Chapter Twenty.
We Go in Search of Mr Ferguson—Metilulu’s Reception of my Friends—Their Story.
No one but those who have lived nearly twelve months with a savage tribe can at all imagine the joy I experienced at once more looking upon the face of a white man and a fellow-countryman. It was some moments even before I could speak my delight, my voice being stifled by rising sobs, while Jack was no better than myself. When, however, we at last drew a few paces off to again look upon each other, I could not help bursting into a laugh as I beheld my companion and recalled his complimentary remarks respecting my personal appearance, for he was as eccentrically attired as myself.
His skin, already bronzed by many years at sea, had become nearly of a true Kaffir hue, while his fur clothing very much resembled a herald’s tabard, only it was longer to the knee, not so high at the throat, and was joined at each side; from this garment emerged his brown muscular bare legs and arms, while it was surmounted by his weather-beaten face, topped by grizzled hair, and covered half-way up by a large, unkempt, iron grey beard.
“Well, Jack,” I exclaimed, my own language sounding strangely in my ears, “’pon my life I don’t see what you had to laugh at in me, for your toggery is no better.”
“No, my stars, it ain’t; but who’d ever have believed to have seen another Christian dressed out like myself? But it’s all compulsion, Dick—it’s all compulsion; and if heaven wills it to be so, as the young minister says, I oughtn’t to have any objection.”
“Ah, that reminds me,” I interrupted quickly; “where is Mr Ferguson? I hope that he, like us, is safe. You can’t tell, Jack, how often I have thought, during the last twelve months, about his words, even to trying a little bit of his business myself.”
“What; preachifying! You don’t mean to say you’ve turned missionary?”
“Not quite,” I laughed; “but any man with religion in his heart would try, I am sure, to cast some seeds among these benighted people, hoping that they might take root. But where is Mr Ferguson—I am so anxious to see him; you can’t tell how anxious? Remember you have always had a companion to talk to, while I have been alone.”
“True, Jack, true,” responded Thompson, again affectionately wringing my hand. “Come along; I’ll lead you to his hut, where I trust to find he’s come safely out of the dangers of this terrible night. Why, how did those black fiends manage so to surprise us?”
“About the same way,” I said, “that the tribe you are with would have managed it the other night, if, fortunately through my means, we had not been prepared for them. But do come along and I’ll tell all about this afterwards, for I want to know if Mr Ferguson is safe; you cannot imagine how I have grown to like him.”
“Yes, I can, for I feel the same, Dick; that young missionary can do what he likes with me, else I think I should have long ago given some of these black fellows such a drubbing that I shouldn’t have been permitted to live many minutes afterwards. I should have sought him out directly I could have got rid of the ruins of the hut, had it not been for my joy at seeing you.”
Thompson now moved quickly on, and proceeded to a small hut a little way off, which he entered, but instantly re-appeared, his face indicating much alarm—for he had found the place empty.
“I can’t tell where he’s gone,” he said, “but he’s not there. We must seek him. If none of those bloodthirsty fiends you brought—”
“I brought, Jack!”
“Well, who brought you; if they haven’t hurt him, none of our tribe would I am sure, for they respect him too much.”
Anxiously we now searched among the slain for the young minister, whom it appeared even the Kaffirs had liked, and no one can tell with what relief we passed from heap to heap and found him not among the dead. We had proceeded some little way outside the kraal, our quest as yet in vain, when with a cry Jack hurried forward towards the figure of a man kneeling by the side of another either dying or dead.
We had found Mr Ferguson at last, and, like a true soldier of heaven as he was, at his post; for, on Thompson approaching, he arose, with, as I perceived, his well-remembered prayer-book in his hand.
“Ah, Jack,” he exclaimed joyfully; “thank heaven you are safe. I was about to seek you, when—”
“Never mind me, sir, please now,” interrupted Thompson excitedly, “for I’ve brought an old friend to see you—one you will rejoice as much to look upon as he rejoices to look upon you, sir.”
“A friend! Thompson—and here?”
“Yes, here sir, if you can reckernise in this noble Kaffir warrior, with his shield and assagais, our old mate in trouble—Dick Galbraith!”
“Dick Galbraith here! alive?” exclaimed Mr Ferguson. “Now, heaven be praised indeed, for this is good news. My heart is truly delighted—it has been much cast down at the thought of what might have been your fate.”
I seized his extended hand tremulously, but that greeting was too cold, and he too embraced me as a Frenchman might have embraced his brother. I need not recapitulate the sundry questions we put to each other, they surely may easily be imagined; suffice it that we kept on talking till we were interrupted by the approach of Tugela, who, by Metilulu’s orders, had come to find out where I had got to.
He looked with great surprise at seeing us three together, clothed very nearly alike, only the minister’s complexion was much fairer, and stared yet more at hearing us all talking the same language; but I had already told him about my lost companions, therefore a few words were now sufficient to explain the present state of affairs, and I frankly asked him the best way for me to act respecting them and Metilulu?
