CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.
INTO SPACE.
"Heavens! What a glorious thing is the light of day!" exclaimed Hoste,looking around as if he never expected to behold that blessing again,instead of having just been restored to it.
"Let's hope that philosophical reflection will console us throughout ourimpending ducking," rejoined Eustace drily. "We are going to get it inhalf an hour at the outside."
Great storm clouds were rolling up beyond the Bashi Valley. The samebrooding stillness, now greatly intensified, hung in the air; brokenevery now and again by fitful red flashes and the dull, heavy boom ofthunder. The far off murmur of the river rose up between itsimprisoning _krantzes_ and steep forest-clad slopes to the place wheretheir halt was made.
They had emerged safely to the upper air with their unfortunate andoft-times troublesome charge. Recognising the impracticability ofconveying the latter along the perilous causeway which had taxed theirown powers so severely, they had elected to try the other way out, towit, the vertical shaft, beneath which they had passed shortly afterfirst entering the cavern, and, after a toilsome climb, by no means freefrom danger, burdened as they were with the unhappy lunatic, hadregained the light of day in safety.
But their difficulties and dangers were by no means at an end. For thefirst, they were a long way above the spot where they had left theirhorses. To regain this would take several hours. It was frightfullyrugged and tangled country, and they had but an hour of daylight left.Moreover a tremendous thunderstorm was working up, and one that, judgingby the heavy aspect of the clouds, and the brooding sense of oppressionin the atmosphere, threatened to last the best part of the night. Forthe second, they had every reason to believe that these wild and brokenfastnesses of bush and rock held the lurking remnants of the Gcalekabands who were still under arms, and should these discover the presenceof intruders, the position of the four men, dismounted, scantilysupplied with food, and hampered with their worse than useless charge,would be serious indeed.
The latter they still deemed it necessary to keep carefully secured.His transition to the upper air had effected a curious change in him.He was no longer violent. He seemed dazed, utterly subdued. He wouldblink and shut his eyes, as if the light hurt them. Then he would openthem again and stare about him with a gaze of the most utterbewilderment. A curious feature in his demeanour was that the world atlarge seemed to excite his interest rather than its living inhabitants.In these, as represented by his rescuers, he seemed to evince nointerest at all. His gaze would wander past them, as though unaware oftheir presence, to the broad rugged river-valley, with its soaring_krantzes_ and savage forest-clad depths, as if he had awakened in a newworld. And indeed he had. Think of it! Seven or eight months spent inutter darkness; seven or eight months without one glimmer of the blessedlight of Heaven; seven or eight months in the very bowels of the earth,in starvation and filth, among living horrors which had turned hisbrain; the only glint of light, the only sound of the human voicevouchsafed to him being on those occasions when his barbarous tormentorscame to taunt him and bring him his miserable food! Small wonder thatthe free air, the light, and the spreading glories of Nature, had adazing, subduing effect on the poor lunatic.
His own safety necessitated the continuance of his bonds--that of hisrescuers, that he should be kept securely gagged. It would not do, outof mistaken kindness, to run any risks; to put it in the poor fellow'spower to break forth into one of his paroxysms of horrible howls, undercircumstances when their lives might depend upon secrecy and silence.It would be time enough to attempt the restoration of the poor cloudedbrain, when they should have conveyed him safe home again. It was acurious thing that necessity should oblige his rescuers to bring himback bound as though a prisoner.
Their camp--rather their halting place, for caution would preclude thepossibility of building a fire--had been decided upon in a small bushyhollow, a kind of eyrie which would enable them to keep a wide look outupon the river-valley for many miles, while affording them a snug andtolerably secure place of concealment. In front a lofty _krantz_ fellsheer to a depth of at least two hundred feet. Behind, their retreatwas shut in by a line of bush-grown rocks. It was going to be a wet andcomfortless night. The storm was drawing nearer and nearer, and theywould soon be soaked to the skin, their waterproof wraps having beenleft with the horses. Food, too, was none too plentiful--indeed, beyondsome biscuit and a scrap or two of cold meat, they had none. But thesewere mere trivial incidents to such practised campaigners. They hadsucceeded in their quest--they had rescued a friend and comrade from afate ten thousand-fold more hideous than the most fearful form of death;moreover, as Hoste had remarked, the light of day alone, even when seenthrough streaming showers, was glorious when compared with the uttergloom of that awful cave and the heaving, hissing, revolting masses ofits serpent denizens. On the whole they felt anything but down-hearted.
"I tell you what it is, Hoste," said Shelton, seizing the moment whenEustace happened to be beyond earshot. "There have been a good manynasty things said and hinted about Milne of late; but I should just liketo see any one of the fellows who have said them do what he did.Heavens! The cool nerve he showed in deliberately going down into thathorrible hole with the chances about even between being strangled bypoor Tom there, or bitten by a puff-adder, was one of the finest thingsI ever saw in my life. It's quite enough to give the lie to all theseinfernal reports, and I'll take care that it does, too."
