Chapter Twenty Four.

Overtaken by a Storm—Poor Zenuta—We Start for Dear Old England—My Native Village.

Umatula leading the way, and Jack giving me the support of his arm—for what with my lame foot and the thorns having unmercifully torn my flesh, I felt weak—we all four proceeded to the stream, that was a little more than a hundred yards distant, and which proved to be a small tributary of the river Umooli. Here, slaking our thirst, we bivouacked and enjoyed as good a dinner as we could procure, of which Zenuta stood in much need; then we forded the stream, dashing the water and shouting as we went to scare the crocodiles that congregated in rather large numbers on the banks.

When on the other side, while preparing to continue our journey, my attention was drawn to the sky, where vast masses of dark clouds were collecting in black mountainous heaps, at the same time that a hot air, as from a furnace, made the atmosphere oppressive to the lungs.

Turning, I was about to point out these ominous signs to Umatula, when I perceived by his awe-struck face that he too had seen there was a storm of no common character threatening. The Kaffir, it appears, has a great fear of thunder-storms, and will give the witch-doctors high prices for charms to preserve them from danger during these periods. Zenuta, like Umatula, had several, and eagerly she implored me to wear one, which, to please her, I certainly would have done, had I not felt it against my religion to do so. Would that these charms had indeed been efficacious. Anxiously Umatula glanced up and about him; then indicating a hillside at a very few yards off, warned us to seek shelter there, and as quickly as possible, for perhaps the storm would be down before we could even reach it.

Dashing forward, however, we arrived in safety, and found there a cave formed by nature. Into this we huddled to escape the floods of rain which Umatula prophesied would be sure to come.

Scarcely had we fairly ensconced ourselves than the heavens grew as black as night; then the dark clouds were rent asunder by a vivid, an awful flash of lightning. All around seemed ablaze, as if fire had rained on the earth, while overhead the thunder began to roll—not clap after clap, but in one continuous roar, like the succession of thousands of cannon, which shook the ground beneath us as if an earthquake were taking place.

Never have I seen anything so stupendously awful—too awful even to be grand; for all nature was of one pitchy hue, only illumined at brief intervals by the white blinding lightning. Then down came the rain in sheets, as if the floodgates of some hundreds of Niagaras had been suddenly removed, changing the plain we had so lately traversed in a few seconds into an enormous lake.

The Kaffir sat, his face hidden as much as possible to avoid the glaring light. Zenuta crouched in a corner, while Jack and I, save an occasional exclamation of wonder or awe, also remained silent, feeling it was no time to talk.

Thus we remained until the storm seemed abating: the lightning had grown rarer, while the thunder was less loud, and we were beginning to congratulate ourselves upon its so speedily passing over, when, as if for a finale, a more awful flash than any of the previous ones again lit up the sky. So dazzling was the glare that, with an involuntary cry from all, we fell prostrate on our faces. The next instant a deafening uproar arose—no longer in the air, but about our ears. I believed the hill had been shaken to its base, and was sliding, rolling, crushing upon top of us, burying us alive.

The sound lasted many minutes—to us it appeared hours; then suddenly a perfect stillness fell over everything, and after a while, recovering our breath and senses, we slowly raised our eyes and looked around.

The sky was clear, the moon even at intervals shining forth; but how changed was the landscape it lighted up! The whole country was flooded with broad sheets of water, dotted near at hand by immense boulders, which had been rent from the hills around and above us. As I gazed I thought how easily such a rain, did it continue forty days and nights, might flood two worlds instead of one. Slowly, grasping his charm, Umatula now arose, seeing all danger past, and we followed his example. As I did so, however, I became aware that the tight grasp which Zenuta had taken of my hand did not relax, neither did she attempt to rise.

With a vague terror I bent over her, trying to lift her up, and calling her by name. She did not move—she did not answer. I believed she had fainted, and eagerly bade Umatula and Jack come to my assistance, as, turning the poor girl on her side, I rested her head against my shoulder. Just then the moon shone out between two clouds, and its beams rested upon Zenuta’s face. A cry of horror, of grief, escaped my lips, for, as I beheld the features plainly, I instantly read the fatal truth. She appeared but in a sleep; yet the half-closed mouth and eyes, the peculiar bluish hue of the dark skin, told too well the tale. Poor Zenuta was dead! Whether she had been struck by the last awful flash, or it had occurred through terror, her heart had ceased to beat in this world for ever.

