The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier

by Bertram Mitford

  VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

  HICKS WAXES INTREPID.

  "Phew-w!" whistled Hicks, staring in consternation at the scene beforehim. Then he added in a determined voice: "But I'm going straight overthat bridge or down the river, one of the two."

  "Umph! More fool you," growled his companion. "I'm damned if I am."

  "But look here, Thorman. If we don't get across now while we've achance, Heaven only knows when we shall. The river's `down' as it hasnever been before, and all along the road we have heard nothing but howit's coming down harder. Every blessed one of the bridges will go, andwe shall be stuck on this side, it may be for weeks."

  Thorman made no reply, but sat on his horse scowling ferociously at theflood in front of them.

  The spot was a drift on the Great Fish River crossed by an importantmain road which was one of the principal lines of transport up-country.Some years previously a fine bridge had been thrown across the bed ofthe river, which at that point was about fifty feet deep and twice thedistance in width, thus rendering traffic independent of the rise orfall of the water or the state of the drift--at no time a first-rateone. But although the actual bed of the river was wide and deep, thestream itself was an insignificant trickle, dabbling along over stones,with here and there along sandy reach, after the manner of a NorthCountry trout stream, but without its dash and sparkle. Except in rainyseasons; and then its red turbid waters, swelled by the contributions ofnumerous confluents and the drainings of the high watershed on eitherside, tore foaming between their high banks, carrying down drift-woodand trunks of trees in their swift pent-up course. But the bridge, afine iron one, standing sixty feet from the bottom of the river to itsparapet, rendered the transport-riders [carriers] absolutely independentof these floods, as has been said. Whether the stream was almost dry inits bed, or rolling down rocks and tree-stumps, mattered nothing to themnow. Instead of the tedious delay of several days on the bank, and thenthe trouble and risk of crossing a bad, washed-out drift, their waggonsrolled as gaily across the bridge as along the road, and they kept ontheir way as if there was no river there at all. Once or twice sincethe bridge had been built, the water had risen within a few feet of itsroadway; but though an occasional prediction would be made that theriver was capable of rising a great deal higher still, yet it had notdone so. The bridge was of enormous strength, said they who were mostconcerned, and would stand against anything.

  But now it seemed as if the predictions of disaster were going to beverified. For several days and nights it had rained incessantly; not aseries of heavy deluging showers, but a steady, telling downpour. Nobreak had occurred, not even a pause of ten minutes--rain, rain, rain,till people became as accustomed to the continuous fall upon their roofsof zinc or thatch as to the ticking of a clock--and the parched earth,now thoroughly soft and moistened, ran off the superfluous water instreams from every runnel and gully, which emptying themselves into thelarger rivers, these in their turn came down in such force as to floodtheir banks, doing much and serious damage.

  And the prospect before the two who sat there on their horses swathedfrom head to foot in long mackintoshes was, it must be allowed,sufficient justification for Thorman's retort. An expanse of tossing,swirling water lay in front, and in the middle of this stood the bridge,or rather all that could be seen of it, for its roadway lay at least afoot beneath the surface. The banks of the river were overflowed tosome distance, and here it was comparatively smooth; but in the middlethe mighty stream rushed on its way with a dulling and ever deafeningroar, rolling its huge red waves; curling, hissing, splashing; nowheaving up a great tree-stump which, tossing for a moment, and leapinghalf out like a live thing, disappeared again in the boiling depths; nowfloating down the carcase of an ox or half-a-dozen drowned sheep.Against the bridge lay jammed an accumulation of drift-wood and logs,which groaned and grated with half-human shriek as the fierce currenthurled itself continually upon the obstructing mass, which as yet it wasunable to break through.

