'Tween Snow and Fire: A Tale of the Last Kafir War Page 14

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

  A CURTAIN SECRET.

  The settlement of Komgha--called after an infinitesimal stream of thatname--was, like most frontier townships, an utterly insignificant place.It consisted of a few straggling blocks of houses plumped downapparently without rhyme or reason in the middle of the _veldt_, whichhere was open and undulating. It boasted a few stores and canteens, acouple of institutions termed by courtesy "hotels," an exceedingly uglychurch, and a well-kept cricket ground. To the eastward rose the KeiHills, the only picturesque element about the place, prominent amongthese the flat, table-topped summit of Moordenaar's Kop, [Dutch,"Murderer's Peak"] a tragical spot so named on account of the surpriseand massacre of a party of officers who had incautiously ventured upthere in small force during one of the previous wars. The village wasvirtually the headquarters of the Frontier Armed and Mounted Police, thesubstantial square barracks, which harboured the artillery troop of thatuseful force, crowning the hill nearly a mile away, and there wasgenerally another troop or two quartered around the place. The mainroad from King Williamstown to the Transkeian territories ran throughthe village.

  At the period of our story, however, there was no lack of life or stirabout the normally sleepy little place, for it was in process oftransformation into a huge _laager_ or armed camp. Waggons were comingin from several directions--laden mostly with the families and householdgoods of fleeing settlers, and the sharp crack of whips and the harshyells of their drivers rose high above the general turmoil. Men werebustling to and fro, bent upon nothing in particular and looking asthough each and all carried the fate of a nation in his pockets, orstanding, in knots at street corners, discussing the situation, eachperchance with a little less knowledge than his neighbour. All sorts ofwild rumours were in the air, the least of which was that every white inthe Transkei had been massacred, and that Kreli was marching upon Komghaat the head of the whole Gcaleka army.

  Mrs Hoste, with her two young daughters, were at the door as the partydrove up. They received Eanswyth very cordially.

  "At last--at last! Why, we have been looking out for you for the lasthour. I declare, I began to think you had stayed too long at Anta'sKloof, and the Kafirs had taken you prisoner or something. How do youdo, Mr Milne? But--come in. We are going to have a dreadful storm ina minute. Mercy on us! What a flash!"

  The blue, steely gleam was followed by a roll of thunder, long, loud,reverberating. There was a patter upon the zinc roof. A few raindrops,nearly as large as saucers, splashed around, and then, almost before thetwo men could get into their waterproof coats, the rain descended with aroar and a rush, in such a deluge that they could hardly see to outspanthe trap.

  "_Allamaghtaag_! but that's a fine rain," cried Hoste, with a farmer'sappreciation, as he swung himself free of his dripping mackintosh in thelittle veranda.

  "Especially for those who are under canvas," said Eustace with asignificant glance at a group of tents pitched upon the plain justoutside the village. For the surrounding _veldt_ had been turned intosomething like a sea, and a miniature torrent roared down everydepression in the ground.

  "Well, Mr Milne," cried Mrs Hoste, from the head of the table, as thetwo men entered. "Its past three o'clock and dinner has been readysince half-past one. We quite expected you then."

  "Which, being interpreted, means that I must prepare for the worst," wasthe rejoinder. "Never mind. I dare say we shan't starve. Well, andwhat's the latest absurdity in the way of news?"

  "Just what I was going to ask you. You're hand-in-glove with all theKafir chiefs. You ought to be able to give _us_ all the news."

  Eustace smiled to himself. He could tell them a few things that wouldastonish them considerably, if he chose. But he did not choose.

  "We'll loaf round the village presently," said Hoste. "Likely enoughwe'll hear something then."

  "Likely enough it'll be about as reliable as usual," said Eustace."What was the last report? Kreli and the Gcaleka army encamped at theKei Drift--be here in two hours?"

  "It's all very well to laugh," said Mrs Hoste. "But what if we wereattacked some fine night?"

  "There isn't the ghost of a chance of it. Especially with all thesewondrous fortifications about."

  "I wish I thought you were serious. It would be a relief to me if Icould think so."

  "Pray do think so, Mrs Hoste. There is no sort of chance of this placebeing attacked; so make your mind easy."

  "What do you think of our crib, Milne?" struck in Hoste.

  "It seems snug enough. Not palatial, but good enough for all purposes.You were lucky to light upon it."

  "Rather. There isn't so much as the corner of a rat hole to be had inthe whole place now. But, it's knocked off raining," as a bright gleamof sunlight shot into the room. "Only a thunder-shower. We seem tohave done dinner. Let's go out and pick up the latest lie. By the way,you don't want to go home again to-night, Milne? We can give you ashake-down on the sofa."

  "The fact is I don't. To-morrow will do just as well, and then Isuppose I'll have to trek with the stock down to Swaanepoel's Hoek,while Tom, thirsting for death or glory, fills up that tally slick hewas telling us about last night."

  "But don't you intend to volunteer for the front, like the rest?" askedMrs Hoste in astonishment.

  "No. Not at present, anyway. _I've_ no quarrel with Jack Kafir; ratherthe reverse. I own I should like to _see_ the campaign, but I couldn'tdo that without drawing trigger, and that's just what I'd rather avoid,except in a case of absolute necessity."

  It might have been imagination, but Eustace fancied he could detect alook of intense relief pass over Eanswyth's features as he announced hisdesire to avoid the scene of hostilities. Yet with so many eyes uponhim--upon them both--he would not look directly at her. Such is theeffect of an _arriere-pensee_. Two days ago he would not have beencareful to study appearances. But a good deal can happen in two days,notably the establishment of a thorough understanding between twopersons.

