. Those within had already flown to the windows, and were returning the fire with a will. Several were seen to fall. The rest dropped down into cover again. Clearly they had no stomach for charging that determined few under cover.
“That’s all right,” said Jekyll. “This is all part of the scheme. These jokers have got on their war-gear. The first lot were an advance guard. I say, Selwyn, where would you and I have been now but for our friend here giving us the office? We’d have been quietly knocked on the head—eh?”
“We’d have had no show at all,” replied the assistant, who was brimful of pluck and beginning to enjoy the fight. But Jekyll, and two or three others, who were alive to the gravity of the situation, failed to discover an enjoyable side thereto.
The Matabele were evidently in sufficient force to render them over-confident, and, indeed, they were hardly careful to remain under shelter. Squads of twenty and thirty could be seen pouring in to swell the already formidable number, glancing through the bush and long grass, all in war-gear, with flowing tufts of red or white cowtail, and wearing the isiqoba, or ball of feathers, on the forehead. Warriors, defying fate, would spring up, and go through the performance known as “gwaza” making a series of quick leaps in the air, shouting the most bloodcurdling promises with regard to their enemies, and darting stabs, lightning-like, this way and that, as though in hand-to-hand conflict with an imaginary foe. At these the besieged whites, acting on the advice of the more experienced, forebore to fire. The mark was a very uncertain one, and there was not much to be gained by picking off two or three of these boasters. Ammunition was not plentiful. In fact, there was every chance of it giving out.