  For sky, a pall of dark rain-cloud--heavy, opaque, and without a breakanywhere--resting, in a regular line, low down upon the sides of thehigh hills on either side of the valley. Not a breath of wind to tossabout the showers--nor, indeed, could the term shower apply. Adownpour--straight, penetrating, and incessant. On the opposite bank ofthe river many waggons lay outspanned, their number augmenting as morekept on arriving in twos and fours from up-country, and the cracking oflong whips, and the peculiar "carrying" yells of their drivers, wereborne through the roar of the flood in front. Though early in theafternoon it was dark and gloomy, and the great rolling river, its red,turbid, hissing surface covered with evidences of damage anddestruction, the lowering sky, the oppressive and woe-begone aspect ofthe surroundings, made up a picture of indescribable weirdness andthreatening grandeur. The elements were supreme; man was nowhere.

  "Oh, hang it, Thorman," went on Hicks, impatiently. "You're not afraidof a little water? I must get home to-night, and it's now or never."

  The two had left some days earlier to attend a sale a good distance fromhome; for Hicks, as we have said, was an energetic fellow, and alwaysalive to the main chance. The rain had just begun at the time theystarted; but they hadn't bargained for this.

  "Well, one damned fool makes two damned fools. Come along then,"growled Thorman. It would never do for it to be said he was afraid--andby a "Britisher," too.

  "That's the sort, old _Baas_. I knew you were humbugging," rejoinedHicks, heartily. He would have gone through more than the presentundertaking, though that was no child's play, when he thought of thealternative--several days' weary waiting at the wretched little inn justleft behind. Why, one evening of it would be too awful. But thingsgain or suffer by comparison, and now the comparison lay between thiscontingency and Seringa Vale, a cheerful room, a snug home circle, and--Laura. So quite airily he prepared to risk his life, having persuadedhis companion to follow his wise example.

  A group of men stood at the water's edge exchanging speculations on theprobable turn of affairs, for a few waggons, bound up-country, layoutspanned on this side, though the large majority, coming down country,were on the opposite bank. They eyed the two travellers inquiringly.

  "I say, Mister," said a tall fellow, with a beard the size of apeacock's tail, falling over his chest. "You're never going to try andget through, are you?"

  "We are going to do just that," growled Thorman.

  "We are not going to try, but we are going to get through," assertedHicks confidently.

  "Well, I hope you may," said the other, "but take my advice and don'tattempt it."

  "I'm going to attempt it, at any rate," answered Hicks. "Thanks all thesame."

  "Much better not," said another sturdy purveyor. "Joe's right. There'snearly a yard of water on the bridge, and the thing's been cracking andgroaning under all that drift-wood. It'll go any minute, I tell you. Iwouldn't go across for fifty pound. Besides, you've got to get to itfirst, and there's a lot of water on either side. Better give it up."

  "Oh, I know the road all right, every inch of it," was the reply. "Comealong, Thorman."

  Fortunately for them they did know the road, for on either side of itlay deep fissures and gullies, now, of course, all under water. Toflounder into one of these would be just better than getting into theriver itself. Still it would be extremely dangerous.

  "Well, good-bye," called out the men on the bank as the two wentplashing into the surging water. "So long! We shall meet in the nextworld."

  A jest which contained more than half the truth for all the likelihoodof their ever meeting again in this, and so its utterers knew, perhapsbetter than the two on whose ears it fell; yet the rough, venturesomelife led by these men rendered them reckless and indifferent in the faceof danger. They could jest with Death, with his grim hand put outbefore them.

  "Well, now we're in for it you'd better let me go first," said Thorman."I know these rivers better than you do."

  Hic
ks acquiesced, and they plunged on. As they neared the bridge thecurrent increased in strength, but not yet did they feel anything likeits full force.

  "Quick! Turn to your right," shouted Thorman, wheeling his horse. Hisexperienced eye detected one of those deep fissures above mentioned,into which his steed even then nearly slipped. A plunge and a splash,and he was on firm ground again, Hicks following.

