The White Hand and the Black: A Story of the Natal Rising

“There’s an official matter I want to get home and look into as soon as I can,” he explained carelessly. “Here, Parry. You can ride on and say I’m coming.”

He took the young Police trooper apart, as they walked.

“Look here,” he said, “and attend carefully. Go down to the camp as fast as you can walk – can walk, mind, not run – and get the horses saddled up as soon as you possibly can; ours first, you understand, not the boys’: and see that the girths are tight enough. Then all of you bring them out here to meet us; and every minute you save in doing it is a minute gained. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If anything happens use your own judgment, but we must have the horses as soon as ever we can, yet you must not run or show any sign of hurry. It’ll mean good for you my lad, very good. Now go.”

The young fellow saluted, and started off down the slope at a brisk springy walk which represented nearly four and a half miles an hour. He was radiant with pride. Naturally sharp, he had to a certain extent grasped the situation, and here, after a few months in the force, he found himself entrusted with a real and critical mission, with the promise of the good word of his superior. Visions of unheard of promotion floated upon his mental sight, as he paced downward to the camp, with rapid, elastic step.

Elvesdon strove to talk cheerfully, as they took their way down at a perforce slower pace than that of the young Police trooper – but it was difficult. The ridge was well between them and the impi now, but the latter might at any moment appear over it, or where it ended farther down. Had he been alone, or alone with Thornhill, he would not have felt overmuch concerned. He was as brave a man as ever lived, and endowed with his full share of nerve. He would, if the worst came to the worst, have chanced the moral effect of a display of the confidence of authority and absolute fearlessness. But now, with these two women dependent on them for protection, why it was dreadful. He reproached himself bitterly for having brought them into this peril; for, in the disturbed and simmering state of the native locations, who could be trusted? More bitterly still, perhaps, did he reproach himself for his neglect to open the communication handed to him by the old man. Then there would have been time for them to have acted upon the warning conveyed therein, and to have withdrawn while the attention of the savages was engaged by the mimic surprise of the kraal. Now it was in all probability too late.

Now he began to revolve in his mind what should be done in the event of Parry being unable to fulfil his instructions in time. He had a fight revolver in his pocket, and he suspected Thornhill was not unarmed. But of what use were they against an overwhelming crowd, all heavily armed, and right out in the open? They might shoot down a few, but would not this exasperate the savages into murdering the girls as well? Of course it would.

The wide landscape slept in the golden sunshine, the rolling plains unfolding out into misty dimness, on the one hand; on the other the outlines of distant heights softened against the clear blue. From Tongwana’s kraal, crowning the adjacent eminence, a smoke reek rose lazily upon the still air. An idea suggested itself to Elvesdon. Why not take the bull by the horns and go straight to Tongwana’s kraal? Surely there, under, figuratively speaking, the roof of the old chief, they would be safe. But just then he could see his emissary in the act of faithfully fulfilling the duty laid upon him. Down at the camp the horses were being led in. They might find safety at Tongwana’s kraal, but the Police trooper, caught alone, would certainly be murdered, if things were as desperate as the warning embodied in the letter seemed to convey. But – if only Parry would hurry up!

Now some inkling of danger seemed to have come over the weaker side of the party. Elvesdon’s silence had told – it was impossible for him to keep up his attempts at manufactured conversation under the weight of responsibility which lay upon him. They, too, were reduced to silence, and, he became aware, were looking at him curiously and furtively.

“I don’t know that I want to see one of these native performances again,” said Evelyn Carden. “Don’t think me unappreciative, Mr Elvesdon, but really this has given me the creeps. It all seemed so fearfully natural.”

“Ah, well. It isn’t musical comedy, you know,” he answered with forced lightness.

“Old Tongwana ought to have figured in a swallow-tailed coat and a top hat and a mútya” said Thornhill. “That might have given a Gilbert and Sullivan smack to it.”

The laugh that greeted this was feeble. But now Elvesdon noted with intense relief that the horses had been saddled up at last – they themselves had more than halved the distance to the camp by that time, and of coarse could see everything that was going on there all the way.

Too late.

