CHAPTER ELEVEN.
HOLLINGWORTH'S FARM.
"Roll out, Dibs. Roll out, you lazy beggar. It'll take us at leastthree hours."
Thus Moseley, surveyor, to Tarrant, ditto. The campfire had gone outduring the small hours, and the line of action enjoined upon the latterby his chum was not a congenial one, for the atmosphere half an hourbefore sunrise was chill and shivery. Yet, early as it was, the horsesand pack-donkeys had already been turned out of the "scherm," orextemporised enclosure, in which they had spent the night, and werecropping the grass with an enjoyment born of the night's abstinence.
"No hurry," returned he thus unceremoniously disturbed, rolling his rugscloser around him.
"But there is hurry, Dibs, if we want to get to Hollingworth's bybreakfast-time."
"But _I_ don't want to get to Hollingworth's by breakfast-time, or anyother time for the matter of that."
"Oh yes, you do, once you're up. Come now, old man. Roll out."
The two were old schoolfellows--hence the nickname which still stuck toone of them--and had met up-country by the merest chance, Moseley wehave already seen, in the capacity of newly landed passenger from theEnglish mail-steamer. Tarrant was a lean, dark man, with a pointedbeard and a dry expression of countenance. He was inclined to takethings easily, declaring that everything was bound to come right if onlyit were left alone. Moseley, on the other hand, was one of thosepainfully energetic persons, bursting with an all-pervading and utterlysuperfluous vitality. They had been out surveying claims, and were nowon their return to Bulawayo.
The night's camp had been pitched in a romantic glen, with nothingbetween the sleepers and the starry heaven but the spreading branches ofa wild fig, nothing between them and Mother Earth but some cut grass anda rug. Stiff and cold, Tarrant rose from amid his blankets, and stoodrubbing his eyes.
"I'll never come out on survey with you again, Moseley," he declared."You're a bore of the first water."
"Won't you, old chap? I seem to have heard something of that sortbefore--often before."
"I mean it this time. Er--Mafuta. _Tshetsha_ with that fire._Tshetsha umlilo, Umfaan_. You savvy? _Tshetsha_!"
Whether the native boy understood this adjuration in the dialect knownas "kitchen Kafir" or not, he continued stolidly striving to blow intoflame some ends of stick still smouldering from last night's blaze, itnot seeming to occur to him that a couple of handfuls of dry grass woulddo the trick in as many seconds. The while the dialogue between hiswhite masters continued.
"Who the devil is Hollingworth when he's at home, Moseley?"
"Down-country man, up here trying to farm. Served in the war against LoBen, and had ground given him. Rattling good chap. By the way, he'sgot rather a pretty wife."
"Kids?"
"Yes; three or four. I forget which."
"Faugh! Hate kids. Always a nuisance. Always yelling. Yell whenthey're not happy; yell ten times more when they are. Besides, theysmudge their faces with jam. Damn Hollingworth! I won't go there."
This statement was received by the other with all serenity and withoutreply. He knew his chum's little weakness, therefore knew that the baitthrown out would be not merely nibbled at but swallowed, theobjectionable progeny notwithstanding. So he continued pulling on hislong boots and otherwise completing his not extravagant toilet withcomplete equanimity. And then Mafuta, who at length had got the fire toburn, came along with some steaming coffee.
"That's better," pronounced Tarrant, having got outside the invigoratingbrew. "Wonder if there are any crocs in these water puddles, Moseley?I'm going to tub."
"Tub? Man alive, we're just ready to start. What on earth do you wantto tub now for?"
"I thought you said Hollingworth had a pretty wife," tranquilly rejoinedthe other, digging into his kitbag for a towel. "You can't makeacquaintance with a pretty woman when you're in an untubbed state, youknow."
Moseley roared.
"Oh, skittles!" he said. "You can tub when you get there."
"I believe you're right; and the water looks dashed cold at this time ofday."
"And I thought you said you wouldn't go there."
"Did I? Oh, well, I suppose I must if you do. It wouldn't look well,would it?"
"Why, of course not. Hurry up now. The boys want to load up your kit."
The pack-donkeys had been driven up, and the horses stood ready saddled.In an incredibly short space of time all personal baggage and campimpedimenta had been removed and stowed upon the backs of the patientlittle Neddies--in the long run and the land of horse-sickness and"fly," perhaps more serviceable all round than that noble animal thehorse. And then, as the first arrowy gleams of the sun began to warmthe world, they started from their night's camp.
