VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
"...IN EVER CLIMBING UP THE CLIMBING WAVE."
Claverton looked sharply at the speaker. The voice seemed familiar tohim, but the features less so. And then, the other had addressed him bythe name given him by the natives at the time he was living at SeringaVale. Not only that. He had uttered words which sounded familiar. Ina moment the floodgates of memory were opened; Claverton remembered themidnight meeting at Spoek Krantz, and the oracle with which itsproceedings closed. Now his captor had repeated the words of thataugury, but had reversed them with grim significance. Still, he thoughthe saw a glimmer of light.
"Stand up?" said the savage, peremptorily.
"Needs must where literally the devil drives," was the prisoner's reply,given with all his wonted coolness, as he obeyed. Resistance would beworse than useless, for it would only subject him to further indignity.He was absolutely in their power.
"Now walk," was the next order.
"Which way?"
"_Hamba-ke_!" ["Walk, then," or "Go on."] repeated the tall Kafir--whoseemed to be the chief of the gang--and the command, uttered in a fierceand threatening tone, was emphasised by a prod with his assegai.
Not by word or sign did the prisoner show that he even felt the sharpdig of the weapon, though the blood was running freely down his leg.Then they started in single file, with the prisoner in the middle, a_reim_ fastened to his bound hands being held by the man immediatelybehind him. Thus they made their way out of that moonlit valley, andthe strange procession wended on through the still, beautiful night.The Kafirs, for the most part, kept perfect silence as they walked, andnow even Claverton was surprised by the readiness with which they gotthrough the dense bush, picking out the most unlikely paths, andthreading them with an ease and rapidity that savoured of themarvellous; but although they hit upon the smoothest paths, theprisoner's powers were sorely tried, for he had undergone no slightstrain within the last twenty-four hours, and his footsteps began todrag in spite of himself. The first sign of this, however, met withencouragement in the shape of a dig from the assegai of the man behindhim, accompanied by a brutal laugh. There was no help for it--he wasentirely in their hands.
"The white man is a very great warrior," remarked the Kafir whom he hadknocked down. "He can turn his hand into a club when he has no otherweapon. He is made of iron; but even iron will bend and melt in thefire--in the fire. Whaow!" repeated the savage, with a dark, meaninglook; and Claverton knew that the reference was to his probable fate.His probable?--nay, his certain fate.
"Look here, you fellows," said the prisoner coolly. "You're rather askulking lot, when all's said and done. Here you've got me in yourpower--me whom you've fought fairly and openly in the field--and youthink it immense fun to give me a quiet dig now and then with yourassegais, like a lot of old women's spiteful pinches. That's not theway in which warriors of the Amaxosa should behave, even to a prisoner."
A laugh, not wholly an ill-natured one, greeted this remonstrance.
"If you intend to cut my throat, as no doubt you do, cut it and havedone with it; but, hang it, until you do you might give a fellow alittle peace," he went on.
"Peace, peace? No, it's war now, white man--war," they replied. "Whyshould we give you any peace until the time comes to roast you? That'swhat we are going to do with you."
"Are you? Well, that's for the Great Chief to decide. Meanwhile, ifyou were decent fellows, you'd fill me up a pipe and let me have a smokeas we go along."
His coolness staggered them. But it stood him in good stead, for amongthese people a bold and fearless mien always commands respect. The tallchief stepped back to the prisoner's side, and filling up a pipe fromClaverton's own tobacco pouch, lighted it and gave it to him, or ratherstuck it into his mouth, with a grim laugh.
"There. You won't smoke many more pipes in this world, Lenzimbi," hesaid.
The Kafirs became quite good-humoured and began to sing, or rather hum,snatches of their war-songs as they stepped briskly out. They ceased toill-treat their prisoner, and even showed a disposition to talk. Theytold him about the different engagements that had been fought betweenthem and the colonists, and how they intended to go on fighting untilevery tribe had risen and joined them, and that then they would eat upthe Fingo "dogs," and ultimately, when they had fought enough, makepeace with the whites. It was of no use for him to try and persuadethem that in six months' time they would be thoroughly beaten and brokenup, and their chiefs either hanged or undergoing penal servitude ascommon convicts. They laughed him to scorn. The open air, the unendingbush and impenetrable fastnesses of the rocks and caves were around themnow, the white man's warnings they treated as mere fables.
