The Luck of Gerard Ridgeley

“Tut, tut, man! Why you’ve been worth it all to me. We’ve had a rough time mind – a rougher time by far than I expected, or than a trip of this kind’s got any business to be – and I never want a better mate than yourself, and I’ve known a good few fellows in that line, too. I say though, I wonder how your friend Maitland would have got on in your place. Not over well, I fancy. Too much of a masher – collars and cuffs kind of a bandbox chap, you know – not even good enough for a store clerk.”

“He thinks himself many removes too good for me, I can tell you,” laughed Gerard, remembering the lofty contempt with which Harry had reproached him for “turning counter-jumper,” as he was pleased to put it.

“He’s a chap who won’t come to over much good, I’m afraid,” said Dawes. “I wonder what has become of him.”

“So do I,” said Gerard.

We don’t see why the reader should share the enforced, ignorance of the two; wherefore we may as well state that Harry Maitland was at that moment seated on the counter of one of the most fifth-rate bars in Maritzburg, swinging his legs and bawling out a not over-refined song for the benefit and amusement of an audience of loafers a trifle less drunk than himself; for, without wishing inordinately to moralise, the incident throws a suggestive side-light on the contrast of the divergence of the ways of these two English lads, each stranded on his own hook in a far-away colony.

“Let’s saddle up and ride on ahead, and find a good place to outspan,” suggested Dawes.

This was done, and the two were soon cantering further and further from the waggons. The country, which had hitherto been bushy and rolling, now began to assume a somewhat different aspect. High conical hills rose on either hand, their slopes streaked with black, forest-clad kloofs, and the two horsemen, wending their way beneath, noticed that the long winding valley they were pursuing was carpeted with a smooth, green, meadow-like sward.

“I’m rather uneasy about those Swazis of ours,” said Dawes, as they rode along. “They’re brewing some dog’s trick, I know. My impression is that they mean to desert. I can see by their sulky and hang-dog manner what it all amounts to, and this morning while they were sitting round their fire I happened to pass near enough to catch a word or two of their conversation. I heard ‘Igazipuza’ mentioned more than once. It’s quite wonderful how this form of funk has sprung up along this border, and in fact it was a long way inside Swaziland that we heard it.”

“Yes. The wonder is that we got a single Swazi to go with us. But is there really such a chap as Ingonyama? You know the Zulu country pretty well.”

“I never heard of him till lately,” answered Dawes. “Still he may be some petty chief, who has suddenly sprung into fame, and has gathered around him all the ruffians of the Zulu nation. Well, a few days more will show. But I don’t like our Swazis turning rusty. If they make off we can’t replace them, for this strip of country seems absolutely uninhabited. Hallo! – quick – jump down, Ridgeley!”

This in harried staccato. For in rounding a spur, there, in front of them, right out in the open stood a fine bush-buck ram. Roused by the tramp of the horses’ feet he stood, his head thrown back, gazing curiously upon the intruders. The last idea apparently that occurred to him was that of flight.

“Two hundred yards sight, not too fine,” whispered Dawes, as Gerard dropped into a sitting posture.

But before the latter had time to press trigger the back was seen to leap high in the air, and fall over kicking; then, after another plunge and a kind of gasping bellow, it lay still.

“By Jove! What does that mean?” cried Gerard.

“It has been assegaied,” said Dawes. The buck was lying some thirty yards from the edge of the bush. Out of the latter there now emerged a tall savage, who without deigning to take any notice of the presence of strangers, walked straight up to his quarry and proceeded to cut its throat with the blade of a huge assegai.

This man, as the pair rode up to him, growled out a sullen “Saku bona,” and proceeded with his work of cleaning the buck, just as if they were not there. Seen face to face he was unmistakably a Zulu, and though of fine frame and splendid proportions, both agreed that he owned about the most villainous countenance they had looked upon for many a long day. His shaven pate was crowned with the usual black shiny ring, and he wore round his loins the usual mútya of cats’ tails. But they noticed that he was armed with several broad-bladed, close-quarter assegais, as well as two or three lighter casting ones, also a huge knobkerrie, and a full-sized war-shield of red and white ox hide.

