Shadows in the Grass

by Beverley Harper

  With every passing minute, the river rose higher. ‘I saw her starting to swing,’ Dallas replied. ‘The other wagon won’t make it.’

  Walsh was well aware of the fact and nodded unhappily. ‘Then, Mr Granger, I have little option but to entrust you with the safe return of my niece to her parents in Colenso.’

  With that, Dallas turned to recross the raging river. ‘On my honour, sir, I will see that no harm comes to her.’

  Walsh’s parting words, ‘Much obliged,’ floated to him as he pushed back into the water.

  The drag had increased alarmingly, even at the edges, but there was nowhere else to cross. Locking wrists, Dallas and the three Zulus stepped cautiously into deeper water. The roar was deafening. Spray billowed from the bottom of the falls like fine rain. Chocolate-brown water swirled around Dallas’s waist. He felt his boots sliding on the smooth, water-polished rock. They weren’t going to make it. Inch by painful inch, the distance became less. Each relied on the others. When one slipped, it was imperative that his companions had firm footholds. Glancing up, Dallas saw Will and Logan standing knee deep, about twenty feet away. Logan was swinging a rope which he hurled upriver, allowing it to snake towards them in the torrent. Dallas lunged, his fingers missing the life-line as it was swept past.

  Again his feet slipped. This time he went under. Next to him, Mister David also lost his footing. Faces contorted with effort, the other two men hauled them back to their feet. They were right in the middle of the ford, the deepest part. Dallas saw Logan swing the rope again. This time it flew high, uncoiling towards them. With his free hand Dallas grabbed and held on.

  ‘Master!’

  July, his features slack with fear, was losing the grip he had on Mister David. Dallas managed to feed the rope behind all four of them. Tobacco grabbed the end and passed it back on their upriver side. Fingers fumbling with cold and wet, Dallas was able to secure a slip knot. Bound together like sticks of firewood, and pulled ashore by willing hands, they were finally free of the flooding river.

  And just in time. Turning to look back, Dallas saw an uprooted tree swirl past before disappearing over the falls.

  Shivering slightly, with water still running in rivulets down his body, Dallas went to where Sarah and her driver, Thulani, waited, apprehension clear in both of them. ‘You cannot possibly get over,’ he told them, fingers brushing wet hair off his face.

  They looked considerably relieved.

  ‘Caroline is a madcap,’ Sarah ventured. ‘She won’t listen to anyone.’

  ‘Your uncle has charged me with returning you home. It is on our way and would be my pleasure. We will spend the night here and move off in the morning. If the river has gone down and your uncle is still on the other side, we can assist your crossing. Will that be acceptable?’

  ‘Thank you. I should be sorry to miss my cousin’s wedding but if I must then your protection would be most welcome.’

  Dallas inclined his head. ‘You will no doubt be hungry. We have plenty of food and you are welcome to join us. Your driver may eat with our men.’

  ‘You are most kind.’ She held out a hand and Dallas helped her down from the wagon. In doing so, he couldn’t avoid taking a deeper breath to enjoy the scent of flowers that seemed to surround her. On the ground, she faced him. ‘Your name, sir?’

  ‘Dallas Granger. Come and meet the others.’

  ‘From where do you hail, Mr Granger?’

  ‘Scotland.’

  ‘Oh. I travelled there once.’

  ‘Were you born here?’

  ‘Yes. My parents came out twenty years ago. They’re from Sussex.’ She ducked her head and giggled. ‘Forgive me. I am Sarah Wilcox.’

  They reached the fire where Logan and Will were trying to get dry. Dallas made the introductions and explained that they would be escorting Miss Wilcox back to her parents in Colenso. Sarah curtsied to each, much to Will’s obvious delight, and apologised for her impetuous cousin. ‘I’m sure Caroline didn’t realise that it would be so dangerous,’ she concluded.

  Logan was magnanimous. ‘No harm done.’

  Will was less so. ‘The young lady needs a boot –’

  ‘Will!’ both Logan and Dallas chorused.

  ‘So she may not sit down for a week,’ Sarah Wilcox murmured demurely. ‘Have no fear, Mr Green. My uncle will undoubtedly take care of that.’

  Dallas bent his head to hide a smile.