Suddenly Claverton was dragged to the earth, all the Kafirs sinkingsilently and like shadows. A blanket was thrown over his head,enveloping him in darkness and nearly suffocating him. It wasimpossible for him to utter so much as a sound. A few minutes of thissilent darkness and the impromptu gag was removed. Something hadalarmed the savages, and they had taken these precautions. They nowresumed their way, and glad indeed was the prisoner to get rid of thehorrible extinguisher that had been put upon him, and breathe the freshair again; for a Kafir blanket, all nauseous with red ochre and greaseand something more, diffuseth not a balmy perfume.
Towards dawn they halted for a short rest, and now the air becamepiercingly cold, for they were at a considerable elevation. Greatclouds worked up from seaward, and the wind arose in dull, moaninggusts, driving the grey scud along the slopes beneath, and wrapping in amisty veil the brow of a lofty cliff which every now and then frowneddown upon their way. Then, as it grew lighter, Claverton could justmake out a town lying far away upon the plain, glimpsed between theslopes of the hills. It was King Williamstown, and at the sight hethought how happily he and Lilian had driven out of it and along thatbit of road, the continuation of which he could see like a white threadwinding along over the flat. He wae roused by a voice at his elbow.
"Now, white man, we are going to start again."
Turning, he beheld the tall chief, and now, by the light of day, herecognised this man's features. It was the man whom, with two others,he had turned away from Umgiswe's out-station, on the morning of thatnever-to-be-forgotten ride over to Thirlestane, and whom Lilian had somuch wished to see as a specimen of a real Kafir chief. He wondered ifthe other recognised him.
"Do you know me now, Lenzimbi?" was the quiet, but somewhat sneeringquestion.
"Are you a rich man, Nxabahlana?" said Claverton, answering the query byanother, in true native fashion.
The Kafir eyed him suspiciously. "It is war-time now," he replied, witha shrug of the shoulders; "no one can be said to be rich in war-time."
"True; but war does not last for ever. Some day there will be peace,and then, when the whites have taken all their cattle and the Gaikas arestarving, and begging for food, supposing that Nxabahlana found he hadplenty of cattle in his kraals. He would be a rich man when all hispeople were poor; and a rich man is always the most powerful chief."
A gleam in the other's eyes, and the least movement of a glance in thedirection of the rest, convinced the prisoner that he was understood,and he began to hope.
"Supposing, then," he went on, "that when all of Nxabahlana's wives hadbeen captured and distributed among the Fingoes, or were half-starvedand too weak to work, and worn out, and thin, and useless, Nxabahlanahad plenty of cattle, he could buy more wives--young, and fresh, andhealthy. And then, when all the chiefs of the Gaikas were deposed andin disgrace, supposing the Government were to say: `During the war awhite man, an officer in the colonial forces, was captured by theGaikas, and his life was saved by a chief who set him free, and providedhim with a horse and a guide to lead him into the colonial camp. This,then, is the chief whom we must put in Sandili's place, although he isof the house of the Great Chief, for he is our friend--and his name isNxabahlana.'"
The eyes of the savage glistened at the prospec
t thus opened out beforehim. All Kafirs are by nature covetous, and this man's greediestinstincts were powerfully appealed to. Plenty amid scarcity--wives,cattle, power--for that last consideration thrown out by the prisonerhad carried more weight than he thought. He, Nxabahlana, was nowdisliked and distrusted by Sandili. Here, then, would be a goodopportunity of securing the favour of the Colonial Government, andbenefiting himself at the expense of his kinsman and chief.
"How many cattle will Nxabahlana find in his kraal, after the war, ifLenzimbi goes free?" he asked.
"One hundred fat beasts," replied Claverton. He knew his man, and thatthe other would take advantage of his necessity to the utmost, so hepurposely began at a low figure.
"Aow! A chief cannot buy many wives with that," was the reply, givenwith a dissatisfied head-shake.
"Say one hundred and fifty, then."
