The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier

by Bertram Mitford

  VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER TWELVE.

  "THE LAND IS DEAD."

  For two days "Claverton's Levy" has continued its march farther andfurther into the disturbed country, meeting, as yet, with no opposition.Now and again, far away on a hill-top, like a black speck, would bedescried the form of a Kafir scout watching their movements, and on twoor three of these occasions shots had been fired, though futilely, forat present the wily foe was showing a discretion eminently the betterpart of valour, and kept his distance. Deserted kraals andmealie-lands, here and there even the ruins of a once prosperoushomestead, tell in significant, if voiceless testimony, that the "landis dead" indeed; and no sign of life is visible along the path, save forthe occasional presence of the wild creatures of the waste, who, fortheir part, lose no time in getting out of the way of thisquaint-looking crew. Once, indeed, a number of Kafir women came intothe camp with a plausible tale of how they were fleeing from the rebels,and were on their way to join their husbands and fathers in the colony,who were loyal to the Government, and wouldn't the white captain givethem rations to carry them on their road? But Claverton, who sawthrough the trick, had ordered them out of camp at once, threatening tomake prisoners of the lot if they were even within sight half an hourlater. He knew they were spies--these confiding creatures--sent in bythe enemy to see how great a fool the white chief was, and to reportaccordingly; but in the present instance they found him in no sense afool at all.

  Very careful and precise has Claverton been in the matter of guard;visiting the sentries himself, and that often. Indeed, there has been atendency among the men to growl a little--always in secret, for theyhave already begun to look upon their leader with no inconsiderableawe--at the extra precautions he takes in posting rather more than theabsolutely necessary number of guards. Very careful and precise is hein matters of discipline, although, within limits, the men are allowedand encouraged to make the time pass as cheerfully as possible; and manyare the yells of laughter round the evening camp-fire over the antics ofsome yellow-skinned monkey; or another discourses the sweet music of aDutch Hottentot song to the accompaniment of a concertina and a batteredold fiddle, for they are fond of music in their way, are theselight-hearted, scatter-brained half-breeds--their own music, that is--aweird, shrill, bag-pipish chorus, unparalleled in its discordantmonotony. But at a given time all lights out, and woe to the delinquentwho should think it safe to begin "trying it on" in this or any otherrespect. So the corps is in capital order for its rough work, and,thanks to the carefulness of its leaders, runs no more jeopardy thanthat provided by the ordinary chances of war--which, indeed, is fullysufficient.

  And now the troop is halted in a hollow, by the side of a small stream--at this season nearly dry--dry, that is, in places where it should run,though there are several deep pools of standing water very inviting on amorning like this, for, though not yet high, the sun is making his raysdisagreeably felt. Around, for a distance of about half a mile, theslopes are dotted with _spekboem_ and aloes; the straight, prickly stemsof the latter looking like an array of dark Kafirs stationed about inthe shimmer of the rising heat. It is the third morning of their march,and to-day they expect to reach the main body; meanwhile, having been onthe move since dawn, they are halted for breakfast.

  As usual, the sentries have been carefully posted, for their leader hasnoticed among his men a certain tendency to carelessness, in proportionas their advance is made without sign of opposition, and, knowing theircharacteristics and their failings well, his watchfulness never relaxes.And now, as the sun shines pleasantly down, on this cloudless morning,the men sit and lounge about, taking their well-earned rest ere the wordis given to set forward again. Some are cooking their breakfasts andthose of their fellows; others lie about smoking their pipes andindulging in drowsy gossip; some lying on their backs, with their raggedhats between their faces and the son, are fast asleep; while others arestill splashing merrily in one or two of the water-holes, diving intothe water or sitting on the brink basking in the sun. Claverton himselfhas just returned from his bath, and stands, in scanty attire, lookingplacidly round upon those under his command, in their various attitudesof ease and restfulness.

  "Not much use tubbing if one has to walk a hundred yards after it," heis saying. "One wants to go in again directly one gets here."

  "Yes," answers his lieutenant, dreamily. "By the way, I was thinkingwhat we should do if Jack Kafir were to make a sudden rush on us whilewe were splashing away down there. But I don't believe we shall get aglimpse of the beggar until--"

  Bang!

