The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier
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VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
THE BUSHMAN'S CAVE.
Christmas has come and gone, bringing with it, contrary to expectation,peace instead of a sword. The dreaded outbreak, by some inexplicableturn of events, has been averted, and instead of deluging the land inblood, and scattering rain and desolation broadcast, the tribes are, intheir own expressive idiom, "sitting still," and the frontier is atpeace.
No one can tell exactly how this welcome turn in the tide of affairscame about. Whether it was that the different sections of the Amaxosarace distrusted each other, suspicion being a leading trait in thesavage character, and were unable to coalesce; or that they deemed thetime not yet come when they could venture to strike a blow with any hopeof success; or whether the counsels of the peace-loving party in thenation--the older men, who had everything to lose and nothing to gain bywar, and who, moreover, had learnt by sad experience of formerstruggles, the futility of embarking in such undertakings--prevailed, noone can say for certain. Some contended that with the prospect of sucha thriving good season before them, the Kafirs could not afford to throwit away, for the recent rains had made the land to blossom like a rose.Anyhow, the natives were tilling their mealie gardens, and the morewell-to-do of them were laying out cash in the purchase of ploughs andother agricultural implements, which certainly did not point in thedirection of hostilities. Christmas was past, and once well overChristmas without an outbreak, there was no fear of war this year, atany rate. So said the old frontiersmen, and they ought to know.Anyhow, at that moment, the tribes within and beyond the colonial borderwere more quiet and settled than they had been for some years past.Stock-stealing had decreased with a rapidity bordering on themiraculous, and daring outrages, which a month ago had been waxingalarmingly common, were now absolutely unknown.
So peace reigned, and with it its twin blessing, plenty. In the gardensthe trees groaned beneath their weighted branches; yellow apricots, witha warm red flush through their golden skin as they turned lovinglytowards the sun; velvety peaches, rosy-cheeked and fragrant, draggeddown the branches, or lay scattered upon the earth in lavish profusion.Up among the purple figs, the spreuws were having a rare good time, butnobody grudged even those mischievous birds their share, for was therenot abundance for all? And the long green pears hanging on the droopingboughs, which swept as in a natural harbour round the wooden seat at thefoot of the tree, what a luscious refection they promised in two orthree weeks' time, when they should have felt a little more sun, tothose who would avail themselves of that cool, shady retreat!
In the fold, as in the lands, plenty reigned. The flocks and herds werefat and well-liking, for the grass was abundant and good; and,strengthened by the sweet and nutritious pasturage, the animals remainedfree alike from the ravages of disease or tick, and the better able tostand against the attacks of those insidious foes, that they were inexcellent condition and likely so to remain; for, as if in compensationfor the widespread havoc it had wrought, the great flood, besideswashing away many impurities, both in noxious herb and insect, hadthoroughly permeated the long parched-up soil, softening it to a depthof many feet. It had done more than this, for it had broken up the longcontinuation of settled drought; and periodical showers, soft andpenetrating, had fallen from time to time since, so that the land hadlost its brown, sun-baked aspect, and lay everywhere green and wellwatered, luxuriously reposing in the rich, generous glow of the Southernsummer.
And now we shall transport the reader to a deep wooded valley, similarto many of those already described, though it would be hard to find oneto equal it. It is a romantic and beautiful spot. At the upper end isa deep pool, some thirty yards across, and pear-shaped. Into this, whenthere is a rush of water in the stream, falls a really magnificentcascade; when there is not, well--there is the rock, perpendicular,black and shining, a film of water silvering down it to plunge into thepool beneath with a pleasant, cool tinkle. As you stand facing thecascade or its lofty wall of shining rock, on the left hand, startingsheer out of the depths of the pool, is a mighty cliff, rising up inrugged tiers or ledges--which afford root-hold to a profusion of mossesand trailing plants, with here and there an aloe--to a height of twohundred feet. Just below the exit of the pool these natural terracesall culminate in a jutting angle of the cliff, which protrudes, sharpand awful in its unbroken perpendicularity. On the right hand is also acliff, but it stands back, leaving a slope of forest trees and bushbetween it and the water's edge. The exit from the basin discloses alovely view--with the jutting cliff, above mentioned, as a foreground--of the valley, whose wooded slopes, undulating in spurs, eitherculminate in a precipice, or cleave the blue sky with a line of featherytree-tops.
But to-day there is not a rush of water in the stream above, thoughthere is enough to fall into the pool with a resounding plunge, and tocarry off a clear, sparkling stream at the pointed end of thepear-shape. The cascade is not in force; if it were, the merry partygathered around its base would be constrained to put up with some lessinviting resting-place, for it would fill all the hollow with a cloud ofshowery spray--thick, penetrating as rain. The place is in an outlyingcorner of Jim Brathwaite's farm, and, sure enough, there sits jovial Jimhimself, in a shady corner beneath the rock, his legs dangling over thewater, a pipe in his mouth, and in his hand a fishing-rod. Other pipesand other fishing-rods surround the water-hole, "the fool at the otherend" of each staring stolidly and apathetically at the water or watchinghis float with a despairing eagerness begotten of hope deferred,according to temperament. But the fish are either replete andsatisfied, or cursed with the wiliness characteristic of their species,for not a float shows any sign of agitation. One rod, indeed, issubmerged even to the second joint, while its manipulator, GeorgeGarrett--a stolid-looking youth of twenty-one--is occupied lying on hisback upon a ledge of rock blowing rings of tobacco smoke skyward, and noone seems very keen on the sport. A line of blue smoke, curling beneaththe cliff on the more open side of the pool, betokens "camp."
