CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
A DARK RUMOUR IN KOMGHA.
There was rejoicing in many households when it became known in Komghathat the Kaffrarian Rangers had been ordered home, but in none was itgreater than in that run conjointly by Mrs Hoste and her family andEanswyth Carhayes.
The satisfaction of the former took a characteristically exuberant form.The good soul was loud in her expressions of delight. She neverwearied of talking over the doughty deeds of that useful corps; in fact,to listen to her it might have been supposed that the whole success ofthe campaign, nay the very safety of the Colony itself, had been securedby the unparalleled gallantry of the said Rangers in general and of theabsent Hoste in particular. That the latter had only effected histemporary emancipation from domestic thrall in favour of the "tentedfield" through a happy combination of resolution and stratagem, sheseemed quite to have forgotten. He was a sort of hero now.
Eanswyth, for her part, received the news quietly enough, as was herwont. Outwardly, that is. Inwardly she was silently, thankfully happy.The campaign was over--_he_ was safe. In a few days he would be withher again--safe. A glow of radiant gladness took possession of herheart. It showed itself in her face--her eyes--even in her voice. Itdid not escape several of their neighbours and daily visitors, who wouldremark among themselves what a lucky fellow Tom Carhayes was; at thesame time wondering what there could be in such a rough, self-assertivespecimen of humanity to call forth such an intensity of love in sorefined and beautiful a creature as that sweet wife of his--setting itdown to two unlikes being the best mated. It did not escape Mrs Hoste,who, in pursuance of her former instinct, was disposed to attribute itto its real cause. But exuberant as the latter was in mattersnon-important, there was an under-vein of caution running through herdisposition, and like a wise woman she held her tongue, even to herneighbours and intimates.
Eanswyth had suffered during those weeks--had suffered terribly. Shehad tried to school herself to calmness--to the philosophy of thesituation. Others had returned safe and sound, why not he? Why, therewere men living around her, old settlers, who had served through threeformer wars--campaigns lasting for years, not for months or weeks--theirarms, too, consisting of muzzle-loading weapons, against an enemy moredaring and warlike than the Kafirs of to-day. These had come throughsafe and sound, why not he?
Thus philosophising, she had striven not to think too much--to hope forthe best. But there was little enough in that border settlement todivert her thoughts from the one great subject--apart from the fact thatthat one subject was on everybody's tongue, in everybody's thoughts.She had found an interest in the two young girls, in reading with themand generally helping to improve their minds, and they, being bright,well-dispositioned children, had appreciated the process; had respondedwarmly to her efforts. But in the silent night, restless and wakeful,all sorts of grisly pictures would rise before her imagination, or shewould start from frightful dreams of blood-stained assegais and hideoushordes of ochre-painted barbarians sweeping round a mere handful ofdoomed whites standing back to back prepared to sell their lives dearly.
Every scrap of news from the seat of war she had caught at eagerly. Shehad shuddered and thrilled over the account of the battle with Shelton'spatrol and its stirring and victorious termination. Every movement ofthe Kaffrarian Rangers was known to her as soon as it became publicproperty, and sometimes before; for there were some in an officialposition who were not averse to stretching a point to obtain such asmile of welcome as would come into the beautiful face of Mrs Carhayes,if they confidentially hinted to her a piece of intelligence just comein from the front and not yet made known to the general public. She hadeven tried to establish a kind of private intelligence department of herown among some of the Kafirs who hung around the settlement, but thesewere so contradictory in their statements, and moreover she began tosuspect that the rascals were not above drawing pretty freely upon theirimaginations for the sake of the sixpences, or cast-off clothes, orpackets of coffee and sugar, with which their efforts were invariablyrewarded. So this she discontinued, or at any rate ceased to place anyreliance on their stories.