  Sarah Wilcox, in spite of her tender years, turned out to be a charming companion. In the company of three strange men, at least one of whom had manners bordering on troglodytic, she affected no airs and graces. When it was time for her to turn in she calmly said, ‘I would appreciate it if none of you ventured past my wagon for the next ten minutes so that I may make preparation for sleep.’

  ‘What a charming young lady,’ Logan pronounced quietly after Sarah had left them.

  ‘She’s all right,’ Will conceded. ‘Just our luck to be landed with taking her home.’

  ‘We’re going to Colenso anyway,’ Dallas reminded him. ‘It’s not out of our way. And I could hardly refuse to help.’

  ‘Well, it’s still a nuisance,’ Will grumbled.

  Logan winked at Dallas. ‘He’s upset because he’ll have to mind his manners for the next few days.’

  ‘I can mind my manners with anyone,’ Will said angrily. ‘Don’t need no women on a trek.’

  ‘It’s not her fault,’ Dallas put in mildly. ‘Leave it alone, Will. She’s with us whether you like it or not.’

  ‘That’ll be right. I saw you gawping at her. You and your fancy ways.’ Will mimicked Dallas. ‘Try a piece of this, Miss Wilcox, it’s particularly tender. Are you sure you’re comfortable, Miss Wilcox? Warm enough, Miss Wilcox? Miss Wilcox this, Miss Wilcox that. Why don’t you say what’s on your mind? How’s about a –’

  ‘Will!’ Logan and Dallas hissed at him.

  He edged a stray log into the fire with his boot before saying grumpily, ‘I prefer my women honest, that’s all.’

  Dallas ignored the comment. Will sounded more jealous than put out. Although Sarah Wilcox had accorded him the same pleasantries as Logan and Dallas, their conversation had left Will behind. Perhaps it was that. Whatever, the Yorkshireman seemed thoroughly out of sorts.

  It took five days to reach Colenso and deliver Sarah to her parents. She travelled in her own wagon with Thulani, joined the others for refreshments, and made no fuss whenever a delay was caused by swollen streams or running repairs. One morning she calmly dealt with the appearance of a snake from under her wagon by stepping out of its way and watching it leave. ‘It’s harmless,’ she told Dallas. ‘See the black spots down its spine? They call them garden snakes because they eat snails and slugs. No point in killing it.’

  Even Will was thawing.

  Dallas liked Sarah. She was pretty, in a doll-like way, plump and nicely rounded, nipped in at the waist with hips and breasts emphasised. Having an eye for the female form, Dallas felt that given a few years she would earn the description ‘full-bodied’. He enjoyed their conversations, finding her down-to-earth mannerisms and way of speaking refreshing. He liked her wide smile, dancing dark eyes and the way her brows arched over them. She was, in fact, perfect farmer’s wife material. She was not, however, Lorna. Dallas had no interest whatsoever in pursuing a romantic attachment. Jette had been different – a mature woman who wanted the same as him, no strings attached. Sarah would be looking for a husband. She’d have to cast her aspirations somewhere else.

  Sarah, perhaps because she felt he’d saved her aunt, uncle and cousin from certain disaster, seemed to develop a crush on Dallas. She said nothing directly but it was there in her smile, the tilt of her head and a look in her eyes. Thinly disguised hints became quite frequent. ‘Oh, I do hope you’ll call on us whenever you are passing, Mr Granger. My parents would make you most welcome.’ Or, ‘You should look to buying land near Colenso, Mr Granger. The pasture is particularly fine there.’

  Logan t
eased him unmercifully. ‘Better keep an eye on the Natal Mercury, old chap, or we’ll miss the banns being published.’

  Will was more pragmatic. ‘Keep your hands to yourself with that one, Dallas. One little touch and she’ll have you down the aisle so fast you’ll wonder how you got there.’

  To all of this Dallas would smile and shake his head. His heart was in another place. Sarah was in no danger from him.

  Sarah’s father, a rather round figure of a man with brusque manners and a habit of glaring from beneath beetle brows, seemed less than grateful for the safe return of his daughter and regarded the trio of men with a good deal of suspicion. He quickly cut short Dallas’s explanation. ‘Get inside, missy. I’ll speak to you later.’

  Dallas stopped mid-sentence, more than a little surprised by his accusing tone.

