Volume Two—Chapter One.
“Is it Peace or War? Better War.”
George Payne rode slowly away from the village of Komgha.
The air was warm and balmy, for the time of the southern winter was past, and on this September day not even the lightest of feathery clouds flecked the sky above the sunny plains of British Kaffraria. Now and again on the brow of one of the rolling eminences, which, smooth grassy, and round, alternated with mimosa-dotted vales, the rider might feel a puff of fresh air from the bine Indian Ocean thirty miles away, and which he was leaving further and further behind him with every tread of his steed. On his left front rose the round tops of the Kabousie hills, while beyond them a ridge of wooded heights slept in the golden haze of the early afternoon.
But he had little thought to spare for beauties of scenery, had this man, as he mechanically urged on his steed—a compact, well-stepping roadster—now at a long easy canter, now subsiding into a fast walk; for all his reflections were at that moment concentrated on the leading question of the day, a question which for weeks past had been in the mind of every dweller on that restless line of frontier, a question which to them was fraught with weighty apprehension—Peace or War?
And this topic, which was in everybody’s month, had it any foundation to rest upon, or was it merely a recurrence of one of those periodical scares which, with more or less reason, had of late years seriously disturbed the border districts? Ministers and legislators might, from their places in the Assembly, deny all grounds for it; merchants and snug citizens of the western capital might deride it; the pseudo-philanthropic party, likewise at safe distance, might decry it as a libel upon and a plot against the native population, to despoil them of their lands, and what not. Yet Cape Town was many hundred miles from the unprotected border, and it is so very easy at a safe distance to ridicule the apprehensions of those to whom the fulfilment of their fears would mean ruin and death. For ignore it as some would, the fact remained that a cloud, at first no bigger than a man’s hand, but already of sufficiently alarming proportions, was gathering beyond the Kei, to roll on and on till it should overwhelm all within reach—unless stopped in time, that is. And such check the country’s rulers apparently deemed it their special mission not to facilitate.
This, then, was the topic whereon George Payne’s thoughts were fixed as he rode over those grassy Kaffrarian plains in the direction of his home; and some additional rumours which he had heard that morning, had gone far towards seriously disquieting him.
He was a broad-shouldered, strongly-built man, about five feet ten in his shoes, though a slight stoop made him look shorter. He had a quiet, sensible face, and was sparing and deliberate of speech; this on first acquaintance might lead one to pronounce him “slow,” were it not for an occasional satiric burst, accompanied by a twinkle in the keen grey eyes, which alone would suffice to show that he was very far from being a fool. And, though quiet and reserved on first acquaintance, he had a sunny geniality of manner which was very taking—in fact, was as good-natured a fellow as ever lived. He was thirty-six years of age, and of colonial birth; and though he had made a couple of visits to the mother country he seldom spoke of it. When he did, his audience, who had settled in its own mind that he had never been out of the colony, would be mightily taken aback by his shrewd insight into men and things.
Around lay the broad, rolling country; here and there in the distance might be seen the white walls of a homestead or two, glistening in the sun; or a clump of Kafir huts, smoky, squalid-looking, and tumble-down, lay about, whence a tribe of yelling mongrels rushed clamouring down to the path to mouth at the equestrian and snap at his horse’s heels, while their owners stood, with kerries grasped in their dark, sinewy hands, scowling at the passer-by, and making no attempt to call off their detestable property. But the horseman cared little or nothing for this. If the four-footed pests came too near, he slashed them unmercifully with his long raw-hide whip, sending them howling back to their savage masters. At length he drew rein before a thatched, white-washed dwelling, a typical specimen of the rougher class of frontier farmhouse. A man came out—a tall man, clad in a grey flannel shirt and corduroy trousers; a slouch hat was stuck on one side of his head, a mighty red heard descended over his chest, and in his mouth was a short wooden pipe.
“Well, Marshall,” cried Payne, dismounting. “How’s the world been using you of late?”
“So so,” replied the other, shaking hands. “Where are you from?”
“Komgha.”
“Any news?”
“N-no. Nothing but ‘gas,’ in fact. One gets so sick of all the yarns that have been flying about that really one doesn’t know what to believe. I’ve got into the way of believing nothing.”
“Ah. Well, now, I think there’s something in them. And I’ll tell you what it is, Payne. If I were a married man like you I’d send my family away to King (King Williamstown. The chief town of British Kaffraria, commonly thus abbreviated) or somewhere, for depend upon it we shall have hot work here before long. They’re not safe out there at your place, I tell you.”
Payne laughed lightly. “Why, Marshall,” he said, “if you’re not becoming as great an old scare-monger as the rest! Oh, by the way, there was some news. It’s said that the new Governor’s coming up to the frontier.”
“Worse and worse—if it’s true. He wouldn’t be coming if there wasn’t good cause for it, I can tell you. What sort of a feller is he?”
“First-rate, from all accounts.”
“H’m. Did you hear anything else?”