  A shot is heard just over the brow of the rise about seven hundred yardsoff. It rings out on the still morning air with a sharp clearness thatis startling, and immediately it is followed by a second. The effect islike magic: loungers sit bolt upright, sleepers wake, those in the waterscurry out, and all eyes in camp are turned in the direction of thisunlooked-for alarm.

  "Kaptyn, Kaptyn--Kyk dar so!" [Captain, Captain--Look there!] cries oneof the sergeants, a wiry little Hottentot of some sixty summers. Buteven before his warning is uttered Claverton's quick eye has caught thecause of alarm, and more, has mastered the fact that nothing but theutmost coolness and determination will save every soul in that camp fromdestruction. For the whole ridge is alive with Kafir warriors, swarmingover the brow of the hill like a crowd of red ants; on they come,straight for the camp, evidently with the intention of carrying it by arush. A man is fleeing before them as hard as ever he can run--apparently the sentry who has fired the shot--but he has a small startand they are gaining upon him. Suddenly he falls, then disappears,pierced by a score of assegais, and the crowd pours over him.

  "Steady, men--steady!" cries Claverton, his clear voice ringing like atrumpet. "Every man to his place. No one to fire before the word isgiven."

  And now the state of discipline into which the corps had been brought,bore its fruit, as, quickly and without flurry, each man knew exactlywhere to find his rifle and ammunition, and found it--for the arms hadbeen placed separately in a circle, not piled--and now, inspired bytheir leader's coolness, every man stood armed and ready, only waitingthe word of command. Once or twice Claverton detected signs of flurryand scrambling; but a word or two thrown in, and an invinciblecoolness--which could not have been greater had they been on parade,instead of waiting the furious onslaught of a savage horde, rushing downat a pace which three minutes at the outside would bring right uponthem--instantly had the effect of restoring order.

  "Steady, men," cried Claverton again, as the whole force knelt behindthe light breastwork of thorn-bushes, which a quarter of an hour's workhad sufficed to throw round the camp when they first halted. "Steady.Don't put up any sights, and aim low. Now--Fire!"

  Truly the attacking force presented a terrific and appalling spectacle.In a semi-circular formation on they came at a run--hundreds andhundreds of fierce savages, their naked bodies gleaming with red ochre,as they poured through the bush like demons, shrilling their wildwar-whistles, and snapping their assegais across their knees to shortenthem for the charge and the irresistible hand-to-hand encounter which itseemed nothing could stay.

  Crash!

  A roar of the detonation of many rifles. The smoke clears away, and aconfused mass of fallen bodies and red struggling limbs, is descried.Another and another volley; the assailants roll over in heaps, theirranks literally ploughed through by the heavy and terribly destructiveSnider bullets--almost explosive in their effects--poured in at suchclose quarters. The advancing mass halts a moment like a wave suddenlystopped by a breakwater, fairly impeded by the fallen bodies of itsslain and the frantic convulsive throes of the stricken.

  "That's right, men!" shouts Claverton. "Give it them again! Hurrah!"

  A wild cheer breaks from his followers as they pour in their fire--ashrill yell of maddening excitement, nearly drowned by the fierce,frenzied war-cry of the Gaika warriors. But these are beginning towaver. The tremendous loss they have suffered, the determined andwholl
y unexpected resistance they have met with, all tells, and promptlythey drop down into cover, and commence a rapid and heavy fire upon thecamp. Their shooting, however, is ludicrously bad, and the bullets and"pot-legs" whiz high overhead, imperilling no one. The Hottentotsanswer with a derisive cheer, and every time a Kafir shows his head adozen shots are blazed into him, generally with effect.

  Suddenly a tremendous fire is opened upon the camp from quite a newquarter. One man drops dead, and two or three others are badly hit, andthen on the opposite side a great mass of Kafirs rises from the bush andsweeps down upon the frail breastwork, uttering a terrific shout. Achief is at their head--a slightly-built, handsome man, with bright,clear eyes and a heavy beard for a Kafir--waving his tiger-skin karossas, sounding his rallying-cry, he charges straight forward. Clavertonspots him at once, and, coolly drawing a bead upon him, fires andmisses. The chief laughs--a bold, defiant laugh--showing a splendid setof white teeth, and poising an assegai, hurls it with good aim at hiswould-be destroyer, who manages to dodge it, or his hopes and fearswould come to an untimely end then and there. And the rifles roar andcrash into the red, bounding mass, and the smell of powder is heavy inits asphyxiating denseness; and the demon figures flit athwart the smokeand jets of belching flame, while the gun-barrels grow hot, and thebrain begins to reel amid that awful, deafening din, and the foot slipsin a dark stain of fresh warm life-blood welling forth upon the grass.Truly all this is unsurpassed by Pandemonium in its wildest conception.