“It was a fine shot – or rather couple of shots,” said Dawes, as they stood watching the process. “Look, Ridgeley. The first assegai half ham-strung the buck just under the shoulders, the second must have gone through the heart, or very near it. Yes, it’s powerful throwing.”

To Dawes’s suggestion that he should sell them the buck which he had so deftly slain, or at least a part of it, the Zulu returned a surly refusal. All the while he was cleaning the carcase he was devouring what he considered tid-bits raw – the heart, the liver, and part of the entrails. Then making a cup of his two hands, he scooped up a quantity of blood which had collected in the hollow of the carcase, and deliberately drank it. Gerard could hardly conceal his disgust, but there was something in the action that struck Dawes.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Of the people of Zulu?”

“Of the people of Zulu? Au!” returned the savage in a sneering tone, as he flung the carcase of the buck across his shoulder. Then standing drawn to the full height of his almost gigantic frame, his villainous countenance – rendered more repulsive still with the smears of blood from the bits of raw meat he had been eating – wreathed into a most evil grin, he shouted —

“Where have you dwelt, abelúngu (white men), that you have never heard of Vunawayo? Of the people of Zulu? Ou! Igazipuza. The people who drink blood.”

The last words were uttered almost in a roar – a roar of defiance and hatred and wild beast ferocity. The huge barbarian turned and disappeared among the bush.

“We had better get on and find our outspan,” said Dawes, after the momentary silence which had fallen upon the pair. The apparition, coming as it did, had been rather startling. Zulus are by nature well-mannered people, and the brutal rudeness of the man they had just met could betoken nothing less than the most undisguised hostility, but, worse than all, his last words were an abundant confirmation of the ugly rumours which had been taking shape of late with regard to this mysterious and redoubtable clan.

“Well, if this fellow is a specimen of them all, the Igazipuza must be a lot of picked men, both in the matter of physique and character,” said Gerard. “I never saw a finer built chap, nor a more utterly irredeemable-looking villain. And he choused me out of my shot.”

“We may as well keep the affair dark as regards the other boys, but we’ll take Sintoba into counsel,” said Dawes. “The Swazis would hook it at a moment’s notice if they got wind of it. This is a good spot to outspan, and – here come the waggons.”

The rumble of wheels, and the sound of voices and whip-cracking drew near, and already the cattle and sheep came into view, scattering over the meadow-like valley bottom, and soon the waggons. Then, having reached the spot, a broad level, which Dawes had selected, the waggons were outspanned, and the oxen turned out to graze, and all hands who could be spared from the duties of herding were despatched to the adjacent hillside to cut thorn bushes. With these a fairly substantial kraal or enclosure was built, the two waggons forming one side of it, and into this the cattle and sheep were driven for the night. There was a lion or two still frequenting that broken and desolate hill-country, and any number of hyaenas or wolves, as they are called in South Africa – and against such the thorn fence, frail as it was, constituted a fairly efficient protection; for wild animals are desperately suspicious of anything in the nature of a fence, and will hesitate to leap within it, fearing a trap.

Hardly were these precautions completed than the night fell, and then the cheery glow of the camp-fires shone forth redly upon the darkness, and the savoury contents of cooking-pots gave out a welcome aroma. But somehow a damp seemed to have fallen upon the spirits of all. The ordinarily light-hearted natives conversed sparingly and in subdued whispers, and even Dawes and Gerard could not altogether feel unaffected by the general depression. It was as though some hidden danger were hanging over them, the more terrible because mysterious. The night wore on, and soon all sounds were hushed but the rhythmic champ champ of the ruminating cattle, and the occasional trumpet-like sneeze of a goat, and, beneath the dark loom of the hills against the star-gemmed vault, the tiger-wolves howled as they scented the flock which they dare not approach. But it was upon the first faint streak of dawn that all the alertness of those two watchers was concentrated, for that is the hour invariably chosen by the savage foe for the sudden, swift, demoralising rush, which shall overwhelm his doomed victims before they have time so much as to seize their weapons in order to sell dearly their miserable lives.

Chapter Twelve.

