The Ruined Cities of Zululand

“Ah, the two Englishmen whom I have heard of from the Limpopo. Perhaps you, gentlemen, will honour me with a visit?”

This, too, was impossible; and Wyzinski was in the act of explaining why, when a loud clamour was heard among the natives, who were busy on the sandy bank below cutting up the hippopotamus. The excitement seemed to communicate itself to the boatmen, and, walking to the entrance, Dom Assevédo called out, “Come here, Senhora, there is a sight seldom seen.”

Looking down the stream, which was rolling slowly on its course towards the sea, between banks where the palmyra and cocoa-palms grew in clumps, seven elephants were swimming the river. With their trunks raised high in the air, and their huge black bodies rolling from side to side, the animals, notwithstanding their tremendous bulk, seemed to move with apparent ease and pleasure to themselves.

“They are heading right for the island at the mouth of the Shire!” exclaimed Hughes, all the spirit of the old shikaree reviving at the sight.

“Something must have terrified them,” said Dom Assevédo; “perhaps the jungle has been fired in their rear.”

“There they go—one, two, three, four, five, six, and seven, all on the island,” counted Hughes.

Dona Isabel had stood, her hands clasped, her eyes fixed on the strange scene, a beautiful statue, the very model of mute astonishment.

“If they don’t break out and take to the other bank, I can show you some sport, now,” exclaimed Assevédo.

A few minutes of breathless watching followed, not a word being spoken, while the spiral wreaths of smoke curled up into the calm air from Dom Francisco’s cigarette. All eyes were fixed on the island. Five minutes elapsed, lengthening into ten, and the elephants had not reappeared.

“Do any of you gentlemen speak Kaffir?” inquired Assevédo.

“I do,” replied Wyzinski; “at least the Zulu tongue.”

“Good; then do me the favour to go to the men on the river bank. Tell them you come from me, use my name, and let them get their boats together, and join us in our hunt. Senhor de Maxara, will you order your men to get your boat ready?”

“Surely you will take me with you?” asked Isabel.

“Fair Senhora, there is danger.”

“And have I not seen the bull fights of Seville?” asked the girl, her eyes flashing fire. “Let me be able to say when I return to my country, that I have also seen the African elephant hunted.”

“The animals are sure to take up the river banks for the forest land. If your boat is large enough to take my pony across, there can be no reason to say no,” replied Assevédo.

The boat was found amply sufficient. A lady’s side-saddle was rummaged out from the luggage; the rifles, of which there were no lack, loaded; and the whole party, embarked in four canoes and two boats, rowed across the river. At first they pulled up the stream, so as not to alarm the elephants, striking the opposite bank much higher than the mouth of the Shire. Landing, Dom Assevédo posted the men. The elephants, when disturbed, were certain to take to the water, swim the river, and enter the woods, which here stretched right away to the foot of the hills.

“Senhor Wyzinski, as you speak the Zulu tongue, will you take the canoes, and landing in rear of the elephants, make as much noise as possible, and fire the reeds if necessary.”

“Senhor Inglesi, you are the younger man, will you look to the Senhora Isabel, while I and Dom Francisco take our post under yonder clump of trees.”

Captain Hughes was in the act of ramming down a cartridge as he received the directions. The rifle was a heavy one, and by a lucky chance two of Devisme’s explosive cartridges fitted the bore.

Dom Assevédo then explained to Isabel that, should the elephants come her way, she was to ride for the open, where she was perfectly safe, the animals not being fleet enough to overtake her, and they would be sure to make for the forest.

The loud cries of the natives were soon heard, and Hughes looked about him. The Shire river, on whose banks they were, was not broad, though it appeared deep. They stood facing the river, under a clump of cocoa-nut trees. To the right at a little distance lay the Zambesi, and behind them, distant about a thousand yards, began the forest, which seemed gradually to increase in density until it became nearly impenetrable. To the left a comparatively open country, with fields of maize and sugar-cane ripening in the sun. Some long reeds growing about ten paces to their front served as a screen.

Not a word was spoken, and as he stood by the pony’s side, and looked up at its rider’s slender, graceful figure, and beautiful face, the soldier felt the duty he had undertaken a pleasant one.

Isabel sat on her horse like a statue, her lips parted showed the white teeth, her eyes intently fixed on the island, and her face shaded from the sun by a flapped-hat with its broad brim.