  The last volley has broken the neck of the charge, but the impetus hascarried a number of the enemy within the breastwork, and among them thechief, who, grasping a short, broad-bladed assegai, is stabbing rightand left. Claverton sees him, and, amid the frightful turmoil of thehand-to-hand conflict, cannot help admiring the cool intrepidity of theman. He tries to get at him, but finds enough on his hands with a hugeKafir who hurls himself upon him, making herculean efforts to brain himwith a clubbed rifle. A neat revolver shot and the savage falls--thebullet cleaving his skull, entering straight through the right eye--andin falling nearly upsets Claverton by stumbling forward on him.

  "The chief! Stop him or kill him!" cries the latter. "Twenty pounds towhoever kills the chief!"

  He cannot get near him himself, however. He sees his quondam prisoner,Sharkey, lay hold of one of the enemy and by main force brain the Gaikawarrior as he hurls him head downwards upon a stone. He sees Sam killtwo Kafirs with his own hand by as many strokes with a powerfulZulu-made assegai, as he replies to their fierce challenge with the mostear-splitting of whistles. He can make out Lumley and the cool-headedlittle Hottentot, Gert Spielmann, with the utmost calmness keeping up,together with a section of their men, such a fire upon the Kafirsoutside that these are already in full retreat; but get at the chief hecannot. And, indeed, that bold leader seems to bear a charmed life ashe charges through the camp, till, seeing that the game is up, he boundslike a deer over the breastwork unharmed amid the shower of bullets thatflies round him, and, shouting his war-cry, regains the friendly coverwith such few of his followers as have had the good fortune to escape.

  The fight is over and the day is saved, and the Kafirs may be seenslinking off in squads through the bush--some, indeed, dragging thewounded with them. Orders are given to cease firing, and then abouttwenty of the best shots are told off to pepper the retreating enemy atlong range, while the rest are held ready in the event of a fresh andunexpected attack; for their leader is not the man to overlook thesmallest possibility in the chances of war. But a rally is not amongthem in this instance, and, after a sufficient time has elapsed, the menare paraded. It is found that the loss has been fire killed and twelvewounded. Silence is restored--all but restored, that is--for a voicemight still be heard in the ranks in half-smothered dispute with acomrade, and then, with a vehemence which sounded loud upon the silence,it exclaimed: "Haow! Amaxosa nigga no good!" And at this sudden andevidently unintentional interruption a roar of laughter broke from oneand all of those present, from their leader downwards, while our friendSam, whose feedings had found vent, in his uncontrollable excitement, inhis favourite ejaculation, stood there looking sheepish and guilty to adegree. Then Claverton addressed them.

  "My men," he said, "you have just shown the stuff you are made of. Halfan hour ago we didn't know there was a Kafir within ten miles of us, andnow in that time, taken by surprise as you were, you have beaten off anenemy outnumbering you by six to one. You have behaved splendidlyto-day--splendidly, I say--and I am proud to command you. You fought aswell as any Englishmen could have done, in a tough action partlyhand-to-hand, and you have won it by sheer pluck and hard fighting. Wehave lost five men, unfortunately--five good men and true. They felldoing their duty--fell with arms in their hands, like soldiers, and Ishall make it my business strongly to recommend their families to theGovernment for a pension. Now, we must keep up our discipline in thecamp stricter than ever after this, as you must see, if only for ourcommon safety. So we'll just give three cheers for the Queen, and thenwe'll set to work and get into marching order. Now, then--"

  Cheer upon cheer went up--three times three again and again; but it isto be feared that amid their acclamations the men thought far more oftheir present leaders than of their absent Sovereign. However, theeffect was that intended--an inspiriting one.