Mutiny

At the time when Dawes and Gerard were commencing their return journey from Swaziland – having achieved, as we have said, a fairly successful enterprise – there began to get about rumours with regard to a certain tribe, or rather clan, which was credited with strange, and, to native ideas, most gruesome and repellent practices. The principal of these was a custom, or a rule rather, that each member of this weird confraternity should drink a portion of the blood of some human being slain by him. It need not be an enemy slain in battle, or even an enemy at all. Any one would do, whether man, woman, or child. From this practice the clan was said to take its name – Igazipuza – “blood-drink,” i.e. “Blood-drinkers.”

Rumour could not yet quite locate its habitation nor its numerical strength. Whether, again, it inhabited the grim natural fastnesses of the Lebombo range, or the hill-country just south of the Pongolo, was equally uncertain. What was certain, however, was that its sporadic raids, and the ruthless massacre of all who fell in its way, had about depopulated the strip of debatable borderland between the Swazi and the Zulu countries. Kraals were deserted, and crops left standing, as the inhabitants fled northward in blind panic at the mere rumour of the approach of the Igazipuza, so complete was the terror inspired by the very name of this ferocious and predatory clan.

Its chief was one Ingonyama, a Zulu, to which nationality belonged the bulk if not the whole of its members. Indeed, on this consideration, if on no other, would Dawes have scouted the imputed blood-drinking custom as absolutely mythical, for no one has a greater horror of coming in contact with human blood that he has not himself shed than the Zulu, and even when he has shed it, he takes the earliest opportunity of undergoing a very elaborate series of purifying rites. True, he is far from unwilling to render himself liable to the latter process, but he is scrupulously particular on the point of the observance. The clan was far more likely to owe its weird name to the war-cry of its members than to any such legendary practice. But, however sceptical John Dawes, and, through him, Gerard, might be upon the point, certain it is that the Swazis were firm believers in the lurid and repulsive legend; and, as Dawes had said, the wonder was that any of that race had been induced to enter into their service at all; indeed, they had only done so as part of their bargaining. The cattle they had acquired would need herds and drivers, and these the Swazi chiefs had agreed to supply as a portion of the barter.

Now the said chiefs, talking matters over quietly with Dawes, had given their opinion that the existence of such a predatory clan was an undoubted fact. Ingonyama was a Zulu of rank, and a man of the Qulusi tribe. He was known as a skilful and dashing fighter, and had gathered around him, in his mountain stronghold, an increasing number of kindred spirits, and now had rendered his name and theirs a terror to the whole northern border. That Cetywayo should allow such a growing power to spring up within the pale of his own rule was accountable perhaps by the consideration that, pending his quarrel with the English and the probable invasion of the country, he could not afford to alienate so valuable an ally as this influential vassal; also, it might be, by the fact that Ingonyama, over and above his skill and valour as a war-chief, was accounted a witch-doctor or magician of no small cleverness and renown. Such, then, was the nature of this new form of terror which overhung the return path of the trading expedition; and gazing up at the fantastic contours of the succession of conical hills, and the gloomy belts of forest around their base – the wild fastnesses of this fierce horde – every man who took part in that trek was fully capable of appreciating the peril of the situation.

The night passed without disturbance; so, too, did the somewhat dreaded hour of dawn. While making up the fire for the early cup of coffee, Sintoba took the opportunity of saying to his master —

“There is going to be trouble, Inkose. Those Swazi dogs intend to run away.”

“So?” said Dawes, as calmly as though the other had told him the fire was rather difficult to light.

“I heard them talking it over, and Fulani says they told him all about it. They are coming to you in a body to ask for their pay, and then they are going to leave.”

“So?” said Dawes again. “Now, listen, Sintoba. No one ever played me any such trick with impunity, and it is not going to be done to-day. Do you and Fulani stroll up to me while I am talking to them – quite quietly, you know, as if you were looking for a ram or something which might be in the waggon. My answer to them shall not be given in a corner. Now go away, or they will suspect.”

“What is to be the programme?” said Gerard, when they were alone; for although far from having attained Dawes’s ease and fluency in the Zulu language, still he had learned a great deal, and understood the burden of the above, if not every word.

“Simplicity itself, Ridgeley, as you’ll see directly,” replied Dawes, sipping his steaming coffee with the utmost deliberation. “But I think our Swazi friends will not shape a course for their own country to-day. Ah, here they come.”

