by G. A. Henty
“I have come to make a complaint against some Boers,” the trader said.
“Then I can tell you beforehand,” the magistrate put in, “that your mission is a vain one. Outside this town I have not at present the slightest authority. Complaints reach me on all sides of outrages perpetrated by the Boers upon English settlers and traders. Strong armed parties are moving about the country; and although I will of course hear anything that you have got to say, with a view of obtaining redress when things settle down again, I cannot hold out any hope of being able to take action at present.”
“I have scarcely come to you, sir, with the idea of obtaining redress, but rather of stating my case, in case the Boers should bring a complaint against me.”
The trader then proceeded to relate the circumstances which had occurred: the wanton attack upon them in the first place, the murder of one of their servants, the killing of one and the wounding of the other of the aggressors, the subsequent attack upon their camp, and their relief by Mangrope.
“I think you have got remarkably well out of the affair, and although the attack of the Boers has cost you the life of one of your followers and twelve oxen, as you have killed eight or ten of them you have made matters more than even, and have, moreover, given them a lesson which may be useful. I will take down your depositions, as it is as well that your friends here, and the hunters you speak of, should testify to it. It is hardly likely that I shall hear any more of the matter; the Boers were clearly in the wrong, and in any case they would not be likely at the present moment, when the country is in a state very closely approaching insurrection, to seek redress in an English court. Fortunately 250 men of the 94th Regiment leave here tomorrow morning, on the way to Pretoria. Their road will, for some distance, be the same as yours; their colonel is at the present moment in the next room with several of his officers, and I will request permission for your waggons to follow his baggage-train. Thus you can keep with him until the road separates, by which time you will be well out of the district of the Boers who attacked you. You will, I suppose, go through Utrecht and keep the eastern road, as that will be shorter than going round by Standerton and Newcastle. If you will wait here for a few minutes, I will speak to the colonel.”
In a short time the magistrate returned, saying that Mr Harvey’s six waggons might join the baggage-train of the 94th on the following morning.
At eight o’clock the 94th marched from Leydenberg, and Mr Harvey’s waggons fell in the rear of the column. As they had a considerable amount of baggage and stores, the column would not proceed at a faster rate than the ordinary pace of the bullock-train.
When the column was once on the march, the colonel rode down the line and entered into conversation with Mr Harvey and the lads, who were riding with him, and after having heard the narrative of the fight with the Boers, he said to the lads, “You have had a baptism of fire early.”
Mr Harvey smiled.
“They have had some very much more serious fighting in the country north of the Limpopo; besides, they were both present at Isandula, Kambula, and Ulundi.”
“Indeed!” the colonel said; “then they have seen fighting. Perhaps you will ride on with me to the head of the column again; we have a long day’s march before us, and if your young friends will give us some of their experiences it will while away the time.”
The four cantered together to the head of the column, where the doctor and one or two other officers were riding. After a word or two of introduction the colonel asked the lads to tell them how they came to be at Isandula, and how they escaped to tell the tale.
“You had better tell it, Dick,” Tom said; “you are a better hand at talking than I.”
Dick accordingly proceeded to relate their adventures during the Zulu war, and the story excited great interest among the officers. When the column halted for the day, the colonel invited Mr Harvey and the lads to dine at the mess, and would not listen to any excuse on the ground that their clothes were better suited for travelling among the native tribes than for dining at a regimental mess.
The dinner was a very pleasant one, and after the cloth had been removed and cigars were lit, Mr Harvey, at the colonel’s request, related their adventures north of the Limpopo.
“Your life is indeed an adventurous one,” he said, when the trader had finished. “It needs endurance, pluck, coolness, and a steady finger on the trigger. You may truly be said, indeed, to carry your lives in your hands.”
“Our present journey has been an exceptionally adventurous one,” Mr Harvey said, “and you must not suppose that we are often in the habit of fighting our way. I have indeed on several occasions been in very perilous positions, and some other evening, before we separate, I shall be glad, if it will interest you, to relate one or two of them.”