But this, too, proved too little. At length, after much haggling, whichevoked many a smile from the prisoner--so strongly was his sense ofhumour tickled by the notion of haggling over the price of his own life,as if he was merely buying a waggon or a farm--a bargain was struck.Two hundred head of cattle should be handed over to Nxabahlana at anytime and place that worthy chose to name, and if at the close of the warClaverton's good offices should not avail to obtain for the chief aposition of considerable wealth and influence, then he was to receiveanother hundred. In consideration whereof the Gaika agreed to releasehis prisoner, and, if not to conduct him within the colonial lines, atany rate to leave him in a place of safety. Not that all this was setforth in so many words--both of them knew better than that--the othersmight be listening. No, the negotiations were carried on in that darkundercurrent of half hints, half veiled references, which the Kafirsemploy when anxious not to be readily understood by outsiders; and itwill be remembered that Claverton spoke the native languages with easeand fluency, and, what in this instance stood him in almost betterstead, thoroughly understood the native character.
"What if Lenzimbi should _forget_ his word, when he found himself safeamong his own people?" said the savage, suspiciously. "What if whenNxabahlana went to ask for his reward he received a bullet instead ofthe cattle, or was seized and thrown into the _tronk_ as a rebel? Look.Here is a better plan. Lenzimbi shall give the money value of half thecattle now. He can turn paper into money by writing upon it."
"Lenzimbi isn't such a fool as he looks," was the prompt reply. "No, myfriend, you know perfectly well that you can trust me far better than Ican trust you, and as for writing you a cheque now, which I suppose iswhat you mean, I couldn't if I would, because I've no paper or ink oranything; and I wouldn't if I could, because you know, as well as I do,that I shall keep to my side of the bargain. Besides, even if I didwhat you want me to, and gave you a cheque now, how the devil could youread it so as to make sure it was all right? Eh?"
This was conclusive.
"It will be difficult," mused the Kafir, referring to the escape. "Verydifficult. Look. Yonder is the camp of your people. We shall passvery near it presently. Then, if you should find yourself free, makefor it as hard as you can. There is no other chance. But until afterthe war is over you must keep silent about the way in which you escaped.That is one of the conditions."
Claverton agreed to this, and now hope ran very strong within him. Hehad every reason to believe that the Gaika would fulfil his word;indeed, two powerful considerations would ensure his doing so, cupidityand fear. For if he were denounced to Sandili as having evencontemplated such an act of treason as the release of a prisoner, hislife would not be worth a moment's purchase. After some discussion asto the best way the order was given to start, and, with their prisonerin their midst as before, the Kafirs resumed their march. OnceClaverton stole a side look at the chief's face, but Nxabahlana wasmoody and taciturn, and when he did speak to the prisoner it was withthe rough brutality he had employed at first; but this might be only ablind. Which was it to be--life or doom? Every chance now was infavour of the former, and hope ran high.
Doubtless the reader will wonder at Claverton's marvellous ill-luck inthree times escaping a terrible death only to fall straight into thehands of his enemies. When the Kafirs had abandoned their search asuseless, thinking that the white man was a wizard indeed, as Nxabahlanahad tauntingly said, that worthy, with a dozen followers, had remainedbehind. Of a cynical disposition, and a very sceptic as regarded thesuperstitions of his countrymen, that astute savage, although he hadbeen the first to start the miraculous theory as accounting for thefugitive's disappearance, believed in it himself not one whit. He waspuzzled, he admitted, but by natural causes. He would fathom themystery yet; so he sneeringly watched the bulk of his countrymen moveoff, while, with a few chosen followers, he remained on the watch.Carefully they examined the ground, but, of course, found no trace of afootmark. They searched the cave whence the fugitive had emerged, butdid not venture far into it, being influenced by two considerations.One was that not a shadow of spoor was seen to lead into it; another, avery natural repugnance to penetrating deep into that gloomy hole. Itwas nearly dark, and if the fugitive moved at all, it would be at night.So Nxabahlana and his warriors took up their position on the cliff alittle way above the mouth of the cavern, in a spot commanding aconsiderable view of the moonlit valley, wherein nothing could movewithout at once attracting their attention, and waited and watched withthe steady patience of their kind. This was at length rewarded whenthey saw the object of their quest emerge, weary and exhausted, from thecavern, walking, so to say, straight into their very jaws. The sequelwe have seen.
