'Tween Snow and Fire: A Tale of the Last Kafir War Read online

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

  IN THE ENEMY'S COUNTRY.

  "Hi, Hoste, Eustace! Tumble up! We are to start in half an hour."

  It is dark as Erebus--dark as it can only be an hour or so beforedaybreak. The camp-fires have long since gone out and it is rainingheavily. The speaker, stooping down, puts his head into a patrol tentwherein two sleepers lie, packed like sardines.

  A responsive grunt or two and Hoste replies without moving.

  "Bosh! None of your larks, Tom. Why, it's pitch dark, and raining asif some fellow were bombarding the tent with a battery of garden hoses."

  "Tom can't sleep himself, so he won't let us. Mean of him--to put itmildly," remarks the other occupant of the tent, with a cavernous yawn.

  "But it isn't bosh," retorts Carhayes testily. "I tell you we are tostart in half an hour, so now you know," and he withdraws, growlingsomething about not standing there jawing to them all day.

  Orders were orders, and duty was duty. So arousing themselves fromtheir warm lair the two sleepers rubbed their eyes and promptly began tolook to their preparations.

  "By Jove!" remarked Eustace as a big, cold drop hit him on the crown ofthe head, while two more fell on the blanket he had just cast off. "Nowone can solve the riddle as to what becomes of all the played outsieves. They are bought up by Government Contractors for themanufacture of canvas for patrol tents."

  "The _riddle_! Yes. That's about the appropriate term, as witness thestate of the canvas."

  "Oh! A dismal jest and worthy the day and the hour," rejoined theother, lifting a corner of the sail to peer out. It was still pitchdark and raining as heavily as ever. "We can't make a fire at anyprice--that means no coffee. Is there any grog left, Hoste?"

  "Not a drop."

  "H'm! That's bad. What is there in the way of provender?"

  "Nothing."

  "That's worse. Gcalekaland, even, is of considerable account in theworld's economy. It is a prime corner of the said orb wherein to learnthe art of `doing without.'"

  The two, meanwhile, had been preparing vigorously for their expedition,which was a three days patrol. By the light of a tiny travelling lamp,which Eustace always had with him when possible, guns were carefullyexamined and rubbed over with an oil-rag; cartridges were unearthed fromcunning waterproof wrappers and stowed away in belts and pockets wherethey would be all-ready for use; and a few more simple preparations--simple because everything was kept in a state of readiness--were made.Then our two friends emerged from the narrow, kennel-like and withalleaky structure which had sheltered them the night through.

  Except those who were to constitute the patrol, scarcely anybody wasastir in the camp of the Kaffrarian Rangers that dark, rainy morning.All who could were enjoying a comfortable sleep warmly rolled up intheir blankets, as men who are uncertain of their next night's rest willdo--and the prospect looked cheerless enough as the dawn lightened. Afaint streak in the eastern sky was slowly widening, but elsewhere not abreak in the clouds, and the continual drip, drip, of the rain, mingledwith the subdued tones of the men's voices, as they adjusted bit andstirrup and strapped their supplies in blanket and holster. Three days'rations were issued, and with plenty of ammunition, and in high spiritsthe prevailing wetness notwithstanding, the men were ready to set forth.

  "This won't last. By ten o'clock there won't be a cloud in the sky,"said the commander of the corps, a grizzled veteran, elected to thatpost by the unanimous vote of his men. In keeping with his habitual anduntiring energy, which caused his followers often to wonder when he everdid sleep, he had been up and astir long before any of them. And now hebade them good-bye, and, the patrol having mounted, they filed out ofcamp, the rain running in streams down the men's waterproofs.

  More than three weeks have elapsed since the sacking of Kreli'sprincipal kraal, and during this time reinforcements, both of coloniallevies and Imperial troops, have been pouring into the Transkei.Several conflicts of greater or less importance have taken place, andthe Gcaleka country has been effectually cleared, its warlikeinhabitants having either betaken themselves to the dense forest countryalong the coast, or fled for refuge across the Bashi to their morepeaceful neighbours, the Bomvanas, who dare not refuse them shelter,even if desirous to do so. On the whole, the progress of the war hasbeen anything but satisfactory. A number of the Gcalekas have beenkilled, certainly, but the tribe is unsubdued. The Great Chief, Kreli,is still at large, as are also his sons and principal councillors; andalthough the land has been swept, yet its refugee inhabitants are onlyawaiting the departure of the colonial forces to swarm back into theirold locations. Meanwhile, a large force is kept in the field, at heavyexpense to the Colony, and in no wise to the advantage of the burghersand volunteers themselves, whose farms or businesses are likely tosuffer through their prolonged absence. Of late, however, operationshave been mainly confined to hunting down stray groups of the enemy by asystem of patrols--with poor results--perhaps killing a Kafir or two bya long and lucky shot, for the savages have learnt caution andinvariably show the invaders a clean pair of heels.

