CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
UNDER ORDERS FOR HOME.
The Kaffrarian Rangers were ordered home.
To be strictly accurate, that redoubtable corps had applied to bewithdrawn. There was not enough to do to render it worth the while ofthe men who composed it--men mostly with a substantial stake in thecountry--to remain any longer wasting their time in a series offruitless patrols on the off-chance of an occasional very long distanceshot at a stray Gcaleka scout or two; for the enemy no longer attemptedto meet them in battle. He had suffered severely, both in men andpossessions, and there were those who declared that he had had nearlyenough of it. The Frontier Armed and Mounted Police and, if necessary,the regular troops now stationed along the border, would be sufficientto cope with any further disturbance; so most of the volunteer forcesapplied to be withdrawn.
They had been several weeks in the _veldt_--several weeks absent fromtheir farms and businesses. They had rendered excellent service; had,in fact, constituted the very backbone of the offensive operations. Itwas only fair, now that there remained no more to be done, to allow themto return. Brathwaite's Horse had already withdrawn, so had most of themounted corps. The Kaffrarian Rangers were nearly the last.
The men were in excellent health and spirits. They had lost one oftheir number--the poor young fellow who had met his fate with the patrolunder Shelton, and had been buried near where he fell--a few hadreceived wounds, none of these being, however, of a very serious nature.But they had left their mark upon the enemy, and were returning,withal, in possession of a large number of the latter's cattle. Yetthey had a grievance, or fancied they had.
They had not nearly enough fighting. The combined plan of the campaignhad not been carried out according to their liking. The enemy had beensuffered to escape just at the very moment when it was within theirpower to inflict upon him a decisive and crushing blow. There had beentoo much of the old womanly element among those intrusted with theconduct of affairs. In a word, the whole business had been bungled.And in this thoroughly characteristic and British growl none joined moreheartily than Tom Carhayes.
There was one, however, who in no wise joined in it at all, and that onewas Eustace Milne. He had had enough of campaigning to last him for thepresent, and for every reason mightily welcomed the news that they wereordered home. Of late an intense longing had corrie upon him to return,but now that that ardently desired consummation had been attained herealised that it was dashed with the sickening and desolatingconsciousness of hopes shattered. The campaign, so far as he wasconcerned, had been barren of result.
But for him--but for his intervention--Tom Carhayes would have been adead man, and Eanswyth would be free. The Kafir could not have missedat that distance. But for his interference the bullet of the savagewould have sped true, and happiness for him--for her--would have becomethe blissful, golden, reality of a lifetime. Even now he would behurrying back to claim her--that is, allowing for a reasonable periodexacted by decorum. But no, the cup was shattered in his grasp, and hisown was the hand that had shattered it. "A man who interferes in whatdoesn't concern him deserves all he gets," was the grimly disgustedreflection which lashed his mind again and again.
Why had he intervened to save his cousin's life? When Fortune wasplaying directly into his hands he, yielding to an idiotic scruple, haddeliberately flung back into her face the chance she had held out. Shewould not proffer it again. His opportunity had occurred and he had letit go by.
Yet he could not have acted otherwise. Could he not? he thoughtsavagely, as at that moment his cousin's voice struck upon his ear. Notthat its utterances contained anything objectionable, but to thelistener's then frame of mind, there was something insufferablyself-assertive in their very tone. Could he not? Let him only get thechance again. But this he never would. It was thought by many that thewar was practically at an end.
If his cousin had been a different stamp of man and one built of finerclay, it is more than probable that Eustace would have acteddifferently--would have conquered that overmastering and unlawful lovewhich he had so long and so successfully concealed, or at any rate wouldhave fled from temptation. But it was far otherwise. The fellow wassuch a rough, assertive, thick-headed, inconsiderate boor, utterlyunable to appreciate his own splendid good fortune. He deserved nomercy. Yet this was the being to whom Eanswyth was bound--whom,moreover, she had managed to tolerate with every semblance of, at anyrate, contentment, until he himself had laid siege to the castle of heroutwardly calm, but glowingly passionate nature, and had carried it bystorm, by a single _coup de main_.
And now? How could she ever resume that old contented toleration, howrelegate himself to an outside place. Every look--every word of hers--during that last walk, when he had come upon her so unexpectedly--everysweet and clinging caress during that last parting, was burnt into hismemory as with red-hot irons. And now it seemed that the curtain mustbe rung down on everything. Tom Carhayes was returning in rude health;louder, more boastful, a more aggressive personality than ever. Let thevery heavens fall!
A change had come over Eustace. He became moody and taciturn, at timesstrangely irritable for one of his equable temperament. This wasnoticed by many; wondered at by some.
"Why, what's the row with you, old chap!" said Carhayes one day in hisbluff, off-hand manner. "Sick and sorry that we can't scare up anotherfight, eh?"
"Milne's conscience is hitting him hard over the number of his `blanketfriends' he has shot already. Ha, ha!" cut in another man, with anasinine guffaw.
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The Kaffrarian Rangers were ordered home. The order reached them intheir camp on the Bashi, and forthwith they acted upon it. Nopreparations delayed the setting out of such a light-marching-ordercorps. Accordingly the breakfasts were cooked and eaten, the camp wasstruck, and the whole troop started upon its homeward way.
"I say, Hoste!" said Carhayes, while they were breakfasting on boiledmealies and ration beef. "What do you say to a shoot before we leavethis? We are bound to get a bushbuck ram or two in some of thesekloofs."
"Haven't you shot away enough cartridges yet, Tom?" laughed Hoste."Still I think we might try for a buck if only for a change after theniggers; besides, we can eat the buck, which is part of the change. I'mon. What do you say, Payne? Will you cut in?"
"What do I say? I say it's the most damn idiotic idea I ever heardmooted," answered Payne sententiously. "Still--I'll cut in."
"All right. We'll have some sport then!" said Carhayes. "You'll come,too, Eustace? That's right," as Eustace nodded assent. "That'll makefour of us--we don't want any more," he went on. "We can just hunt downthe river bank for two or three hours, and catch up the troop in campto-night. We are bound to get some sport."
"Likely so are the niggers," murmured the more prudent Payne.
The commander of the troop, when applied to, made no decided objectionto the above scheme. There was, as we have said, no discipline in theordinary sense of the word, the offices of command being elective.Besides, they were under orders to return straight home, which waspractically disbandment. So, while not forbidding the undertaking, hepointed out to those concerned that it might involve serious risk tothemselves; in a word, was rather a crack-brained idea.
"Just what I said," remarked Payne laconically, lighting his pipe.
"Then why do you go, old chap?" asked one of the bystanders with alaugh.
"That's just what I don't know myself," was the reply, delivered sotranquilly and deliberately as to evoke a general roar.
The camp had been pitched upon high ground overlooking the valley of theBashi, which ran beneath between rugged bush-clad banks. So the troopset forth on its homeward way, while our four friends, turning theirhorses' heads in the opposite direction, struck downward into the thickbush along the river bank.
'Tween Snow and Fire: A Tale of the Last Kafir War Page 21