  ‘You have placed my daughter in a most untenable position, sir. When news of this circulates, her reputation will be in tatters.’

  ‘I assure you, sir –’

  ‘Your assurances are useless. Why didn’t you take her across the river?’

  ‘Her uncle –’

  ‘Pah! The fool.’ Mr Wilcox glowered. ‘My wife’s brother allows that uppity daughter of his to lead him around by the nose.’

  Logan intervened. ‘Would you prefer if Sarah had been swept over the falls? The river was rising fast. Mr Granger risked his life for your brother-in-law.’

  The man’s eyes bulged. ‘Don’t take that tone with me, sir. My daughter would be in Pietermaritzburg if you hadn’t interfered. That’s where she’s supposed to be.’

  Dallas had heard enough of his rudeness. He raised his hat. ‘We’ll bid you good day, sir.’

  ‘Not so fast, young man. What do you intend to do about the situation?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘My daughter. No decent man will look at her now. You have ruined her good name.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, sir. We have delivered Sarah safely home as requested. Any impropriety is within your own thoughts. Good day.’ Dallas turned to Mister David. ‘Get this team rolling,’ he muttered.

  The last they saw of Mr Wilcox he was standing outside his house waving a fist at them. ‘You’ll hear more of this, by God you will.’

  Logan rode up alongside. ‘What a lovely man.’ He grinned. ‘Just what you need for a father-in-law.’

  ‘Why me? Why not you, or Will?’

  ‘Do be sensible, dear boy. I’m too old and Will’s too . . . Well, let’s just say that of the three of us you presented the best credentials.’

  ‘If anything’s an impediment to the poor girl’s suitability for marriage it’s her father,’ Dallas said darkly.

  ‘You could do a lot worse.’

  ‘Coming from you, that’s almost blasphemy.’

  Logan laughed. ‘Put it behind you, lad. That’s the last you’ll see of the Wilcox family.’

  NINE

  Having escaped the odious Mr Wilcox they drove their wagons into the town of Colenso for a final topping up of supplies. Very little was known about the Thukela Valley but one fact was abundantly clear, even to Dallas. For the next few months, until they reached the river mouth, anything overlooked now would be something they’d have to go without.

  Colenso wasn’t much to look at. It had evolved in order to supply inland-bound travellers who, from this point, either headed north towards the Transvaal or west to the Orange Free State. A few businesses, a couple of dozen houses and an hotel made up the town. The stores were every bit as well stocked as Cato’s in Durban and, if one had run out of an item, its owner seemed only too happy to suggest an alternative source of supply. Dallas sold their excess reims and received two and sixpence apiece.

  The British Hotel, run by a courtly gentleman called Captain Dickinson, was the town’s meeting place. Tales and advice were swapped, dusty throats soothed by fine ale and stomachs satisfied by plain but good fare. Captain Dickinson did a roaring trade, particularly during the wet summer months. West of the town, depending on rainfall in the Drakensberg, the bridgeless Thukela River could hold up travellers for many days until a crossing could safely be made.

  Purchases finalised, wagons outspanned and watched over by the African staff, it was time for a little relaxation. They made their way to the hotel, where men of like mind always gathered. They were a diverse lot, from all parts of the world, who shared but one thing – a love of adventure. Logan and Will knew many of them and were soon caught up in conversation. By now, Dallas had learned enough about the Zulus and Natal to join in some of the discussions. Nevertheless, he still felt very much an outsider. Several times he had the distinct impression that most there regarded him with something akin to amusement. Standing close by was a young man of similar age to himself.

  ‘It takes several years for them to accept you,’ the fellow traveller told Dallas. ‘They expect you to fail, you see. Until you’ve proved yourself there’s no point in getting to know you.’

  Dallas turned and held out his hand. ‘Dallas Granger.’

  His gesture was firmly reciprocated. ‘Stephen Holgate.’

  ‘And how do you prove yourself?’

  ‘Stay alive.’ Holgate shrugged and smiled. ‘Simple, really.’

  ‘If many of the stories I’ve heard are to be believed, that’s not a foregone conclusion.’

  ‘Pah!’ Holgate dismissed the dangers with a wave of his hand. ‘Don’t listen to rumour. Half the things they say are to put off competition.’