  And now, as they neared the bridge, the horses began to show signs ofterror: snorting and tossing their heads, their eyes rolling wildly asthey began to feel the effect of the swift, powerful current flowinground the great piers at the entrance to the bridge, and had the riderslost nerve their doom was sealed. And in truth the situation wassomewhat awful, and well calculated to try the strongest nerves. Beforethem lay the submerged bridge, the water tearing over its roadway so asto hide it completely--to what depth they could hardly guess. EvenHicks began to repent of his headstrong rashness as he looked giddily atthe red, heaving flood rearing up its great waves as it thunderedagainst the bridge; but it was too late now, there was no turning back.

  "So-ho, boy!--careful!--so-ho!" he cried, patting the neck of hisfrightened steed, which, terrified at the roar and rush of water throughthe ironwork, showed signs of backing; but the current upon the bridgeshallowing after rather a deep plunge just before reaching it, in ameasure reassured the animals.

  "Don't look at the river, Hicks; keep your eyes on your horse, and lookonly at where you're going," said Thorman, in a set, deep voice,speaking over his shoulder; but the warning was nearly lost in thedeafening roar of the flood. Overhead, on either side, rose the parapetof the bridge, and, as they splashed along the submerged roadway, everynow and then an uprooted tree or a huge stump would be hurled with anappalling crash upon the accumulation of drift-wood which lay againstthe quivering mass of ironwork. In one place the head of a drowned oxprotruded through an aperture as though the animal were looking into aroad; having been dashed there by the current, and its body being unableto follow. A bizarre and ghastly sight was this great head, with itsfixed, glassy eyes, and yet living aspect, glaring from out of the ruin.But such things as these our adventurers saw as in a dream. All theirattention was turned to their horses and their own safety. They couldfeel the huge structure quiver and shake as they passed along it, andever in their ears was the stunning, deafening roar of the mighty floodas it boomed beneath and around them.

  And now the worst was over. They had gained the other end of thebridge, but before them lay an expanse of submerged land, where thecurrent, if not so strong and deep as on the side they had started from,was at any rate wide enough still to constitute a source of peril in theexhausted state of their steeds. But the bottom was a smooth gentleslope, free from any of the occasional cracks and fissures which hadtroubled them at first.

  "Don't stop, Hicks! Keep his head _up_ the stream. We'll be through ina minute!" cried Thorman; and cramming his hat down, he settled himselffirmer in the saddle, and struck into the open flood again.

  But the horses knew that the worst was over, and kept up bravely,snorting and puffing like traction-engines as they struggled to maintaintheir footing in the swirling tide. As in a dream, the riders could seea crowd of men at the water's edge; could hear their cheers ofencouragement; then the resistance of the current slackened and ceased,and the exhausted animals walked despondently out, and stood, theirdripping flanks panting and heaving, as Hicks and Thorman slid to theground, little less done up than their steeds.

  "I say--did you do that for a bet?" asked one of the crowd which hadbeen standing ready to afford them what assistance they could, as wellas to watch an event of some excitement, a perfect godsend to these mendelayed there for many tedious days.

  "No. Bet be damned," growled Thorman. "I did it because that foolpersuaded me to; and I wouldn't do it again for a thousand pounds."

  "Oh, hang it, old man, don't be shirty," cried Hicks. "We are throughnow, you know, and the proof of the pudding's in the eating. Besides,we've shown what our horses can do."

  "By the way, Mister, d'you care to part with that same animal?" said atall, lank transport-rider, critically eyeing Hicks' steed. "Because Iwant a horse that ain't afraid o' water. I have a lot of drift work todo at times, and that critter o' yours 'ud just suit me. What's thefigure?"

  "Well, no, I don't," answered Hicks. "It would be rather rough to getrid of him, just as he's brought me through that, wouldn't it?"

  "Oh, all right," rejoined the other, good-humouredly, "I'd kind of takena fancy to him, that's all. When you do, just drop a line to John Kemp,Salem, Lower Albany."

  The two turned and waved their hats in response to a cheer which arosefrom the other side.