The Swazis, to the number of six, were approaching from their side of the camp. It could be seen that they had rolled up all their effects into bundles, which were lying where they had slept. Their spokesman, a tall, lanky, wolf-faced fellow, named Kazimbi, asked if they could speak to the Inkose.

“Not yet, Kazimbi,” replied Dawes, imperturbably. “Wait until I have done my coffee.”

The men drew back and stood talking in smothered whispers. Dawes finished his cup, and filled himself up another, taking rather longer over it than he would ordinarily have done. Then he lighted his pipe.

“Now I am ready,” he said, rising and strolling over to the waggon, where he seated himself on the disselboom. Gerard, who had hardly been able to restrain his impatience, followed.

“The people want to go home, Inkose,” began Kazimbi, when they had ranged themselves in front of the two white men. “They are tired.”

“Or frightened?” said Dawes, quietly.

“They are grateful to you, Inkose, and call you their father. But the way is long they say, far longer than they expected it would be when they were induced to leave their own country. They are tired and footsore and want to return.”

“That is not all, Kazimbi. They are frightened.”

“Whou!” exclaimed the man with a half smile, and bringing his hand to his mouth with a rapid gesture. Then realising the futility of any further humbug, he said. “That is so, Inkose. We Amaswazi are not as you white people. The Amazulu hate us. There is an impi of them sent to harry our border, to kill our people, although we are not at war. We fear to go any further. This is the country of the Igazipuza. We fear them. We do not want to be killed by the Igazipuza.”

And an emphatic hum of approval arose from his compatriots at the speaker’s words.

“I cease to wonder that the Amazulu despise you,” said Dawes, calmly. “I cease to wonder that brave men such as they should look upon you Amaswazi as a nation of dogs, when six of its men, at the first chance of danger, wish to run away, and leave those who have paid and fed them, to bear its full brunt. Are you not dogs even to hint at such a thing?”

The Swazis looked at each other, sullen but not ashamed.

“It is this way, Inkose,” pursued the spokesman. “It is we who are in danger, not you. The Amazulu have no enmity against you white people. They will not harm you. They respect you. But it is us they hate. The Igazipuza will kill us and drink our blood. We must save our lives while there is yet time.”

“Now have my ears been filled with the words of a fool, Kazimbi,” replied Dawes. “Listen! You say you wish to return to your own country because you fear these Igazipuza. You say in the same breath that they respect us whites and hate and despise you Amaswazi. Now are you not therefore far safer when with us, as part of ourselves, as the hands and feet of the people these Igazipuza respect, than you would be when wandering through the country by yourselves? Then indeed would they not cut the hearts out of you and drink your blood, O fool, Kazimbi, tongue and mouthpiece of five other fools? And would you not deserve it?”

Disconcerted, abashed, and somewhat angry at the quiet but cutting irony thus turned upon him, Kazimbi made no immediate reply, while murmurs of impatience began to arise among his countrymen. Gerard, who had followed every word of the dialogue with the keenest of interest, noticed that Sintoba – and Fulani, the other waggon-driver, a big, strong, trustworthy native – had edged up close behind the group, though apparently engaged on some other business. The leaders, too, a couple of ordinarily intelligent native lads, were squatting hard by, watching the proceedings. None of these apparently were armed, whereas the Swazis all carried sticks.

“Au!” exclaimed Kazimbi sullenly, and throwing off all disguise. “Pay us our wage, and let us depart.”

“If you depart it will be without your wage, which you will have forfeited by breaking your agreement and the agreement of your chiefs,” said Dawes. “Are you prepared to face your chiefs with such a story? Are you willing to throw away the wage of all this service?”

But the malcontents were past reason. The turbulent murmurs grew in volume.

“We must go!” they cried. “Wage or no wage we will go. We do not want to be killed by the Igazipuza.”

“Well, I say you shall not go,” said Dawes, rising to his feet.

“Hau!” burst from the group. “Hau! we are going now.” And an insolent laugh went up.

“Stand! The first who moves is a dead man.”