  But no one imagines the war at an end, and that notwithstanding aproclamation issuing from the office of the Commissioner of Crown Landsoffering free grants of land in the Gcaleka country conditional upon theresidence of the grantee on his exceedingly perilous holding. Thisproclamation, however, is regarded as a little practical joke on thepart of the Honourable the Commissioner. Few, if any, make application,and certainly none comply with the conditions of the grant. The whilepatrolling goes on as vigorously as ever.

  Eustace and his travelling companions had reached the camp of theKaffrarian Rangers in due course. Hoste, indeed, would have beenelected to a subordinate command in the troop had he taken the field atfirst, but now his place was filled up and he must perforce join in aprivate capacity; which position he accepted with complete equanimity.He could have all the fun, he said, and none of the responsibility,whereas in a post of command he would have been let in for no end ofbother. So he and Eustace chum up together, and share tent and suppliesand danger and duty, like a pair of regulation foster-brothers.

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  Our patrol rode steadily on, keeping a sharp look out on all sides. Itsinstructions were to ascertain the whereabouts of the enemy and hiscattle, rather than to engage him in actual conflict. Should he,however, appear in such moderate force as to render an engagementfeasible with a fair chance of success, then by all means let them teachhim a lesson--and ardently did the men hope for such an opportunity.They numbered but forty all told, all more or less experiencedfrontiersmen, who knew how to use their rifles--all well versed in theways of bush fighting, and thoroughly understanding how to meet thesavage on his own ground and in his own way. In short, they reckonedthemselves well able to render account of at least six times that numberof the enemy, their only misgiving being lest the wily sons of Xosashould not afford them the chance.

  In spite of his predilection for the dark-skinned barbarians aforesaidand his preference for the ways of peace, there was somethingwonderfully entrancing to Eustace Milne in this adventurous ride throughthe hostile country, as they held on over hill and valley, keeping acareful watch upon the long reaches of dark bush extending from theforest land which they were skirting, and which might conceal hundreds--nay thousands--of the savage foe lying in wait in his lurking place forthis mere handful of whites--a something which sent a thrill through hisveins and caused his eye to brighten as he rode along in the freshmorning air; for the clouds had dispersed now, and the sun, mountinginto his sphere of unbroken blue, caused the wet earth to glisten likesilver as the raindrops hung about the grass and bushes in clusters offlashing gems.

  "So! That's better!" said one of the men, throwing open his waterproofcoat. "More cheerful like!"

  "It is," assented another. "We ought to have a brush with Jack Kafirto-day. It's Sunday."

  "Sunday is it?" said a thi
rd. "There ain't no Sundays in the Transkei."

  "But there are though, and its generally the day on which we have afight."

  "That's so," said the first speaker, a tall, wiry young fellow from theChalumna district. "I suppose the niggers think we're such a bloomin'pious lot that we shan't hurt 'em on Sunday, so they always hit upon itto go in at us."

  "Or p'r'aps they, think we're having Sunday school, or holdin' a prayermeeting. Eh, Bill?"

  "_Ja_. Most likely."

  They were riding along a high grassy ridge falling away steep and suddenupon one side. Below, on the slope, were a few woebegone looking mealiefields and a deserted kraal, and beyond, about half a mile distant, wasthe dark forest line. Suddenly the leader of the party, who, with threeor four others, was riding a little way ahead, was seen to halt, andearnestly to scrutinise the slope beneath. Quickly the rest spurred upto him.

  "What is it?"--"What's up, Shelton?" were some of the eager inquiries.

  "There's something moving down there in that mealie field, just wherethe sod-wall makes a bend--there, about four hundred yards off," repliedShelton, still looking through his field glasses. "Stay--it's a Kafir.I saw him half put up his head and bob down again."

  Every eye was bent upon the spot, eager and expectant. But nothingmoved. Then the leader took a careful aim and fired. The clods flewfrom the sod-wall, heavy and sticky with the recent rain, as the bulletknocked a great hole in it. Simultaneously two naked Kafirs sprang upand made for the bush as hard as they could run.