  "Well, we shan't meet in the next world yet, my friends," remarkedHicks, with a laugh, referring to the last God-speed hurled after themas they began their perilous crossing. Then, leading their horses, theyturned towards the roadside inn, which lay a couple of hundred yardsfrom the river bank, and whose landlord, by reason of the presence of anumber of men in a state of enforced idleness, was driving a roaringtrade. The inn, or "hotel" as it was usually called, was, thisafternoon, in a state of exceeding liveliness, for it was full oftransport-riders, making merry--one or two of them, indeed, decidedly"cut," and in that condition affording huge entertainment to the rest.Ordinarily a sober class of men, they were now indulging through sheer_ennui_, being driven, as one of them expressed it, "to get on the spreein self-defence," and to keep their spirits up. So the place rang withthe boisterous mirth of many jovial souls, and the air was heavy withthe fumes of grog and Boer tobacco which not all the open windows andthe door sufficed to carry off. Hicks started, as a dog and an emptywhisky-bottle shot past his legs at the same time in the doorway.

  "Beg pardon, mate," cried a giant in corduroy, from across the room, notmoving from his place on a dingy sofa, where he sat wedged in amongother boon companions. "Sims here bet me I couldn't hit that Kafir curon the side of the ear, the loser to stand drinks all round."

  "And, by jingo, you've lost," rejoined Hicks, good-humouredly, "so weclaim to cut in to the penalty."

  "Right you are," cried the other, with a jolly laugh. "What's it tobe--`French'--Whisky? All right. Here, Sims, whisky and soda for thesegentlemen here; Hennessy for me," and then followed much discussion andquestioning among the rest as to what they would take, one rather surlyfellow coming near to having his head punched for curtly declining tobenefit by the general "treat."

  The hotel-keeper, a thin, wiry-looking man, with grey whiskers and asharp face, now came forward.

  "Where might you be from?" he began. "Want to off-saddle? You see I'mpretty busy just now," he went on, as if apologising for the delay.

  "We _might_ be from the bottom of the river, thanks to this fellow, andwe don't _want_ to off-saddle, because we have," growled Thorman. Hewas determined, characteristically, to make the worst of the situation,and resented having been made a fool of, as he phrased it, by Hicks.

  "Why, it can't be that you've come across the river?" cried the landlordin amazement.

  "The devil it can't! We have, though, unless we've gone down it and gotinto hell," fiercely replied the other, with a contemptuous glancearound; but the sulky rejoinder was received with a loud laugh by theboisterous but good-natured crew as a capital joke.

  "Come through the river?" exclaimed a rough-looking fellow sitting closeby. "Here, Mister, you and your friend must have a drink with me.What's it to be?"

  "No fear," called out the thrower of the bottle. "The gentlemen aregoing to have one with me, Robins; they can have one with you after.Here, Sims, look alive, trundle up those drinks."

  "Keep your temper, Hallett," replied the imperturbable landlord. "A mancan't wait on a dozen fellows at once, you see; and there are a preciousdeal more than a dozen of you here."

  "And devilish glad you are of that same, you old humbug," retorted theother, cheerily.

  "Tell you what it is," an oracle of "t
he road" was saying in a loudvoice, for the benefit of the assemblage. "That bridge'll go, I say,before night; but, anyhow, it's bound to go before morning."

  "Don't know about that, Bill," said another. "It's a good strong bit ofiron, and my opinion is that it'll hold out."

  "It won't, though. It'll never stand the crush of drift-wood that'sagainst it now. And, mind you, the river's coming down harder nor everit was--I know. It's raining like blazes up the country, far more'n itis here, and what with the Tarka and the Little Fish and half-a-dozenother streams besides, emptying into this, the bridge is bound to go.Mark my words."

  "Well, p'raps you're right, Bill. We haven't had such a flood as thisin my time, and I've known this road, man and boy, for over fifty years.Still I should have thought the bridge'd stand. It's a good bit ofiron. But what do you say, Mister?" he added, appealing to Thorman."You've just come over it, I hear."

