The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier

by Bertram Mitford

  VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

  FACE TO FACE.

  They buried poor Jack Armitage in the afternoon, and all turned out torender the last honours to their departed comrade. Brathwaite's Horse,with arms reversed, formed the principal guard of honour, the improvisedbier being borne by the dead man's most intimate friends. All the Dutchburghers followed in the _cortege_, and, hovering around in dark groups,the men of the Fingo Levies gazed curiously but respectfully upon thewhite man's burial. No surpliced priest stood to hallow this newly-madegrave in the wilderness, or speak the commendatory words; but all thesolemnity which real feeling could impart was supplied in the demeanourof these rough bands of armed horsemen, pacing along so silent, andorderly, and mournful.

  The grave had been dug beneath a couple of euphorbia trees, upon a greenknoll commanding a lovely view of hill and dale, and sweeping grasslandand distant mountain, all blending into one soft picture in the goldenlustre of the afternoon sun. The steady tramp of hoof-strokes ceased asthe horsemen ranged themselves in a semicircle around the grave, andthere was dead silence. All uncovered as Jim Brathwaite, who, as seniorcommander and the dead man's intimate friend, had been unanimously votedto the duty, began to read--in the subdued and serious voice of onewholly unaccustomed to the performance of such offices--the Anglicanburial service. At its close a firing party stepped forward, and athreefold volley sounded forth upon the hushened air, rolling its echoesafar, till the Amaxosa warriors, listening from their tangled fastnessesto its distant thunder, told each other, with grim satisfaction, thatthe English must be burying one of their principal captains.

  So poor Jack Armitage was laid to rest there in his lonely grave amidthe sunny wilds of Kaffraria, and a gloom hung over the camp because ofthe cheerful spirit taken from its midst.

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------

  That evening they were joined by the other column, forming part of whichwas Claverton's old corps. It happened that Lumley, who had been giventhe provisional command on the transfer of his chief, was in hot water.An excellent subordinate, he was quite unfit for a wholly responsibleposition, and, as was disgustedly said by those on whom his mistakes hadnearly entailed serious disaster, he had made an utter mess of it.Consequently he had been superseded, and was daily expecting the arrivalof the man appointed to take his place. "Quite a new hand," as he said,in an injured tone; "a fellow only just out from England." All this hetold Claverton, seated that evening in the latter's tent, where he hadcome to pour out his grievances. He would clear out, he vowed, and letthe beastly war go to the deuce. Naylor was also present.

  "Don't do anything rash, Lumley. Wait and see who the new fellow is,"was Claverton's advice. "You and I had very good fun together, and somay you and he. It isn't all walnuts and Madeira being in command, Ican tell you. Anyhow, I found it quite within my conscience to throwover mine in favour of subordinacy--and am not sorry. No, believe me,responsibility's a mistake except for the gifted few; and you and I canhave a much better time of it playing second fiddle."

  With such arguments he soothed the other's wounded spirit, and at lengthpersuaded him that so far from feeling ill-used he ought to rejoice.

  "'Pon my soul, I believe you're right," was poor Lumley's partingremark, made in a tone of intense relief, partly owing to his formerchief's friendliness and encouragement, partly--it may be--the result ofa couple of glasses of grog warming the cockles of his heart. "But Iwish it was you they were going to put back again, Claverton. It wouldbe all right then. Good-night--good-night," and he went out.

  "Poor Lumley," remarked Claverton, after he had left. "I'm sorry forhim; but he's no more fit to be at the head of a body of men than I amto command the Channel Fleet."

  "H'm, isn't he?" said Naylor. "At any rate you have sent him away inquite a contented frame of mind. I was watching the process leading upto it, somewhat narrowly."

  Claverton laughed. "Oh, I can always talk over a fool, that is, anordinary one, when it's worth while taking the trouble, which in thiscase it is, for Lumley's a good fellow in most ways. But I can't talkover the fool blatant, for he is too overwhelmed with a sense of his owninfallibility to give the slightest attention to any one else'ssuggestions. By the way, I must go across and see Jim Brathwaite. Willyou come, or would you rather stay here? Our `business' won't take aminute."