"Rather. But between you and me and Josane there, who can't understandus," answered Hoste, lowering his voice instinctively, "it's my privateopinion that poor Milne has no particular call to shout `Hurrah' overthe upshot of our expedition. Eh? Sort of Enoch Arden business, don'tyou know. Likely to prove inconvenient for all parties."
"So? All the more to his credit, then, that he moved heaven and earthto bring it about. By Jove! I believe I'd have thought a long whilebefore going down there myself."
"Rather. But I can't help being deuced sorry for him."
If need hardly be said that Hoste had indeed put the whole case into anutshell as far as Eustace was concerned. Even then, lying there on thebrink of the cliff above-mentioned, and whither he had withdrawn on thepretence of keeping a look out, but really in order to be alone, he wasindulging in the full bitterness of his feelings. All had come to anend. The cup had been dashed from his lips. The blissful glow of morethan earthly happiness in which he had moved for the past few months,had turned to blight and ruin and blackness, even as the cloudlesssunlight of the morning had disappeared into the leaden terrors of theoncoming storm. Would that from it a bolt might fall which shouldstrike him dead!
Even in the full agony of his bitterness he could not wish that theawful fate of his cousin had ever remained a mystery, could not regretthe part he had borne in rescuing him from that fate. It might be thatthe minutes he himself had spent, helpless at the bottom of the noisomepit, had brought home to his mind such a vivid realisation of itshorrors as those surveying it from the brink could never attain.Anyway, while musing upon his own blighted life, his dream of love andpossession suddenly and cruelly quenched, he could not wish the poorwretch back in such a living hell again.
Yet for what had he been rescued? Of what value was the life of araving, gibbering maniac to himself or the world in general? And thiswas the thing to which Eanswyth was now bound. A warm, beautiful,living body chained to a loathsome, festering corpse; and his had beenthe hand which had forged the links, his the hand which had turned thekey in the padlock. He could not even lay to his soul the flatteringunction that the unfortunate man would eventually succumb to the afterresults of his horrible sufferings. Lunatics, barring accidents, areproverbially long-lived, and Tom Carhayes had the strength andconstitution of an elephant. He would be far more likely to injureother people than himself.
Meanwhile, those left in camp were resting appreciatively after theirlabours, and conversing.
"_Amakosi_," said Josane, with a qu
eer smile. "Do you think you couldfind `The Home of the Serpents' again?"
"Why, of course," was the unhesitating reply. The old Kafir grinned.
"Do you mean to say you don't believe we could?" said Hoste, inamazement.
"Yes, _amakosi_. I do not believe you could," was the unhesitatingrejoinder.
"What--when we have only just come out of it?"
The old Gcaleka grinned harder than ever.
"I do not believe you could light on the exact way in from either side,"he repeated.
"Well, by Jove! I believe he's right," said Hoste dubiously, as he wentover in his mind the inexplicable way in which both entrances wereconcealed, and that by the hand of Nature.
"Right about what?" said another voice, whose owner rejoined the circleat that moment.
"Why, what do you think Josane is trying to cram us with, Milne? Heswears we couldn't find the entrance of, that infernal hole again."
"Well, I don't believe we could," said Eustace quietly. "But that's nogreat disadvantage, for I suppose none of us will ever be smitten withthe remotest inclination to try."
"Not I, for one," assented Hoste. "I wouldn't go through those awful,beastly heaps of snakes again--faugh!--not for a thousand pounds.Hallo! It's coming!"
A roll of thunder--longer, louder, nearer--caused them to look upward.The whole heavens were shrouded in masses of black, angry clouds,sweeping slowly onward.
Then, as their glances sought the earth again, a quick whistle ofamazement escaped Shelton. It found a ready echo in a startledejaculation from the others.
"Where is he?"
For the place occupied by the unfortunate lunatic knew him no more. Hehad disappeared.
For a second they stared blankly into each others' faces, then all fourmoved forward instinctively.
He had been sitting idly, vacantly, perfectly quietly staring intospace. In the height of their conversation they had given little heedto his presence. Well, he could not go far, for his legs were sosecured as to preclude him making steps of ordinary length.
The place was bushy, but not very thickly so. Spreading out theyentered the scrub by the only side on which he could have disappeared.
"There he is!" cried Hoste suddenly, when they had gone about fiftyyards.
Slinking along in a crouching attitude, slipping from bush to bush, theyspied the poor fellow. That was all right. There would be nodifficulty now.
No difficulty? Was there not? As soon as he saw that he was discoveredhe began to run--to run like a buck. And then, to their consternation,they perceived that his legs were free. By some means or other he hadcontrived, with a lunatic's stealthy cunning, to cut the _reim_ whichhad secured them. They could see the severed ends flapping as he ran.
"Well, we've got to catch him, poor chap, so here goes," said Hoste,starting with all his might in pursuit.