  "What do I say? Why, that the damned thing won't hold out till night,"was the gruff reply. "It jumped about like a twenty-foot swing while wewere on it. And the fool that made it ought to be strapped upon it now,say I."

  "I've known one flood bigger than this, but that was before your time,"observed a wiry-looking little man, with white hair and a weasel-likeface, self-complacent in the consciousness of having the pull over thetwo last speakers, and, indeed, over most of those present. "That wasthe time poor Owens was drowned. The river rose to within a foot ofwhere we are sitting now before it went down again."

  "Who was Owens, and how was he drowned?" inquired Hicks, spotting anepisode.

  "Who was Owens?" repeated the old man, placidly filling his pipe. "Afool; because he thought he was smarter than any of us, and thought hecould cross the river when we couldn't. He went in on horseback. Theriver was running just as it was to-day, only not quite so deep. Hewent down, as a matter of course, before he was half-way through."

  "Couldn't any of you help him?" asked Hicks.

  The old fellow glanced up with a look of silent contempt for any onecapable of putting such a question. Then he calmly struck a match andlighted his pipe, and having done so he continued:

  "The river was full of drift-wood, and we saw one big tree bearing downupon Owens full swing. We hollered out to warn him, but the water waskicking up such a row that he couldn't hear, nor would it have helpedhim much if he had. Well, the tree came bang against him, entanglinghim and the horse in the branches. They rolled over and over; and tree,and horse, and Owens disappeared. We never saw him again, but the nextI heard of him was that his body had been found a week afterwards, whenthe water had run off, sticking in the bed of the river, among thedrift-wood down Peddie way."

  "Poor devil," exclaimed several of his auditors.

  "No one but a fool would have gone into the river at all," concluded theold man, sententiously, as he tossed off the remainder of his grog.

  "I say, Thorman, we must be going," said Hicks.

  "All right," replied that worthy, knocking the ashes out of his pipe andrising to his feet.

  "Oh, but you needn't be off yet," objected he addressed as Hallett."Stay here with us and make a night of it; you can go on in themorning."

  But Hicks was firm. It was not for this he had risked his life.

  "Awfully sorry, old man, but I must get back to-night."

  "Hang it! Well, then, have another drink--just an `off-setter,'"persisted the other. "No? Well, then, good-bye. If you're round myway any time, mind you give us a look up. We'll get up a buck hunt, andsome fun of some sort. Ta, ta! Take care of yourself. But you're wellable to do that now, I should think."

  They settled for their horses' forage, and going round to the stable,saddled-up, and were soon on their way; the steeds, after a good feedand a rub down, looking none the worse for their gallant efforts incrossing the perilous flood. And a carious sight was that which theneighbourhood of the drift presented as they rode forth. In everydirection waggons were outspanned, standing in rows of six or seven, orin twos and threes, according to the number owned by or in charge of anyone man, but everywhere waggons. A few were empty, but most of themwere loaded high up with wool-bales, sent from up-country stores to theseaboard--or with hides, and horns, or other produce--for it was beforethe days of railroads, and the carrying trade was abundant and thriving.Their owners stood about in knots, watching the gathering flood; otherspassed to and from the inn. Some again sat stolidly by their firessmoking their pipes as they waited for the pot to boil, while a cloud ofnative servants--drivers and leaders--hung about the canteen or lolledby the fires, the deep bass of the manly Kafir mingling with the shrillchatter of Hottentots and Bastards [Note 1]. A kind of twilight hadcome on prematurely, by reason of the lowering sky, and the redwatch-fires glowed forth, and the crowd of waggons, considerably over ahundred, standing about, gave the place the appearance of a mining-camp,or a commissariat train halted while on the march. And every now andthen, more waggons would come lumbering over the rise, the cracking ofwhips and the harsh yells of their drivers echoing through the heavyair.