The defiant laugh died in their throats. They gazed in direst consternation at the revolver presented full at them, at the resolute grey eyes behind it – at the two revolvers, for Gerard, quick to grasp the situation had covered them with his. The complete turning of the tables was ludicrous.

“We hold twelve lives here,” said Dawes, “and you are but six. The first man who moves will be shot dead, and once we begin shooting, in half a minute there will not be one of you left standing. Now you, Kazimbi, walk six paces away from the rest. Only six.”

Grey with apprehension, the Swazi obeyed. No sooner had he gained the requisite distance than he was seized from behind by Sintoba and Fulani, and securely bound with reims. The others standing huddled together like sheep, still covered by the deadly six-shooters, whose dread capacities they knew only too well, were round-eyed with fear. And behind them they caught a glimpse of the two leaders, each armed with a broad-bladed stabbing assegai, which had come forth from some cunning place of concealment.

“Tie him across the waggon wheel,” said Dawes. And in a trice the spokesman of the malcontents was spread-eagled across the wheel, triangled in such wise that he could move neither hand nor foot.

Dawes took a couple of reims from an after-ox yoke, and deliberately tied a knot in each. No longer was there any necessity to hold the others covered with the pistols. They were completely cowed. Then speaking, he said —

“You are a set of miserable cowards, you Amaswazi. You thought yourselves just strong enough to defy me and run away and leave me in the lurch, but you have found out your mistake. Now this is my word to you. You will return to your duties as before, until I choose to dismiss you, and it will depend upon your future behaviour whether I shall fine you a part of your wage for this mutinous conduct or not. You will either do this or – face the other alternative. Here it is. If you refuse, you may go. But you go without food or blankets or arms, not even a stick. Very likely I shall follow you up in the bush, and shoot some or all of you. But I shall not shoot you dead, only in the leg or somewhere that will disable you. Then when the Igazipuza find you, as I have no doubt they will, it is no swift and easy death that will be yours. I should not wonder if they spent the whole day burning you with fire. Even if you escape them and return home, what will your chief say to you for deserting me, and thus causing him to break his word, for by some means or other I will take care to let him know. But, first of all, I shall spend the whole morning flogging Kazimbi here. I believe him to be the fomenter of all the discontent. I think he may very likely die under the lash before I have done with him, but am not sure. Now take your choice. Which is it to be?” concluded Dawes, whirling the knotted reims in the air, and bringing them down with a sounding swish upon the disselboom of the waggon.

The Swazis, completely cowed, stared stupidly at the speaker. Kazimbi, triced up all ready for the lash, turned grey with fear, and moaned piteously for mercy. Whatever course the others might decide to follow, he would not desert, he protested. He would be the white men’s dog to the end of time, only let them spare him now. It was hard that his skin should depend on the decision of the others, he pleaded – drawing down upon himself the somewhat grimly ironical retort that, whereas he had been their spokesman, now they were his.

“We will remain as before,” said the others, almost immediately. “We will fulfil our duties until we are no longer wanted.”

“Very good,” said Dawes, with the self-possession of a man who had foreseen this result all along. “Untie Kazimbi.”

On returning to where they had left their property, such of the Swazis as possessed assegais found that those weapons had been removed. Their sticks only were left them. Then orders were given to inspan and the trek was resumed.

As though to obliterate their former misconduct, the behaviour of the malcontents was admirable. But the eye of their masters was ever upon them. Dawes and Gerard, riding on horseback, had a knack of turning up here, there, and everywhere during the trek. No opportunity for desertion was allowed them.

“I don’t know quite what to think, Ridgeley,” said Dawes, as they rode on a little ahead, about an hour before the evening outspan. “We’ve squashed their devilment for the time being, but, after all, we are very much at their mercy. The schelms might hook it any hour of the night they chose, for all we’d be the wiser. We can’t mount guard over them all night – besides, it’s bad policy.”

“Why shouldn’t we mount guard over them all night – one of us by turns? It would be no joke if they did clear out. We should be mighty short handed with all the trek stock. Besides, they might betray us to these Igazipuza they seem in such a mortal funk of.”

“Not the least chance of that. They’d get the worst of it themselves. Besides the Igazipuza know all about us by this time – even if they haven’t been watching us all along. Remember that fellow who killed our buck – Vunawayo!”