CHAPTER TWELVE.
THE SPREADING OF THE FLAME.
"Well, good-bye, Moseley. Pity you're in such a hurry; you might justas well have stayed the night. However, since you're determined, you'dbetter not ride too slow. It'll take you three mortal hours to fetchJekyll's place."
Thus Hollingworth, soon after the midday dinner. The horses stood readysaddled, the pack-donkeys having been sent on in the forenoon.
"I'll see you in Bulawayo week after next, I suppose. I've got to go inabout that disputed `pegging' case. Beastly nuisance! Besides, I'vegot to take Miss Commerell back."
Tarrant pricked up his ears at this. He had not done much to improvethe shining hour with Nidia during that long, cool, lazy morning. Hehad confined himself to observing her, now and then putting in a word ortwo, but not often. But he had plans.
And now the farewells became general, all talking at once, as peoplewill on such occasions; for the whole household had turned out to seethem off. Suddenly Hollingworth said:--
"You've forgotten your rifle, Tarrant. Never mind; don't get down"--forthe other was already mounted. "I'll get it for you. Which corner didyou leave it in?"
"Didn't leave it. Mafuta's gone on ahead with it."
"Oh! No chance of him clearing with it, eh?" said Hollingworth.
"No; he's a reliable boy. Had him a long time. He's quite safe."
Thus in that lurid March of '96 did the settlers in Matabeleland rejoicein their security.
"You put that on rather well, old man," said Tarrant, as the two rodealong.
"What did I put on?"
"Oh, the surprise part of the business. Now I see why you were sodesperately bent on fetching up at Hollingworth's."
"Smart boy, Dibs. See through a brick wall, and all that sort ofthing," replied Moseley, good-humouredly. "This time you've seenthrough too far, though. I had no more notion Miss Commerell was therethan you had, or even that she was in the country at all. Nice girl,isn't she?"
"Ye-es. I was studying her rather closely. She's either the mostconsummate actress or the most out of the ordinary sample of her sexI've encountered for a long, long time, if ever."
"Well, she's the last, then. If there's one thing about Nidia Commerellthat appeals to me it is that she's so perfectly natural, and therefore,of course, unconventional."
"Oh, she does `appeal' to you, then? I rather thought she did," saidTarrant, serenely. "But you've no show, old man. It's the otherJohnny--what's his name--"
"--Ames."
"--Yes. He seems to have got the floor just now."
"As to the first--skittles; as to the last--why do you think so?"
"Didn't I tell you I was studying her rather closely? When you firstmentioned--er--Ames, she just, ever so little, overdid it. You may relyupon it that joker made his hay while the sun shone."
Moseley burst into a great contemptuous laugh. "Oh, bosh, Dibs! You'vegot the keenest nose for a mare's nest I ever saw. I tell you that'sMiss Commerell's way. If she likes any one she doesn't in the leastmind saying so. That alone shows there's nothing deeper in it."
"Her way, is it? Oh, well, then, so much the worse for--er--Ames."
The while those they had just left were comparing opinions upon them.
"That friend of Mr Moseley's seems a very quiet man," Mrs Hollingworthwas saying. "Who is he, George?"
"Never saw him before in my life. In the same line of business, I takeit. His `quietness,' though, seemed to me to cover a suspicion of`side.' Sort of `know everything' manner."
"Yes. Perhaps I am wrong, but there seemed a sort of conscioussuperiority about him. What did you think, Nidia?"
"Just what you do. But we may be wrong. The other is all rightsthough, so jolly and good-natured always. We came out on the sameship."
"Moseley. Yes; he's a good chap, but he's got a detestable wife," saidHollingworth.
"It's astonishing what a number of `good chaps' have," laughed Nidia."But where is she?"
"In England now. Moseley drives his trade here, and she has a good timeon the lion's share of the proceeds there. She won't stay in thiscountry. Yes? What is it?"
This to his son and heir, _aetat_ ten, who was trying to get in a chanceof asking to be allowed to go out and shoot a buck.