Shouts and yells came floating on the air over the Shire river, sometimes very loud and eager, at others dying away, and at last a large black mass slowly approached to the water side. Isabel clasped her hands as the elephant waded into the river, ejaculating some words in her own language; but the great animal paused, looked over the Shire towards the opposite bank, and, whether suspecting clanger or not liking a second swim, it returned to cover.

And now a faint column of blue smoke shot up from the island, telling that Wyzinski had fired the bush; it thickened as the dry reeds caught fire, the red flame darted up at intervals, and heavy masses of smoke rolled away to leeward. The fire leaped merrily onward, making rapid progress, and soon a loud trumpeting was heard, as, plunging into the river, the elephants, terribly frightened, swam towards the opposite bank, their trunks raised in the air high above the water. They would evidently land within twenty paces of where Dona Isabel was posted.

“Tighten your bridle-rein, Dona Isabel,” whispered the soldier, as he placed his hand on the snaffle. “Be ready. Here they come!”

“Madre de Dios!” ejaculated the astonished girl. “Oh! Santa Maria, how grand!”

Rolling about like seven huge porpoises, their backs, heads, and flapping ears above water, the elephants came on swimming in Indian file. The trunk raised straight up in the air gave to the black masses a strange look, while the tusks at times lowered sent the water in their front spurting into the air. Three out of the seven were males. They gained the bank, the water falling from them in sheets, and then they leisurely walked away for cover. One old male was some dozen yards behind the rest, and this elephant Captain Hughes singled out for himself. Landing, it stood for a second or two, the water dripping from its huge sides, looking curiously around. At this moment the loud reports of two rifles rang out from the forest, and the remaining elephant, alarmed, moved off in an oblique direction, which would bring it close to the spot where stood Dona Isabel and the soldier.

The former seemed quite stupefied with wonder as the great mass came onward at a trot, swinging its long trunk to and fro.

“Ride for your life, Dona Isabel!” said Hughes; “keep for the open, and ride hard.”

Hughes loosed his hold of the reins, and the pony started off. Isabel, turning in her saddle, fixed her gaze on the elephant, and in so doing turned the pony’s head right for the forest.

Hughes shouted loudly, but without effect; the girl, wholly absorbed with her astonishment, knew not her danger. For a second the elephant paused, then, trumpeting with rage, dashed after her.

The right moment had been lost. Captain Hughes, in his endeavours to make Isabel turn, had neglected it, and when he did raise his rifle to fire, the elephant was at forty paces distant, turned from him, and going at full speed. To level his rifle, aim, and fire, was the work of a second. The elephant slackened its pace, but only for a moment, the soldier, his rifle at the trail, dashing madly after it. On swept the pony at top speed, but the elephant gained on it. Isabel’s hat had fallen, her long, jet-black hair was floating on the wind. The forest lay before her, through which she could not ride many paces; but she knew it not, for her gaze was still rivetted on the elephant. On they swept, the soldier dashing after them madly, shouting to her yet to turn for the open. The forest line was reached, and in a moment, swept from her saddle by the branches, Dona Isabel lay on the ground, the riderless pony dashing on. On, too, came the elephant, after the horse, trumpeting furiously. It passed over the prostrate form, its huge foot within an inch of the fair head, and the next moment its tusks were buried in the flanks of the agonised horse, which had been stopped by the forest undergrowth. Bearing it down, the huge elephant actually pinned the animal to the ground, where it held it impaled and writhing with agony, then deliberately kneeling on the bleeding carcass literally crushed it into a shapeless mass. Rising, the elephant turned from the dead pony, trumpeting once more as it saw lying on the ground, quite inanimate, the form of the rider. Dom Francisco and Assevédo were hurrying up, but were yet distant. They both fired, but the bullets served but to enrage still further the infuriated animal, as it came on, the blood dripping in large gouts from its reddened tusks. It was a race between it and the soldier—a race won by the man, as, breathless, and with only one barrel of his rifle loaded, he stood between the senseless Isabel and the charging animal. On it came, right upon him; if it passed it must tread down the fair girl’s body. The thought gave him nerve, it steadied his hand as he aimed right for the centre of the forehead. The report rang out, the elephant halted suddenly, swaying from side to side, and then fell with a heavy thud. A loud shout from the two men advancing over the plain, and Hughes knew that Dona Isabel was safe. Throwing aside his now useless rifle, he knelt by her side, raising her on his arm, and leaning her head back against his knee; a small red stream was flowing from her forehead, and she had fainted.