It may as well be stated that the gathering is nominally a fishingpicnic. I say, nominally, for no one is idiotic enough to suppose for amoment that the _fishing_ part of it will turn out aught but the veriestfarce, for the day is hot and cloudless, and the still depths of thewater are glassy and translucent.
"I say, but this is deuced exciting work," cried Jim, who had not had abite the whole morning, a misfortune wherein he was not alone. "Let'sknock off."
"That's right, Jim, always fall back on my advice," said Ethel, who wasseated near him, likewise trying to fish. "I suggested that an hourago."
"You? I like that. Why, it was you who said we didn't deserve ourdinner unless we caught it."
"Did I? Well, I very soon recanted," laughed she, throwing down her rodwith a yawn. "We are getting sleepy over this, and that's thepreliminary stage to getting quarrelsome, you know. So let's go and seewhat the others are about."
"W-wait a bit," stuttered Allen, eagerly. "I've got a bite."
He had. Suddenly, after one or two violent bobs, his floatdisappeared--down, down--far into the depths.
"Hallo, Allen, you've got a whale on there, at least," cried Jim. "Holdon to him and be ready to cut the line before he lugs you in."
Allen's hands trembled with excitement, and he could hardly work histackle for fear of losing the prize, as he felt the series of jerks andtugs as if something powerful was kicking at the end. At last hesucceeded in bringing it to the surface. It was a huge eel.
But the next thing was to land his capture. For Allen, with infinitedifficulty, had succeeded in making his way round the rock-bound sidesof the pool to a narrow ledge, whereon he now stood. There was juststanding-room, but only just, and the eel, as it leaped and squirmed onthe narrow ledge, soon made it evident that there was not room foritself and its captor too. Once it fell back into the water and Allen,losing his balance, nearly followed; but the tackle was good and hesucceeded in landing it again. Finally he managed to get his heel uponit and e
nd its writhings by a process of semi-decapitation, but, oh,Heavens! His jack-boots on which he had that morning bestowed an extraamount of care and blacking, were profusely defiled by contact with theslimy reptile as it twisted over them in its death-throes, leavingtrails and trails of slime upon their polished surface.
"I say, Allen, you'll be wanting to catch another eel after that, Ishould think," cried Jim, while Ethel, whom Allen's silent expression ofhopeless woe had convulsed, was nearly choking in her efforts to stifleher laughter.
It became necessary to rive a line through the eel and haul it acrossthe water, as all its captor's efforts were needed to ensure himself asafe return along the slippery face of the cliff. But he was downcastand subdued, and the good-natured chaff that fell to his lot as the onlysuccessful angler, was bitter to him.
"Well, Jim," said his father, as the fishing contingent returned to thehalting-place. "Caught anything?"
"No. At least Allen has. Caught enough for the lot of us put together.A regular young python. Look here," and he produced the eel.
"My! that is a big 'un," cried old Garrett, who was sitting in the shadewith Mr Brathwaite, and talking over old times. "I say, you're a luckyfeller, Allen. We ought to 'ave a drop o' grog over this."
Mr Brathwaite's eye twinkled as he heard this characteristic remark,and he turned to say something to Jim as a pretext for not hearing it.He shrewdly suspected that his old friend and companion-in-arms wouldhave quite as much grog on board as he could carry before the day wasout, and he didn't want him to get "cumbersome" too early. He had hadmore than one "tot" already.
A dozen yards off, on the other side of the glade, talking to MrsBrathwaite, sat Lilian Strange; and the rich, sweet tones were well inkeeping with the languorous beauty of the spot as she now and thenraised her head from some crewel-work she had brought with her, to tellsome little joke to the old lady. She was in cool white and lookinglovelier than ever, for the fresh, healthy air had acted with tonicresult, and she hardly knew herself, so thoroughly bracing had been itseffect upon her. And she had been happy here, too--yes, happy; puttingboth past and future resolutely away from her--and happiness andcontentment is a better restorative than all the tonics or bracingclimes in the world.
Claverton was away with the rest of the party, roaming about the kloof.She had asked him, as a special favour, to go with them, not feelingequal to a walk herself in the morning, as it was rather hot. And shemust not monopolise him, she said, with a witching little smile. Hemust do his duty, and then, perhaps--no one knew what might happen inthe afternoon. He had complied, as he took occasion to tell her, as hewould have complied with any wish of hers however difficult, andirrespective of that veiled half-promise; to which latter, however, heintended holding her, and lived in anticipation on the thought. But itmust be admitted that his presence among the exploring party did not, onthe whole, constitute an adjunct of cheerfulness, though now and again,by an effort, he would make them laugh. And he persisted in pilotingthem to places involving a toilsome climb, ostensibly to descant on theview; but in his heart of hearts, hoping that the point of vantage wouldcommand the camp--where haply his eye might catch the gleam of a whitedress against the foliage. Whereby it is manifest that, other points inhis favour notwithstanding, Claverton was, after all, a consummate ass.