During the march Claverton noticed with some uneasiness, that the manwho had felt the weight of his fist was watching him very narrowly.Whichever way he looked, this man's shrewd, suspicious glance was uponhim, and more than once it seemed to wander to the chief. Could he haveoverheard? If so, it would add seriously to the difficulties in the wayof escape. But he consoled himself with the knowledge that if it was tobe effected Nxabahlana would manage it somehow.
And now, as they drew nearer to the critical spot, the sound of voiceswas heard close by, causing, however, no alarm to the party, and a largebody of Kafirs, emerging from the bush, joined them. Of course a haltwas called while they exchanged news, and great was the exultation ofthe new arrivals over the capture of so formidable an enemy as thiswhite man had proved--for his fame had spread among them. They crowdedround to look at him as he sat on the ground, some jeering, somethreatening, but all, in their heart of hearts, rather respecting theman who sat there absolutely in their power, and yet taking no morenotice of them than if they were stones.
"Whaaow!" exclaimed a great mocking voice at his side. "Whaaow,Lenzimbi! I told you we should meet again. You knocked me down once--twice. It was your turn then--now it is mine," and, looking up, herecognised at a glance his old enemy--Mopela.
"Ha--ha! I told you so, didn't I? How do you like that, Lenzimbi--howdo you like that?" continued the savage, striking him twice on the headwith the shaft of his assegai. "Yesterday, you--to-day, I. Haow!"
"What has come over the warriors of the Amaxosa that they keep such acur in their midst?" said Claverton, looking straight before him, andsteadily ignoring his persecutor. "Only a cur bites and worries ahelpless man, but if one even looks at a stone he runs away with histail between his legs, as this cur called Mopela would do if my handswere for a moment free--even as he has done twice already."
With a yell of rage, and foaming at the mouth, Mopela flourished hisassegai within an inch of Claverton's face, but the prisoner neverflinched. It seemed that the savage was working himself up to such apitch that in a moment he would plunge the weapon into the body of hishelpless enemy, when his arm was seized in a firm grasp, and Nxabahlanasaid, coldly:
"Stop, Mopela. You must not kill the prisoner. He belongs to the GreatChief, Sandili."
"Yes, yes," chimed in the others, "he belongs to Sandili; he is notours!" And favouring Claverton with a frightful glare of disappoint
edhate, Mopela fell back sullenly among the rest.
"Yes, the white man belongs to Sandili. He is not ours--he is notours!" repeated the Kafir whose suspicions had been awakened, with asignificant glance at his leader's face.
The latter, who, by the way, was Mopela's half-brother, ignored thehint, and gave orders to resume the march.
"Aow!" exclaimed one of the Kafirs, suddenly stopping. "This is not theway to Sandili."
"No, no. It isn't?" agreed several of the others.
"It takes us dangerously near the white man's camp," said the suspiciousone, stopping short with a determined air.
"And we might be attacked by a strong patrol," urged Mopela. "Senhlu isright."
A great hubbub now arose. The Kafirs, to a man, objected to pursuingthat road any further. It was not safe, they said; they might lose theprisoner, and perhaps all be shot themselves. No. The best plan wouldbe to go straight to head-quarters, and as soon as possible.
Nxabahlana saw that they were determined to have their way. He was onlya petty chief, and the great bulk of these men were not his ownclansmen; moreover, he was greatly out of favour with Sandili andMatanzima, who would be glad of a pretext to get rid of him. He darednot persevere in his plan; to incur further suspicion would be to courtdeath. So he gave way.
"I intended to have reconnoitred and carried back some news to the GreatChief," he replied, coldly, and with a sneer. "But since you are all soafraid of the white men that you dare not venture within three hours'run of their camp, you can have your way. I shall carry out my schemealone, while you go back with the prisoner."
To this plan they one and all objected. It might be that they detecteddefection in the tone of their leader's voice. He, however, deemed itsafer to fall in with their wishes.
"So be it, then," he said. "We will all go straight to Sandili." Andthe whole party, turning, struck off into the deep wooded fastnesses ofthe mountains; and the captive's heart sank within him, for he knew thatthe plan for his deliverance had failed on the verge of its fulfilment,and now every step carried him nearer and nearer to his death. Half anhour ago the flame of life and hope glowed brightly; now the last sparkwas extinguished in the darkness of a certain and terrible doom.