He advised me to take my friends to the Chief at once, and tell him everything; how we had been separated, and how we had again met. He also assured us that we need have little fear, for, as Metilulu had proved in my case, he leaned much towards white men when they, on their part, showed a disposition to be friendly. “But,” he added, “let alone this, he will no doubt treat your two friends hospitably for your sake, as he feels really deeply grateful for the service you so lately rendered the tribe. No time would be better than the present to make the introduction, as Metilulu is in the best of humours owing to his great success over his enemy, and is regaling in copious draughts of beer and supplies of snuff.”
I hope I have shown, as I have desired to, that Tugela’s stay in the English settlements, where he had obtained the language, had not only improved his own ideas, but had also caused him not to be blind to some of the peculiar manners of his tribe, though he yet preferred living among them to dwelling with white men. With Tugela one of our party, my two companions having consented to the introduction, we at once proceeded to the isibaya where Metilulu still remained.
He was now seated with some of his warriors in attendance, and, of course, a jar of the enemy’s beer in close proximity to his hand. As I approached slightly in advance of the others, he bade me come and sit near him, as he desired to know my opinion upon the style of revenge he had that night taken upon the hostile tribe.
Making a low inclination, I replied that I thought it as terrible and as complete as only such a powerful and skilful Chief as he could have accomplished; then added that, “even as it had brought desolation on his enemies, it had brought the greatest happiness to me, his friend, not only at having seen him victorious, but because it had also enabled me to find two dear companions who had been wrecked in the same ship that I had been, and washed on to the same shore, but through circumstances I would explain to him, had been separated from me just before I had fallen so fortunately into his hands.”
He listened very attentively, then in the most friendly manner bade us all three sit down, and inform him at once how we had been divided. Instantly obeying, I soon ran through my account, when I turned to Mr Ferguson, who could speak, the language even better than I, and requested him to relate to the Chief what had been his and Thompson’s fate after I had quitted them with Metilulu’s soldiers.
Clearly and in a manner that proved he had well studied the best method to address and win the confidence of these people, he recounted their story to Metilulu, which I will give briefly as follows:—
When from the pit they had heard the fray above, Mr Ferguson, guessing I must be surrounded by the natives, consequently in danger, instantly endeavoured to get out and hasten to my help; for this purpose he had made Thompson kneel on hands and knees, then standing upon his shoulders, had nearly grasped the top of the pit, when Jack, weak from pain and exertion, sunk down, causing Mr Ferguson to fall heavily to the ground. A few moments after, recovering himself, he had with much difficulty succeeded in clambering out; but then he found the place deserted, for, as it may be remembered, I had been instantly wounded by a spear and at once marched off to the kraal. He was, however, without one thought of himself, about to pursue and assist me if possible, when a moan of pain from poor Thompson reached him, and reminded him how helpless he was, wounded and insensible at the bottom of the giraffe trap. Therefore, wisely considering that among so large a body of men, as by their yells he knew them to be, he could at the present moment be but of little service to myself, he determined to remain with the one he could aid; and running to the bush, for he no longer cared about being seen, he procured some strong monkey-ropes, then returning dropped once more into the pit. There he fastened them as well as he could round Thompson, who had now recovered his senses, climbed out again, and, Jack helping himself as well as he was able with his hands, managed to draw him out.
When this was done, having sat down a while for Thompson to recover himself a little, they commented sadly upon what they thought my misfortune. Afterwards they started off, if possible to track me; but this they failed to do, owing to their having taken a wrong direction, and, morning shortly breaking, were again compelled to hide in the bush. There they wandered about till nearly the close of day, when they were startled by perceiving the dark face of a Kaffir carefully inspecting their movements from among the trees. On finding he was seen, he disappeared, apparently as frightened of them as they were of him; whereupon, rejoicing, they had hurried off in a contrary direction, but, ten minutes after, the Kaffir yells again rang in their ears, and the next instant they found themselves surrounded by some twenty or thirty of the natives, armed with assagais.
Seeing it was useless to resist, Mr Ferguson with difficulty restrained Jack’s fierce British ebullition of defiance and rage, advising him to follow his example and quietly surrender themselves, as by that means they might win kindness instead of ill treatment from their assailants.
“And,” added the minister, when he had come to this part, bowing respectfully to Metilulu, “in that we were not deceived, for the tribe which you, most noble Chief, have just conquered, treated us most hospitably, and we have lived in peace among them up to this moment.”
I had noticed that, owing to fatigue, or perhaps joila, Metilulu had become exceedingly drowsy towards the end of the minister’s story. He roused up, however, at the close, and, catching the words respecting the tribe’s hospitality, said that they also should receive the same from his hands, as he liked white men much when they did not wish to be his enemies, but friends, like Galbratha, indicating me; then, growing silent, Metilulu partly averted his head. Taking this for a form of dismissal, we rose, made our obeisances, and, having asked his permission to retire, withdrew to a quiet secluded part of the kraal, where, wrapping our karosses around us, we laid ourselves down, first to have a chat, then to sleep.
I need not recount Mr Ferguson and Thompson’s history while in the Kaffir kraal, for it was much about the same as my own, only the minister had never ceased to fulfil his duties, working so untiringly, and with such success, that Jack—gruff and most British in his contempt of the natives—had often owed his safety to the missionary’s influence with them. Our lives differed also in the fact that Kabela, the chief of their tribe, had not desired them to take unto themselves wives, neither had a Kaffir girl done either of them the honour of falling in love with their white faces.
Poor Zenuta!