“Two troops of police been ordered across the Kei.”
“Fat lot of good they’ll do,” growled Marshall. “A lot o’ greenhorns. Why, some of them can’t stick on their horses, and hardly know the butt from the muzzle of their carbines. The police are not what they used to be, since they’ve taken to getting out these raw chaps from England. Time was when the force was made up of good colonial men, who could ride and shoot, and follow spoor as easily as a waggon-road, and now—pooh!” And the speaker knocked the ashes out of his pipe with a contemptuous jerk.
“That’s all very well,” said Payne. “They may not be good for much at spoor, and there are a few greenhorns among them, as you say. But there are some fine fellows, too—fellows with any amount of fight in them—and, after all, that’s what we want now. You’ll see, they’ll do good service yet, if they get a fair chance.”
The other shook his head. “Dunno. But—have a drop of grog?”
“No, thanks; I must be moving on.”
“Won’t you, really? Do.”
“No, thanks. But I say, Marshall, when are you coming over our way? We haven’t seen you for about ten years. Come on Sunday.”
The other filled and lighted his pipe. “Well, the fact is, I’ve had a lot to do of late,” he replied at length, between sundry vigorous puffs. “And then, you see, I’m a rough sort of feller and haven’t got any company manners, and now you’ve got company. Perhaps, after all, I’m best here.”
“You surly old humbug,” said Payne, with a laugh, “I never heard such bosh. You come up on Sunday at latest, or we shall quarrel. Call yourself a neighbour, indeed! Now you’ll come, won’t you?”
“I’ll try.”
“All right, that’s settled. Ta-ta;” and mounting his horse Payne rode off.
Gradually the long smooth slopes became steeper, falling off into abrupt ravines, affording a glimpse of the Great Kei, which glided along, far down between its lofty banks—now winding round a smooth-headed knoll, now straightening as it washed the base of some huge wall of rock—a distant musical murmur being upborne upon the still air as it rushed over a stony shallow. From the far plains beyond, many a blue column of smoke rose into the sunshine, where dotted about lay the clustering kraals of the savage Gcalekas, whose hordes, even then, were gathering for the long-expected and somewhat dreaded inroad upon the peace of the colony. A bird sang in the thick thorn-protected brake adjoining the path, a white vulture or two soared lazily from one of the huge krantzes overhanging the river, insects hummed in the sunlight, and it seemed as if nothing but the savagery of man could avail to break the peaceful calm of that glorious scene, amid which Payne pursued his way wrapped in uneasy thought; for in spite of his sceptical tone when talking to Marshall he felt by no means the assurance that he would have had that worthy believe.
His horse suddenly pricked up its ears as the sound of deep voices immediately in front became audible, and in a moment three tall, savage-looking Kafirs, their athletic bodies smeared from head to foot with red ochre, advanced down the path at a run, swinging their kerries.
Now the said path was, just there, only wide enough for a single horseman, being shut in on either side by high thorn-bushes, and Payne naturally expected the pedestrians to make way for him. They, however, had no such intention, and his steed began to show signs of terror at the sudden appearance of the brawny, ochre-smeared barbarians, with their gleaming necklaces of jackal’s teeth rattling as they advanced.
“Out of the way, you vagabonds,” shouted Payne, angrily. “Out of the road; d’you hear?” and he raised his whip menacingly.
“Aow! Out of the way yourself, umlüngu!” (white man) insolently replied the foremost Kafir in his great deep tones, at the same time seizing the bridle and trying to jerk the horse’s head round. “We won’t get out of the way for you.”
Payne’s whip descended, the lash curling with an angry “swish” round the naked body of the speaker.
“Take that, you hound!” he cried. “And now let go.” And he clubbed his whip to strike with the heavy loaded end.
“Haoo-ow! Hah!” roared the savage, dropping the bridle and stepping back a pace or two, while the lurid lightnings of wild-beast wrath shot from his eyes. Then he sprang at Payne like a tiger-cat, aiming a sledge-hammer blow at him with his heavy stick.
Fortunately for Payne he managed to throw up his arm in time to save his head, or he would have fallen to the ground, brained by the terrific force of the blow. Fortunately, too, for him, his adversaries carried no assegais, or he would there and then have been stabbed through and through and his body flung over the adjacent cliff into the Kei, for he need expect no mercy from such foes. The land was almost in a state of war, and brutal outrages of this kind were only too terribly common. He made a furious blow at his opponent with the butt of his whip, but ineffectively, for at the moment of striking he felt himself seized by a powerful hand and dragged from his horse, which backed into the bushes terrified and snorting. Then nearly stunned by the fall he lay upon the ground, and the sky and earth and foliage all went round in one giddy, sickening whirl, and still he could see the gigantic figure of the savage, who, with glaring eyes and white gleaming teeth, was advancing upon him with kerrie upraised to strike, and he lay there, powerless even to avoid the blow. In a second it would fall, when—woof! something descended through the air, a large dark object darted between him and the sky, and his enemy fell heavily to the earth. He heard the clash of kerries in strike and parry, a fierce imprecation, and the ring of a pistol-shot; then he knew no more till he awoke to consciousness with some one bending over him and fanning his brow.