"Well, Miss Strange," cried Jim, "how do you like this sort of thing?Has mother been taking care of you, or have you been taking care of her?Why, you look as cool as if we were not in a sort of natural oven."
"I don't know about the oven," replied Lilian. "I know that this is adelightful place, and falling water always makes a current of air. ButI do feel somewhat guilty, sitting lazily here while every one else ison the move."
"_We've_ been taking it rather easy, too. Fishing, you know, isproverbially a lazy amusement."
"Is it? Anyhow, I have been pitying all of you poor creatures broilingin the sun, looking at the water."
"Ho, ho! Broiling in the sun?" laughed Jim. "Why, you should just haveseen that fellow George, for instance, lying on his back in the shadiestcorner of the place, blowing clouds, and his rod nearly at the bottom ofthe water?"
The youth named grinned shyly and looked sheepish.
"How about going to look after the others?" suggested Jim, everenergetic and anxious to be moving. "Do you feel inclined to venture,Miss Strange, or would you rather stay here?"
Now the fact was, Lilian had become a little tired of sitting still, andthe proposal was rather a welcome one. She would fain have strolledaway under the cool shade of the trees, but she had resisted her lover'slonging entreaty to make one of the former party, on the ground ofwishing to rest, and now he would come back and find her away with Jimand the others, and perhaps be hurt. No; he should not. If she couldnot give him all he asked--namely, herself--at any rate she would showan unselfish regard for his feelings in everything else. It was a poorconsolation, but this she could do, no matter what it cost herself; andthis was only one out of a hundred little instances of the kind, all ofwhich Claverton had seen, and, seeing, could have worshipped her. Andyet, would it not make their parting a hundredfold more bitter when itcame?
So unhesitatingly she answered: "I think I'll stop here just atpresent."
"That's right, Lilian," said Mrs Brathwaite. "I'm sure you oughtn't togo scrambling about all day. It'll be much better for you to wait tillthis afternoon, dear, when it's a little cooler."
"Well, I shall go," cried Jim. "Come along, you fellows. Ethel, you'llcome?"
"No, I won't."
"What? Well, I didn't think you'd be so lazy!"
"Thank you, Mr Brathwaite," said Lilian, with a quiet little laugh."That's one at me."
"Oh, no; really not. It's different with you, you see, and--and--Hangit! I'd better clear out of this; it's getting too warm for me," criedJim, in mock helplessness.
"Well, I think you had," laughed his mother. And he and young Garrettwandered off.
Soon the ramblers began to drop in, hot and tired, but in high spirits.Luncheon was ready laid out.
"Oh, Ethel, you ought to have come with us! It's lovely down there!"cried Gertie Wray, who, with Armitage, was the first to arrive.
"Yes? What _have_ you been doing to yourself?"
Following the direction of her glance, Gertie put both hands to her hat.Her mischief-loving cavalier had amused himself by sticking the ends ofseveral pieces of long grass into it, and these were standing out a yardabove her head, nodding like plumes. There was a laugh at her expense.
"Oh, you horrid tease!" she cried, crushing them up and throwing them athim.
"What? Why, 'pon my word it wasn't me! I didn't do it; it wasClaverton."
"Was it?" repeated she, indignantly. "It was you. Mr Claverton neverplays practical jokes, and you--"
"Oh!--h'm!--ah! I say--awfully sorry! Didn't know, really--have put myfoot in it--must be more careful," cried the mischievous dog, in tonesof mock consternation.
"You're a perfect horror!" cried Gertie, laughing, and blushingfuriously. "I declare I'll never speak to you again?"
"And was that Claverton, too?" tranquilly asked the owner of thepatronymic in question. For Jessie Garrett, who had also been withArmitage and Gertie, now arrived on the scene--having lingered behind alittle--similarly adorned.
"What a mischievous fellow he is!" cried Jim's wife, who had just comeup. "We ought to make him go without his dinner."
"Or duck him--he deserves ducking," put in Jessie Garrett. "MrClaverton; can't some of you duck him?"
"Too hot for any such violent exertion," replied Claverton,nonchalantly, as he turned away, and sat down on the ground by the sideof Lilian Strange, while old Garrett was heard to remark that "youngfellers would 'ave their fun."
"Do you know, I'm a shocking bad waiter," he observed. "I invariablyupset everything--cut over a wing of chicken into somebody's lap, orpour a tumbler full of liquid down their back, or shoot some oneopposite bang in the eye
with a soda-water cork."
"But to-day you won't do any of these things," laughed Lilian. "And youseem to have taken care of me pretty well."
"Have I? As a rule, on these occasions, I skulk in the background, andpretend not to know that people have begun to feed. Then, when they arewell under weigh, some motherly soul spots me, and makes a descent uponme, singing out: `Why, I declare, you haven't got anything. Do come andhave some of this and of that, and so on;' and I find myself lookedafter as if I was the prodigal calf--prodigal son. I mean--same thing.Thus the public back is saved from a baptism of soda-water, and I frommaking an ass of myself, and every one's happy."