It was pleasant country that through which they now rode. Dewdropsstill hung from the sprays of the feathery acacias, gleaming likediamonds in the rising sunlight; and the thorn-brake was musical withbird voices, or the clucking of bush-pheasants scuttling alarmed amidthe long grass and undergrowth; and here and there a troop ofguinea-fowl darting away with the rapidity of spiders at the sound ofhoofstrokes, as the wayfarers wended their way along the edge of anative "land." Kraals, too, the conical roofs of the huts shiningyellow in the sunlight; but from these no reek of blue smoke mounted tothe heavens. Of cattle, either, was there no sign, nor indeed of humanoccupancy. The land seemed deserted--dead. What did it mean? Turningback, Moseley called to the boy to find out what he thought about it.
Mafuta came trotting up. Where were all the cattle? There were nocattle. They were all dead of the disease. Where were all the people?They had moved to other parts of the country, or possibly some werestill lying asleep as there were no cattle to tend. He, Mafuta, did notknow. This was not his part. He came from a kraal a long way off--awaybeyond the Gwai.
This Mafuta was a young Matabele, who had served in the Ingubo regimentwhen Lo Bengula was king, and had entered the white man's service toearn money in order to buy a wife. He was an intelligent andwarrior-looking youth, but with an expression of countenance as of onewho had gazed on--perhaps taken part in--scenes of cruelty andbloodshed, and would not in the least object to doing so again. He wascarrying Tarrant's Martini rifle and cartridge-belt, and lookedthoroughly at home with them, as in fact he was, for his masters wouldoften send him out to shoot game for camp consumption, when the heatdisinclined them for needless activity. Moseley had a shot-gun, whichhe preferred to carry himself.
Now, however, they were not on sport intent, but held steadily on theirway; and, after about two hours' riding, a thread of blue smokeappeared. A little further and they made out a homestead, standing on aslope beyond the high precipitous banks of a dry river.
"It'll be something to get our heels under a table again," remarkedTarrant, as they urged their horses up the steep path of the drift."Eating your `skoff' in a sort of tied-in-a-knot attitude, with yourplate tobogganing away from you on the very slightest provocation, maybe romantic enough on paper, but it's a beastly bore in actual practice.Is that Hollingworth?"
"Yes."
A tall man was advancing towards them from the house. He wore a largebeard, and his attire was the same as theirs--a silk shirt, andriding-trousers tucked into long boots, leather belt, and broad-brimmedhat.
"Hallo, Moseley!" he sung out. "Back again, eh? What's the news?"
"Oh, rinderpest--always rinderpest. Here, I say, d'you know Tarrant?No? Well, here he is. Not a bad chap at bottom, but you've got to keephim at it."
The usual hand-shake followed, and then Hollingworth, farmer-like, beganto growl.
"Rinderpest? I should think so. Why, I've hardly a hoof left. Nofear. I'm going to chuck farming and go prospecting again. But comealong in and have a drop of something after your ride. It'll bebreakfast-time directly."
"Er--could one have a tub--among other things?" said Tarrant.
"Tub? Why, of course. Here--this way." And their host piloted thembehind
the scenes.
When the two men re-appeared, refreshed both inwardly and out, theresidue of the household were gathered. Tarrant, already appraising hishostess, decided that Moseley's judgment was not at fault. She was apretty little woman, dark-eyed and sparkling, albeit somewhat overtannedby sun and air; but it took him just two minutes to determine that shehad not an idea or thought outside her very restive progeny, which, inproportion of one to the other, were even as a row of organ-pipes. Thena diversion occurred--a diversion strange and startling. The doorbehind him opened, and there entered somebody; yet was that any reasonwhy Moseley should suddenly jump up from his seat like a lunatic, at therisk of upsetting no end of things, and vociferate--"Great Heavens!Miss Commerell, who'd have thought of meeting _you_ here? When on earthdid you get here? Well, I _am_ glad!" No; there was no need forMoseley to kick up such a fuss. It was beastly bad form; but then,Moseley always was such an impulsive chap.
"So you've met before?" cried Mrs Hollingworth, who had been about tointroduce them.