On they went--on through the dark forest, where the crimson-wingedlouris flashed across the path, sounding their shrill, cheery whistle,and monkeys skipped away with a chattering noise among the long, tangledtrailers and lichens which festooned the boughs of the massiveyellow-wood trees. Now and then an ominous, stealthy rustle betokenedthe presence of some great reptile, quietly gliding away among the saferecesses of the thicket; and high above, the harsh, resounding cry of ahuge bird of prey floated from a mighty cliff overhanging the line ofmarch. All these things the prisoner noted as a dying man looks at thetrivial sights and sounds of earth; for he knew he should never leavethis place alive. The clouds had cleared off, and now the sun's rayspoured down upon his head like molten fire; fortunately for them theKafirs had left him his hat, or their captive would have been snatchedout of their merciless grasp by a sunstroke, long before he reached theplace of torture and death.
At about noon they halted; and one of the Kafirs, advancing a little wayahead, uttered a loud, strange call. It was answered, and, beingbeckoned to come on, the whole party moved forward and joined him. Thenthey formed up in a column, and, striking up a war-song, they steppedout, beating time with the handles of their sticks and assegais; thosenearest to him, turning every now and then to brandish their weapons inthe prisoner's face.
And now they entered an open space covered with huts--these, however,being of a very temporary order--and a swarm of human beings crowded outto meet them. A few starved-looking dogs rushed forward, yelping, butwere promptly driven back with stones; and men, women, and children,stood eagerly watching the return of the warriors, and speculatingloudly on the identity and probable fate of the captive.
Grasping instinctively the capabilities of the place, Claverton saw thathe was on a kind of plateau, shut in on three sides by high, woodedslopes and rugged krantzes, while on the fourth, which was open, hecould just make out a wide stretch of country far away beneath. Thecunning old Gaika chieftain had well chosen his eyrie of a hiding-place.On every side, however, the bush grew thickly right up to the huts,which were built in a circle. Claverton noted, moreover, that, save fora few very indifferent cows, there was no cattle anywhere about, andthat the people themselves were looking lean and starved, and drew hisown conclusions accordingly.
With many a shrill laugh, and chattering like magpies, the women crowdedround to look at the prisoner as he sat in the midst of his captors andguards, stoically indifferent to his fate. Hideous, toothless crones,whose wrinkled hides hung about them in a succession of disgustingflaps; crushed-looking middle-aged women and plump, well-made girls, allin different stages of undress. One of the latter slily put out herhand and gave Claverton a sharp pinch on the arm, amid screams oflaughter from her fellows as they watched its effect upon thecountenance of the captive.
"Yaow!" they cried. "The white man cannot feel. See, he does notmove!"
Then a frightful hag stepped in front of the prisoner, and, amid atorrent of invective, began brandishing a butcher-knife within an inchof his nose.
"Ah--wolf--white snake--vulture's spawn!" she yelled. "We will spoilyour handsome face for you. Our young men are lying about the land inthousands, and the jackals are devouring their carcases, and it is yourwork. For every one of their lives you shall undergo a pang that willmake you pray for death. Do you hear, tiger-cat; do you hear?" screamedthe hag in a frenzy of rage.
Again a grim smile was upon Claverton's face. The idea of him, who hadmade himself felt in sober earnest, who had escaped peril and death sonarrowly and so often, coming to this--that it was in the power of sucha thing as this to cut his throat like a fowl.
"He dares to laugh!" yelled the she-devil, brandishing her knife andclawing him by the hair. Just then one of the warriors took her by theshoulders and sent her spinning a dozen yards off, where she lay on theground foaming with rage.
"_Hamba-ke_! Leave the prisoner alone. He belongs to the chief!"
At a sign from the speaker a girl came forward rather timidly and held abowl to the captive's lips. It contained curdled milk, with somemealie-paste thrown in. It was cool and refreshing, and Claverton drankdeeply.
"Thanks," he said, with a nod and a pleasant smile. "That's good."