“Don’t move,” said the stranger. “Take it easy a little longer, and then you’ll feel better.”
Payne looked wonderingly at the dark sun-browned face bent over him, with the calm, resolute, blue-grey eyes and clear-cut features, and it seemed to him that he had seen the owner of it before.
“Oh, I feel all right now,” he said, raising himself upon one elbow and then sitting up. “A little muddled, you know, that’s all.”
“I venture to say that our friend here, feels ‘a little muddled,’” remarked the other, pushing with his foot the form of a prostrate Kafir.
Payne stood up, rather giddily, and recognised his assailant in the inert, motionless mass.
“I say, though, but the brute isn’t dead?” he said, with just a tinge of concern, bending over the fallen savage.
“He isn’t dead. A stirrup-iron properly handled is a grand weapon; but Kafir skulls are notoriously thick. The chances are a hundred to one, though, that yours would have been split at this moment, had that individual carried out his amiable little programme just then.”
“Of course—I was forgetting. You saved my life. Why, what an ungracious dog you must think me!”
“And I could have dropped the other two so nicely in their tracks,” continued the stranger, as if he had not heard Payne’s remark. “They both came at me with their kerries; but directly they saw this,”—producing a revolver—“off they went. I wanted to fell another chap, so I didn’t trot out the barker at first, till they began to think they had it all their own way, and pressed me so hard that I was obliged to. Lord, how they streaked it off!”
“But you did let drive, didn’t you? At least, I thought I heard a shot.”
“Yes, I did. Couldn’t resist the temptation; but just at the moment it flashed across me how infernally near civilisation we were, and it’s a ticklish moment just now. The authorities would think nothing of running us in and making scapegoats of us, swearing we had brought on the war, you know, or something of that sort. So I just blazed over the fellow’s head, to give him a bit of a scare, otherwise I could have dropped the pair of them—oh, so sweetly! But how did it all happen?”
Payne told him.
“H’m,” said the other, reflectively. “We could run this fellow over to the gaol if that would be any satisfaction to you, and if you cared to go through the bother. But then, unfortunately, you struck the first blow, as you couldn’t have helped doing—and the result would have been the same in any case—and the chances are some pettifogging attorney, or meddling missionary, would take up the scoundrel’s case and turn the tables on you. So that’s out of the question.”
“Shall we bring him to?” asked Payne.
“A few slashes of your whip would do it if you’re anxious on his account; if not, let him lie.”
“Poor devil, he seems to be in bad order,” said Payne, inspecting his late foe, who lay with the crown of his head cut and bleeding, exactly as he had fallen beneath the blow of the stirrup-iron, and breathing heavily. “I’ll take his kerries as a trophy, anyhow.” Moved by a sudden impulse, he glanced narrowly at the stranger, a man of apparently about his own age, or not far from it; and it still seemed to him that the dark, handsome face, and determined eyes, no less than the rather mournful ring in the quiet voice, were familiar to him.
“Well, then, we’ll be moving,” continued Payne. “My place isn’t far from here, and of course you are going with me. Don’t say no, for I insist upon it.”
There came an amused gleam into the other’s eyes, and he stroked his long, brown moustache once or twice to conceal a smile. “There’s no need to insist,” he said, “because it so happens that that was my original intention. The first thing I meant to ask you, when you came round, was the way to George Payne’s; but it would be rather superfluous to ask it of George Payne himself, wouldn’t it?”
“What! Why, good heavens! Who the deuce are you? We’ve met before somewhere, I’ll swear!” said Payne, looking at him in a puzzled manner.
The other broke into one of his long, quiet laughs, as if hugely enjoying the situation, as he steadily returned the puzzled, inquiring gaze. “Don’t you remember that refreshing row close to De Klerk—that time you were coming from the gold fields? Hang it, it wasn’t much more than two years ago!” Payne burst forth into a mighty expletive—a thing he very rarely did. “My dear fellow, this is a piece of luck! And I never recognised you! But you were bearded like the pard then, you know; and, another thing—my head must have been spinning round, for I felt an awful whack. Of course. So it is! Why, I ought to have recognised you by the neat-handed way in which you dropped that nigger, if by nothing else! That’s the second time you saved my hide,” and he seized the hand extended to him, in a mighty grip.
“Well, these niggers were tougher customers than those four swaggering Dutchmen, when all’s said and done. I haven’t been in a good honest row for a long while. It does one good.”
Mounting their horses they moved off, taking a farewell glance at the place where the fallen savage still lay at full length, though he began to show signs of returning consciousness. And the still sunshine glowed in all its former calmness, as though no fierce and deadly struggle had just occurred to mar its peace.