“Sit ba-a-a-ck!” said the “boys” suddenly.
The Australians obeyed, not too soon. The rickshaws tilted back alarmingly as they shot down the hill. The Zulus rested their elbows on the shafts and balanced themselves in the air, their legs taking strides that were apparently gigantic, but never touching the ground with their feet. It was a spectacular performance—by no means comfortable, and distinctly nerve-shaking. Faster and faster went the rickshaws, and further and further back they tilted.
“If I get out of this alive,” said Jim, “I guess I’m born to be hanged!”
They came to the foot of the hill, and swung round a corner so abruptly that to find themselves still intact seemed almost a miracle. The Zulu came down to earth and the rickshaw to a horizontal position; the occupants righted themselves with sighs of relief. Still under the impetus of that wild descent, the “boys” raced along a level strip of roadway, and drew up at a big hotel that fronted the beach. They let down the shafts gently, and turned to their passengers, each chocolate countenance bearing a grin from ear to ear.
“My is a nice boy!” said Norah’s steed, modestly.
“You are,” said Mr. Linton, getting out. “You’re also closely related to an assassin, I think. How many people do you kill in the year?”
The Zulu grinned yet more widely, apparently under the impression that his acrobatic efforts were receiving the praise they merited.
“Two shillin’,” said he, blandly, and accepted the coin with an air of condescension, while his companion did the same. They trotted off smartly, lest their passengers should discover that they had paid double fare and take steps of vengeance.
The hotel was cool and spacious, with big rooms and wide verandahs. Norah’s window looked out upon the sea, stretching to the misty horizon over which they had come. Beneath her, the life of the beach surged. War, people said, had made Durban quiet; few of the up-country settlers had followed their usual custom of coming down for the bathing, since most of the men were fighting, and every one else was busy guarding property. But Norah thought she had never seen such a busy beach. Motors, carriages, and rickshaws passed and repassed on the wide road beneath her, with clanging, noisy electric trams; further down, the terraces were thronged with people, and the cafes showed a stream of customers going in and out. Children were paddling and digging in the sand; in a rotunda a military band was playing softly.
In the sea itself, a semicircular pier curved right out into the water, surrounding a stretch of surf. Men were fishing from the far side of the pier; Norah could see immensely long rods, and once a gleam in the air as a big fish was landed over the rail. But her interest centred on the enclosed water, where hundreds of people were bathing in the breakers that came rolling in from the sea. Durban bathing was famous, the doctor had told her, since it combined the excitement and delight of surfing with perfect safety. Norah watched them, fascinated. Some would wait, waist-deep, for the breaker to come in behind them and carry them on its crest ashore; others would face it, and as it came, dive right through it, to swim in the more tranquil heave of water behind the crest. There were old and young men and women; boys and girls, and tiny children, most of them daring the deepest water, while a few paddled cheerfully near the edge, sat down and shrieked when a wave came tumbling in, and, if they did not swim, at any rate became extremely wet and happy.