  "Hi! Here! Where the hell are you coming to? Can't you keep the rightside of the road, instead of the side of the bullocks, damn you?"

  The voice proceeded from an unkempt and perspiring individual, inflannel shirt and corduroy trousers, who, wielding his long whip, walkedbeside a full span of sixteen oxen, the motive power of a mighty load ofwool-bales. So insolent and aggressive was it in its tone, that evengood-natured Hicks, to whom the query was addressed, and than whom aless quarrelsome fellow never lived, was moved to anger, and answeredthe incensed transport-rider pretty much in the same strain.

  "Oh, so you think I ought to get out of _your_ way, do you?" roared theother.

  "I think you might be civil, confound it all!" fumed Hicks.

  "Suppose I ought to say `sir,' eh?" went on the other, in wrathful,sneering tones.

  "Oh, go to the devil," cried Hicks, fairly boiling over; "I've no timeto stay jawing here all night with you," he added, contemptuously,making as if he would ride on.

  "Haven't you? Just get down; I'll soon show you who's the best hand atjawing, and at hitting, too. Come down here and try, if you're not ablanked coward!" yelled the fellow. He thought that the other wasafraid of him; but he reckoned without his host.

  "Oh, that's your game, is it?" cried Hicks, springing to the ground, andthrowing off his mackintosh. "Come on, I'm your Moses." And headvanced towards the irate transport-rider, looking him fall in theeyes.

  The fellow, who now saw that he had a tough customer to deal with, beganto repent of his hastiness, and would fain have backed out of the scrapeinto which his insolent, overbearing temper had led him, but it was toolate to decline the contest, for several of his contemporaries,attracted by the prospect of a row, had gathered round. So he rushed athis opponent, hitting out blindly, right and left. But Hicks, who knewsomething of "the art of self-defence," and was of sturdy, powerfulbuild besides, found no difficulty in parrying this unscientific attack.Then with a well-planted "one--two," straight from the shoulder, helanded his adversary in a heap on the slippery, trodden-down grass bythe roadside.

  "He's down--give him law," cried one of the bystanders. "Who is it?What's it all about?"

  "Dick Martin," answered another voice. "He cheeked t'other fellow, ort'other fellow cheeked him, it don't matter which; so they're having itout. Get up, Dick, and go in at him again."

  But Dick manifested no such inclination. He raised himself half up andsat glowering stupidly around, as if dazed. His nose was bleeding, anda huge lump over his eye betokened pretty plainly that he would wake onthe morrow with that useful organ somewhat obscured.

  "Never mind. Get up and have another try, man," called out the lastspeaker.

  "He can't; he's had enough. T'other's been one too many for him," saidsome one else. And he had.

  Hicks, who was far too good-hearted a fellow to exult over a fallen foe,however great the provocation received, said nothing. He li
ngered amoment to see if his adversary would show any sign of renewing battle,and then began to mount his horse. Just then a loud shout went up fromthe water's edge about four hundred yards below them. All turned.

  "The bridge! It's going!" cried some one.

  The spot where they stood, being on an eminence, overlooked the river,and they could see the strong ironwork of the parapet bend to theponderous mass of accumulated drift-wood heaped against it. Ityielded--then snapped; and with a thunder-crash sounding loud above thecontinuous roar of the flood, the vast obstruction of _debris_ bore itdown. A huge wave reared its head many feet in the air, and fell with amighty hiss, covering the rushing surface with seething foam. Then, theobstruction removed, the mighty river hurled itself forward, itshorrible, many-tongued voices bellowing as if in savage joy at havingoverthrown and defeated the works of human ingenuity. All that couldnow be seen of the once fine bridge was a few strands of twistedironwork clinging about what remained of the piers at each of its ends.

  "Let's give the old bridge three cheers," cried one of the spectators."She's been a good friend to us, and now we shall be put about as wewere before for the want of her."