  "One word more," cried Claverton. "The Kafirs have fought us like men--in fair, open fight, and we've thrashed them, and thrashed them well.Now, there are many of them lying wounded round here in the bush. It ishardly necessary to remind you that soldiers--true soldiers--don't hurtwounded men after a battle; so when we go round to count the deaddirectly, no harm is to be done to the wounded. Leave the poor devilsin peace until their kinsmen come to carry them off, as they will dowhen we are gone. So mind--they are not to be hurt."

  "Ja, ja, Kaptyn. Det is recht!" cried many of them.

  "You put that neatly," remarked Lumley. "There's nothing like givingpeople a good opinion of themselves."

  "Well, yes," answered the other, with a slightly cynical laugh. "Thesefellows are like children--take in everything you tell them in praise ofthemselves. Now they're as pleased as Punch, and ready to go anywhere."

  "I wonder what would have been the upshot if the Kafirs had come on moreslowly. These chaps of ours are not half such good shots as they thinkthemselves, for I noticed some of them firing awfully wide. Theycouldn't help hitting the crowd, you see; and being under the influenceof excitement, didn't stop to think. Otherwise the effect of their poorshooting would have been disheartening to them and encouraging to theenemy. And the odds were frightfully against us, you know."

  Claverton looked grave. "There's a great deal in what you say, Lumley.More than ever, then, must we keep the fellows thoroughly up to themark."

  Accompanied by ten mounted men, Claverton made a wide circuit of thecamp, by way of reconnaissance. From the ridges not a Kafir was to beseen, and it seemed incredible that on this spot, within the lasthalf-hour, a furious conflict had raged. Beyond the camp a film ofsmoke still hung heavily upon the air, and there was a thick, sulphuroussmell; otherwise, all was quiet and serene, as if the peace of themorning had never been disturbed. And then they came upon the bodies ofthe slain foe, lying thickly around the camp, most of them struck deadwhere they lay, and terribly mangled by the great tearing shock of theSnider bullets. Some had managed to crawl a few yards, and lay withtheir fingers dug deep into the hard earth, which they had clutched intheir convulsive agony. Now and then a shuddering tremor would runthrough one of the bodies, and lips would move, and glazed eyes halfunclose. It was a terrible thing to contemplate that mass of humanityso lately pulsating with life and vigour, now a mere heap of inertcorpses, mangled and hideous, lying there doubled up and contorted bythe throes of death--a sight which, could the intriguing heads of thewar faction in the tribe have seen, would surely have caused a diresinking of heart and a regret, all too late, that the counsel of theolder men should have been set
at naught. _They_ had had experience ofthese things; and such a sight as this hecatomb of their nation'smanhood in its vigour and prime, must have been before their eyes whenthey uttered their warning, oft repeated but all unheeded.

  Suddenly they came upon a horrible sight. In the midst of a pile ofbodies, about thirty yards in front of them, a great gaunt savage roseslowly up to a sitting posture. The whole of his face, neck, andshoulders was one mass of blood, and he appeared to be intentlylistening. Not a muscle moved as, with his head turned sideways towardsthem, he awaited their approach. "Poor devil!" muttered Claverton,contemplating the grisly figure, while even the Hottentots were vehementin their expressions of commiseration. Then a rapid movement was seento agitate the Kafir's limbs, and, springing half up, he discharged hisgun quick as thought right into the astonished party barely ten yardsdistant, slightly wounding one of the horses, but doing no furtherdamage.

  "Stop!" cried Claverton in a tone of command, seeing that his men wereabout to fire on the unfortunate savage. "Stop! Not a shot to befired; his gun's empty now." Then halting, he ordered the Kafir to laydown his arms; but the man never moved.

  "Whaow!" he cried, ferociously. "Did I kill any one? But come and killme, cowards, as you have sent me into night. Come and kill me. Do youhear, cowards? Or are you afraid of a man _who cannot see_?"

  His last words were indeed true. A ball had passed through the upperpart of his face, taking away both his eyes. The poor wretch wasstone-blind. And in this condition, maddened by the frightful pain ofhis wound and a sense of his calamity, he had quietly awaited theirapproach, and then, guided by the sound, had struck a parting blow athis hated foes. Something very like a shudder ran through thespectators.

  "No. We are not going to kill you," replied Claverton. "Listen. Weshall soon be away from here, and then your friends will come back andfind you. You may yet live a long time, and there may yet be somelittle pleasure in life even for a man who cannot see. So we shall notharm you. It's the fortune of war--you to-day, myself to-morrow."