  "We'll go round to Pagel's first," said Hoste, as the two men strolledforth. "If rumour has taken shape at all, likely as not it's there weshall pick it up."

  They soon reached the hotel. The bar and smoking-room were crammed withmen--and smoke; men mostly of the farming class; men with large, sinewyhands, and habited partially or entirely in corduroy. There was a veryBabel of tongues, for pretty nearly every man was talking at once,mostly on the all-absorbing topic. Some were indulging in chaff andloud laughter, and a few, we regret to say, were exceedingly unsteady ontheir pins.

  Rumour, our two friends found, had taken shape, and the great item ofnews which everybody was discussing had received the _imprimatur_ ofofficial announcement. There had been a fight between the Gcalekas andthe Fingoes, and a body of Mounted Police, interfering on behalf of thelatter, had been defeated and forced to retire with the loss of asub-inspector and half a dozen men. This had happened in the IdutywaReserve two days previously.

  Grave news, was the unanimous verdict. Grave news that the enemy shouldhave triumphed in the very first engagement. Another such success, andevery native from Natal to the Great Fish River would be up in arms.The news would flash from tribe to tribe, from kraal to kraal, quickerthan a telegraphic message.

  "That you, Payne?" cried Hoste.

  The man addressed, who formed one of an arguing knot, turned.

  "Thought it was," went on the first speaker, shaking hands. "Here'sMilne, on the scare like the rest of us. Carhayes is still on his farm,standing out longer than even you, eh Payne? We brought in his wifeto-day, Milne and I."

  "Then he's all right. If it wasn't for our women-kind we could allstick to our farms right through," answered Payne. "Just think whatsort of effect it has on Jack Kafir to see every fellow cutting awayfrom him like mad."

  "Why don't you practise what you preach then, old chap?" put in anotherman, while three or four more laughed significantly, for Payne'sopinions were decidedly in disfavour among that gath
ering. "Why do you_trek_ away and leave your own place?"

  "Oh, blazes take you all! Ain't I jolly well hung round withwomen-kind?" was the reply, in a rueful, comic tone which raised a roarof laughter. "How can I?"

  "What has become of that Britisher who was staying with you?" askedHoste.

  A very quaint expression came into the other's face. "He's thinkingmore of love than of war," he answered, lowering his voice for Hoste'sbenefit. "Expect he'll take one of the said women-kind off my handsmighty sharp. Won't be his fault if he doesn't."

  "Britishers ain't no damn good!" said a burly fellow in corduroy, with alurch up against Eustace.

  Some of the men looked awkward; others interested. The remark wasenough to provoke half a dozen fights, especially in that room,frequented as it often was by Police troopers, many of whom were youngEnglishmen of recent importation and thus likely to resent such a slurupon the home-grown article. But it took a good deal more than this toembark Eustace in active hostilities. The expression of his immobilefeatures was as if the remark had passed unheard. Besides, he saw at aglance that the fellow was drunk.

  "I say, you fellows--Hoste, Milne. Lets go and have a wet!" said Payne,making a move towards the bar, partly with a view to avoiding anyfurther chance of a row. "Put a name to your pet poison and we'll drinkconfusion to old Kreli. Hang it. This atmosphere is enough to float aline-of-battle ship. Let's get out of it--when we've had our moistener,not before."

  "It's rather rough on me, this shindy," he continued as they foundthemselves outside again. "What's the good of a fellow laying himselfout to improve his place? Here I've got a lot of splendid lands undercultivation. Fountains Gap is a perfect jewel in that line, and now Imust sacrifice the whole lot. Well, we're all in the same boat, that'sone thing," he added philosophically. "So long, you fellows. I must gohome. Hallo! Wonder if those chaps have brought any news."

  Three Police troopers rode quickly by, heading for the quarters of theircommanding officer. They had evidently ridden express direct from theTranskei, and had not spared their horses either, for both the latterand themselves looked jaded and travel-worn, besides being splashed fromhead to foot with mud.

  The evening passed pleasantly enough. Eustace declined his friend'sinvitation to accompany him again into the village to try and learn somemore news. After that night Eanswyth and he would be parted--for howlong, Heaven only knew. But in that rather crowded circle there was nosuch thing as even a minute's _tete-a-tete_, and this he well knew. Theconversation was all general, still he could delight his eyes with themere sight of her--could let his ears revel in the music of her voice.Yet was there a something underlying the tone, the glance, of one orboth of them, which conveyed a more than ordinary meaning?

  For, that night, long after the bugle calls from the Police camps andthe carolling of jolly souls wending somewhat unsteadily homeward fromthe convivial bar, had sunk into silence, Mrs Hoste made unto her lordand master a strange remark.

  "What a pity Eanswyth didn't marry her husband's cousin instead of herhusband."

  "Great Scott! What the very deuce do you mean?"

  "Well, I mean it is a pity. Look how well they seem to suit each other.Look at them here to-day. Anyone, any stranger coming in hap-hazard,would at once have jumped to the conclusion that they belonged to eachother. And it's a pity they don't. Tom Carhayes isn't at all the manfor that dear Eanswyth. I should be uncommonly sorry to be his wifemyself, I know that much."

  "I daresay you would. But Providence has been much kinder to you inthat line than you deserve. But oh, good Heavens, Ada, do be mightycareful what you say. If you had propounded that idea of yours toanyone else, for instance, there's no knowing what amount of mischief itmight open up."

  "So? All right. There's no fear of my being such a fool. If you'vepreached enough--have you? Well, go to sleep."