"Don't be so utterly absurd," said Lilian, laughing as if she couldnever stop.
"Here, I say, what's the joke over there, Claverton?" cried Armitage."Roll it down this end."
"I was only telling Miss Strange about you tumbling into the puddleyonder, Jack," answered he.
"Did he? When? How? Do tell us, Mr Claverton," cried Gertie Wray.
"Oh, hang it, that's not fair," growled he most concerned.
"Well, he and Hicks went fishing here one Sunday. They were told thatonly naughty little boys went fishing on Sunday; but anyhow they went,and so were bound to come to grief, and come to grief they did--at leastone of them did. The other was spared that he might take warning by it.Friend Jack, finding it slow, I suppose, lay down on that first flatrock and went to sleep, and--_presto_!--he found himself floundering indeep water."
"You weren't there," retorted Jack.
"_No_; else you would not have been here to-day, for I should havedeserved well of the State by leaving you in the deep. But the storygoes that Hicks was so immensely tickled by the circumstance as to beunable for some time to render any help to poor Jack, who in consequencewas nearly drowned, for the rock is perpendicular, and high out of thewater, as you see. My impression is, that Hicks, likewise, wae in theland of Nod; but if so, no historian was present to record the fact."
There was a laugh all round at Armitage's expense, and amid the clatterof knives and forks, and the popping of corks, conversation and chaffwaxed high.
"By the way, did any one go up to the cave?" asked Mr Brathwaite,suddenly.
"No, I think not," replied Hicks. While others inquired: "What cave?"
"Why, the cave up yonder. It's a regular Bushman's cave. A lot of themused to live there; but the Dutchmen, who owned the place just below,polished off the last of them. That was during the '46 war. Some oftheir bones are there still, I believe; but it's a long time since I'vebeen into it."
"That sounds interesting, but rather ghastly," said Lilian. "But whywere they killed? Did they join the Kafirs in the war?"
"No. The Kafirs hated them almost more than the Boers did. But they'remischievous little devils, you see. One scratch of their poisonedarrows, and it was all up with you."
"Where is the place?" asked Claverton.
"Just a little way down the bend, there," pointing to the jutting wallof cliff. "There's a path leading up to it--a sort of cattle track--youought to go and look at it. And there are a lot of regular Bushmandrawings in the rock, which are rather curious things if you haven'tseen them before. Take Miss Strange up to see them, she might like tomake sketches of them."
For Lilian was an adept in the art of water-colour drawing, and hadalready portrayed much of the wild bush scenery in the neighbourhood,which had never before been reduced to paper.
"That would be so nice," she said. "I've brought my drawing things withme, too."
"Claverton, old feller," cried old Garrett. "We 'aven't 'ad a glasstogether all day; let's have one now."
"All right."
"That's it. Better late than never. 'Ere's my respects," cried the oldchap, nodding; his rubicund countenance aglow with geniality--and grog."I suppose, Miss Strange," he went on, turning to Lilian, "you'd never'ave thought we could get up such a pleasant little picnic in theseout-of-the-way parts, would you?"
"Well, yes, I think I should, Mr Garrett," she replied.
"Aha, yes. I dare say 'e's bin putting you up to the ropes," went onthe old fellow, leering and winking at Claverton, and speaking in a tonewhich he thought was the perfection of genial banter; but which made itsobject wildly long to shy a bottle at his head. Ordinarily he lookedupon old Garrett with a kind of amused contempt; but to be made the buttof his muzzy jests, that was quite another thing. So, completelyignoring him, he drew Lilian's attention to an effect of light and shadehigh above them on the cliff opposite.
"Now we'll make for the cave," he said, as, feeding operations over,pipes began to appear.
"Yes. I'll get my drawing things," answered Lilian, rising.
"Are you going up to the cave?" said Miss Smithson, a pretty,fair-haired girl, who lived in the neighbourhood and whom they saw agood deal of. "That'll be delightful--I should so like to see it. MrGough, will you come, too; there are some beautiful ferns up there?"
Gough assented, while Claverton inwardly anathematised poor LucySmithson, little thinking how unjustly, for she was really going out ofher way to render him a service.
The four started. No one else seemed inclined to embark in theundertaking, having had enough knocking about at present, they said; oldGarrett adding: "We old fogies don't feel up to climbing, so we'll justsit and 'ave a nice comfortable chat and a smoke."
"And a big drink," added Claverton, cynically, to his companion. "Whatan infliction that old fool can become!"
"He is rather overpowering," assented Lilian. "Who can the old fellowhave been?"
"A bricklayer, most likely, or a clodhopper of some sort. These fellowssave a little coin, or make a lucky venture at the Diamond Fields, andbuy a farm, and then, there they are. There's precious little classdistinction here."
"I suppose so. But as the country gets more thickly settled, that'llall come."
"Yes. You see, in the old times when all these older men had to roughit together, and were dependent on each other for mutual help anddefence, it was the smartest fellow who was made most of, irrespectiveof social grade. And these bricklayer chaps and journeymen were alwaysin request, and could not only command high wages at any time, butdidn't care what they did, so they made their pile quickly enough. In afew generations most of the class distinctions of the old country willprevail here, as education and the importation of educated people grows.As it is, the rising generation, if you notice, is better educated thanits parents, and in many instances undisguisedly looks down on itsgrandparents."