  The only answer was a moan of exhaustion as the sufferer sank back onthe ground. Claverton sent one of his men for some water, of which thewounded man drank copiously. Then he washed his face, and, placing thepoor wretch in a more comfortable position, left him and passed on hisround of the field of slaughter. Many a sickening sight met his gaze--asight to curdle the heart's blood and make the brain grow sad, but noneto equal that, and never in after years would he quite forget thespectacle of the stricken savage all covered with blood, rearing himselfup in the agony of his sightlessness, guided by his hearing alone, tostrike one last blow at his hated foes.

  No time was there to do more than hurriedly bury their dead. They mustget on, and the sooner the better. So the five slain Hottentots wereburied in a common grave, one wizened little old fellow, by virtue ofhis office as "elder" of a native chapel in one of the settlements,making a rambling, incoherent prayer, and leading off, in a nasal twang,a cracked, doleful Dutch psalm. Scarcely was this impromptu dirgebrought to a close when a group was descried advancing towards the camp,waving something white.

  "Three Kafirs with a white flag, by Jove!" said Lumley, scanning theapproaching group through his field-glass. "Ah! Lucky for him," hewent on, as on further investigation he made out the sentry, with hispiece at "present," walking distrustfully some twenty yards behind.

  All present were disposed so as to be in readiness should this last moveprove to be a mere ruse--it would not be the first instance in savagewarfare of the abuse of the white flag--and the Kafirs were suffered toapproach. All three were good-looking men of about middle age, shrewdof countenance, and lithe and well-made of figure. They halted justoutside the camp, and saluted Claverton gravely as he went forth to meetthem. He nodded in reply, looked them rapidly up and down and askedshortly:

  "What do you want?"

  "We have come to ask the white chief to let us carry away our wounded.Many of our brethren have fallen, and are lying about in the bushes.They will die if we do not attend to them."

  For a few moments Claverton made no reply, but stood meditativelyflicking his boot with a small switch he held in his hand, the savagedelegates, the while, eyeing him narrowly. He was turning over thesituation in his mind. Why were they in such a hurry to look aftertheir wounded--it was not in accordance with their usual practice?Could it be with the object of keeping his attention employed, ofdisarming watchfulness while a large force stole up to surprise them?Or were they merely enacting the part of spies? At length he replied--and his suspicion and deliberateness, so far from offending, caused himto rise in their estimation; for anything like hastiness either ofspeech or decision does not find favour in the eyes of these people:

  "How is it you were not afraid to trust yourselves in our hands? It isnot the time of peace."

  "Aow! The white captain is brave. He will not hurt three men alone inhis camp," replied the spokesman. "We are not afraid. See--we have thewhite flag."

  The insidious flattery conveyed in this speech was quite thrown away.For all the change that came over Claverton's face he might not haveheard it.

  "Who was your leader?" he said. "The man with the leopard-skin cloak?"

  "Matanzima."

  "The son of Sandili?"

  "Yes."

  "He is a brave man and fought well. Now, why are you so anxious to lookafter your wounded at once, instead of waiting until we are gone?"

  "The chief's uncle is among them. The chief fears that his kinsman willdie."

  "H'm. Who are you?"

  "I am Usivulele the son of Sikunaya," replied the spokesman of thethree.

  "H'm. Well, now, listen you three. These are my terms," saidClaverton, decisively. "If you, Usivulele, will remain with me as ahostage till the sun is there" (designating a point in the heavens whichthat luminary would reach by about four o'clock), "then your people maycome and look after their wounded, but not until we are over that secondhill. Should they come before, we shall fire on them again, and if theyattack us before the hour named, you, Usivulele, shall die the moment ashot is fired. At that hour, if your people observe my conditions, youshall go free and unharmed. Those are my terms, they are not hard; youare at liberty to accept or to reject them."

  The Kafirs debated rapidly for a moment in an undertone. Then Usivulelestepped forward, looking Claverton full in the face.

  "We accept them," he said. "I am ready."

  "Very well. Now you two may return and carry my `word' to Matanzima.When he comes he will find his friends just as they fell. We do notharm wounded men."