“By the way,” the colonel said, when they took their leave, “remember, the word for the night is, ‘Newcastle.’ You will probably be challenged several times by sentries before you get to your waggons, for, although there is no absolute insurrection at present, there is no saying when the Boers may break out. They will hardly think of attacking a body of troops marching peaceably along; still, it is as well to neglect no precautions. If you are challenged, ‘Who comes there?’ you will reply, ‘Friends.’ The sentry will then say, ‘Advance and give the word.’ You walk forward and say, ‘Newcastle,’ and you will pass all right.”
The march was continued for four days. At the end of this time they arrived at the spot where the direct road for Pieter-Maritzburg through Utrecht left that which they were following.
“Look here, lads,” Mr Harvey said; “this road will take you considerably out of your way. If you like you can follow the column for another couple of days. You will then cross the south road, and can there leave them and gallop on by yourselves to Standerton in one day, and home the next. That will take you back by the 23rd; whereas, if you go on with me, you will not be back by New Year’s Day. We are getting now to a part of the colony where the English element is pretty strong, and the Boers are not likely to be troublesome; so I shall have no difficulty in passing down with the waggons. You can tell your fathers that we have had a most satisfactory trip, and I expect when I have sold our goods at Durban they will have good reason to be content.”
The lads gladly accepted the offer; they were longing to be at home again, and especially wished to be back by Christmas.
The colonel on hearing of the arrangement heartily invited the lads to mess with the regiment for the time that they continued with them, and offered to have a spare tent pitched for their accommodation.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A Terrible Journey
That evening Mr Harvey and the lads were again invited to dine at mess, and after dinner the colonel asked Mr Harvey if he would be good enough to tell them some of his adventures in the interior.
“I have had so many,” the trader said, “that I hardly know which would be most interesting. I have been many times attacked by the natives, but I do not know that any of these affairs were so interesting as the fight we had in the defile the other day. Some of the worst adventures which we have to go through are those occasioned by want of water. I have had several of these, but the worst was one which befell me on one of my earliest trips up the country. On this occasion I did not as usual accompany my father, but went with a trader named Macgregor, a Scotchman, as my father was ill at the time. He considered me too young to go by myself, and when he proposed to Macgregor that I should join him with the usual number of waggons he sent up, Macgregor objected, saying,—I have no doubt with justice,—that the double amount of goods would be more than could be disposed of. He added, however, that he should be glad if I would accompany him with a couple of waggons. It was; as it turned out, a very good thing for my father that his venture was such a small one. Macgregor was a keen trader; he understood the native character well, and was generally very successful in his ventures. His failing was that he was an obstinate, pig-headed man, very positive in his own opinio
ns, and distrusting all advice given him.
“Our trip had been a successful one. We penetrated very far in the interior, and disposed of all our goods. When we had done so, we started to strike down to Kimberley across a little-known and very sandy district. The natives among whom we were, endeavoured to dissuade Macgregor from making the attempt, saying that the season was a very dry one, that many of the pools were empty, and that there would be the greatest difficulty in obtaining water. Macgregor disregarded the advice. By taking the direct route south he would save some hundreds of miles. He said that other caravans had at different times taken this route in safety, and at the same time of the year. He insisted that the season had not been a particularly dry one, and that he was not going to be frightened by old women’s tales. The natives were always croaking about something, but he did not mean to lose a month of his time for nothing.
“Accordingly we started. The really bad part of our journey was about 150 miles across a sandy country, with low scrub. The bullocks, when driven to it, would eat the leaves of this scrub, so that we did not anticipate any difficulty in the way of forage. In the wet season many streams run across the country and find their way into the Limpopo. In summer they dry up, and water is only obtained in pools along their courses. There were twelve waggons in the caravan—ten belonging to Macgregor, and my two. I had with me a servant, a native, who had been for years in the employment of my father, a very faithful and trustworthy fellow.
“At the end of the first day’s march of fifteen miles we found water at the spot to which our native guide led us. The second day the pool was found to be dry. We got there early, having started before daybreak, for the heat was tremendous. On finding the pool empty I rode ten miles down the course of the stream, and Macgregor as far up it, but found no water, and on getting back to the camp the oxen were inspanned, and we made another march; here we found water, and halted next day.