"Yes, I've noticed that," said Lilian. "And my predilection generallylies with the old people, who, if somewhat uncultured, are kindnessitself."
"And their very roughness makes them the fittest people to open up a newcolony," went on Claverton. "Now look at that scowling fellowJeffreys--how weary I am of his eternal scowl, by the way. Well, hisgrandfather would hardly have been taken on as valet to Mr Brathwaite'sfather in the old country, and yet here the Jeffreys mix with us asequals, and are among the most well-to-do people anywhere about. Isn'tthis shade delightful?"
For they were walking beneath a growth of massive yellow-wood trees,whose great twisted limbs overhead shut out the sunlight, though hereand there it struggled through and lay in a golden network on theground. Masses of lichen festooned from trunk and bough, and monkeyropes and trailers of every description hung here straight andcord-like, there tangled together in the most hopeless confusion. Agloom lay beneath the shadowing trees, but it was the softened gloom ofa cathedral aisle; and the column-like trunks, firm and massive, stoodin rows along the coarse of the stream which bubbled along--now inlittle clear pools, now brawling over a stony shallow.
"Yes, perfectly sweet," answered Lilian.
"Then, like all things to which that description applies, it isn't tolast, for here we turn upward."
A ragged track, half path, half water-course, diverged from the stream,leading up the bush-covered hillside, steep as a flight of steps.
&nb
sp; "Wait a minute," called out Lucy Smithson, who was overtaking them. "Idon't think I'll go up after all. It's turned out so hot, and here weleave the shade. Do you mind, Mr Gough?" she added to her companion."But don't let me keep you from going, I can easily go back alone. Itisn't far."
This was out of the question, and she knew it. The fact being that thewhole move was a little ruse on her part with the object of befriendingClaverton and Lilian, in a way covering their retreat, so as not to makeit quite so conspicuous. Who knew, thought the good-natured girl, butthat this very afternoon might decide the future of those two? So shehad laid her little plan.
Gough, who had his own reasons for wanting to rejoin the others,professed that turning back was the very course he should have thoughtadvisable, so with a conventional word or two of regret, they separated.
"Now one can breathe again," exclaimed Claverton, in a tone of relief.
"I don't know," laughed his companion; "climbing a flight of very steepsteps is likely to put one out of breath. And it's awfully steep here."
"It is rather," he answered, taking her arm to help her up the roughbush path, which was, in truth, like a flight of stairs. "But you'll gowild with delight when we get to the top, I expect. It's just one ofthose views you revel in. And," he added, tenderly, "this is the firsttime I have had you all to myself to-day."
"I thought I should have ridden this morning," she said.
"Were you sorry you didn't?"
"They said it was too far for me to ride," she went on as if not hearinghis question. Then, looking suddenly at him: "Yes, I was sorry; but--"
Claverton's heart gave a bound. Was this anything to augur from, afterall? No. Lilian was not as most girls.
"But what?" he asked, eagerly. "Nothing," and the expression of herface was grave and troubled.
Of late she had been a prey to sad misgivings; at times she felt as ifshe had been playing a deceitful and unworthy part. She had let thisman go on thinking she was learning to care for him--for she was surethat he did think so--knowing the while that she could never be anythingto him; and now the time of her stay was drawing very near its close,and she must explain to him that the fact of having given him so much ofher society, and sought his confidence, and shown her unmistakableesteem for him, was only her side to the compact which they had ratifiedthat evening under the stars, and that they must part as they had met--strangers, or what to him would seem but little less cold--friends only.Yet she had been very happy with him, happier even than she dared ownto herself. And now she must explain all this, and what would he thinkof her? Would he hate her? Would his powerful, all-in-all love changeto bitter contempt? Ah! there lay the sting. But, no! She felt thathe was different somehow to other men. He would understand perhaps, andpity her, and even not withdraw his love. She could not bear thethought of losing that--and she was so lonely. Yes; she would explain;this very day, she had made up her mind as to that. But when she triedto begin she had stopped short, and when he would have had her continue,had answered "Nothing."
Claverton did not urge her. He respected her sudden reticence, as herespected her every word, her lightest look. He, too, had his ownthoughts to occupy him. With the shadow of her approaching departurelying upon his mind, deepening day by day as the time drew on, he wasfast relapsing into the state of restless despondency to which he hadbeen a prey before he tempted his fate so futilely. The wave ofreckless happiness into which he had unquestioningly plunged, withnearly two months of Lilian's society before him, had rolled on, leavinghim even worse than before. He would cast the dice again; but,instinctively, he felt that this time the throw would be fatal. Shouldhe do it to-day? The opportunity was a rarely favourable one. But, no!He would not mar the recollection of this one golden day, one of thefew last they would spend together.
So in silence they continued the ascent, every now and then pausing torest and look back. At length the arching trees overhead gave way, anda wall of rock rose in front.
"We are nearly there now," said Claverton, leading the way along beneaththe rock. "This is our way."