A burst of voices on the right front, and then the impi appeared, pouring over the ridge, forming a dense black line between them and the camp and, of course the horses. Then, extending, the warriors executed the surround manoeuvre and having thus completely hemmed in their guests – or their victims – they recommenced the war-dance.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, Mr Elvesdon, tell them to stop and go away,” said Evelyn Carden. “This is horrible, hateful.”

Elvesdon called out to more than one whom he knew by name but if they heard him they pretended not to. If the first performance had been terrifying to the uninitiated this one was infinitely more so: the roaring and the stamping, the sea of dreadful faces and gleaming bared teeth, the forest of waving blades, and the animal-like musky odour – as the frenzied circle tightened, its dense ranks drawing nearer and nearer. It was of no use for both men to shout at the top of their voices that they had had enough of the show, and that the ladies were getting frightened. The roaring only increased and the foremost of the frenzied performers shook their blades right in their faces. Elvesdon was convinced that his last moment had come. This was exactly the Hope programme repeated. It was hard to be butchered unresisting, but any resistance would certainly involve the massacre of the girls as well.

A sort of gasp from Evelyn made him turn. She was sinking to the ground.

“I feel rather faint,” she murmured.

Elvesdon bent down to help her, and as he did so he was suddenly seized from behind by several powerful hands, most effectively pinioning him. At the same time half a dozen assegai blades were held against his chest. And precisely the same thing had happened to Thornhill.

“Resist not, either of you,” said an authoritative voice. “Any resistance and all shall die – all, all of you.”

“What does it mean?” asked Elvesdon, shortly.

“This, Ntwezi. For you two we have a use. For your women we have none. They may go home. But, only if you make no resistance.”

“We agree,” said Thornhill. “But let us see them – see them with our own eyes, depart in safety. There are their horses.”

Parry, although he was going into certain death, had ridden as near as he could to the tumult. With some difficulty he was leading two horses, and both of these were under side saddles.

“Kill him – kill him,” began to be cried. “He is Only a common policeman. He is of no use.”

“But he is of use,” shouted Elvesdon, who began now to see his way, hearing this. “No common man is he. He is only playing at police.”

This was effective. Three hostages were better than two. Parry’s life was saved – for the present, but he was ordered to dismount, and by the advice of his superior he complied. His revolver was taken from him – Thornhill and Elvesdon had been similarly disarmed – and he was immediately hemmed in by a ring of blades.

“Now tell your women to go,” said the man who appeared to be exercising chief authority. “I will send men with them to see them safe to their home.”

“May I not bid my daughter farewell?” said Thornhill, with something of a tremor in his voice, and instinctively taking a step forward. Instantly a line of blades barred his way.

“Be content, be content,” answered the chief. “You are still alive, and your women are safe. Now walk.”

“To Tongwana?”

No reply was made to this, but there was no help for it. Hemmed closely in by the huge armed force, they were marched along over the very ground which they had traversed so light-heartedly barely an hour before. No indignity was offered them, but they knew that escape was as impossible as though they had been bound with thongs – at any rate just then.

They had this consolation however. The chief had kept his word. Looking backward just before they plunged over the ridge they could make out the mounted figures of the two girls away over the plain, the armed escort, keeping pace, distributed on either side – and they were making for home, not for Kwabulazi.

Chapter Twenty Four.

Unprotected

“What – will happen to – them?”

It was Evelyn who jerked this forth. For some time the two had ridden in silence, neither daring to trust herself to speak. Perhaps the same thought was in both their minds; they must not break down and display weakness before these savages. Certainly it was in that of Edala – who, raised among them, fully recognised the advisability of keeping-up a show of dignity towards an inferior race.

“They will not be harmed,” she answered, with a confidence she was far from feeling. There might be some among their escort who understood English, and it would never do to let an impression get abroad that such a thing as offering harm to such men as Thornhill and the magistrate, could even come within the bounds of possibility. “Who would dare to lift a hand against them? Why it would mean the hanging of every chief concerned, and a good many of the people as well.”

“Then you think they are safe – you who know these people so well?”

The question was put in a quick eager tone. Edala’s brows wrinkled.

