The White Chief of the Caffres

by Alfred W. Drayson

It would not interest the reader if I were to describe in detail the life I led during the next three years. It was passed without any important events. I learned the details of my father’s life in India from letters received nearly every month from him. I had become thoroughly acquainted with my uncle’s business, and obtained a knowledge of the largeness of his transactions. Considering what must have been his wealth, I should have been surprised at the quiet way in which he lived, had I not discovered that he had a great dislike to display. He had often expressed the opinion that a man should be more than he seemed, instead of seeming more than he was. This he carried out practically. He lived very comfortably, but even with me in the house could not have spent much more than a thousand pounds a year, whereas his annual income must have been seven or eight times that amount.

I had become acquainted with several people in London, all friends of my uncle. To the houses of these I was frequently asked, and great attention was shown me. It seemed to be understood that I should be my uncle’s heir; and I knew enough of the ways of the world, to be aware that this fact, had probably more to do with the attention paid me, than any special qualities in myself. I was not, therefore, carried away by such attentions, nor did I become vain in consequence, both dangers to which some young people are liable. I visited everything in London worth seeing, my uncle putting no restrictions on me. He was fond of the opera, and we often attended it together, as also some of the principal theatres. He allowed me an income for my work at the office, and told me that although he did not wish to restrict me as regards anything essential, yet he thought I ought to live within this income. After two years’ experience I found I could do so, and one day mentioned to my uncle that I had not only done so, but had saved fifty pounds.

But one event occurred during this period, which broke the monotony of civilised life.

It was on a Sunday afternoon, during the winter time, that my uncle accompanied me, to call on a family who lived on the borders of Hampstead Heath. Some of the members of this family were much interested in my adventures in Africa, and I had promised to bring over a knob-kerrie made of the horn of a rhinoceros, to show one of the daughters who was an invalid, and could not visit my uncle’s house to see the few African curiosities that I had there. We stayed at this house till it became dusk, and then set out on our walk home. At that date Hampstead Heath was a lonely place, and robberies were not unfrequent. It occurred to me, soon after we had commenced our walk, that if I were alone I might possibly have an adventure, which I believed would have been amusing. Armed as I was with this formidable knob-kerrie, I could have felled an ox; then I had not neglected my running, and I felt certain that not one Englishman in a thousand could catch me, in case I chose to run. I did not expect that two men walking across the Heath were likely to be stopped by highwaymen. As these ideas crossed my mind, my uncle said, “This heath is rather a dangerous locality to be in late at night: there have been several robberies here lately.”

“I was just thinking of that,” I replied, “but I suppose the robbers don’t use firearms.”

“Not if they can help it,” said my uncle, “as that would make too much noise.”

As we wended our way across the heath, I watched carefully the ground in advance. Although it was a darkish evening I could still see several yards in front of me. Everything was quiet, and we seemed the only people out at the hour. Suddenly, from some bushes near the path, three men jumped up, and were at once within a yard of us.

“Now then,” said one of these men, “just hand out what you’ve got, before we knock your brains out.”

He had scarcely spoken, before I had lunged at the lower part of his chest with my knob-kerrie, the point of which was sharp as a knife. Shifting my hand to the sharp end, I brought the heavy knob down on the head of the man next to me, who fell as though he had been shot. The third man had grappled with my uncle, and the two were struggling together; for my uncle, although old, was still powerful. Watching my chance, I dropped my knob-kerrie on the shoulder of the highwayman. His arm fell helplessly to his side; at the same time my uncle struck him with his fist and he fell to the ground.

We did not wait to see more, because these men were usually provided with pistols, and after the treatment they had received, we believed they would not be very particular about their use. We therefore moved off as rapidly as we could, and reached home in safety; my uncle little the worse for his struggle, except that his coat was torn. At that date the regular police did not exist, and our report of the affair produced no results. We, the next day, visited the scene of our encounter, and found unmistakable “spoor” of the highwaymen having suffered, as there was a great deal of blood on the ground where the man whom I had struck had fallen.