As this fact darted through my brain I bent over the remains of the affectionate girl, and, pressing my lips to her cold forehead, wept like a child, or like a brother for a beloved sister. Here, in the wilds of uncivilised Caffraria, I had truly found one sincerely pure, loving heart. How many a man goes through life in our land without the same blessing! Poor Zenuta! you held, and do still hold, a firm place in my bosom, from which you never can be removed, and I believe, as, thank Heaven, you too believed, that we shall meet again hereafter.

When I rose up I found that neither Jack nor Umatula’s eyes were free from tears; but, as Jack said truly, but most kindly, it was no time for outward grief: we might and should sorrow in our hearts for the poor girl, yet it would not help her now, and we must not sit down to despond, for there were other duties to be performed. I understood his meaning, and, with their aid, immediately set to work.

By the moon’s light I laid Zenuta in the cave, breathed a few fervent heartfelt prayers over her; then together we collected the largest boulders we could carry, and piled them firmly before the opening, making so impregnable a wall that no animal could possibly remove it to disturb her final resting-place.

This finished, with saddened hearts—very sad on my part I know—we clambered up to the summit of the hill—for the plains were as yet impassable—and went on our way, neither of the three feeling desirous to sleep after the melancholy occurrence of that evening.

Poor Zenuta! Yes, for the last time I must refer to her in this history. My heart felt pained, crushed at her fate; yet I believed that she was far happier where she was than she would have been in a strange land; for I had resolved to take her to England, as I could not have found it in my heart to have deserted her again. But Heaven had willed it otherwise, and it was better for both.

Umatula soon after this informed us that we were very near the white settlements, and before the close of the ensuing day we arrived there, no other adventure having happened worth mentioning. I for my part think we had had our full share.

Our entrance into the settlement created little attention at first, so like had Jack and I become to the natives; but when it got to be known that two of the three strangers were Englishmen, who had spent over a year with the Kaffir tribes, the interest grew immense, and we were speedily visited by a curious crowd—curious yet hospitable—for we got offers of assistance—food and shelter—from over a dozen of the inhabitants, while all urged us to recount our history.

As well as we could we obliged them in everything, and, after having refreshed ourselves, related just the landmarks of our adventures. The next morning, after enjoying a good night’s rest, I proceeded to the mission house, where I executed Mr Ferguson’s commissions, and procured the aid which he had assured us we should. By the means of this, and the help of the rich Boers, we were soon able to attire ourselves in more civilised garments; while I also made numerous purchases, not forgetting the gun, for presents to Metilulu.

Having loaded an ox with these, we placed it under the care of Umatula, to whom, to his unbounded delight, we gave several gifts for his having been our guide, then saw him start on his way with a party of natives who were going very nearly in his direction.

As may be imagined, we lingered no longer than was compulsory at the settlement, but, after one more day’s rest, set out with a fresh guide to the nearest seaport—Port Natal.

Here we arrived without incident of any kind, and so opportunely that we were just in time for a large ship—the Polyphemus—which in a few hours was about to start for England. We speedily got permission to work our passage over in her, and so, on a bright morning, when the sky overhead was of the deepest blue, and the waves danced like things of life in the golden sunlight under our bows, Jack and I, leaning over the bulwarks, bade adieu to Caffraria for ever, and sang out, with our hearts in our voices, “Hey for dear old England once again!” while Jack fairly hugged the tarry shrouds to his breast, as I would have hugged Katie, and wept with very joy at once more feeling the bounding ocean beneath him.

We encountered rather rough, squally weather while rounding the Cape, but afterwards got some fair sailing, and made a quick and pleasant voyage home—pleasant, indeed, for the yarns we could spin about the Kaffirs made us ever welcome companions to all of the crew; and, my stars, what yarns Jack did pull! He never seemed to tire of talking, and though the Kaffirs were a curious and strange race, both in their manners and appearance—what I knew them to be in reality, was nothing to what Jack made them in fiction. But like the old woman who would not believe her sailor son’s account of flying fish, but took it as a probable and gospel truth, when he told her that they had fished up from the bottom of the Red Sea one of the wheels of Pharaoh’s chariot, I daresay they all believed Jack quite as much as they did me, who really kept to real facts.

No sooner did we reach London than, bidding good-bye to Thompson, who anchored somewhere near Liverpool, and making him promise that, if he should ever come near Devon, he would pay me, his old shipmate in trouble and good fortune, a visit, I took the earliest train I could get that was going near my home, for, now I was so close to my destination, every minute seemed lengthened into an hour’s delay.