“Don’t talk so loud, Evelyn,” she said, speaking quickly and, of design rather indistinctly. “There may be some here who understand. Better not talk about it at all, perhaps, until we’re alone. Oh, hang it – we must keep up,” she broke off roughly, as she felt her eyes brimming. “Can’t give away the show. D’you hear? We must keep up.”

The other murmured assent. The escort, stepping along at a quick walk so as to keep pace with the horses, was somewhat puzzled at the demeanour of the pair, and the warriors were talking among themselves in rapid undertones, as is the way of natives when they wish to disguise their conversation. Edala was adapting their method to English.

“I can’t make it out, Evelyn,” she said, purposely talking through closed teeth so as to be the more unintelligible to outside listeners. “None of these here are our people. In fact I hardly saw one, during the dancing, that was. I believe these are from – beyond the border.”

“What? Real Zulus?”

“Don’t mention names. That’s what I think they are,” purposely avoiding even the enunciation of the word ‘yes,’ for reasons given above. “For instance, look at those two ringed men. Their rings are differently sewn on to those on this side. You wouldn’t notice it but I do. That looks as if this was going to be a big affair, and had been carefully planned. Oh, you think I’m taking it all remarkably coolly, Evelyn – ” she broke off, in the gusty voice she used in moments of excitement. “But – we must keep up – we must keep up.”

“Yes – yes,” came the quick answer.

“There’s just this I go upon,” went on Edala. “If there are two men in the world who could be reckoned on to keep their wits about them and do the right thing at the right time, those two are father and Mr Elvesdon. See my meaning?”

The other nodded.

“So we must hope for the best.”

One thing that troubled Edala was that she could get no explanation whatever from their escort. The head-ringed men had kept carefully on the outskirts of the same, and when applied to to come over and talk had ignored the appeal. After this she would not question the common or unringed ‘boy,’ so was obliged to practise patience and await developments.

By the time they arrived at Sipazi it was nearly dark. Edala had more than half-expected to find the homestead a mass of smouldering ruins – but no. There it stood, yet there was a something that suggested the unusual. There was no sign of life about the place for instance – no smoke rising either from the kitchen chimney or from the huts of the native servants. Could it be that the latter – together with the Indian cook – had all been murdered? Edala drew rein, and addressed the escort.

“There is our home and now we are safe. If you would return you have fulfilled your mission. If you would rest, there is food and drink yonder.”

They looked at each other and laughed queerly.

“Ride on, Nkosazana,” said one of the ringed men.

Now there was sign of life with a vengeance, for the four great dogs came charging down upon the new arrivals, open-mouthed, barking and snarling savagely.

“Don’t kill them, amadoda,” said Edala, as assegais were detached, and held with suggestive readiness. “They will not hurt.”

But the savages were not going to be done out of their fun. A number of them rushed forward. Assegais showered through the air, and the unfortunate beasts lay transfixed by several of them, apiece, kicking feebly in their death throes.

“I – jji! I – jji!” went up the death hiss from their slayers, together with great hoarse shouts of laughter.

“The cruel wretches,” murmured Evelyn, in shuddering disgust. Edala’s lips tightened, but she restrained herself. Their own lives were none too secure, and this she knew.

Meanwhile the savages having tasted blood, even though only that of animals, began questing inside the deserted huts, but found no one. No cattle was in the kraals, either, or anything about the house, except a few fowls, which they promptly assegaied.

Edala said nothing now. To have offered them hospitality after this outrage would have been to have shown that she feared them. The two girls slid from their saddles, and entered the house. Both were sick with apprehension. It was growing dusk now, and here they were at the mercy of these barbarians. Edala went to her room, and seizing her revolver slipped it into her blouse. But no one followed. Through the window they could see that the side saddles had been flung from the horses, to be replaced by a couple of ordinary ones which had been found in in the stable. Then two of the ringed men having mounted, the whole crowd moved off without another word.

The two girls looked after them, then at each other.

“No – no,” said Edala, shaking a warning finger, as she saw the other on the verge of a breakdown – her own eyes were dimming suspiciously. “We haven’t got to do that, you know. We’ve got to prove to ourselves that the old libel – only it isn’t a libel – that the first thing women do in a difficulty is to howl, has its exceptions.”