"Oh, look!"
There was a rustle among the bushes, as a buck, which had been lying inthe sun at the base of the cliff, sprang up and plunged into the cover,where they could hear it bounding away down the hill.
"How pretty! I've never seen one so close before--at least, not alive,"she went on. "I could see its eyes quite plainly; but how it startledme!" she added, with a laugh.
"All the unwonted eights that you do see are always when you are withme," said Claverton, with a pleased smile. "But here we are at last.One more staircase, though."
They stood before a yawning fissure falling back so as to make a naturalstaircase to the brow of the cliff. Nearly a hundred feet above, queerjagged pinnacles stood one above the other all up the sides of thegully, at whose entrance rose a great perpendicular tower of rock, witha huge boulder resting fantastically upon its summit. A tiny thread ofwater trickled down a well-worn channel, and from every cornice andcranny trailed a profusion of the most delicate maiden-hair ferns.
Lilian was enchanted. While pausing for a moment to rest, she dippedher hands into some clear water gathered in its little stony basin. Inthe act of withdrawing them, a ring slipped from one of her fingers andfell to the bottom of the water. It was a curious ring, consisting oftwo ropes of solid gold twisted together. Her companion fished it out,and, as he returned it to her, he noticed that she was deathly pale.But he made no remark, only glanced in the opposite direction for amoment, in order to give her time to recover her self-possession. Yethe connected the circumstance with her former lapses of hesitation andrestraint. In silence they resumed their way, and at length gained awide ledge at the other end of which was the cave. It seemed of somedepth, being wider and loftier at the month, narrowing thence intodarkness.
"Wait, let me go in first and explore," he went on, as a matter ofprecaution holding ready in his pocket the small revolver which had beenhis constant companion since Mopela's attempt on his life. Thenstriking a match he was about to advance.
"What's that?" exclaimed Lilian. But he had seen it as soon as she had,and placed himself in front of her. It was a human skull, standing on aledge of rock about breast-high, and the eyeless sockets and white teethlooked ghastly enough, grinning at them dimly through the darkness. Inan instant he had laid hold of it and jerked it away out of the cavedown into the bush beneath.
"What was it?" she repeated.
"Only a stone. A rolling one, like yours truly. I don't suppose it hasstopped yet."
He was glad she had not seen the hideous thing, and lighting anothermatch he peered cautiously around, lest there should be a second skull.There was, but it was lying on the ground with the face turned away fromthem, and Lilian took it for a stone. There would have been to hersomething horribly ghastly in these grisly death's-heads, lying there inthat gloomy cavern, just faintly visible by the flickering light of thematch he carried.
"That's all right," he said, as they returned to the light. "I didn'tmuch think we should find anything very terrific, but it's as well tolook. Sometimes a snake takes up his quarters in a place like this."
"What's this?" cried she, as something crackled beneath her feet.
"Oh, some of those old bones the _Baas_ was telling us about. I don'tsuppose there's much left of them now, five-and-twenty years after."
Lilian shuddered slightly.
"Let's get into the air again," she said. "This place is ratherawesome."
"Very well. But look, here are the Bushman drawings."
The walls of the cavern were plentifully adorned with hieroglyphics--rude figures of men and animals--worked into the smoother parts of therock with a kind of blue dye. Here and there the surface had beensmoothed away to admit of the barbarous frescoes.
"They are very queer," said Lilian, "but candidly I am just a littledisappointed in them. I thought they were much more artistically done."
"I think I shall make a sketch of the kloof, bringing in that greatjutting cliff. What a pity it just hides the waterfall!" continued she.
He undid her basket and got out her drawing materials. Then theydiscovered that the little portable water-tin was empty.
"I'll get you some from down there in half a minute," he said, startingto his feet.
"But--but--I don't quite like being left alone here," she said,hesitatingly, casting an apprehensive look backward at the gloomy cave.
Claverton stopped.
"Then we must go together," he said. "As far as the end of the ledge,anyhow. Then I shall have you in sight while I scramble down therocks."
"What a helpless creature I am!" she exclaimed, with a sad little smile.
"I wouldn't have you otherwise for all the world," replied he, tenderly;and they started on their quest. Swinging himself over the ledge hefilled the little vessel from the trickle of water in the gully, and waswith her again in a minute.
"Now," he went on, arranging a large flat stone as a seat for her, justin the shade of the cavern's month. "Now, you must make the most of thetime, and knock up an adequate representation of the scene, and Ibelieve I shall have the cheek to ask you to copy it again for me," andhe threw himself down on the rock beside her.
"Don't sit there in the sun," said she. "And I shall tire you out,keeping you tied here by the hour. It would be much more amusing to youto be away with the others."
Claverton indulged in a long, quiet laugh. "That idea strikes me assomething too rich. Tire me out! When I have been longing the wholeday to be with you, and with you only and alone. When I could sit herefor ever and ever only to be by your side and to see you and to hear themusic of your voice, darling. I never want a better heaven than this--than this one--here, at this moment," he went on, with a burst ofpassionate abandonment as different from his ordinary self-control ofspeech as the beautiful scene before them was from a Lincolnshire fen.