"Rather. I should rather think we had met before," sung out Moseley, inwhat his travelling chum was wont to call his "hail-the-maintop"voice. "Why, we were fellow-passengers, fellow-actors,fellow-all-sorts-of-things, weren't we, Miss Commerell? But how did youfind your way up here, and when?"
"You've asked me about four questions at once, Mr Moseley," said Nidia,in her bright, laughing way, "but I'll only ask you one--How am I goingto answer them all at once?"
Tarrant, the while, was murmuring to himself, "Oh, never mind me.Perhaps in half an hour or so he may remember that we are pards, andthat I'm entitled to share his acquaintance with the young lady." Andindeed at that moment the same idea occurred to Moseley himself, and heproceeded to introduce them.
Nidia was looking her very best. Here, in a settler's homestead,perforce rough, in the hot steamy wilds of Matabeleland, she looked ascool and fresh as with all the appliances of comfort and civilisationready to hand. Tarrant, who rather fancied himself as a connoisseur inthat line, was struck. Here was something quite out of the common, hethought to himself, as his glance took in the animated, expressive face,the lighting up of the blue eyes, the readiness wherewith the lips wouldcurve into the most captivating of smiles, the dainty figure, and thecool, neat, tasteful attire. Mrs Hollingworth was a pretty woman,Moseley had declared, and rightly; but his chum had never prepared himfor anything like this.
The while Nidia herself was replying to the questions volubly fired intoher by Moseley. They had come up to Bulawayo in due course. Fatiguing!No; on the whole she had rather enjoyed the journey--the novelty and soon--and everybody they met had been very kind to them, and had done allthey knew to make things easy. How was Mrs Bateman? Oh, flourishing.In fact, when Mr Bateman returned she herself had, of course, felt _detrop_, and so had come to inflict herself on Mrs Hollingworth, and seesome of the real wild side of the country.
The last in her most arch and quizzical manner.
"It's a poor time you've chosen to look at it in, Miss Commerell,"remarked Hollingworth. "Rinderpest has about done for us all, and barthat the whole show has been as dry as chips."
"Yet, it's all very interesting to me, at any rate," she returned. "Andthe savages. I can hardly believe they are the wicked ferocious beingsyou all make out, poor, patient, put-upon looking mortals! Some of theold men have such really fine faces, and their voices are so soft andkindly--though, of course, I can't understand a word they say," shebroke off, with a whimsical candour that made everybody laugh.
Hollingworth whistled.
"`Soft and kindly!' Why, they are just about as sulky and discontentedas they can well be--though, poor devils, one can hardly blame them. Itmust be hard, rough luck to see their cattle shot down by hundreds--bythousands--under their very noses. Of course they abuse the Governmentfor giving them back the cattle with one hand only to take it away withthe other. It's only what we should do ourselves."
"I should think so. Poor things! Really, Mr Hollingworth, I think youseem to have treated them all very badly."
Such a sentiment was not popular in Matabeleland then, nor, for thematter of that, has it ever been. In fact, it is about as heterodox anutterance as though some rash wight were to pronounce the former realmof Lo Bengula a non-gold-producing country. But it was impossible to beangry with the owner of the voice that now made it.
"I don't know that we have, Miss Commerell," replied Hollingworth."Indeed, I think, on the whole, we haven't. Now, I can always get boysenough--so can my neighbours--and that's the best test. A nigger won'tstop a week with anybody who treats him badly."
"Oh, I didn't mean that way, Mr Hollingworth. I meant as a nation."
"Even there, Lo Bengula and the old chiefs didn't rule them with sugarand honey, let me tell you. But, squarely, I believe they did preferthe kicks of Lo Ben to the halfpence of the Chartered Company; and Isuppose it's natural. A nigger's ways are not a white man's ways, andnever will be."
And then as the shrill yells and other vociferations raised by theHollingworth posterity in fierce debate over the limit of its jamallowance rendered further conversation impossible, an adjournment wasmade outside.
"Were you all the time at the Cape before coming up here, MissCommerell?" began Moseley, as they found seats beneath the shade of alarge fig-tree.
"Yes. We remained on at Cogill's. It was rather fun. I think therewas hardly a corner of the whole neighbourhood we didn't explore."
"--With John Ames."
The tone, slightly bantering, was thoroughly good-natured. Even onemore touchy than Nidia Commerell could hardly have taken offence. Butnothing was further from her thoughts.
"You know him, then?" And the expressive face lighted up with genuinepleasure.