  The two ambassadors saluted again, and turning, strode away from thecamp, escorted to the brow of the hill by a couple of sentries, whilethe hostage was placed under a strict guard. They gave him something toeat, and he was well treated though carefully watched. But not for amoment would he unbend from the grave, dignified reserve wherewith hehad wrapped himself. Communicativeness was not in the bond, and to alltheir questions he returned laconic and evasive replies. It was evidentthat he was not to be "drawn." Once during their march Lumley, havingjust given him a pipe of tobacco, asked where Sandili was.

  "Chief," replied the Kafir, in a tone of quiet rebuke. "If I were toask you where your general and your _amasoja_ (soldiers) were at thismoment--what should you say?"

  "I should say, `Damn your impudence,'" muttered Lumley, half angrily, ashe turned away feeling very much snubbed; but Claverton, listening,thoroughly enjoyed the retort.

  "Don't be unfair, Lumley," he said. "This fellow has his wits abouthim. He's no ordinary nigger, I can see."

  "No, he isn't, confound him," growled the other, unmollified.

  Meanwhile the hostage stalked along among his guards, and showed not thesmallest concern as to his own fate. Evidently the conditions would beobserved in good faith, and of that fact he was aware. In a trifle morethan an hour, now, he would be set at liberty--when lo, cresting thebrow of a hill, one of the saddest
and most eloquent tokens of savagewarfare burst upon the eyes of the party. Beneath, lay what had been aflourishing homestead, now a heap of _debris_ and blackened ruins, fromwhich, as they gazed, little lines of smoke still arose, showing thatthe work of destruction was but recent. The roof had fallen in but thewalls still stood, with their gaping window-holes like the eyelesssockets of a skull, and fragments of charred rafters stood out overhead,the fleshless ribs of the frame of the once sheltering roof-tree. Andin contrast to this sad work of desolation, a fine fruit-garden frontedthe house, the trees weighed down beneath their luscious burdens--thefig and the pomegranate, blushing peaches and yellow pears, goldenapricots, and quinces ripening in the high, straight hedges which shutin the orchard. Extensive lands under cultivation lay along in thebottom, and these had not been interfered with.

  "This can't have been done long," observed Lumley, surveying the ruin."Shouldn't wonder if it was the same gang that attacked us."

  "Very likely. Stop. Here's a part of it not so smashed up. Let's havea look round," said Claverton, dismounting.

  One end of the building seemed to have partially escaped--a largishapartment, evidently a bedroom. A fall of rubbish across the narrowwindow had blocked it, and it was almost in darkness.

  "Good heavens! look here," cried Lumley, with a shudder, examining theground. Their eyes had become accustomed to the gloom, and both madeout a broad red stain, whose nature there was no mistaking. Upon thatrude floor had been spilt the stream of life, and the greedy earth hadabsorbed it. "I don't care for this sort of investigation," continuedhe. "It's one thing bowling fellows over in the open air, in fair,lively scrimmage; but, hang it all, nosing about in this infernal gloomyden is another. Let's get outside," and again he shuddered, as ifdreading what they might find.

  "Wait a bit," said Claverton, "Look. Some one has come to grief here--there's no doubt about it."

  Nor was there. Another great red patch and a few smaller ones wereseen, and then, following a mark made by something heavy trailed alongin the dust, they came to a doorway leading into the burnt part of thehouse, and here, among the dust, and bricks, and fallen _debris_, lyingin the gloom cast by an overshadowing fragment of roof, which looked asif it was about to fall on them, they came upon the charred remains ofthree human beings--apparently two men and a woman, for portions offemale attire still hung about one of them. Indeed, only presumablycould their European nationality be pronounced upon, for the ghastlyrelics were little more than a few calcined bones.

  "Good God!" exclaimed Lumley, turning sick and faint at the horridsight. "They've been burnt alive."

  "No; I don't think that," said Claverton. "Poor wretches--they werekilled first and then flung in here. The marks in the other room showthat, if it's any comfort. They were probably surprised in their bedsand murdered; this very morning, too, I should say. What's this?"

  Something shining, which lay on the floor in a dark corner, had caughthis eye. He picked it up. It was a small crucifix, about eight inchesin length, such as is constructed to stand on a bracket. The cross wasbroken and splintered in two or three places, but the figure, being ofmetal, was intact. It was exquisitely wrought, and Claverton stoodgazing sadly down upon the holy symbol, which he held in his hand amidthis gloomy scene of ashes, and tears, and blood; and it seemed to himthat a wave of ineffable sorrow swept across the suffering, lifelikecountenance as he gazed. Wrapping the relic in his handkerchief, heplaced it carefully in his pocket. Lilian would certainly value it.

