Kitabı oku: «Jasper Lyle», sayfa 20
The clouds which, like sheeted ghosts, hung about the sides of the Stormberg mountains, melted into drizzling showers, and met the party commanded by Vander Roey, in its journey up the steep and stony pathways.
First rode Vander Roey, his flapped hat and sweeping feather drawn down to his eyebrows. A little apart from him, watching his leader’s countenance with keen and anxious glance, strode the wild hunter on foot, staff in hand, a handkerchief bound round his head, and this surmounted by a coarse, weather-beaten straw hat. Close behind were Brennard, Lyle, and Lodewyk. The former was a sworn ally of Vander Roey—he, too, had been a deserter. Lyle, introduced as his friend, had found a ready welcome, but as yet had had no opportunity of close discussion with Vander Roey; and poor Gray was mounted on a somewhat tired steed; but this signified little, as the acclivity was impracticable for a hurried journey; and, besides this, the feeble and infirm of the party could only proceed at a certain pace. Very few wagons accompanied the procession, and these halted often, that the smoking oxen might take fresh breath for the desperate task before them. Now a wagon was lifted almost edgeways on a huge block of stone, now it came down with a crash that threatened dislocation to every joint of the creaking mass; sometimes the poor animals, in utter despair at the sight of the almost perpendicular track, dashed at it at headlong speed, halted suddenly, and were almost dragged back by the weight of the huge vehicle in the rear; or, if they did succeed in gaining a ridge, overlooking a hollow in the mountain-side, would plunge recklessly on, and come down en masse, jumbled together in a confused heap.
But, apparently absorbed in thought, sullen, angry, smarting under a keen sense of wrong and disappointment, the leader expressed no impatience at the delays occasioned by the feebleness or incapacity of the most useless followers of the cavalcade. He made no reply when told that a halt must be called, for the sake of some sickly family, wasted with fever, from lying long in the open bivouac, or some patriarch of the tribe, head of three or four generations, who could not walk, was not strong enough to sit his horse, or whose rheumatic limbs needed a respite from the jolting of the wagon. Moodily silent, he sat upon his powerful horse, which he had kept fresh for the work before him, and apart from his fellow-men, save that Lodewyk and Brennard occasionally conferred with him. At last Lyle made his way slightly in advance, and, turning his horse’s head to the westward, surveyed the panorama lying before him. They were on a ridge of table-rock near the summit of the lowest mountain, over which their path lay, and here it was intended they should outspan for an hour or two, and make a meal of some of the poor sheep, which with great difficulty had been driven up the steep by the bushboys, Lynx and Frolic.
Lyle’s powerful frame, bronzed but handsome face, the very air with which he carried his rifle, his attitude on horseback,—in fact, his whole bearing, as he smiled cordially on Vander Roey, attracted the latter at once to his colleague. The two riders brought their horses together, neck and neck, and watched the party winding up the steep.
In rear of all was old Du Plessis on a litter. The mists had cleared away, the rays of the sun illuminated the hills above them with a glory, the clouds were tinged with flame. Nature breathed gently on the rocky soil, and as the aged Boer sat up in his primitive palanquin, the tilt partially drawn back, the balmy breeze lifted his white hair, and seemed to refresh him. His daughter rode close by, reining in, with no small skill, a horse of the same shape and power as her husband’s, but with some attempt at smartness about his harness; the saddle was a man’s, but she had learned to ride in the civilised districts, and with the left stirrup shortened, and the right one brought over to the near side, she contrived to sit with comfort and considerable grace; but the head-gear was unsightly,—a gingham bonnet, shaped like a wagon-tilt, almost concealed her face, yet from the depths of this miniature tunnel flashed out the dark and brilliant eyes; but when these turned upon her father, their radiance softened to a tender light.
As Vander Roey and Lyle sat conversing in short pithy sentences on the subject of oppression, the former believing Lyle’s indignation to be as patriotic and disinterested as his own, the latter somewhat discomposed at finding Vander Roey as shrewd, resolute, and intelligent as himself, and withal comparatively honest of purpose, though blind in judgment, they both watched the last division, consisting of the chief Boer’s wife, the litter, its bearers, and some of the younger people of the clan.