She had heard from her husband once or twice, a mere rough scrawl ofhalf a dozen lines, and those chiefly devoted to explaining that camplife--made up as it was of patrols and horse guards and hunting up theenemy--left no time for any such trivial occupations as mereletter-writing. She had heard from Eustace oftener, letters of greatlength, entertaining withal, but such as all the world might read. Butthis in no wise troubled her now, for she understood. Eustace was fartoo cautious to intrust anything that the world might _not_ read to souncertain a means of transit as was then at his disposal.Express-riders might be cut off by the enemy in the course of theirprecarious and sometimes extremely perilous mission; occasionally werecut off.
A few days now and she would see him again, would hear his voice, wouldlive in the delight of his presence daily as before. Ah, but--how wasit to end? The old thought, put far away into the background during thedull heartache of their separation, came to the fore now. They would goback to their home, to Anta's Kloof, and things would be as before. Ah,but would they? There lay the sting. Never--a thousand times never.Things could never be as they were. For now that her love for the onehad been awakened, what had she left for the other? Not even the kindlytoleration of companionship which she had up till then mistaken forlove. A sentiment perilously akin to aversion had now taken the placeof this. Alas and alas! How was it to end?
The return of the Kaffrarian Rangers became a matter of dailyexpectation. Preparations were made for their reception, including abanquet on a large scale. Still they came not.
Then an ugly report got wind in Komgha--whispered at first. A disasterhad befallen. Several men belonging to the expected corps had beenkilled. They had constituted a patrol, report said--then a shootingparty straying from the main body. Anyway, they had been cut off by theenemy and massacred to a man. It was only the Moordenaar's Kop affairover again, people said.
Later the rumour began to boil down a little. Only four men had come togrief as reported. They had left the main body to get up a bushbuckhunt on the banks of the Bashi. They must have crossed the river forsome reason or other, probably in pursuance of their hunt; anyhow, theywere surprised by the Kafirs and killed. And the missing men wereHoste, Payne, Carhayes, and Eustace Milne.
The rumour spread like wildfire. The excitement became prodigious. Menstood in eager knots at the street corners, at the bars, everywhere,each trying to appear as if he knew more about it than his fellows; eachclaiming to be a greater authority upon the probabilities orimprobabilities of the case than all the rest put together. But allwere agreed on one point--that the errand of breaking the news to thosemost concerned was the duty of anybody but themselves. And three of theunfortunate men were married; two of their wives--now widows, alas--being actually resident in the place, within a stone's throw, in fact.It was further agreed that, by whoever eventually performed, the longerthis duty could be deferred the better. Further information mightarrive any moment. It would be as well to wait.
For once, public opinion was sound in its judgment. Further informationdid arrive, this time authentic, and it had the effect of boiling downrumour considerably--in fact, by one-half. The four men had set out andcrossed the Bashi into the Bomvana country, as at first stated. Theyhad been attacked by the Kafirs in overwhelming numbers, and after aterrible running fight Hoste and Payne had escaped. Their horses hadbeen mortally wounded and themselves forced to lie hidden among thethick bush and krantzes along the Bashi River for two nights and a day,when they were found in a half-starved condition by a strong patrol ofthe Rangers, which had turned back to search for them. The other twomen were missing, and from the report of the survivors no hope could beentertained of their escape. In fact, their fate was placed beyond theshadow of a doubt, for the Rangers had proceeded straight to the sceneof the conflict, and though they did not discover th
e bodies--which thejackals and other wild animals might have accounted for meanwhile--theyfound the spots, not very far apart, where both men had been slain, andin or near the great patches of dried-up blood were fragments of theunfortunate men's clothing and other articles, including a new andpatent kind of spur known to have belonged to Milne.
This was better. The killed had been reduced from four to two, thenumber of widows from three to one. Still, it was sufficientlyterrible. Both men had lived in their midst--one for many years, theother for a shorter time--and were more or less well-known to all. Thistime the news was genuine, for three of the Rangers themselves hadridden in with all particulars. The sensation created was tremendous.Everybody had something to say.