Lilian made no reply, but bent her head rather lower over her drawing,and her fingers trembled ever so slightly. Clouds of spreuws flittedamong the crags opposite, their shrill whistle echoing melodiously fromrock to rock. Bright-eyed little conies sat up peering warily aroundfor a moment, and then scampering into their holes among the stones andledges; and a large bird of prey circled slowly overhead uttering a loudrasping cry, then soared away over the valley. Beneath, the forest laysleeping in the lustrous sunlight, and now and again from its coolrecess would be upborne the soft note of a hoopoe.
Lilian worked on, neither of them speaking much. Claverton, for hispart, was content to lounge there, as he had said, for ever, so thatonly he might watch that graceful white figure--bending over thesketch-block--and the delicate patrician profile, the fringed eyelidopening wide as she kept looking up from the paper to take in the scene.The sound of his own voice had a tendency to break the charm, so hekept silence. And thus the time wore on, till at last the sketch wasfinished, and Lilian, laying down the block to dry, rose to her feet.
"There," she said; "I think we must be going."
Her companion's countenance fell. "Not yet. Look. You haven't filledin that tuft of aloes on the krantz, and there's more shading wantedhere."
She laughed. "I can fill that in at home. And the shading's quiteright, really. Do you know how long we have been here?"
"I know how long we haven't been here--half long enough."
"Two hours and a quarter. We must really be going. They'll bewondering what has become of us."
"Really not. They won't trouble their heads about us. A little longer.Heaven knows when I shall get you all to myself like this again," hepleaded. "And--Why, Lilian--darling--what is it?" For she had suddenlygrown very white.
"You are tired," he went on. "The heat and the climb have been too muchfor you. What a ruffian I was to have made you come! But it's shadyand cool here, let's wait a little longer; the rest will do you good."
"No, I am not tired; but we will wait a little longer. I--I havesomething to say to you, and this is a good opportunity of saying it."
"Yes. What is it?"
"Do you remember our compact?" she went on, with a sort of shiver, andspeaking in a dead, mechanical voice. "Have you forgotten it--thatnight by the water? I had no right to bind you to such a one-sidedagreement. It was not fair to you. I only thought of myself, and itwas selfish of me--sinfully selfish--to ask you to consent to such athing."
"Selfish! You selfish? Well, what next?"
There was silence for a moment. Before--beneath them lay the beautifulvalley, its abrupt slopes and iron-bound krantzes soft in the goldensunshine. A couple of crimson-winged louris flitted among the tree-topsbeneath, and the hum of insects floated up with a faint and far-awaysound. Behind--above them yawned the gloomy cave, those whited relicsof primeval barbarism lying silent and ghastly on the shadowed floor,the sole witnesses of this conflict of love in all its heart-wrunghopelessness. What a mocking irony of circumstances is that which hascaused such a scene in the drama of civilisation--civilisation in itshighest and most refined phase, to be enacted here in this savage spot,where lie the dead bones of the most degraded of the human race.
"Yes, selfish. I valued your society, your friendship, so much, I couldnot bear to lose it. I was afraid you would leave me, then and there;and, oh! I have never known what real chivalrous sympathy was till Imet you, and I have needed it so. Yet I might have known what would bethe result of tasking you to the utmost of your strength--beyond it,rather. Well, our compact," she went on, in an altered voice, as ifnerving herself for an effort. "You have not kept to it. You must nottalk to me as you have been doing lately--to-day even. You must not--"
She turned half away; she felt faint and sick at heart and dared notlook at him. What would he say to her? Suddenly something struck heron the shoulder, just behind the neck. The concussion was of the natureof a blow, rather quick than violent. She turned upon her companion,lost in a kind of scared wonder.
He had sprang to his feet and was shaking something from his hand. Itfell on the ground, and he stamped upon it and crushed it.
"What is that?" she asked, glancing from the ground to his face, whichwas growing very white.
"Only entomology," he replied. "Look at it."
A huge red scorpion lay on the ground, where he had trodden upon it. Itdied hard, however, and though half-crashed it lay writhing and dartingout its formidable sting in its rage.
"In half a second it would have been on your neck; it was going there asfast as it could crawl when I picked it off," he said.
"Has it stung you? Of course it has," she cried, her rich voicevibrating with concern. "Why, Arthur," she went on, all in a glow ofadmiration; "do you mean to say that you snatched that dreadful creatureoff me with your bare hand?"
It was the first time she had ever called him "Arthur," and for a momenthe almost forgot the furious pain of the sting.
"Just that. I'd lay hold of the devil himself under far lessprovocation, I assure you. It was the only way of getting it off quickenough. By Jingo, it hurts, though. Look away for a moment, I'm goingto slash it."
Opening his knife, which was keen and sharp as a razor, he drew itsblade across the wound in a couple of deep gashes. The blood spurtedfreely, and he ground his teeth in the convulsive anguish caused by thevenomous brute's sting, which seemed to go through his whole frame.Then he applied his lips to the wound and sucked.