All at once, Madame Vander Roey dropped her reins, clasped her hands, sprung from her horse, and cast herself on her knees beside the couch of her father, then looking upward, beckoned her husband to her; her bonnet railing off, disclosed an anguished countenance. Vander Roey dismounted, and leading his horse, descended the few hundred yards, that lay between him and his wife. Lyle followed, and the little crowd, halting on the hill-side, looked down upon the litter and the attendant group.
Du Plessis had raised himself with a strength unusual to him; an unnatural light filled his eyes; his voice, though not loud, was firm and clear. The air was so still, that the gentle breeze wafted his words to those above. Those who could, drew as near as they could do with due respect to his immediate relatives.
“My children,” said the old man, “draw near. Let me bless you before I die. I thank my God that he gives me light at the last. I shall die within sight of those dark purple hills, whose feet are washed by those pleasant streams beside which I dwelt through many a long, long year. There my forefathers came, pitched their tents, and tarried for four generations. There they sowed, there they reaped, there they were despoiled, but abided patiently for help that never came. My children, I would fain have you still wait for help; the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong; God will take his own time to make the crooked pathways straight, and the rough places plain; think well before you lift your hand against your white brethren.”
Old memories seemed to flit in shadows before the eye of the dying “white African settler;” it looked into the past. A sudden flush crimsoned the ashy cheek, and the eyes shone with tears.
Folding his trembling and withered hands together, he gave himself up to thoughts of bygone days; the cheek paled again, but the tears of weakness rolled slowly down, and bedewed the old rough jacket. He was back again at the foot of those hills, purpling in the glory of the morning sun, but green and fresh in his memory even now. He mentioned father, mother, brothers, sisters, wife, all gone; all lying beneath the sod near a ruined chapel. Of all his people, his daughter was the last one; his sons’ bones had bleached unburied in the waste.
Sometimes swiftly, sometimes slowly, he spoke of the days when the white men of Africa were all united: “But now,” said he, “our white brethren—where are they? Some tell us they are sorry. We were friends once. We ate bread together, we smoked our pipes together at sunset. We had no thought of strife—strife—strife. Peace, peace”—the wings of the angel of death swooped down, and overshadowed his recollection. A gleam of light irradiated his face for a few minutes, he raised himself higher on his couch, the wind parted the snowy hair on his majestic brow, his gaze was fixed westward, his arms were stretched towards the mountain ridges of his first home, his daughter clasped his hands in hers, he bowed his white head upon her breast, she uttered a loud cry, Vander Roey stooped to support the patriarch, but he was dead to human sympathy. The sable wings of Azrael had overshadowed him, and his soul passed away, while his outward vision was fixed longingly and lovingly upon those mountain ridges which he was never more to tread in youth or age, in sorrow or in joy.
They buried him decently upon the lone hill-side.
Few of the married families were without their Bibles; and he, who stood next in age to Du Plessis, said a prayer over the open grave. While they were occupied in closing it with safe blocks of stone, a mother gathered a little flock around her, and read them a chapter suited to the occasion. Madame Vander Roey sat beside her, weeping bitterly; the men stood apart in groups. Some had been impressed with the old man’s last words, “Peace, peace.”
But as in all disorganised communities the strong and evil spirit of man’s nature prevails over the good, there were not wanting women, as well as men, to step forward and urge even the incident of old Du Plessis’ death as an incentive to carry out the purpose of wrath and of revenge. He, the aged, the virtuous, the banished patriarch!—who had driven him into the wilderness to die, but his white brother, another Cain? Were they to submit to the will of these jealous, bad white brethren, who permitted the savage Kafir the exercise of his diabolical laws, his heathen rites, and denied the poor Dutch colonist the use of his own moral laws? Who had first robbed them of their slaves, and then pretended to make them compensation for depriving them of what was theirs by purchase? Had not Du Plessis himself urged the obligation of making a sacrifice, because it was disgraceful to white men to trade in human flesh? What reward had he gained? His cattle had been swept away, his sons shot down by the Kafirs, his home devastated; he had met with no pity or redress, and he had died sorrow-stricken amid the mountains of the storm.