"Not personally; only by name."
"Then, how did you know--"
"--About the explorations? The Cape Peninsula is a very gossipy place."
"I suppose so. Most places are," said Nidia, tranquilly; "but that sortof thing never troubles me one little bit. Mr Ames lives somewhere uphere, doesn't he? I wonder where he is now?"
Cool and at ease they sat there chatting. Had she been a clairvoyante avision might have been vouchsafed to Nidia--the vision of a man,crouching in a thicket of "wacht-een-bietje" thorns, his face and handslacerated, his clothes torn--a hunted man, with the look of some recenthorror stamped upon his pale, set face; the last degree of desperation,of despair, yet of resolution, shining from his eyes; his hand graspinga sword-bayonet, already foul with the dried stains of human blood; andflitting through the brake, their dark forms decked with cowhair andother fantastic adornments, glistening in the sun, a band of armedsavages bent on the shedding of blood. But not being blessed--or thereverse--with the faculty of clairvoyance, all she did see was theeminently peaceful scene around her--the two men lazily smoking theirpipes beneath the shade of the great tree, while the third moved aboutattending to some of the hundred and one details of his farm business;the figure of her hostess, her head protected by an ample white "kapje,"coming forth to see that four of her young, disporting themselves in theopen in front of the house, were not getting into more mischief thanusual, and retiring precipitately within to assuage the yells of thefifth, and haply to attend to some household duty, "Where he is now?"repeated Moseley. "Why, he can't be far from here. He's NativeCommissioner of Sikumbutana. I don't suppose his place can be more thantwenty or twenty-two miles off. Eh, Dibs?"
"About that," assented Tarrant, laconically.
"I should so like to see him again," pursued Nidia.
"Nothing easier, Miss Commerell. Get Hollingworth to send over a boywith a note, or a message to that effect, and I predict Ames will behere like a shot."
"I'm sure he would," assented Nidia, in such a genuinely and naturallypleased tone as to set Tarrant the cynic, Tarrant the laconic, Tarrantthe incipient admirer of herself, staring. "We were great friends downat the Cape, and made no end of expeditions together. Yes;
I would liketo see him again."
"Phew!" whistled Tarrant to himself, not entirely deceived by herconsummate ingenuousness. "Lucky Ames! Well, there's no show for me inthat quarter, that's manifest."
"Isn't he that rather good-looking chap who was sitting at our table theday I had lunch with you at Cogill's?" said Moseley.
"Yes. That's the man. We soon got to know him, and saw a great deal ofhim."
"And thought a great deal of him?"
"Well, yes. I can see that you're trying to tease me, Mr Moseley, butI don't care. I don't know when I've seen a man I liked better."
"`Present company--' of course?"
"No; not even present company. No; but really, I would like to let MrAmes know I am here. But I don't like to ask Mr Hollingworth. It's along way to send, and he may not be able to spare a boy."
Thought Tarrant, "She's a puzzler! She's playing on the innocent stopfor all the instrument will carry, or--she's genuine. Can't make herout."
But Moseley lifted up his voice and hailed--
"Hollingworth!"
"What is it?" sung out that worthy. "Sun over the yard-arm yet? Allright. You know where to find it. No soda, though; you'll have to dowith selzogene. If you want `squareface' you must get the missis to digit out of the store. There's none out. Maitland and Harvey betweenthem got outside what there was yesterday."
"No, no; that's not what we want, though it'll come in directly,"laughed Moseley. "Look here, Hollingworth"--the latter had drawn nearby this time--"Miss Commerell has found an old friend up here--Ames atSikumbutana--and she doesn't like to ask you to send a boy over to lethim know she's here."
"But, Mr Moseley, I didn't tell you to ask Mr Hollingworth," laughedNidia.
"Pooh! Why didn't you like to ask me, Miss Commerell? Of course I cansend over. Though--if it will be all the same to you, I'd rather sendto-morrow," Hollingworth added dubiously.
"Certainly it will. Thanks awfully. Are you sure it won'tinconvenience you?" said Nidia, in her most winning way.
"Not to-morrow. To-day, you see, I have two boys away. But I'll startone off the first thing in the morning."
She reiterated her thanks; and Tarrant, keenly observant, said tohimself: "No; clearly I've no show. Damn Ames!"
John Ames, Native Commissioner: A Romance of the Matabele Rising Page 11