  "I may as well walk across," and they went out. On arrival at Jim'stent, however, that redoubted warrior was not there.

  "Probably making a night of it with some of the fellows who have justcome," was Claverton's remark. "Ah, here's what I want," pouncing upona bit of blue paper which lay ostentatiously upon an old packing-case,and was directed to himself. "Now we'll go back."

  The night was moonless and rather dark, for a curtain of cloud haddrifted across the sky; here and there one or two stars twinkled throughits rifts, and the outline of the sombre ridge beyond was scarcelyvisible. All was quiet in the camp, the voices of the men made a kindof monotonous hum, and now and then a laugh arose from some centre ofjollity for the time being.

  A light burned in Claverton's tent as they were about to enter, and,pausing for a moment, the figures of the two men were thrown out intofull relief.

  Crack!

  A bright jet shoots out of the gloom just beneath the shadowy outline ofthe ridge overlooking the camp, and the sharp report rolls away in dullecho upon the night. Then another flash, and, amid the roar thatfollows, Claverton and his companion both experience a strange, jarringsensation, for a bullet has passed, with a shrill whiz, between them,narrowly missing the head of either.

  "Good shot that, whoever it is," remarked Naylor, coolly, while hiscompanion, who had quickly extinguished the light, was by his sideagain. "There'll be tall cannonading for the next half-hour, andtolerably wild shooting, too."

  And there was. The effect of the double shot upon that camp--whichfancied itself so secure--was marvellous. In a moment every man hadseized his piece, and was standing eagerly peering into the gloom in thedirection of the shot--and not merely that, for many discharged theirweapons haphazard--and presently, as Naylor had said, the cannonadingwaxed alarming. The frontier corps, beyond a few shots fired on theimpulse of the moment, had remained cool; they knew the futility ofblazing at random into the darkness, and had too much respect forthemselves and their reputation to be made the subject of a practicaljoke played by one or two skulking Kafirs. But the camps of the Fingoand Hottentot levies were like a disturbed ants' nest; and heeding thevoices of their officers no more than the wind, those startled andpanic-stricken auxiliaries poured a terrific fire into the darkness, andthe air was aflame with the flash of their wild, reckless volleys asthey blazed away--round after round--as fast as ever they could reload.It was in vain that their officers strove to restrain them--their voiceswere lost in the constant bellow of musketry. Now and then they wouldknock down a refractory nigger or two within reach, but it had no effectupon the others, and confusion reigned supreme.

  "Well, Lumley, here's a lively kettle of fish."

  He addressed, turned, perspiring and despairing in his frantic attemptsto restore order.

  "Good God! Claverton, is that you? Now just look at these damnedfools. Drop that, will you?" he roared, bestowing a violent kick on oneof his men who was blazing away without even bringing his piece to hisshoulder. The fellow gave a yell of pain and made off.

  At length the confusion began to abate. Seeing no further sign of anattack upon the camp, and their ammunition having decreased alarmingly,the native auxiliaries ceased firing by degrees, each man, as he did so,sneaking off looking very much ashamed of himself.

  "Damned fools, in sooth," assented Claverton, when the uproar had calmeddown. "But, Lumley, I wish you'd just turn up that fellow Smith--VargasSmith. There's something I want to see him about at once."

  "Certainly. Here, pass the word there for Corporal Smith," he calledout.

  "Oh, he's promoted, then
?"

  "Well, yes. A sharp fellow, you know; helps me no end."

  But Corporal Smith was not forthcoming. He was nowhere to be found, infact. He was not on guard, for he had been in the camp not long beforethe alarm, they said, but now there was no trace of him.

  "How long before?"

  Well, it might have been half an hour since he was seen, certainly notmuch more.

  "Not less?"

  No, not less. On that point they were all ready to swear.

  "Even as I suspected," thought Claverton to himself. And he waited sometime longer talking to Lumley, and ironically bantering some of hisformer men for their contribution to the recent chaos.

  "A set of smart fellows you are, eh, old Cobus?" he said, addressing oneof the sergeants. "Blazing away all night at the stars and bushes."

  "Nay what, kaptyn," rejoined the old Hottentot, shamefacedly. "You seea lot of us shooting like that must hit somebody. We shall find many ofthe _schelms_ lying there in the morning."