“Yes – yes. You are wonderful, Edala. I could not have believed that any girl could show the coolness and pluck you have shown. What’s the next thing to do?”

“Do? Anything – everything rather than sit still and think. To-morrow early, we’ll start for Kwabulazi.”

“Yes. Let’s. But now – do you think any of those horrible brutes will come here again to-night?”

“No – I don’t. Those weren’t our own people, you know, Evelyn, as I told you. I’m not sure, quite, what to do. If we weren’t safe at Tongwana’s I don’t know where we shall be. So well start early so as to get there before it’s hot. But – I forgot. Can you walk? It’s thirteen miles every inch, and all our horses are gone.”

“Yes. I think I can. At any rate I shall have to.”

“Well we’ll shut the shutters so that no light will leak out if there are any wandering gangs about. Come along and help me, Evelyn. We can’t walk thirteen miles – we two feeble females – on nothing, you know.”

The other saw the drift. Both were to be kept busy. There must be no time for thinking. It may be that each saw into the other’s mind.

Soon a fire was started in the kitchen, and coffee brewed.

“I wonder what has become of Ramasam,” said Edala, when they sat down to their meal. “He’s an awful coward, and must have bolted with the others. Yet, I wonder how they first got the alarm. If it wasn’t that old Patolo is as reliable as death I should have thought that he had cleared out all the cattle and goats, for decidedly someone has.”

Evelyn had not noticed this little detail in the excitement and apprehension attendant on their strange home-coming. More and more she wondered at the other’s strength, her almost awful coolness.

But in spite of their efforts real cheerfulness would not prevail. Neither cared to open her heart to the other.

“I think we’d better get some sleep,” said Edala presently. “We shall have to start soon after midnight.”

“Hark! What’s that?” The speaker’s face had gone white, and under the circumstances, with her nerves all strung to high tension, even Edala had started.

A low, indescribably hideous, moaning noise had arisen. It came from the back of the house.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she answered. “Come and see.”

They went to the kitchen window, which looked out on the back. The moon had risen, and the ghostly light revealed the form of a large bull. He stood stamping and pawing the ground, uttering the while his hideous uncanny moanings.

“Oh, I’ll soon scoot him,” said Edala, returning to the passage to take down a raw-hide whip. “Only it’s not much use. The brute’ll be sure to come back.”

“Edala! You’re never going out to face that dreadful beast!” cried Evelyn, laying a detaining hand on her arm. Edala laughed shortly.

“You’ll see him run directly.”

But before she could reach the door the animal was seen suddenly to run forward, and disappear behind the cattle-kraal, where his moaning, in various keys, recommenced. Then he trotted back, tail in the air, emitting a shrill, half terrified bellow. To one, at any rate, of those who witnessed this performance the effect was indescribably weird.

“What does it mean?” she said.

“Nothing. The cattle often come round and make that row around the place where the goats are killed. It’s the blood, you know.”

Then she suddenly stopped, for it flashed upon her that the spot at which the moaning of the bull was at its highest and most excited pitch was not that whereon the goats were killed.

“Anyhow, I’ll just go out and scoot him. You stop here.”

Evelyn watched her go outside. At sight of her the bull paused in his stamping and scrapings and threw up his head, snuffing the air. Edala swirled the whip-lash as she advanced towards him – she would not crack it, for fear the sound might reach other ears. Then the beast lowered his head as if to charge her – backed a few paces – then thought better of it, and, turning, galloped madly away, uttering that – as it sounded in the silent and ghostly moonlight – shrill unearthly bellow.

Edala looked after the retreating beast. Her weaker instincts were all to return inside and bolt and bar the door. But some stronger motive to investigate took hold upon her – leading her steps to the spot where the beast had been most moved to his weird and mysterious rumblings.

As she turned the corner of the cattle-kraal her heart beat quicker, and her hand stole by sheer mechanical instinct to the butt of the revolver inside her blouse, not that it would be of any use against that which she expected to see and – did see.