And to add to these grievances, men had belied them, and were still belying them, in England. The traders, now with them, had brought them the evil sayings of wicked or ignorant Englishmen, who proclaimed to the world that the Boer was cruel and rapacious, never satisfied with the land he had pillaged from the Hottentots, but committing unequalled cruelties against them, entering their countries with commandoes, despoiling them of their cattle, devastating their villages; but men were among them now who knew how false these allegations were; that the commandoes, wherein many a life was lost, were undertaken to recover their own goods stolen from them by the thieving Hottentots, the bushmen, and Kafirs, who had no villages, except hamlets of huts built by the hands of women, their beasts of burden; a noble race were these to be indulged and pitied by enlightened men of the greatest nation in the world…
“Peace. Yes, they would have peace; but the waters of many a river must be turned into blood first ere this would be. On, on! to the land of promise, the land flowing with milk and honey, where they should have their own rules, and the judge and the criminal speak one language face to face!”
So spoke Lodewyk, the hunter, standing between, and at all times appealing by gesture to Brennard and Lyle. Alas! the sentiments he uttered had been strengthened by the agency of these two desperate men.
Gray sat moodily apart from all, resigned doggedly to the fate that awaited him, but resolute in his intent to die, rather than fight against “his own.”
Day was dying in glory on the hills Du Plessis loved, ere all the rites of sepulture were concluded, and as the moon came up calm, serene, and radiant, the sky cloudless, the elements at peace, the band of pilgrims halted on the mountain ridge, and, turning their faces towards the homes of their forefathers, sang their beautiful paraphrase of the 137th Psalm, “By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept;” and as the last low notes floated dirge-like over the patriarch’s new-made grave, they descended the eastward side of the mountains, and held their silent course during the night, halting at daylight, when many an eager, carious gaze was turned to scenes hitherto unexplored by these wanderers. As the mists lifted, a strong gleam of sunlight shot down upon a spot in the centre of a wide-spreading, treeless plain. Some men of the party advanced and fired a volley from their roers. A thick wreath of smoke intercepted the glory of the sun’s rays, and the signal was responded to. As the eye became accustomed to the glare, a large bivouac, dotted with tents, wagons, oxen, sheep, horses, and men, became distinctly visible. Soon a little body of horsemen were seen skimming the plains, and ere long the salute of their uplifted hats was answered by a similar movement on the part of Vander Roey’s determined band.
Chapter Eighteen.
The Settlement Besieged
How sped they at Annerley, when the war-cry rang loud and clear in the silence of that night in Kafirland?
Daveney and Ormsby were pacing the stoep in silence; Frankfort sat within the entrance-chamber, his head buried in his hands.
That unearthly cry was a relief to his paralysed heart: he started up, his host and Ormsby lifted the latch of the door as he put his hand upon it to go forth. Mrs Daveney and Marion stood by the bedside of the unfortunate Eleanor, who, pale and motionless as marble, lay insensible to the yells of the savages on the hills, or the voices of the poor settlers under the windows.
Mr Daveney was too good a soldier to be absolutely surprised; but so stealthy had been the Kafirs in their movements, that not even a distant scout had been seen for many days.
They were near at hand now, however: the mountains far and near shone with the fiery telegraphs of the warrior tribes. The master of the house summoned his people to arms, and bade the women and children come from the wagons to the interior of the building. It has been shown that the settlement was backed by hills, intersected with gullies or kloofs; one of these, by which Zoonah had approached, was wide and dense: it will also be remembered that redoubts had been thrown up; but the space enclosed was so vast that there were barely sufficient hands to defend all points in rear. The front was well protected by a fortification of wagons, drawn up in line with great precision; from these wagons the settlers were able to check the enemy in his advance; and a small six-pounder, brought in former days from an abandoned fort, filled the gap between the steps and the avenue.
In rear of the house, within the trellised passage, was a little corps de reserve of young men and matrons, the latter being in charge of spare ammunition, and provided each with a brace of pistols, which they had earned the use of by experience. It was of course certain that the Kafirs would make their first attack on the cattle, and as the herdsmen at sunset were driving in the animals from their pastures, the enemy poured down the hills in hundreds; by this cunning manoeuvre they at once cut off the communication between the settlement and the cattle herds; indeed the latter, of whom some were Kafirs, mostly deserted, the Hottentots flying off to conceal themselves where they could—they were not worth following while plunder was to be got; so the poor cows and oxen and bleating sheep were driven off by the detachment of the enemy told off for the purpose, and the others advanced, their dark faces reddened with ochre, their crane plumes waving, and their assegais and muskets ready poised for the onslaught.