  Bang--bang! Bang--bang--bang! A rattling volley greeted theirappearance. But still unscathed they ran like bucks; bounding andleaping to render themselves more difficult as marks.

  Bang--bang! Ping--ping! The bullets showered around the fleeingsavages, throwing up the earth in clods. Each carried a gun and had apowder horn and ammunition pouch slung round him, besides a bundle ofassegais, and one, as he ran, turned his head to look at his enemies.Full three hundred yards had they to cover under the fire of a score ofgood marksmen. But these were excited.

  "Steady, men! No good throwing away ammunition!" cried Shelton, theleader. "Better let 'em go."

  But he might as well have spoken to the wind. As long as those naked,bounding forms were in sight so long would the more eager spirits of theparty empty their rifles at them. Not all, however. Eustace Milne hadmade no attempt to fire a shot. He was not there, as he saidafterwards, to practise at a couple of poor devils running away.Others, somewhat of the same opinion, confined themselves to looking on.But to a large section there present no such fastidious notionscommended themselves. The secret of war, they held, was to inflict asmuch damage upon the enemy as possible, and under whatevercircumstances. So they tried all they knew to act upon their logic.

  "Whoop! Hurrah! They're down!" shouted some one, as the fugitivessuddenly disappeared.

  "Nay what!" said a tall Dutchman, shaking his head. "They are onlysneaking," and as he spoke the Kafirs reappeared some fifty yardsfurther, but were out of sight again in a second. They were takingadvantage of a _sluit_ or furrow--crawling like serpents along in thisprecarious shelter.

  "Stay where you are--stay where you are," cried Shelton in a tone ofauthority, as some of the men made a movement to mount their horses anddash forward in pursuit. "Just as like as not to be a trap. How manymore do we know are not `voer-ly-ing' [Dutch: `Lying in wait'] in thebush yonder. The whole thing may be a plant."

  The sound wisdom of this order availed to check the more eager spirits.They still held their pieces in readiness for the next opportunity.

  "Hoste--Eustace--watch that point where the pumpkin patch ends. They'llhave a clear run of at least a hundred yards there," said Carhayes, whowas sitting on an ant-heap a little apart from the rest, every now andthen taking a shot as he saw his chance.

  "It's a devil of a distance," growled Hoste. "Six hundred yards if it'san inch--Ah!"

  For the Kafirs sprang up just where Carhayes had foretold, and again,with a crash, many rifles were emptied at them. Fifty--thirty--twentyyards more and they will be safe. Suddenly one of them falls.

  "He's down--fairly down!" yelled someone. "A long shot, too. Oh-h-h!He's only winged! Look! He's up again?"

  It was so. The fallen man was literally hopping on one leg, with theother tucked up under him. In a moment both Kafirs had reached thecover and disappeared.

  "Well, I never!" cried Hoste; "Heaven knows how many shots we've thrownaway upon those devils and now they've given us the slip after all."

  "Anyone would take us for a pack of bloomin' sojers. Can't hit a niggerin a dozen shots apiece. Pooh!" growled a burly frontiersman, in tonesof ineffable disgust, as he blew into the still smoking breech of hisrifle. "Eh, what's that?" he continued as all eyes were bent on thespot where the fugitives had disappeared.

  For a tall savage had emerged from the bush, and with a howl of derisionbegan to execute a _pas seul_ in the open. Then with a verycontemptuous gesture, and shaking his assegai at his white enemies, hesprang into the forest again, laughing loudly. They recognised him asthe man who had escaped unhurt.

  "Well, I'm somethinged!" cried Carhayes. "That nigger has got the laughof us now."

  "He's a plucky dog," said another. "If any fellow deserved to escape hedid. Four hundred yards and a score of us blazing away at him at once!Well, well!"

  "I've known that sort of thing happen more than once," said Shelton, theleader of the party, an experienced frontiersman who had served in twoprevious wars. "Same thing in buck shooting. You'll see a score offellows all blazing at the same buck, cutting up the dust all round himtill you can hardly see the poor beast, and yet not touching him.That's because they're excited, and shooting jealous. Now with one ortwo cool shots lying up and taking their time, the buck wouldn't have aghost of a show--any more than would those two Kafirs have had. Butwe'd better get on, boys. We'll off-saddle further ahead, and then ourhorses will be fresh for whatever may turn up. It's my opinion thereare more of those chaps hanging about."