"Don't know. You're too much of a kiddie, Jim. Your mother fidgetedherself--and me--to death last time you went."
"I got the buck, though," was the reply, half defiant, half triumphant.
"So you did, sonny. Well, you can go. Be careful with the gun, anddon't be late. It's a good thing for them to learn to shoot straight ina country like this," he added, as the boy skipped away without waitingfor the possibility of any recall of this edict: and a moment later theysaw him disappearing in the bush, away beyond the mealie-lands.
"Fancy you and Ames being old pals, Miss Commerell," said Hollingworth."Where did you know each other?"
"Down at the Cape. We were in the same hotel at Wynberg. I saw a gooddeal of him, and liked him very much. Is he getting on well up here,Mr Hollingworth?"
"Yes, I think so. He's thought a good deal of in his own line.Shouldn't wonder if he gets into something better before long. And now,if you'll excuse me, Miss Commerell, I'll go and take my usual fortywinks, if those `kinders' will let me."
This was a figure of speech on Hollingworth's part. Had his progenybeen ten times more riotous and restive than it was he would have slepttranquilly through all the racket they could make. There are personswho can sleep through anything--from a fox-terrier in a backyard to abig gun practice--and Hollingworth was one of them.
Nidia, left alone, did not feel in the least inclined to follow hisexample. A strange restlessness was upon her, a desire for solitude;and where could she obtain this better than amid the wild bush by whichthe homestead was surrounded? Going inside, she threw on a straw hat,then taking a light _umzimbiti_ walking-stick, she struck into one ofthe forest paths.
She felt not the slightest fear or misgiving. The natives at that timewere deferential and submissive, and seldom encountered outside theirown locations. Wild beasts avoided the near proximity of humanhabitations, at any rate in the full blaze of the afternoon sun, and ifshe came upon a snake she could always run away; for she was not one ofthose who imagine that the average serpent can leap--say, fifty feet--through the air, or spends its time lying in wait for human beings forthe fun of biting them. So she wandered on beneath the feathery acaciasand gnarled wild fig, now stopping to disengage her skirt from the sharpclaws of a projecting spray of "haak-doorn," now bending down to examinesome strange and brilliant-winged beetle. A pair of "go-away" birds,uttering their cat-like call, darted from tree to tree, keeping ever ashort distance before her. When she drew near the spray on which theywere perched on they would go again, and she could mark their conicalcrests as again they plunged forward in arrow-like flight, only to perchagain as before.
A small stony kopje rose above the level of the brake. To this sheascended, and, finding a shady spot, sat down upon a granite boulder torest. Away and around the gaze could range over a great expanse ofcountry, here smoothly undulating in a green sea of verdure, therebroken-up into stony hillocks. She could not see the homestead--thatwas hidden by the gradual depression towards the river-bank, but theriver-bed was discernible by the winding slit its course left in theexpanse of foliage. And away in the golden haze of the blue horizon aline of hills which she instinctively guessed were those of theSikumbutana.
So John Ames was so near and she would see him again; a matter of twentymiles or so was no distance in up-country estimation! Yet, why shouldthis consciousness bring with it a feeling of elation? She was not inthe least in love with the man. She could mention his name, or hear itmentioned, without a tremor in her voice or a stirring of the pulse.She had not even gone to the pains of inquiring after him, or as to hiswhereabouts, since her arrival at Bulawayo; yet now, suddenly an impulsewas upon her to see him again wh
ich amounted almost to a longing. Shehad missed him greatly after his departure, even as she had said shewould, but only as she would have missed anybody in whose society shehad found pleasure and entertainment; yet now she found herself lookingforward to meeting him again with such a curious mingling of feelings asshe had never known before. She had seen him amid conventional, and, tohim strange, surroundings, now she wanted to see him at home as it were,and in his own everyday sphere.
How would they meet? She supposed he would ride over directly hereceived her note. Would he look surprised and pleased? Would thatgrave, firm face relax as he greeted her, the straight glance of thegrey eyes soften ever so little as it met hers? Thus she pondered. Yetshe was not in the least in love with John Ames.