“My child—my Isabel!” moaned the old man, forgetting his pride in his sorrow, as he threw himself by his daughter’s side, panting and breathless.

“It is nothing, she has fainted. I go for water!” exclaimed Assevédo, as he hastened towards the river.

Slowly the blue veins beneath the clear olive skin began to beat again. Once more the eyes opened and closed. Hughes was busy sponging away the blood, which flowed rather freely, with a handkerchief. Dom Francisco and Assevédo, kneeling by Isabel’s side, were using the cool water of the Shire river; and close beside them, its tusks red with blood, the enormous bulk of the dead elephant; while, fifty paces away—a crushed and unsightly mass—lay the pony.

Isabel opened her eyes, and seemed for a moment utterly astonished. “Santa Maria!” she ejaculated, “where am I?”

Then suddenly the whole affair seemed to flash on her memory, and, raising herself gently, she smiled.

“I was not frightened, only astonished,” said the brave girl, as the red blood mantled in her cheeks. “Where is the elephant?”

“There,” answered her father; “and you may thank the Senhor Capitano Inglesi that it lies there.”

Isabel de Maxara turned—the dead animal with its gory tusks, and the shapeless mass which had been a horse, met her gaze. For a moment her face flushed, the red blood once more mantling richly under the clear olive skin; the next she grew deadly pale. “I thank you, senhor,” she said as she looked full at the soldier and held out her hand, “I thank you for my life.”

The rest of the party were standing by the elephant. Hughes clasped the long taper fingers, and looked into the black eyes, from which the tears were falling. For a moment they met the gaze, and then fell before his as he kissed the little hand held out to him.

“Your ball has shivered his head, Hughes,” called out Wyzinski, but the soldier paused a moment to thrust into his bosom a blood-stained pocket-handkerchief before he joined them.

The second ball, a heavy conical one, had penetrated the skull before bursting, making a frightful hole, and blowing the head to pieces; a second severe wound, behind the shoulder, showing where the first had struck.

The elephant was a very large one, and was the only one out of the seven secured.

“And now, gentlemen, let us leave the cutting up to the natives. You can scarcely refuse my late request now, after what has passed, if it is only that Dona Isabel needs rest.”

“If we comply I must make a condition, namely, that you send a messenger to Quillimane, to warn Captain Weber of the delay, and it must not be for more than twenty-four hours.”

“Agreed, and now for the boats and my house at Nyangué,” cheerfully exclaimed Assevédo.

“Senhor Inglesi, I thank you most heartily and sincerely,” said the old noble, taking off his hat, bowing, and grasping the soldier’s hand warmly in his own. “You have earned our eternal gratitude at the peril of your life.”

“Don’t you think a light infantry movement and a timely retreat would be a brilliant evolution?” whispered the missionary, as he passed Hughes. “I don’t mind backing the flavour of the water-melons of Portugal against the custard-apples of India.”

“Nonsense. Just mind your own business,” replied Hughes, as he picked up the discharged rifle, shouldered it, and joined the party on the Shire’s bank.

The “Halcyon.”

The coast of Africa, as seen from the sea, is never very prepossessing; and the sandy spit of land, with the equally sandy bar, which obstructs the entrance to the Zambesi at Quillimane, is no exception to the rule, while the banks of the river are low and flat, dotted here and there with tall cocoa-palms, and haunted by alligators. The town itself, or rather village, for it can hardly boast of any more sounding name, consists of a few better-class houses, one of which was owned by Dom Assevédo, and a number of half-ruinous huts and sheds. The anchorage is unsafe, and often untenable, while the low-lying land is a hot-bed of fever. Outside the bar, her two anchors down, the blue peter at her fore, and the English Union Jack floating at her gaff, rode the brig “Halcyon.” She was a rakish-looking craft, her long low black hull rising on the waves, and showing from time to time her bright clean copper as she rolled. Her masts raked slightly off, her sharp bows and sides round as an apple, told the seaman at once that she must be a dry ship, and her breadth of beam, if needed, attested the fact. Every bit of brass work on board was as usual rubbed bright as gold, every rope was carefully coiled down, and her decks white as snow. The “Halcyon” would not, in fact, as she rode to her anchors off the bar at Quillimane, have disgraced herself, even had she been, as she once was, her Majesty’s gun brig “Torch.”