  They did so; and a great shout went up from the outspan, echoing faralong the sides of the darkening hills, where the lowering rain-cloudsrested in an unbroken pall. The bridge had been a good friend to them,and now it was gone they would sorely feel the want of it for some timeto come, until another should replace it, which might not be for years.So they cheered right heartily; but with a feeling of genuine regret.

  Meanwhile, at Seringa Vale, everything was at a standstill. The stockwas kept at home, and in the soaked kraals the sheep stood huddledtogether, stolidly chewing the cad, and looking very forlorn in thedripping rain. But their owner's watchful eye was everywhere, as,wrapped in a waterproof coat, he moved about, noting where it becamenecessary to cut a channel for the drainage of a fast accumulating bodyof water which threatened damage, and all hands would be turned out withspade and pick for this and such like duty. Even he was more thansatisfied with the rainfall this time, and now and then cast an anxiouslook at the weather quarter.

  "I don't think I ever saw the kloof so full as this before, and it'sstill rising," he said.

  "No?" answered Claverton, who was meditatively jerking a pebble or twoacross the broad, surging rush of water in front of them. "All therivers in the country must be tolerably well down. Why, the bridgeswill never stand."

  "No, they won't. If it goes on like this till morning there won't be abridge left in the country, that's my opinion. There'll be a heap ofdamage done besides. Well, we can't do anything more now, and it'sgetting dark," and they turned towards the house.

  Very cosy and cheerful looked the interior of that domicile, as a fewminutes later, Claverton found his way thither, and got into dryclothes. No one was about--wait--yes--there was some one in the innerroom. It was Lilian. She had been reading, and was seated by thewindow with her book open in her hand, just as the twilight and then thedarkness had surprised her.

  "Trying to read in the dark? Worst thing possible for the eyes," hesaid. "What have you been doing with yourself all day?"

  She turned to him.

  "Very much what you see me doing now--reading and--dreaming."

  "The best possible occupation for a day like this. I've been doing thelatter--dreaming," he said.

  "You? Why, you have been hard at work all day," said she. "I've beenwatching you walking about in the rain with a spade, and pitying you forbeing so uncomfortable, while we were all sitting indoors, dry andwarm."

  "Pitying me?"

  "To any extent," she answered, looking up at him with a bright smile.

  He bent over her. "Yes, I was dreaming--of such a moment as this."

  She did not answer. Her eyes were fixed on the gloom without and thesoft falling rain. Oh, the continuous drip, drip of that ceaseless rainthroughout this livelong day, turning the daylight into dusk, andbeating time in her heart to the echoes of the past! And throughout itall was a vague, indefinable longing for this man's presence. Theenforced imprisonment in the house had been doubly irksome without him,and at last she had been constrained to own it to herself. Once she hadseen him coming towards the door, and all unconsciously had made readysuch a bright smile of welcome; but he had turned back, and the smilehad faded, and a chill, sickly feeling around her heart had taken itsplace. What right had she to feel thus, she thought? In a few weeksthey would part as friends, acquaintances, nothing more, and then--well,at any rate he knew the worst. But now as he found her in the darkeningtwilight, her heart gave a bound, and her voice assumed a dangeroustenderness as she replied to him.

  "The rain has been very cruel," he went on. "I couldn't catch so muchas one stray glimpse throughout the whole afternoon. If you areblockaded indoors, you might look out of the window now and then."

  "Why, I've done nothing else. And you, did you get very wet?" Andthere is a little inflection as of anxiety in her voice as she raisesher eyes to his.

  "Don't let's talk about me, but about a far more interesting subject--yourself. Haven't you been frightfully bored to-day?"

  "Well, I have rather--at least, I mean, I oughtn't to say that, but onegets rather low sometimes, you know, even without much cause, and I'vebeen so to-day," she answered, her tone relapsing into one of dejection,and he, standing there beside her, began to feel deliriously happy,though well knowing that it was for the moment. But the gloaming wasabout them, and they were alone together. What more could he--couldthey--want?