For long she sat, pondering thus. Then, upon the distant stillness,rolled forth a shot, followed by another. It broke the current of herthoughts.
"Jimmie is getting some sport," she said to herself, standing up to lookin the direction of the double report. "But he must be finding it verynear home. That shot sounded almost as if it were at the house."
She glanced at the sun. Its distance above the horizon reminded herthat she must be getting back herself. Rising, she descended thegranite kopje, and took her way along the bush-path she had come by.This was a matter of no difficulty, even if she were now following itfor the first time, for those among whom she had lately moved had taughther something of the mysteries of "spoor."
How peaceful it looked in the golden light of the afternoon stillness!The homestead, truly, was of the roughest description, with its thatchedroof and "dagga" walls, yet it, and the pointed conical huts behind it,were all in keeping. A settler's dwelling in a new land! A halo ofromance overspread it in Nidia's mind as she emerged from the bush-pathinto the clearing.
Stay. What was that? Blood! She had just time to switch her skirtaside. Blood? Yes; a great patch of it--then another and another, anda long trail in the dust as though something heavy had been draggedalong the ground. Ah, Jimmie had been in luck again and had broughtdown another buck. That was the meaning of the double shot she hadheard. The animal had been too heavy for the little chap to carry. Hehad been obliged to drag it, hence the trail along the ground. And inher rejoicing over the small boy's venatorial triumph, Nidia forgot hernatural disgust at sight of the blood-gouts which lay thick andhideously red along the trail.
How still it all was! Had their mother taken those earthquakes ofchildren for a walk? she wondered. Even then it was strange to be outof earshot of their voices, if only in the distance. Well, the youthfulhunter should be in, anyhow.
"Jimmie!" she called. "Jim-mie!"
No answer.
The front door was closed. She noticed that the trail went round asthough to the back of the house, yet in front of the closed door theblood-patches lay thicker than ever. Jimmy would catch it when hismother came back, she thought to herself, for bringing his quarry in atthe front door and making that horrid mess. Lifting her skirt to avoidthe latter, and making a little grimace of disgust, she turned thehandle.
There was a window opposite, but the blind was down. To Nidia, comingin from the full glow of the sunlight, the room was almost dark. Onlyfor a moment though, and then she saw--
She saw that which might have turned many a stronger brain than hers--she saw that which made her cover her eyes with her hands, and staggerback against the doorpost with a low wailing cry of such unutterablehorror as can rarely have proceeded from human throat. Oh Heaven! mustshe look again and go mad? was the thought which flashed through hermind as with hands pressed to her eyes she leaned against the doorpostas rigid as though turned to stone.
On the couch beneath the window aforesaid lay the form of Hollingworth--the form, for little else about the wretched man was distinguishable buthis clothing. His skull had been battered in, and his features smashedto a pulp. There he lay, and on the floor beside him a periodical whichhe had been reading before overtaken by the sleep from which he wasdestined never to awaken. In one corner lay the corpse of his wife--and, in a row, four children, all with their skulls smashed, and nailedto the ground with assegais--the whole having undergone more or lessnameless horrors of mutilation. This is what she saw--this girl--whohad never looked upon a scene of violence or of bloodshed in her life.This is what she saw, returning in serene security to the peaceful homethat sheltered her. No wonder she stood against the doorpost, her handspressed tightly to her eyes, her brain on fire. Was it a dream--anawful nightmare? The very magnitude of the horror saved her.
Out into the air again. Not another glance dare she venture into thatscene of hideous butchery. Out into the air again. The same golden sunwas shining, the same fair earth, the same feathery foliage peaceful inthe afternoon light. But within? The world began to go round with her.She staggered as though to sink into a swoon, when--
What was that? A cry? A moan? From the back of the house it seemed tocome, and it was distinctly that of a human being in pain. ThitherNidia flew. The sound had created a diversion, and had certainly savedher brain from giving way from shock and fright.
A form was lying on the ground covered with blood and dust. Nidiarecognised it in a moment for that of Hollingworth's eldest boy--theyouthful hunter whose prowess she had been about to congratulate.