"Tell you what it is, boys," a weather-beaten, grizzled old farmer wassaying--haranguing a gathering of idlers on the _stoep_ of the hotel."There's always something of that sort happens every war. Fellers getso darn careless. They think because Jack Kafir funks sixty men he's injust as big a funk of six. But he ain't. They reckon, too, thatbecause they can't see no Kafirs that there ain't no Kafirs to see.Jest as if they weren't bein' watched every blessed step they take. No,if you go out in a big party to find Jack Kafir you won't find him, butif you go out in a small one, he'll be dead sure to find you. You mayjest bet drinks all round on that. Hey? Did you say you'd take me,Bill?" broke off the old fellow with a twinkle in his eye as he caughtthat of a crony in the group.
"Haw, haw! No, I didn't, but I will though. Put a name to it, old_Baas_."
"Well, I'll call it `French.' Three star for choice."
The liquid was duly brought and the old fellow, having disposed oftwo-thirds at a gulp, resumed his disquisition.
"It's this way," he went on. "I'm as certain of it as if I'd seen it.Them oxen were nothin' more or less than a trap. The Kafirs had beenwatching the poor devils all along and jest sent the oxen as a bait todraw them across the river. It's jest what might have been expected,but I'm surprised they hadn't more sense than to be took so easily.Hoste and Payne especially--not being a couple of Britishers--"
"Here, I say, governor--stow all that for a yarn," growled one of abrace of fresh-faced young Police troopers, who were consuming a modest"split" at a table and resented what they thought was an imputation.
"Well, I don't mean no offence," returned the old fellow testily. "Ionly mean that Britishers ain't got the experience us Colonial chapshas, and 'll go runnin' their heads into a trap where we should knowbetter."
"All the more credit to their pluck," interrupted another patrioticallydisposed individual.
"Oh, shut up, Smith. Who the deuce is saying anything against theirpluck?" cried someone else.
"Well, I'm sure I wasn't," went on the original speaker. "Tom Carhayes,now, is as plucky a fellow as ever lived--was, rather--and--"
"You don't call Tom Carhayes a Britisher, do you?" objected another man.
"Yes, I do. At least, perhaps not altogether. He's been here a goodnumber of years now and got into our ways. Still, I remember when hefirst came out. And Milne only came out the other day."
"Well, Milne's `blanket friends' have paid him off in a coin he didn'tbargain for. Wonder what he thinks of 'em now--if he _can_ think," saidsomeone, with an ill-natured sneer--for Eustace, like most men with anycharacter in them, was not beloved by everybody.
"Ah, poor chap," went on the old man. "Milne was rather too fond of theKafirs and Carhayes was a sight too much down on 'em. And now theKafirs have done for them both, without fear, favour, or--"
"Tsh--tsh--tsh! Shut up, man alive, shut up!"
This was said in a low, warning whisper, and the speaker's sleeve wasviolently plucked.
"Eh? What's the row?" he asked, turning in amazement.
"Why, that's her!" was the reply, more earnest than grammatical.
"Her? Who?"
"His wife, of course."
A Cape cart was driving by, containing two ladies and two young girls.Of the former one was Mrs Hoste, the other Eanswyth. As they passedquite close to the speakers, Eanswyth turned her head with a bow and asmile to someone standing in front of the hotel. A dead, awkwardsilence fell upon the group of talkers.
"I say. She didn't hear, did she?" stage-whispered the old man eagerly,when the trap had gone by.
"She didn't look much as though she had--poor thing!" said another whomthe serene, radiant happiness shining in that sweet face had notescaped.
"Poor thing, indeed," was the reply. "She ought to be told, though.But I wouldn't be the man to do it, no--not for fifty pounds. Why, theysay she can hardly eat or sleep since she heard Tom Carhayes was comingback, she's so pleased. And now, poor Tom--where is he? Lying outthere hacked into Kafir mince-meat." And the speaker, jerking his handin the direction of the Transkei, stalked solemnly down the steps of the_stoep_, heaving a prodigious sigh.
'Tween Snow and Fire: A Tale of the Last Kafir War Page 24