Sold out at a time when the system of steam was rapidly changing the aspect of the navy, the “Torch” was nearly new. Bought by a Liverpool firm, she had been thoroughly overhauled and fitted out for a three years’ cruise on the African coast, trading in ivory, gold dust, and ostrich feathers.

Captain Weber, an old sailor of thirty years’ standing, commanded and partly owned her, and on such a voyage of course great latitude had been allowed him.

His three years’ trading voyage ended, and bound for the Cape, but intending once more to touch at Delagoa Bay, he had been induced to delay his departure in consideration of the handsome sum offered by the Portuguese nobleman returning from his tour of inspection of the stations on the Zambesi.

Captain Weber, as has been already mentioned, was a middle-sized stout built man, with a reddish mahogany-coloured face, and long grey hair. He was proud of his brig, lived for her, and believed in her capabilities to an unlimited extent. His first-mate, Thomas Blount, was a young man for his station in life, rather tall, and, as we have already seen, fond of dress. The two were leaning over the bulwarks, looking towards the land, one afternoon, three days after the events just narrated. The crew, which was a strong one, consisting of twenty hands, all told, were between decks.

“Our passengers should arrive this afternoon. Dom Assevédo’s messenger said so, did he not, Captain Weber?”

“Yes, and that haze to the southward and eastward tells of a blow. It will be a foul wind for us. We must make sail before sunset, Mr Blount.”

“I think,” remarked the younger man, “I see a boat crossing the bar, there, right over that Madras fellow’s stern.”

“Well, I hope it may be them. We have more fever on board than I care to see, and I hate this hot, unhealthy hole. Rouse up the watch, Mr Blount, and heave short at once.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the mate, touching his cap, round which ran a narrow strip of gold lace, and moving away.

The captain remained where he was, watching the black specks, for there were three of them, rising and falling on the waves outside Quillimane bar. The decks of the brig were no longer deserted, and the shipping of the capstan bars told that the orders just given were being carried out.

“Bring to, starboard cable,” called the first officer from the quarter-deck.

“Ay, ay, sir,” was the ready response, for the seamen were tired of riding at anchor off the bar, and the click of the capstan, as they stamped round to a merry tune of the flute, was music to officers and men alike.

“Up and down, sir,” was the cry of the second mate, who on the forecastle was superintending the duty of heaving up the anchor, and which term meant that the brig was right over her anchor.

“Heaving away, sir,” came again the cheering shout, as the anchor left the ground and the men strained every nerve to run the heavy mass up to the brig’s bows.

The flute rang out a merrier tune, round and round went the capstan bars, then came the second officer’s loud shout of “Heaving in sight, sir,” as the men suddenly stopped in their merry round.

“Cat and fish the anchor, Mr Lowe. Bring to the port cable. Heave short,” were the brief words of command from the quarter-deck.

“All ready with the cat, sir,” was the responsive shout, soon followed by the customary words, “All ready with the fish, sir,” while the men, the starboard anchor being got on board, duly secured, or, in more nautical terms, catted and fished, clapped on the port or remaining anchor, which now alone held the brig, gently rolling to the swell, and that in its turn being soon up and down, Mr Blount reported to his superior officer.

“Do you make out the boats, sir?” he added, as Captain Weber still remained looking towards shore.

“Ay, ay,” replied the seaman. “There’s Dom Assevédo’s barge, the lubberly Portuguese blowing and puffing like grampus at their oars.”

“Rig out a tackle from the main yard. We shall have to hoist the lady in, and perhaps the Dom too, like a bale of cotton.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the mate.

“Make sail, Mr Blount; brace up the headyards. Let me know when you are ready.”

Ten minutes later the passengers were on board, and Dom Assevédo’s barge veered astern.

“It’s rather hard I can’t speak to my lady passenger,” said Weber, as he went down below with the party.

“Tell him I can understand English, though I am afraid to speak it,” said Isabel in French to Hughes, who was by her side.

“Ay, ay, my pretty one, we’ll soon take the shame-faced-ness out of you; nothing like blue water for doing that. Well, you tell the Dom that I’ll send all his traps below. Senhor Assevédo, I can’t give you much law,” said the old seaman, in his rough hearty tones, as he turned to return to his post. “Steward, show the lady her berth. Look alive, man,” he continued, calling down the hatchway.