  "Many of the _schelms_? Devil a bit. One or two of your own sentries,perhaps."

  "No--Kafirs, kaptyn."

  "Bah. There won't be a leaf or a twig left on the bushes within acircle of two miles, perhaps, but if you find a single Kafir lyingwithin it, I'll engage to eat him."

  There was a roar of laughter, half deprecatory, half of intenseamusement, from the group of listeners who had drawn near, at thissarcastic hit. But just then a diversion occurred in the shape of thereappearance of the missing Corporal Smith.

  "Hallo, Smith; where the devil have you been?" cried Lumley.

  "Been on guard, sir," was the reply, in a tone which seemed to add, "andnow shut up."

  "You weren't told off."

  "I went because they said Gert Flinders was ill, and I took his place,"he said, with a touch of defiance.

  Claverton, meanwhile, eyed him narrowly. Two impressions were presentto his mind--one, the extremely loose state of discipline into whichLumley had let the corps drift; the other, which more nearly concernedhimself, the evident anxiety of the Cuban mulatto to avoid furtherquestioning. He noticed also, with one keen, swift glance, that thatworthy wore a pair of new veldtschoens.

  "By the way, on second thoughts it doesn't matter to-night," he said,carelessly. "To-morrow will do just as well, Smith. It's late now, andit's best to get things ship-shape after the row. Good-night, Lumley,"he added. "Come round and feed to-morrow night if we are still here,"and he went away.

  By the time Claverton reached his tent all was quiet again. Hiscompanion had turned in, and was sleeping as unconcernedly as if beneaththe roof of an English dwelling instead of having narrowly escaped beingshot through the head by a nocturnal foe in the wilds of Kafirland. Hehastened to turn in likewise, but not to sleep. Instinct led him toconnect this last attempt upon his life with some evil hovering overhimself and Lilian. For that he was the intended mark of the assassin'sbullet he had known the moment it was fired.

  While it was yet dark Claverton left the camp quietly, and the firstglimmer of dawn saw him narrowly searching for the spot whence the shothad been fired. It took him nearly an hour, but he found it at last.And he found something more: he found three distinct footmarks--theprint of a pair of new veldtschoens--in the damp soil, for a heavy dewhad fallen in the night; and furthermore, sticking among the thorns, thetiny fragment of a flannel shirt of peculiar pattern. And a vindictivelight came into the blue-grey eyes as he walked straight back to camp,murmuring to himself complacently:

  "Just so--just as I suspected! Mr Corporal Vargas Smith--_alias_Sharkey--you have chosen to throw away your life again, and now, if youare above ground in six weeks at the outside from to-day, may I bebeneath it!"

  For a moment the resolve seized him to have the ruffian arrested. Therewas abundant evidence to convict him before a drum-head court-martial,but then the heads of the field forces would inevitably shrink fromadministering the extreme penalty; and besides, the question of motivemust arise, which would be an inconvenient thing to be ventilated inpublic just then. No; the safest and best plan would be to pay theassassin in his own coin; and, strong-headed and unscrupulous in such acase as this, Claverton doubted not his ability to discharge the debtwith interest.

  He reached his tent in time to find a trooper dismounting there. Theman looked hot, dusty, and tired, having ridden express from Cathcartwith letters and despatches for the camp. Saluting, he handed atelegram to Claverton and withdrew. The latter held the ominous missivefor a moment, regarding it with a blank stare, then, with a jerk, toreit open, and, at the first glimpse of its purport, his face became ashy.This is what he saw:

  From _Payne, Grahamstown_.

  To _Claverton, Brathwaite's Horse, Colonial Forces in Gaika Location, via Cathcart_.

  _Come at once, and at all risks. No cause for alarm, but come_.

  He looked at the date. The message had been handed in two days before,and had been lying at Cathcart for lack of an opportunity of transport.The words swam before his eyes, and his blood ran cold with a chillfear. This brooding presentiment, then, had not come upon him fornothing. Handing his companion the telegram, he strode to the door andcalled for Sam.

  "'Nkos?" and the native came running up with alacrity.

  "Saddle-up Fleck and the young horse, Sam, and be ready to start in halfan hour at the outside."