  A light flashed from the other room; then a sound of voices. It was notexactly a blessing that Claverton gulped down, as some one was heardcalling:

  "Lilian. Are you there? It's supper-time. Why, what has become ofher?" added the voice, parenthetically.

  Lilian started as if from a reverie. "Here I am," and she rose hastily.Claverton was not the only one who watched her as she came out into thelight, but the serene, beautiful face was as calm and unmoved as if shehad been in their midst all the time.

  Very cheerful and homelike looked the lighted room, and the table withits hissing tea-urn, and knives and forks and dish-covers sparkling onthe snowy cloth. Very bright and exhilarating in contrast to the wet,chill gloom without, and to those two, who had been at work in the rainall day, especially so.

  "The flood will do no end of damage," Mr Brathwaite was saying, as hebegan to make play with the carving-knife. "There'll be lots of stockswept away, I fear, and the homesteads along the river banks stand agood chance of following."

  "That's cheerful, for their owners," remarked Claverton. "I shouldthink old Garthorpe's place would be one of the first to go."

  "Serve him right, I was nearly saying. He doesn't deserve to own a goodfarm like that--always preaching to the Kafirs instead of looking afterit."

  "Is he a missionary?" asked Lilian.

  "No. He ought to be, though. He's quite humbug enough."

  "Tsh!" laughed Mrs Brathwaite. "Lilian will think you a regularheathen."

  "Can't help it," retorted the old man. "I know what I'm talking about,which is more than everybody does who professes to give an opinion onthe subject. Any grocer's boy, who in England would never get furtherthan a shop-counter, makes a fine good trade of it by coming out here to`preach the Gospel' to the heathen. It's less trouble and paysinfinitely better. What is the consequence? Kafirland is chock-full ofbumptious, uneducated, hypocritical scamps, who live on the fat of theland, and are never happy unless meddling with what doesn't concernthem. All the disturbances which crop up from time to time, are hatchedand fomented by these rascals. Call themselves teachers, indeed! Whatdo they teach their lambs? To keep their hands off their neighbours'property? Not a bit of it. And what missionary ever stuck to his postwhen war did break out, I should like to know? Not one. They clear outin time to save their own skins, never fear, and sneak off to befool theBritish public, while we are defending our lives a
nd property. A set ofmeddlesome, mischief-brewing, slander-mongering frauds. They are thecurse of the colony."

  On this congenial theme the old man continued to descant for some time.Then the tread of horses was heard outside, and the arrival of Hicks andThorman created a diversion.

  "So the bridge has gone," said Mr Brathwaite, dropping the missionaryquestion. "I thought it would. It should have been built ten feethigher from the first. This flood, though, is a flood, and no mistake.I only remember one like it."

  "Ha, ha?" laughed Thorman, who was quite in a genial mood. "You shouldhave seen Hicks pitching into a transport-rider. He doubled him up bythe roadside like a ninepin."

  "And how would he double up a ninepin, Mr Thorman?" queried Ethel,mischievously.

  Meanwhile, Hicks looked sheepish. "I couldn't help it," he said. "Thefellow challenged me."

  As predicted, the flood did an immense amount of damage. Every bridgewas torn away by the force of the waters, as if it had been a bit ofstick. Homesteads by the river-side flooded or swept away; gardens andcorn lands swamped and utterly laid waste; every runnel or golly washedout as clean as a tube, the piles of drift-wood and rubbish, depositedhere and there on their banks, alone showing the height to which thewaters had risen. And when in a few days the rain ceased, and it waspracticable to ascertain the fall extent of devastation--though eventhen in parts of the _veldt_ it was impossible to ride with any safetyor comfort, for a horse would sink knee-deep in the spongy soil--theland was noisome with the carcases of drowned animals, sheep and goatslying by tens and by twenties rotting in the sun in roadway and golly.

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  Note 1. Hottentots with an admixture of white blood are thus known inColonial parlance.