A Vendetta of the Desert

by W. C. Scully

When he heard of Marta’s death he bent his head anew in bitter self-reproach. He felt he had left the weak woman whom he had vowed to cherish alone and unprotected,—disgraced and sorrowful. Up till now he had been happy—happier than he had felt for years, for his heart was no longer the home of torturing hate. He felt that this later misfortune was sent to chasten him,—a thing which his imprisonment had failed to do. He took his wife’s death as a sign of the wrath of the Almighty, and he winced at the soreness of the stroke.

But when, a year later, the loss of his little blind daughter became known to Stephanus, his bones seemed to turn to water and light died out of his life. It was the uncertainty of her fate which made the blow so terrible. Month by month would he write letters asking for news and suggesting places to be searched. Had her body only been found it would have brought some consolation. But no—God’s wrath was still sore against him. It was his perfect trust in God’s justice that saved him from despair. He had no hope that Elsie was alive; God, he firmly believed, had taken her to himself, and had left her fate uncertain so as to punish her father, who was the greatest of sinners.

His health nearly broke down under the strain. However, his sublime faith triumphed in time—he bent his back to the sore stroke and the soreness grew less.

Stephanus was employed with the ordinary convict gang in the stone-quarries upon Robben Island. For the first few years he had worked in chains. Afterwards his good conduct had attracted so much remark that he was freed from his fetters and allowed several privileges which, however, he always tried to pass on to his fellow-convicts.

Whenever any of the others fell sick, it was Stephanus who would tirelessly nurse them, night and day. He had even offered on one occasion to receive corporal punishment to which another prisoner had been sentenced, but this, of course, the authorities would not allow.

Since his prostration consequent upon the news of Elsie’s disappearance Stephanus had not been asked to do any labour in the quarries. Moreover, he had not been forced to cut his hair or beard of late years. These were snow-white and of considerable length, and, combined with his upright figure, strongly marked features, and keen but kindly eyes, gave him that appearance we are accustomed to associate with the Hebrew prophets filled with the fire of inspiration.

An early breakfast was hardly over at the du Plessis’ home next morning, before Mr Brand appeared, armed with permission for himself and Elsie to visit the convict van der Walt. They drove down to the wharf, where they found a boat awaiting them. The day was clear and bracing and the stout boat flew before the south-east wind across the heaving welter of Table Bay.

Although Elsie had never been on the sea before, she felt neither alarm nor inconvenience. In the course of a couple of hours the keel grated on the shingle and the passengers were carried ashore through the surf.

Her impatience had given place to a feeling of calm, and she paced up the pathway to the prison without the least appearance of agitation. Leaving her in charge of the wife of one of the officials, Mr Brand went to prepare Stephanus for the great surprise.

Elsie’s beauty became almost unearthly when she was led up the stone steps, at the other side of which she knew her father was waiting to receive her. She entered a flagged passage and then was led to a doorway on the right. The door opened, and she stepped into the room where her father was waiting. He, with a wild look of astonishment and almost incredulity, clasped her in his arms. The door was gently closed, leaving the two alone together.