There, in the moonlight, just out from the fence, lay a form – a human form; and it did not require two glances to determine that it was a dead human form. Mastering her overpowering horror the girl advanced. The body was ripped right open, and in the dead face, its sightless eyeballs upturned to the moon, she recognised that of the faithful old cattle-herd Patolo.

What was this? Old Patolo! Dear old Patolo, who had known her from her childhood! Never a time that she could not remember old Patolo. And now here he lay, barbarously murdered! A rush of tears came to her eyes, and with a fierce longing for revenge upon his brutal slayers, she unconsciously gripped the butt of her revolver, and perhaps it was as well, or the shock of the awful sight might have had disastrous effects.

“Oh – hh!”

Edala turned quickly, at the shuddering exclamation, uttered as it was in accents of the most indescribable horror. Evelyn, dreading to be alone, even for a moment, had followed her out.

“Go back!” she cried. “You need not see this.”

But Evelyn had seen it. Her face wore a set, stony stare.

“Come in. Come in,” said Edala, in her most brusque commanding tone, taking the other by the arm. And then that hideous moaning sound arose just behind them, together with the stamp of feet. The great bull had returned, and stood, not ten yards from them, his massive head, grim and formidable looking to the last degree in the moonlight. Evelyn collapsed. She slid to the ground in a dead faint.

Chapter Twenty Five.

“The Perils and Dangers of this Night.”

What was to be done? The great, grisly brute stood there pawing and scraping, keeping up the while his gruesome moanings, his shrill bellow. But there was now a note of savagery in these: whether it was that the smell of blood, and a great deal of it, had worked him up, together with the fact of finding himself all alone, so far as his kind went – his voice took on that strange growling note which enraged cattle take on at times, and then – look out for mischief. And the girl stood, absolutely unprotected, the prostrate form of her friend lying there at her feet, helpless. Had any been there to see it her face wore the same look that it had worn as she stood holding the big stone ready to throw, what time Elvesdon came between her and the great snake.

She let go the whip-lash with a resounding crack in the direction of the menacing beast. He was of the large homed kind that would have been the delight of a Plaza de Toros, and looked horribly formidable, tossing his white sharp horns in the moonlight. Then he charged.

Edala did not yield an inch as she stood over the body of her friend. She calculated her distance to a nicety, and as coolly as if she had been fly-fishing, she sent out the whip-lash again. Fortunately the charge was a half-hearted one, and the cutting voerslag, catching the enemy full in the eyes, brought him up as sharp as though the cruel banderillas had suddenly been stuck in his withers in the plaza in old Spain. She gave him no law. Twice in rapid succession again she gave him the voerslag, and the blinded beast, mad with pain, backed, then trotted unsteadily away.

Edala’s breathing came in spasmodic gasps as she watched him out of sight, and the reaction made her knees tremble beneath her. Oh hang it! She must keep up, she told herself. She could not afford to follow Evelyn’s example, or what would become of them both? So this girl, with the glorious gold-crowned head, alone there under circumstances of peril and horror, started to work out the situation for the safety of both.

“Come Evelyn. Pull yourself together, and get up!” she cried, half carrying, half dragging the other to the house door. “Lord! I shall have to shy a bucket of water over her yet!” she added almost savagely, panting from her exertion.

But this drastic remedy proved unnecessary, for Evelyn opened her eyes, then sat up, staring about her in a dazed kind of way.

“What is it? I’ve been dreaming – something horrible,” she said.

“Yes, you have. Never mind. Buck up now, and come inside. It’s beastly cold out here.”

“Why yes. I feel tottery though. Oh Edala, what a fool you must think me.”

“No. Only, don’t do it again,” was the reply, accompanied by a curious laugh. Edala was thinking – though not resentfully – of how a day or two ago the other was lecturing her: in a way talking down to her, while disclaiming any intent to do so. Now she was the one upon whom everything depended. The situation was in her hands.

They went inside, and Edala mixed a glass of brandy and water.

“You drink this,” she said. “Then go to sleep for an hour or two and we’ll start for Kwabulazi.”

“But I hate spirits – Ugh!” with a shudder.