Mr Daveney had adopted the wise precaution of dividing his flocks and herds, only sending half to pasture at a time; for, with so large a population to feed, and at such a distance from any emporium of provisions, it was necessary to husband the stock with peculiar care. Thus the kraals in rear of the vineyard were tolerably well filled at present, and the chief object now would be to keep the enemy at bay, lest he should carry the redoubt, and rush in upon the cattle.
But few shots had been exchanged between the herdsmen and the Kafirs; but, as the marauders carried off the plunder in triumph, a chief appeared, clad in leopard skin, and riding a noble white charger. Advancing at a smart canter, he was cheered by the cry of “Izapa,”—“Come on”—from the hill-sides, and, followed by those who had assisted in capturing the cattle, he passed the left of the buildings, turned sharp with his face towards the kraals, and bade his people advance; they did so, made a dash at the redoubt, were suffered to set foot on the top, and were received with a rattling volley of musketry, which tumbled them within the defences sooner than they had bargained for. A shout of laughter rose from the Annerley garrison, a yell of defiance burst from the savages.
Then the chief on the white charger drew back, rallied his forces, paused for the reinforcements which rushed down the hills in all directions, lighting their brands at the fires as they passed, and having formed them in a phalanx, of which he was the centre, the mass pressed forward, shouting their wild war-cry, and brandishing aloft their weapons of steel and flame. The blaze on the mountain slope gave all this a demoniacal aspect; the horrible screams, the excited, rampant gestures of the Kafirs, the dropping fire of musketry from Annerley, and the occasional hearty English cheer answering the war-cry, all combined to make as terrific a scene as the most imaginative eye or ear could conceive.
As yet the enemy reserved his fire.
Two women stood suddenly face to face in the entrance-room of the house.
“My sister, my little sister!” shrieked the girl.
“My child, my child!” gasped out the elder.
“I left her beside you sleeping in the wagon,” said the girl.
“I woke frightened,” said the pale mother, “and thought you had taken her—you did, you did—where is she?”
“I laid her beside you,” again answered the girl.
The elder one burst through the group that crowded the room, and put her hand to the door-latch. Ormsby stood sentry there. “No one can pass,” said he; “the house is closed while the enemy advances.” The woman raised her hands imploringly, her lips moved, and she had just power to articulate the words, “My child!” Ormsby’s heart had been softened by gentle companionship—he opened the door, the pale woman rushed upon the stoep, flew down the steps—soon they heard her laughing hysterically; “Let me in, let me in,” she cried. Ormsby opened the door again, and she entered, bearing her infant in her arms. Something followed her overhead; a sharp whizz made all draw back; the door was slammed to, but not before a bullet had buried itself in the wall beyond—the little child pointing to the splintering bricks, with a merry laugh.
Then the occupants of Annerley knew that the enemy encircled the settlement; the shots soon began to answer each other swift and sharp.
That part of the building which was commanded by the hill in the rear was defended by a wall of earth some twelve feet high; fortunately, the hill sloped abruptly and was lower than the rest, so that there was no great range for assegais, and the enemy’s shots were fired at random—they told, however, among the cattle, and the chief on the white horse, watching his opportunity, made a dash at a side gate, and succeeded in forcing an entrance to the kraals between the vineyard and the redoubt. The confusion that followed is indescribable; the settlers fearing to fire on the besiegers, lest they should kill the cattle; the beasts lowing, the sheep bleating, horses flying about wild and terrified, and the Kafirs yelling, whistling, shouting, and goading the frantic animals forward with their weapons, till they fairly succeeded in clearing the stock-yard, the spectators on the ridges above dancing about between the fires, and mocking at the poor settlers, four of whom had fallen, severely, if not mortally, wounded.