The brig was now riding at single anchor, the headyards braced up one way, her afteryards the other, her sails flapping heavily.

“Heave away, my lads, heave away with a will,” shouted Weber, the moment his foot touched the quarter-deck, and the remaining anchor was soon hove up, and properly stowed away on board. “Brace round the headyards. Let fall the fore course. Take a pull at the bowlines, Mr Blount. Touch her with the wheel, Adams, she will come up a couple of points yet,” were the rapid words of command, and the “Halcyon” moved through the water on a taut bowline, heading nearly her course.

“A pleasant voyage to you,” said Dom Assevédo, as he bent over Isabel’s hand in the cabin.

“Below there!” came in the captain’s rough tones, “tell the Senhor Assevédo that if he don’t want to see the Cape, he had better get on board his barge. The tow-rope won’t hold on long, I’m thinking.”

Heartily shaking hands with all, the Portuguese gentleman, whose name and kindly nature are well known to men of every nation trading on the Zambesi, stepped over the side, the boat’s painter was cast off, a last good bye shouted in Weber’s stentorian voice, and the “Halcyon,” with all sail set, to her royals, was soon standing off the bar, the bubbles flying past her rounded counter, as she slipped through the water at the rate of sonde six knots an hour.

Towards sunset the wind fell, and the brig began to lose her way. The stars came out shining through a thin haze, and sail after sail flapped against the masts, filling for a moment, then collapsing again, until soon the “Halcyon” lay rolling on the gentle swell, her cordage rattling, her blocks and tackles striking against her spars and rigging, her hull groaning, and her sails perfectly useless, not having even steerage way.

Leaning over the bulwarks, and looking towards the land, the faint outline of which could still be discovered about ten miles distant, Hughes was conversing with the captain.

“You think, then, we shall have wind?” he asked.

“I am sure of it,” replied Weber; “look at the double halo round the moon, look at the sickly, watery appearance of the clouds, look at that fog-bank away to the southward. We shall have plenty of wind before morning.”

“And from what direction?”

“Dead against us,” replied the seaman; “we want to run to the south, and the wind will blow from that quarter.”

“You have a beautiful craft, Captain Weber, and one I know can show weatherly qualities.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered the captain, slapping his hand down on the bulwark, “I love every stick the jade carries, every rope-yarn aboard of her; while I am at sea, she is wife and children to me. Do you hear the wind sighing aloft? You would do well to persuade the lady to turn in.”

Wyzinski, Dom Francisco, and Isabel were walking on the quarter-deck deeply engaged in conversation, and enjoying the freshness of the night.

“I did not think I should ever look back to the Zambesi with pleasure,” said Isabel, as Hughes joined the party; “but really, the unostentatious hospitality we received from Senhor Assevédo will always be remembered by me. It is a magnificent river, and I am sure must be fully half a mile wide in some parts. The coolness of the air, too; I never thought to see European vegetables, such as peas and cabbages, growing side by side with the mango and banana.”

“Ah, with its plains of wild cotton, which no one takes the trouble to cultivate, its sugar-canes, indigo, and droves of splendid cattle, the country bordering on the Zambesi might be a very rich one,” said Wyzinski.

“Which, otherwise worded, means if the colony belonged to the English instead of the Portuguese, Senhor,” tartly remarked Dom Francisco.

“Not so, Senhor de Maxara; the English in South Africa have failed in many things, as regards colonisation, nor could I be guilty of such a thought.”

“The object of my mission is to draw up a report as to the capabilities of the land, and I hope a new day may now dawn for the Portuguese colonies in South Africa,” said the noble. “The country is rich in mineral products. Cattle and animals of all kinds abound in the plains, while coal, gold, iron, and copper could be procured for the labour of taking them,” he continued; “but that is Captain Weber, is it not, leaning over the bulwarks; will you go with me, Senhor, and serve me as interpreter? I wish much to thank him for the arrangements he has made for our comfort.”

Hughes thus left with Dona Isabel, a silence ensued. The sails were banging loosely in the brails, flapping against the masts, for the night was perfectly calm, but still there was the never ceasing throb of the ocean, causing the brig to roll lazily, the cordage and blocks to strain and creak, the studding sail booms to rattle, and the timbers of the stout brig herself to groan and moan.