"Good thing it missed that large vein," he said. For he had been justin time to seize the creature and crush it up in his fingers, duringwhich process it had whipped up its tail and stung him twice just roundthe back of the hand. "Oh, I shall be all right, but we'd better getback. The Baas sometimes carries a bottle of Croft's Tincture. That'llput it right in no time," continued he, with rather a ghastly smile.For the sting of a scorpion is
terribly painful; indeed, unless a remedyis at hand the sufferer will undergo the most acute agony. The sting ofthe Apocalyptical locusts has been well compared.
"Yes, yes. Let us be going," she said, hurriedly. "Is it dreadfullypainful?"
"I hardly feel it when I look into your eyes, darling. And your veryvoice has a soothing effect."
She had just been taking him to task for talking to her in this strain,regardless of their compact, but how could she upbraid him now--when hewas in this terrible pain--and all for her? Suddenly he reeled giddily,and his face became even more livid; and the perspiration stood in beadsupon his forehead. An awful fear gripped her heart. All the grimstories she had heard of deaths from stings and snakebites crowded up.If this were to prove fatal and he were to die at her feet, having laiddown his life for her! At this moment she knew her own heart if she hadnever done so before. Further self-disguise was useless. This incidenthad swept away the veil.
"Ah, why did you do it?" cried she, in tones of thrilling anguish. "Iwould sooner it had stung me a hundred times! You can hardly walk!Lean on me. See! I am not such a weak support, after all."
She had passed her arm through his, and, for the moment, felt as strongand determined as even he could have been. All thoughts of prudence andconventionality were scattered to the winds in her awful apprehension.He was suffering horribly--it might be, even, that his life was indanger.
"Why, how childishly weak I am!" said he, with another forced smile."The thing can't hurt so much, after all; hang it, it can't!"
But it did. There was no getting rid of that fact, try as he might toignore it. Thus they made their way back.
"Look, now, I mustn't make a crutch of you any more. We shall be comingupon the others directly," said Claverton, as they drew near to thehalting-place.
"I don't care if we do," she replied, fearlessly.
"But I care; and I'm not going to let you do what you might regretafterwards," rejoined he, sadly, remembering the burden of theirconversation at the time of the occurrence.
"Ah, why did you do it?" she repeated. And by that time they were insight and earshot of the rest of the party.
"Hallo, Arthur! What's up?" asked Mr Brathwaite, noticing his unwontedaspect.
"Nothing much; only a sting. Got any Croft's Tincture?"
"Is it a snake?" inquired the old man, with more alarm in his voice thanhe intended to betray.
"No; a scorpion."
The while Mr Brathwaite had been uncorking a small bottle. "Lucky Ididn't change my coat at the last moment this morning. I was as nearlyas possible doing so, and this would have been left behind if I had,sure as fate. Now, let's have a look at it."
An infusion of the healing fluid was applied, and soon the suffererbegan to feel perceptibly relieved. The throbbing became less violent,and, although much swollen already, the hand grew no larger. OldGarrett stood by, watching the doctoring process, lecturing the while,his theme the deterioration from its ancestry of the rising generation.
"There," he was saying, "I'll be bound that none of you young fellers'ave any of that stuff with you--and what would you 'ave done withoutit? We old stagers is always ready for any emergence," (his auditorspresumed he meant emergency)--"always ready. All there, sir; allthere?"
"Have you got any of it yourself?" asked the patient, catting him short.
"'Ave I? Well, let's see. No, I 'aven't to-day, but I generally 'ave."
"Oh!" said the patient, significantly.
"There, you'll do now," said Mr Brathwaite, tying up the hand with ahandkerchief. "It'll hurt a little for a time, but the swelling willsoon go down. But how did it happen?"
"The scorpion was on my shoulder, and Mr Claverton snatched it off withhis bare hand," answered Lilian, quickly, in her clear tones.
"Awkwardly enough, too, as the result shows," rejoined Claverton. "Bythe way, has Hicks slain anything? We heard him cannonading away downthe kloof like the Siege of Paris." He said this with the object ofchanging the topic, and the statement was not strictly historical inevery particular.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Mr Brathwaite. "Hicks banging away, as usual. Henever will move without his gun. One thing, though, if he isn'tdangerous to beast, he isn't to man either. He's always carefulenough."
"I've sent for the horses," said Jim, who had just come up. "Hallo,Claverton! What's the row with your hand?"
Then the story was raked up afresh, and all eyes were turned upon itshero, which he hated, and looked around seeking a means of escape, when,to his intense relief, a diversion occurred, in the shape of Hicks andAllen dragging between them a huge bushbuck ram, which the former hadshot.
"Hicks to the fore. Hooray!" cried Armitage. "How much salt did youlodge on its tail, old man?"
"Go to Bath, Jack. You're not the only fellow in the world who evershot anything," retorted Hicks, who was hot and testy. Then there was ageneral laugh, and at length the jollity was cut short by the inexorablehand of Time. The vehicles were in-spanned, for they must needs depart.Those who were to ride were busy saddling up, and at length farewellshaving been exchanged, all started on their respective ways, someriding, some driving. Armitage declared that the last thing he saw ofold Garrett was that worthy balancing himself in his trap trying to drawa cork, while his hopeful held the reins; but no one knew whether tobelieve the statement or not. One thing, however, presumption was allin favour of its veracity, so they gave the old toper the benefit of thedoubt--in the wrong direction.