May was flitting about, perfectly reckless of the flying bullets, and when the Kafirs cheered their comrades, he would wait for a pause, and then set up a laugh of derision, crying out, “Shoot higher, shoot higher;” while, in fact, the balls were whizzing many feet above the heads of those at whom they were aimed. Now May would crouch behind the redoubt, single out his man, get him in a certain position, where the fires glaring on brim lit him up as a mark, and then, with an original remark, a grin, and a gibber, would bring him down, draw a long breath, cut a caper, and anon, lying at frill length, would load his musket in the dark, and go to work again, con amore.
The enemy in front meanwhile were busy in trying to dislodge the poor farm-people, who had tied their span (team) oxen to their wagons, and drew closer every moment to the building. Frankfort stood on the stoep directing the defence, and striving, by keeping the Kafirs at bay, to prevent bloodshed as far as possible; but the chief on the white horse, having seen the cattle from the kraals safely whistled off, resolved, in the true spirit of rapacity, to have more, and, with a phalanx of his warriors, advanced at a rapid pace up the avenue.
Then Frankfort, standing on the upper step of the stoep, said, in a clear, calm, but most decided tone—
“Man the gun.”
And four men, who had been trained to the deadly exercise, took their stations.
The firing from the wagons ceased; in the rear all was comparatively still, for the enemy was resting on his arms, and the settlers were carrying in their wounded. The Kafirs, unprepared for the reception it was deemed necessary to greet them with, came up, quivering their assegais, and shouting their war-cry. In their imagination, the settlers were paralysed—they were within seven hundred yards of the wagons.
“Fire!” said Frankfort.
The word rose strong and clear above the savage chorus.
A dazzling flash!—a wreath of smoke—a roar—a sharp sound of a ball cleaving the air, and the dark mass of human beings burst asunder like a splintered oak.
The shrieks of startled men rose to the sky, that, lurid as the vaults of the infernal regions, burned fiercely overhead, and the compassionate-hearted Frankfort shuddered at the shout of exultation uttered by the settlers as they saw the havoc the discharge of the gun had effected, and the dispersion of the enemy in front.
It may be imagined that Daveney’s mind had been so disturbed by the renewal of anxiety about his daughter, as to render him scarcely fit to meet the emergencies of the hour; hence the surprise of the cattle-kraals, an advantage the Kafirs fortunately cared not to improve, since they quitted their ground as soon as they had collected the stock. The aperture was immediately closed and manned with steady hands, and, as the besieged were beginning to suffer from the enemy on the hills, and the water irrigating the vineyard was discovered to be cut off, the magistrate deemed it advisable to draw the rear guard within the house; the front was not likely to be attacked again, the gun occasionally making play along the avenue.
Among the defences, Daveney had erected a small block-house, or square tower of stone; this was well provisioned, and contained the principal stores of ammunition. This building was now under the command of Mr Trail, who, with some of the younger hands, kept the enemy in check from attacking the trellis-work uniting the vineyard with the house. Bitterly, indeed, did the good man deplore the necessity for action; but there was no alternative, and he calmly directed the movements of his subordinates in keeping off the Kafirs, who drew near with lighted brands. The house, built of stone and roofed with zinc, would have withstood an attack by fire; but the destruction of property and inconvenience attending the ignition of the outworks would have been very serious.
To this block-house Mr Daveney determined to remove his still insensible daughter as soon as a lull in the siege permitted it; and the chief attraction being withdrawn, it was likely the enemy would retire for a time; indeed he would probably have done so before; but the destruction, at a single blow, of so many of the band, elicited a thirst for revenge, which the abler warriors declared their intention of satisfying, swearing, by the bones of the great chief Gwanga, that they would “eat up” the white man’s kraal, and trample the inmates to dust!
Banishing for the time his own domestic anxieties, Daveney went from man to man of his little garrison, and, returning with them from the redoubt to the house, concentrated his rearward force, and, drawing up a body of men in line, poured forth a heavy volley of musketry just as the enemy, having rushed down the hills, had succeeded again in reaching the top of the parapet. This daunted the Kafirs considerably, and they drew off in skirmishing order, dragging their dead and wounded with them; and thus encumbered, the rage of the fight moderated, and the settlers had time to wipe the smoke and blood from their faces, take breath, and refresh themselves with some water, which Mrs Trail, aided by Fitje, served out to them as carefully as if it had been wine; for she believed, like others, that this was but the beginning of a long season of tumult and bloodshed.