"Jimmie!" she cried, bending over him. "Jimmie, my poor child, what hashappened? What have they done to you--to--to everybody?"
Her voice broke down, and she could only sob piteously. She tried toraise the boy's head, but he screamed.
"Oh, don't--don't! Oh, it hurts!"
To her horror, Nidia saw something of the extent of the terribleinjuries the poor little fellow had received. Besides a huge bump onthe side of the head he was covered with assegai-stabs. Yet he wasstill alive. Amid his moans, he looked up suddenly.
"Oh, it's you, Miss Commerell!" he gasped.
"Yes--yes. Oh, my dear little boy, what does it all mean?" she wailed,her voice thrilling with horrified pity.
A gleam came into the boy's eyes, and for the moment he seemed to forgethis agony.
"I--plugged two of the devils," he said--"two of them. One was Qota,our boy. He got the charge of buckshot, the other the bullet. Thenthey hit me on the head with a kerrie. Oh-h!"
He sank back groaning under a renewed spasm of pain. This, then, wasthe double shot Nidia had heard. She saw now the meaning of the bloodytrail which she had imagined was that made by the youthful hunterdragging home his quarry. The miscreants had dragged away the bodies oftheir own dead. Two of them had been sent to their account, red-handed,and that by this mere child, either in defence of those who were all tohim, or revengeful in his rage and grief. Bit by bit she got at thetruth.
He was returning from an unsuccessful stalk, and had gained the outsideof the bush behind the house, when he heard a low prolonged screamproceeding from within. In this he recognised the voice of his mother.Cocking his gun, he ran hurriedly forward, but before he could gain thefront door he was met by several savages armed with axes andknobkerries. Two of these he immediately shot--shot them dead, too, hedeclared--and then, before he could slip in fresh cartridges, they wereupon him. The gun was wrenched from his hand, then something seemed tofall upon his head, for after that he knew no more.
All this was told spasmodically between lengthened pauses, and theeffort had quite exhausted the poor little fellow. And now some inklingof the situation seemed to rush through Nidia's reeling brain, thougheven then the idea that this wholesale murder was but one instance ofseveral at that very moment throughout the land, did not occur to her.She supposed it to be a mere sporadic outbreak of savagery, or lust ofplunder. It was clear, too, that this poor child was ignorant of allthat had actually happened within, and she felt a sort of miserableconsolation in realising that physical agony had so confused his mindthat he showed no curiosity on the subject. Nor would he allow her toexamine the extent of his hurts. If she so much as touched him hescr
eamed aloud; but she knew, as confidently as though assured by thewhole faculty, that his hours were numbered.
"I feel sleepy. How dark it is!" he murmured at length.
Dark! Why, the surroundings were in a very bath of lustre--of goldensunlight glow.
"So sleepy. Don't leave me. Promise you won't leave me!"
"Of course I won't leave you, Jimmie darling," sobbed Nidia, bendingdown and kissing his forehead; for well she knew what this deepeningcoma portended. Soon again he spoke, but in the feeblest of murmurs."You must go. They'll come back and find you; then they'll kill you,the devils. You must go. Hide in the bush, down below the river-bank.They won't look there. Go--go quick. They'll come back. Hark! I hearthem."
"But I won't go, Jimmie; I won't leave you, whether they kill me ornot," she sobbed, moved to the heart by the unselfishness of thischild-hero, who had first slain with his own hand two of the murderersof his parents, and now was urging her to leave him to the solitude hedreaded, lest she should meet with the same fate. But this heroicinjunction was his last utterance. A few minutes, and the head fellback, the eyes opening wide in a glassy stare. Little Jimmie had joinedhis murdered kindred.
The sun sank beneath the rim of the world, and the purple shades of thebrief twilight deepened over this once peaceful homestead, now amausoleum for its butchered inmates lying in their blood. And stillNidia sat there holding the head of the dead boy in her lap.
John Ames, Native Commissioner: A Romance of the Matabele Rising Page 12