  ‘How long have you been trading?’

  ‘About four years. I hear you’re planning to follow the Thukela through to the Indian Ocean.’

  Spontaneous mirth was the response of most within earshot.

  ‘Are you insane?’

  ‘Got a death wish, old chap?’

  ‘Old Johnny Derby went down there last year. Hasn’t been seen since.’

  Stephen Holgate eyed Dallas with a degree of speculation. ‘I’ve thought of doing that trip myself, once or twice in fact. Could never find someone willing to come with me. There’s a bit of superstition among the natives about going there, has been since Shaka’s days. Anything connected to he who created the Zulu nation is regarded as sacred.’

  ‘Our boys have said nothing.’

  ‘Times are changing. Zulus who work regularly with whites know if they wish to continue doing so they have to drop a lot of the mumbo jumbo. Doesn’t mean they don’t believe it. What puts most traders off the Thukela route is a real possibility that the Kaffirs will suddenly remember their superstitions once they’re into the valley. You don’t want that happening, believe me. If your boys slink off one night and leave you to it that’s real trouble.’

  ‘What is it that could worry our Africans, yet doesn’t bother those who live there?’

  Holgate hesitated, twisting his handlebar moustache thoughtfully before answering. ‘Old rivalries. They may all be Zulu now, but in Shaka’s day, they certainly weren’t. Those who came south were regarded as cowards. The stories became embellished over the years and it’s hard to know where truth ends and legend begins. You see, at the turn of this century there was a major drought. It caused conflict among tribes who had previously lived in harmony. Some fled to the Thukela Valley but they found a harsh life compared to further north. A few turned to banditry but most fought for territory. It’s rumoured that there are great mounds of human remains all over the place.’ Holgate stopped, frowning in concentration. ‘Have you heard of Zulu praise poems?’

  Dallas nodded. ‘They seem to have many.’

  ‘Indeed. Praises are sung through every stage of a boy’s transition to manhood. Once grown up, he can only win praise by brave deeds. The more praise poems a warrior has, the more he is admired. As you can imagine, the king has hundreds, which, in a way, are a record of his deeds. The upheavals that saw tribes fleeing towards the Thukela are attributed to Shaka’s crushing of his rivals. If I can remember it, his praise poem to celebrate what was, at the time, regarded as
a victory, went something like this:

  The newly planted crops they left still short,

  The seed they left among the maize-stalks,

  The old women were left in the abandoned sites,

  The old men were left along the tracks,

  The roots of the trees looked up at the sky.

  Holgate smiled mirthlessly. ‘Stirring stuff which only adds to a northern Zulu’s belief that his southern cousin is a coward. But it’s more complicated than that. You probably know how important ancestors are to the Zulu?’

  Again Dallas nodded.

  ‘The whole Thukela basin is believed to be crawling with lost ancestors. Enemy ancestors, not a friendly lot. Get the idea?’

  ‘So how do we deal with it?’

  ‘It won’t be easy and really depends on how civilised your Kaffirs are. Stay firm, but at the same time, you must be seen as understanding. You’re in good company. Will Green is one of the best traders around and Logan Burton has earned respect as an elephant hunter. The Kaffirs listen to them. I assume they know where you’re heading?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you’ll probably be all right. Don’t let them weaken your resolve, but if they appear genuinely frightened, listen to what they’re saying then act accordingly.’

  Dallas looked reflective. ‘There’s more to Africa than I ever imagined.’

  Holgate grinned at him. ‘If you can say that, you’re halfway to belonging. Some people never stand confidently on this continent. They remain confused, unwilling to learn and accept the complexities.’

  ‘Anything else I should know about the Thukela?’

  Stephen Holgate didn’t hesitate. ‘Listen to what local natives tell you. They know the way. You can’t just follow the river. It’s too steep and rocky.’

  Another man had overheard and joined their conversation. ‘He’s right. Those who live there know the place intimately. You must heed any advice but . . .’ The stranger spread his hands and shrugged. ‘Trouble is, the locals can’t always be trusted. If they’re friendly with the next village you’ll get reliable information on how best to reach it. If not, God help you. They’ll do anything to stop trade goods reaching a rival clan even if it means your dying in the process. It’s risky, young man. Have you got a Zulu who you trust?’