Mr Daveney ascended the staircase leading to his daughter’s apartment; he carried no light, for day was approaching. A shadow flitted by, noiseless and swift, and he heard the latch of a side door, which had been unbarred, lifted quickly, and the door cautiously closed. He thought little of it; but, on mustering the attendants, it was discovered that little Sana, Eleanor’s especial protégée, was missing. She was Zoonah’s sister, and, having been present at the scene which followed the examination of the assegai, had, in the confusion, possessed herself of the weapon, and, gliding along a vegetable garden flanking one end of the house, soon escaped to a kloof in the hills; and, ascertaining Zoonah’s route from some of the scouts, followed his footsteps for two days, when she came up with him on the banks of a river, whence they could perceive, on a distant elevation, an encampment of British troops. She related the issue of Zoonah’s manoeuvre, and he departed, and told Lyle, as will be shown, how his mission had prospered.
Poor Eleanor!
“She lay upon her pillow, pale,” her cheek ashy white, and cold as clay. The expression of utter hopelessness is seldom blended with that of terror, for the grave of Hope is generally that of Fear also. But this poor young creature seemed to have been singled out by Fortune as a worthy victim for her angry caprices in every phase. Yes, utterly despairing, she lay moaning softly, like a child that can scarce comprehend its pain; but the large eye, usually so soft and downcast, now shone with a wild lustre, and glanced rapidly and uneasily around. Even her father’s tread alarmed her—her lips quivered with affright, and she gazed long at him before she could quite believe it was he.
Marion was sobbing, as though her overcharged heart would burst. Mr Daveney took Eleanor’s cold hand within his agitated palm. She tried to smile in his face; it was the saddest smile you can imagine. Mrs Daveney, overwhelmed with anxiety on her husband’s account, had, on Eleanor’s recovering from her death-like trance, descended to the trellised passage, and there watched the progress of the siege, till, on the wounded being brought in, she had shared with Mrs Trail and Fitje their duties towards them; poor Fitje running out at times to call May, that she might employ him within—May sometimes answering her summons, but oftener disobeying.
There were no cases requiring surgical skill—alas! those whose wounds had disabled their limbs lay dead within the redoubt, speared by the assegai of the relentless savage. Three had fallen, never to rise again, and within the house rose the wailing sounds of “lamentation and mourning and woe!” They reached the upper apartments. Eleanor’s senses were awakened at the cry of sorrow from the women.
She spoke for the first time.
“The world seems filled with grief,” said she, and then looked vacantly from her father’s face to Marion’s, and back again, with an air of sad inquiry.
Mr Daveney took his stricken daughter in his arms; Marion followed. Mrs Daveney waited for them at the foot of the stairs. Loud cries of anguish burst upon them. Children were sitting on the floor, weeping for lost fathers or brothers. A woman had fainted, and her baby tried in vain to rouse her.
May drew a little cordon round the father and daughters, as they hurried to the block-house, for shots were still interchanging between the besieged and the besiegers, and Mrs Daveney, vacating her office in favour of the matrons who had borne their part in the strife, followed with Mrs Trail and Fitje, the latter carrying her sleeping infant in her arms.
The grey light of morning was streaming through the loops of the little tower. The enemy was evidently on the retreat, and firing as he retired; and Mr Daveney, having seen Eleanor again laid upon a couch, and gradually awakening to the consciousness of her mother’s presence, returned to the dwelling to restore order, as far as he could, among the mourners, the wounded, and the untiring, fighting members of the community.
Ormsby’s first inquiry was for Eleanor—next for Marion; Ormsby was becoming accustomed to think of others before himself. Frankfort, for the first time since the beginning of the siege, cast himself on the sofa, and, after several minutes’ deliberation, inquired of Mr Daveney whether he thought it likely that the troops had taken the field.
“I have not the slightest doubt of it,” replied the magistrate; “the demonstrations we have witnessed to-night are the result of information from the tribes to the westward that the army is on the march; it will not be long now before the expresses reach us,—that is, if the savages do not cut them off. Sir John Manvers is new to this country; I hope he will be guided by good advisers, and send strong escorts with his dispatches.”
“The escorts will of course return to the camps,” observed Frankfort inquiringly, “or will they proceed further?”