On arriving at the station, I had over a mile to walk to the little fishing village where I had been born, and never did a mile appear so long to me. I know I began first to run, then to walk very slowly; for the thought came across me that many things might have happened during the two years I had been absent. How did I know but that one of my children—perhaps, oh heaven, Katie—might be dead! That maddening thought put quicksilver in my heels, and I hastened on till near my destination, when I again slackened my steps to a more respectable pace.

The sun was just setting, casting a last red fiery kiss upon the crests of the waves, breaking gently on the shore, and on the rocks and humble tiled roofs, as, with a beating heart, I went down the one long straggling street of the village ending on the beach. It was the hour of the evening meal, and few of the inmates were about; yet here and there two or three groups of fishermen were standing talking and smoking, or mending their nets—they and the whole scene seeming strange to me after my fifteen months’ sojourn among the Kaffirs.

Most of the men comprising these groups were old acquaintances; yet they regarded me curiously as a stranger, so disguised was I by my long thick beard and bronzed face.

I had thus passed along without attracting much notice until, as I reached about the centre of the street, a man—a thoroughly weather-beaten grizzled old fisherman, with a grey eye as keen as an eagle’s—suddenly starting from a group to waylay me, exclaimed with a shout—

“My eyes and marlin-spikes, but its Dick Galbraith or his ghost!”

The words were like a spark to a barrel of gunpowder—the news flew through the village—so, warmly grasping the old seaman’s hand, I said hurriedly—

“Not his ghost, Parker, but himself: come down this evening, and bring two or three of the old acquaintances with you, and I’ll tell you all about it; but I’m now anxious to see my wife, and break the news of my return to her myself.”

“That’s right. She’s still in the same cottage on the rock side, Dick, my hearty, and my eyes, won’t she just be ready to jump out of her skin for joy at seeing you.”

With a happy smile and nod, I ran hastily on, for I feared the news might reach my wife before I could get there. The next moment the well-known cottage, so often recalled in Caffraria, rose up before me in reality. Yes, there was its weather-beaten old shingle front, there were the little loop-hole windows, and there was the small white swing gate leading into the patch of garden ground. Breathlessly I passed through the latter and peeped in at the cottage door, which stood ajar.

At the table, on which the tea things were laid, sat Katie, as pretty, neat, and tidy as ever, but a shade sadder looking, while by her side were our children, little specimens of healthy humanity, which it did a father’s heart good to look upon. Controlling my emotion as much as I could, and assuming a very doleful tone and expression, I said, disguising my voice—

“Please, missus, have you got a ha’penny or crust for a poor shipwrecked mariner, who’s been nigh a year or more among the savidges, and lost all his kit.”

“Yes, come in, my good man,” responded Katie’s gentle tones. “No shipwrecked sailor,” she added sadly, “shall ever be turned from my threshold. Enter and partake of our simple meal.”

Pushing open the door, I went in trembling in every limb. As I appeared, my youngest, a stout pudgy little fellow of nearly three, suddenly slipped off his chair, and toddling towards me, his bread and butter extended, lisped,—

“Here, dood man, Dick not hungry; take this.”

I could control my feelings no longer, but throwing my arms out, I caught the boy to my heart, weeping and laughing at the same time, as I pressed kiss after kiss upon his chubby face.

Katie, surprised at this behaviour, looked up, then, as if a veil had fallen from her eyes, divined the truth. With a cry of joy she rushed forward, exclaiming hysterically as she flung her arms about me.

“Oh, Richard, my husband, my beloved! Is it possible! Do I really see you again?”

I clasped her to me, and for a while we cried and laughed together, then I led her to a chair, for she was rather overcome by the sudden surprise, and hugged and kissed my little ones, who had almost forgotten their father.

After another kissing match all round, I drew my chair up to the familiar chimney corner, and taking some tea, with Katie opposite me, and my children about my knees, began to recount my adventures to my wife, who, bless her heart, almost wept her pretty eyes out at poor Zenuta’s sad story.

Many years have elapsed since that happy evening, and I am now captain of my own ship, but my native place is as dear to me as ever. As my riches increased, I had our cottage turned into a large commodious house, sufficient for my increasing family. And it was here, in a small gabled room hanging right over the sea, that while gazing out at the wild expanse of waters during a terrific storm, the thought occurred to me to write my adventures. So sitting down, pen in hand, I immediately began this history of my life, thinking it likely that there might be many who would find amusement in reading the recital of “Richard Galbraith, Mariner, when wrecked on Caffraria.”

The End.