The rest of the contents of the bowl were drained by his guards; and thegirl, retiring amongst her companions with many a sidelong glance at theprisoner, remarked, in a half whisper, what a handsome fellow the whiteman was, and she was sure he must be a very great chief, and it was ashame to kill such a man as this.
And now a commotion arose on the other side of the kraal. All eyes wereturned, and so grotesque was the sight that met his glance thatClaverton could hardly keep from laughing outright. In the centre of agroup of women and children, who were hustling him along, was a man--awhite man. On his head was a tall black hat, the puggaree had beenimpounded by one of his captors. His arms were bound to his sides,while his long-tailed coat, now in a woeful and tattered condition, hungabout his legs. Some brat, more mischievous than the rest, would everynow and then swing on to its tails, or bestow a severe pinch underneath,while buffets of every description seemed the sufferer's momentaryportion. His eyes were starting out of his head with fear, and hiscountenance was more abject than ever. In this miserable-lookingspecimen of British humanity Claverton recognised his companion inadversity--the missionary, Swaysland.
"Yaow--man of peace--get on!" yelled the rabble, hustling the poorwretch forward. One urchin leaped upon his back, and nearly made histeeth meet in the tip of his ear, while another playfully flicked him onthe cheek with the lash of a toy-whip. Altogether the unfortunatemissionary seemed to be having a bad time of it.
"Is there too much light, _Umfundisi_?" mocked a young woman, as heblinked his eyes,
partly to dodge an expected blow, partly because thesudden glare of the sun tried them. "There, now it is dark. Is thatbetter?" and she banged the tall hat down over the luckless man's eyes,head and face, thereby performing the operation known to the uncivilisedBriton as "bonneting." A scream of laughter from the barbarous mobgreeted this performance, which increased as, with the "chimney-pot"sticking over his head and face, their victim stumbled forward,completely blinded. Scattering the women, two of the warriors roughlyremoved this visual obstruction, and marched him up to where Clavertonwas sitting.
"Hallo, Mr Swaysland, I never expected to see you again in thisterrestrial orb!"
There was something almost cheerful in this greeting, and the poormissionary felt hopeful.
"How did you escape? I am so glad!" he began in a tone of breathlessrelief. "Now you will be able to interpret for me. I am sure theywould not have ill-treated me if I could have made them understand who Iam. And they have ill-treated me shockingly--shockingly."
"Why! Can't you talk their lingo?"
"No. I have only been in this country a few months. Ah, why did Ileave Islington! I was President of the Young Men's ChristianAssociation there, and I must needs come to convert the heathen in thisbenighted country. I was afternoon preacher at--"
"Yes, yes," interrupted his companion in adversity. "But I'm afraidthat won't inspire John Kafir with either respect or compunction. Whatdo you want me to tell them?"
"Tell them that I am the Rev Josiah Swaysland, and that I belong tothe Mount Ararat Mission Station. Tell them that I am the Kafir'sfriend, and that I gave up a comfortable place in a high-class draperyestabli--er--ah--er--I mean in a--er--in easy circumstances at home, inorder to come and be their friend. Tell them to let me go. I am not afighting man. I am a man of peace, and never did them any harm. Tellthem--"
"That's enough for one sitting," said Claverton, with a sneer ofprofound contempt for the other's egotism and cowardice. It was all"I--I," "Let _me_ go." A brutal laugh was the only answer which thesavages vouchsafed.
"Ha!" they mocked. "A man of peace! What are men of peace doing herein war-time? This is not the land for a man of peace!"
Nevertheless, Claverton did his best to obtain the other's release, anddisinterestedly, too, for he knew that long before his own positioncould be made known he himself would be a dead man. He represented tothe Kafirs--very contemptuously, it must be admitted--that themissionary was a pitiful devil, not worth the trouble of killing; thatthey could gain no good by it; but might by releasing him, as he wouldbe only too ready to trumpet their generosity far and wide. They onlyshook their heads in response to all his arguments. They had no voicein the matter; it was a question for the chief to decide.
"What do they say?" anxiously inquired Swaysland.
"They can do nothing. It all depends upon Sandili. He will be backthis evening, and then our fate will be settled."
The other shuddered.
"You seem to take things very calmly, Mr Claverton," said he, atlength.
"Well, yes. What on earth's the good of kicking up a row? It won'tmend matters."