  "Yeh bo, 'Nkos," replied Sam, too well accustomed to his master's waysto be astonished at anything; and he retired to carry out his orders.

  Quickly Claverton went over to arrange with Jim Brathwaite for hisabsence, and long before the appointed time he was ready to start. Hefidgeted about, looking at his watch every moment; and lo, just threeminutes short of the half-hour his retainer appeared with the twohorses.

  "My dear fellow, don't give a thought to me," said Naylor, warmly, inresponse to his explanations of this sudden departure. "I shall makemyself comfortable while you are away, never fear. Now, don't delay anylonger. Your duty shall be looked after all right," he added, and witha close hand grip he bade his friend farewell.

  Claverton, with his trusty follower, sped on across the hostile ground,every yard of which might conceal a foe; but of this he took less thanno heed. All his thoughts were ahead of him by the hundred and oddmiles or so which he had to traverse. His plan was to change horseshalf-way, leaving Sam to follow at leisure, once they were well out ofthe localities where they might fall in with roving bands of the enemy;and to push on, even if he killed his steed in the undertaking. Away inthe blue heavens clouds of vultures, the ubiquitous scavengers ofSouthern Africa, were visible, poised above the scene of the lateconflict; and these grew fainter and fainter, till they were lost toview in the far distance, and the sun began to decline in the west asthe travellers kept steadily on over hill and dale, carefully eschewingshort cuts and keeping to the beaten track. Once they were descried bya group of Kafir scouts, who, from their position on a hill-top, openedfire at long range, and of course ineffectually.

  "Sam," exclaimed Claverton, as they were saddling up to continue theirroad, after a short halt, "there's a devil of a storm coming up. Lookthere."

  The native glanced upwards. "There is, Inkos," he replied; "but we mayjust ride through it and escape."

  Great inky clouds were gathering with alarming rapidity, and hasteningto unite themselves to the dense black pall which drew on, silent,spectral, and gigantic, over the mountain-tops, and a dull, muffled roarboomed nearer and nearer between the fitful puffs of hot wind whichfanned the travellers' faces. And now the scene was a weird one indeed.They were just entering a long defile--for they had reached themountains--and along the rugged crags of the lonely heights toweringabove on either side, the red flashes were playing. Higher and higherpiled the solid cloud-masses, and a few large drops of rain began topatter upon the stones. The gloom deepened, and all Nature was hushedas if in preparation for the coming battle of the elements.

  Hark! Was that the ring of a horse's hoof far
down the pass? No. Nota human creature is abroad in this awesome place to-night, with theblack, brooding storm overhead, and the clans of the savage enemybesetting every step of the road with peril. A huge bird of prey soarsaway from one of the desolate crags, uttering a hoarse, long-drawn crylike the wailing of a lost soul. It is pitch dark. Then a flash lightsup the road, and Claverton, profiting by it, peers anxiously ahead.

  "Come along, Sam. There's a smooth bit here, anyhow, and we can getover a good stride of ground," and, spurring up his horse, away he goesat a long, even canter, with the Natal boy close behind him striving tokeep up; and the sparks fly from beneath the horses' hoofs as they dashon through the night. A roll of thunder--long, heavy, and appalling--peals through the pass, a vivid flash of plum-coloured flame, andClaverton suddenly reins in his steed--who, with a snort of terror,rears and shies--just in time to avoid charging headlong into anotherhorseman advancing at an equally rapid pace from the contrary direction,and who also reins in with a jerk. A powerfully-built, dark-featuredman who stifles a half-spoken ejaculation; but beyond that neitherspeak.

  What is the spell thrown over these two as they sit their horses gazingat each other in the lightning's horrible, scathing gleam in that gloomypass? Is it an instinct? It is more. In that one vivid flashoccupying not a second of time, Claverton has recognised in this suddenapparition the man whom he had seen and heard in the deserted hut,deliberately instigating his assassination. He recognises somethingmore. As, with a muttered "good-night," the other passes on into thegloom, the lightning flashes again, revealing upon his bridle-hand acurious ring. It is an exact facsimile of the lost ring which glitteredin the moonbeams beneath the old pear-tree on that last night at SeringaVale.