But the maniac wormed in and out of the bushes with marvellous rapidity.Shelton had tripped and come a headlong cropper, and Hoste was becomingblown, but they seemed to get no nearer. Suddenly the bush came to anend. Beyond lay a gradual acclivity, open and grassy, ending abruptlyin air.
"Heavens!" cried Eustace in a tone of horror. "The _krantz_!"
His tones found an echo in those of his companions. The precipice infront was a continuation of the lofty perpendicular cliff which fellaway from the front of their halting place. Any one who should go overthat giddy brink would leave no sort of shadow of uncertainty as to hisfate. They stopped in their pursuit.
"Tom!" cried Eustace persuasively, "Come back, old chap. It's going torain like fits in a minute. You'll be much snugger at the camp."
The lunatic, now half-way across the open, stopped at the voice andstood listening. Then he ran forward again, but at a decreased pace.Heavens! He was only twenty yards from the brink. His pursuers weremore than twice that distance behind. Any move forward would inevitablyhave the effect of driving him over.
"What _are_ we to do?" gasped Hoste, exhausted by the mingled exertionand excitement.
"We had better leave him alone, and watch him from where he can't seeus," was Eustace's reply.
The poor fellow had now gained the very brink. Then he turned, but hispursuers had deftly concealed themselves behind a small bush whichopportunely grew in the midst of the open. His hands were still tiedfast, and the gag was in his mouth. If only they could have reachedhim.
He stood for a moment, balanced on the edge of the abyss, looking _intoit_. Then he turned again. There was a horrible leer of triumphantinsanity upon the distorted face as his gaze failed to discover thepresence of anybody likely to prove hostile.
The thunder rolled out heavily from overhead, and the figure of themaniac stood in bold relief against the leaden sky, photographed inblack relief against the red flashes of lightning which played withwell-nigh unintermittent incandescence athwart the storm cloud beyond.There he stood, his features working horribly, the tangled masses of hisbeard and hair floating in the fitful gusts which came whistling up fromthe dizzy height. Never, to their dying day, would the spectatorsforget the sight. Yet they could do nothing.
With a choking cackle, like an attempt at a laugh, the maniac turnedagain to the awful height. The spectators held their breaths and theirblood ran cold. Then they saw him gather his legs beneath him andspring far out into space.
Petrified with horror, they rushed to the brink and peered over. Thesmooth rock face fell without a break down to the tree-tops at a dizzydepth beneath. These were still quivering faintly as though recentlydisturbed. But at that moment heaven's artillery roared in one vastdeafening, crackling roll. The air was ablaze with vivid blue flame,and driven before the tornado blast, sheet upon sheet of deluging raincrashed down upon them, beating them to the earth by the very weight andfury of its volume.
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.
ENVOI.
Ring we the curtain down--for our tale is ended and we have no desire topoint a moral thereto. Years have gone by, and new homesteads haverisen upon the ashes of the old ones; and flocks and herds are once moregrazing in security upon those grassy plains, those pleasant plains, sosunny, so peaceful, so smiling.
And how the broken and decimated tribes were settled on new locations,and how the ringleaders and prominent fighting men of those who ownedBritish allegiance were sentenced to long terms of imprisonment, and howthe Gaika location was parcelled out into farms, and as such leased bythe Department of Crown Lands to white settlers; and how inconsideration of certain acts of forbearance and humanity exercisedduring the period of hostilities and resulting in the saving of severalEuropean lives, the sentences of imprisonment passed upon Nteya andNcanduku were remitted--mainly through the exertions of Eustace Milne--and the two sub-chiefs were allowed to rejoin the banished remnant oftheir tribe in its new location beyond the Kei--are not all these thingsmatters of history?
And how the sad relics of poor Tom Carhayes, his fate now under no sortof doubt, were gathered together beneath the great _krantz_ in the Bashivalley on the morning after his insane and fatal leap, and conveyed tothe settlement for burial, and how Eustace Milne, punctilious to a hairin his dealings with his barbarous neighbours, had paid over thestipulated ransom, even to the very last hoof, to the relatives ofHlangani, even though the contingency of that warrior's demise was in nowise provided for in the original agreement--these things, too, are theynot graven in the memories of all concerned?
But if, to some, the war has brought ruin and death and bereavement, ithas entailed vastly different results upon two other persons at anyrate; and those, needless to say, the two with whom our story has beenmainly concerned. For their good fortune has been great--greater, wefear, than they had any right to expect. They are flourishingexceedingly, and now, after years of union, it still seems to them thatthey have only just begun to enter upon that glowing vista of lifelonghappiness, down which they had gazed so wistfully in the old, troubled,and well-nigh hopeless time. But after sorrow and heaviness
comethjoy--sometimes. And it has come to these two, by a weird irony of Fate,has come through the agency of a wild and sanguinary drama--through theconsistent ferocity of a vindictive barbarian and the logical outcomethereof--even Hlangani's Revenge.
'Tween Snow and Fire: A Tale of the Last Kafir War Page 47