"Oh! God help us!" wailed the missionary, in mortal fear.
"That's about our only chance. But you don't seem to calculate overmuch on the contingency," rejoined his companion, with a very visiblesneer.
"Don't talk like that--don't, I beg you. Remember our awful position."
"`The devil was ill, the devil a monk would be,'" quoted the other, witha bitter laugh. "I've been in `awful positions' before now, on morethan one occasion, but this time I verily believe it's all UP. My Godhas quarrelled with me, as that long devil over yonder graciouslyinformed me last night."
Swaysland stared at him in amazement. Here was a man with torture anddeath before him in a few hours, talking as calmly and as cynically asif he was having his evening pipe. He had never even heard of anythinglike this before, and, if he had, would not have believed it.
"Now, look here," continued Claverton. "I don't want to raise any falsehopes, mind that; but I think it's just possible that they may let yougo. You see, the chiefs always like to stand well with themissionaries, not because they believe in them, but because Exeter Hallis a power in the land, worse luck. Now, you represent that you're noend of a swell in that connection, and that you'll do great things forthem if they let you go. But, whatever you do, don't promise to leavethe country by way of an inducement."
"But if they ask me?"
"They won't. On the contrary. If you leave the country, you can be ofno further service to them, and they know it. It is only by remaininghere and saying what fine, generous fellows they are, that you can dothem any good. In fact, I think you stand a very fair chance; but, as Isay, I don't want to raise any false hopes."
"Really, I declare I am quite hopeful already. If I get away, neveragain will I set foot in these frightful wilds," vehemently replied thispreacher of the Gospel. "But, about yourself?" he added, ashamed of hisegotism, a consciousness of which had just begun to dawn upon him.
"Oh, I? Well, I'm a gone coon. There isn't a chance for me. They knowme too well." Then, as if moved by a sudden impulse, he added: "If youescape you might do me a service. It isn't a very big thing."
"I pledge you my word that I will. What is it?"
"Find out a man named Payne--George Payne. He's from Kaffraria, but atpresent he's living in Grahamstown, and--tell him--tell them--all--thatyou saw the last of me."
"I will--I will. But--"
"Do you know this, Lenzimbi?" and Mopela stood confronting him, with adiabolical grin upon his face. As he spoke he removed an old rag fromover something he carried, disclosing to view a hideous object. It wasa human head, and in the swollen, distorted lineaments, the glazed eyes,and the sandy beard all matted with gore, Claverton recognised thefeatures of the unhappy Boer, Cornelius Oppermann. At this ghastlysight Swaysland started back, his face livid with terror, and tremblingin every limb.
"Look at it, Lenzimbi. Look at it. One of your countrymen," went onthe savage, thrusting the frightful object within an inch of theprisoner's nose. It had begun to decompose, for the weather was hot,and it was all that Claverton could do to restrain his repugnance.
"I see it," he replied, self-possessedly. "Any one but a fool wouldknow that that article of furniture had belonged to a Dutchman, whomevery one but a fool would know was _not_ `one of my countrymen.'"
"Hey, Mopela, take it away!" cried the bystanders, disgustedly. "Wedon't want to be killed by the carcase of a stinking Boer," and, with agrin of malice, the barbarian chucked the hideous trophy at a small boywho was passing, and who bolted with a panic-stricken yell.
"Here, _Umfundisi_, you have talked long enough; you must go back toyour hut," said Nxabahlana. The poor missionary's heart sank withinhim. Claverton's conversation, though sadly profane, had cheered himup, and now he was to be alone again.
"Good-bye, in case we do not meet again," he said, with more feelingthan he had hitherto displayed--on other account than his own, that is.
"Good-bye. Keep your spirits up, and don't forget to make the most ofyourself," replied Claverton. "And remember Payne--George Payne."
"Now then, _Umfundisi_," impatiently exclaimed one of the Kafirs,dragging him by the shoulder. Swaysland walked dejectedly away, glad ofthe Kafir's escort to protect him from the ill-treatment of the womenand children; and Claverton, leaning back, wondered, dreamily, what thedeuce would be his own fate. So the hours dragged their slow length;and it was with but scant hope that the captives awaited the arrival ofthe Gaika chief.