  "By Jove, Lumley; but war isn't all fun, after all!" he said, withsomething like a sigh.

  "No, it isn't. I'm glad now that we peppered those black devils thismorning--cowardly, sneaking brutes. I wish we had done for a thousandof them."

  "Let's see if we can find anything more among this rubbish," went onClaverton, not heeding his lieutenant's honest vehemence. But nothingwas to be found. The savages had gutted the place, and how the holyrelic had escaped them was incomprehensible, unless it were that, withsuperstitious awe, they feared to touch it. A few battered bits ofiron, the remains of a bedstead, and some broken crockery lay strewnabout; but everything combustible--chairs, tables, curtains, etcetera--had been given to the flames.

  They went out into the air again. The sun shone placidly down from anunclouded sky upon this gloomy scene of desolation and death; around, afair vision of hill and dale lay spread afar, and now and then themelodious call of the hoepoe would float upon the summer air as if nofrightful tragedy had been enacted in that peaceful spot, where thetorch and assegai of the savage had been glutted in his lust for blood.

  "I suppose we must let this devil go, too," said Lumley, with a fierce,vengeful glance at their hostage.

  "Oh, yes," said Claverton, decisively; "no question about that.Usivulele," he went on, addressing the Kafir, "is this the work of yourband? It'll make no difference to you; I shall let you go all thesame."

  The man gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.

  "Chief," he replied, "we are not the only party of warriors in the bush.The land is full of them. Some were here this morning, and are yonderto-night," pointing to the horizon. "Why should it be our work?"

  "A true native answer, but a fair one," said Claverton. "No one's boundto criminate himself. Hallo; here's a book!"

  For, agitated by the faint breeze, some leaves of paper might be seenstirring amid the grass a few yards off. He picked it up. It was not abook, but a few pages of one, in the German language--a hymn-book, fromall appearances--and it must have been flung there by the savages whenthey had completed their ruthless work. The finding of it, however, andsome other fragments of books all in the same language, scatteredaround, threw additional light upon the incident. Evidently the unhappyvictims were German immigrants, of whom there were many in Kaffraria,and who either disbelieving the alarming reports, or trusting to thefriendliness of the natives, had been loth to leave their prosperous,and, as they thought, peaceful home; and had suffered the penalty oftheir imprudence.

  A grave having been dug the remains were carefully deposited within it,and, knocking together a rude cross out of some of the wood-work of theruined dwelling, Claverton planted it over the last resting-place of theunfortunate immigrants slaughtered beneath their own roof-tree. Thencomparing his watch with the sun he addressed the hostage:

  "Usivulele, you have kept your side of the compact and I will keep mine.The time has come and you are at liberty to return to your chief. Go.You are free."

  The Kafir's impassive countenance relaxed into a slight smile, and, witha murmur of assent and a courteous salute to Claverton, he gathered hisblanket about him and strode away into the _veldt_. Many a scowlfollowed the retreating figure as the bystanders grasped their riflesand stole a furtive glance at their leader's face. They longed to senda volley after the retiring Kafir; but each man knew that to do so wouldmean instant death to himself.

  Claverton watched his late prisoner till he was out of sight, and thenreturned to explore the ruins afresh, while his men regaled themselveson the ripe fruit which grew in the garden in such profusion; and verygrateful was the luscious feast to their throats, dry with the smoke ofpowder and the shouting and excitement of the morning's fray. Just ashe was about to enter, the part of the roof which had escaped fell inwith a crash, nearly smothering him in a cloud of dust and cinders.

  "I say, Lumley. That was a narrow share of your getting promotion," wasall he said.

  Further investigation was of course barred, and the time for haltinghaving expired, the "fall-in" was sounded. As they wound their way outof the valley, they turned to look back. The fall of the roof haddisturbed the still smouldering embers beneath, and now a volume ofsmoke was rolling up from the blackened ruins, darkening the azure sky,and casting a fell shadow upon the sunlit earth. And all Nature smiledaround, in fair, mocking contrast to these hideous tokens of thevengeful hate of men.