“So we went on, until we were half-way across the desert. Several of the marches had been double ones, the track was heavy from the deep sand, some of the oxen had died, and all were much reduced in strength. Although Macgregor was not a man to allow that he had been wrong, I saw that he was anxious, and before advancing he sent on a horseman and the native guide two days’ journey to see how the water held out. On their return they reported that twenty miles in front there was a pool of good water, and that thirty miles farther there was a small supply, which was, however, rapidly drying up. Macgregor determined to push on. The first day’s march was got through, although five or six more oxen dropped by the way. The second was a terrible march; I have never known a hotter day in South Africa, and one felt blinded and crushed by the heat. The weakened teams could scarcely draw the waggons along, and by nightfall but half the journey had been performed. The oxen were turned loose and allowed for an hour or two to crop the bush; then they were inspanned again. All night long we continued our march; when, just at sunrise, we got to the place where water had been found, the pool was empty—the two days’ sun since the horseman had been there had completely dried it up. We set to work to dig a hole; but the sand was shallow, the rock lying but a foot or two below, and we only got a few buckets of water, but just enough to give a swallow to each of the oxen and horses. Again we searched far up and down the course of the stream, but without success; we dug innumerable holes in its bed, but without finding water.
“We were still fifty miles from safety; but in that fifty miles the natives said that they did not think a drop of water would be found, as this was notoriously the driest point on the route. Half the oxen had now died, and Macgregor determined to leave all but two of the waggons behind, to harness teams of the strongest of those remaining, and to drive the rest alongside. We halted till night to allow the animals to feed, and then started. We got on fairly enough until daybreak, then the sun rose, and poured down upon us. It was a terrible day. No one spoke, and the creaking of the wheels of the waggons was the only sound to be heard. Every mile we went the numbers lessened, as the bullocks lay down to die by the way. My tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of my mouth, and the sun to scorch up my brain. I hardly took notice of what was going on around me, but let the reins hang loose on my horse’s neck. Several times he stumbled, and at last fell heavily. I picked myself up from the sands, and saw that he was dying. The waggons had come to a standstill now, and I had, I saw, for the last quarter of a mile gone on alone. I looked at my watch; it was four o’clock, and I turned and walked slowly back to the waggons. The drivers had unroped the oxen, but most of them lay where they had halted, incapable of rising to their feet; others had tottered to the shade cast by the waggons, and had thrown themselves down there. The drivers were lying among them. As I came up Macgregor staggered towards me; he was chewing a handful of leaves. ‘I have been wrong, Harvey,’ he said, in a hoarse voice, ‘and it has cost us all our lives. Say you forgive me, my boy.’ ‘I forgive you heartily,’ I said; ‘you thought it was for the best.’ I don’t remember much more. I lay down and wondered vaguely what had become of my man, whom I had not seen since we started on the previous evening.
“The next thing I remember was that it was night. I got up on my feet and staggered to a bullock that I heard faintly groaning; I cut a vein in his neck and sucked the blood, and then started to walk; fortunately, as it turned out, I had not gone a hundred yards when a dizziness came over me, and I fell again to the ground. I must have lain there for some hours; when I became conscious, water was being poured between my lips. I soon recovered sufficiently to sit up, and found that it was my faithful man. When the caravan started from the last halting-place, he had seen that it was impossible for it to reach its journey’s end, and although, like the rest, he was exhausted and worn out, he had started at full speed alone, and by morning reached water, having travelled fifty miles in the night. It was midday before he succeeded in finding a native kraal; then by promise of a large reward he induced forty men, each laden with a heavy skin of water, to start with him, and at three in the morning reached the camp; fortunately he stumbled across me just before he got there.
“The assistance arrived in time. Two of the drivers were found to be dead, but Macgregor and the other hands, sixteen in number, were all brought round. The supply carried by the natives was sufficient to give an ample drink to the eighteen oxen which were still alive. A feed of maize was then given to each, but as they were too weak to drag even one of the waggons they were driven on ahead, and most of them got over the twenty-five miles which still separated them from water. We halted there a week, to allow the animals to recover; then, carrying skins of water for their supply on the way, they went back and brought in the two waggons, one at a time. With these I came down to the colony. Macgregor remained behind, and directly the rain set in went up with native cattle and brought down the other waggons, all the valuable contents of which, however, had in the intervening time been carried off by natives. It was a near squeak, wasn’t it? Macgregor was never the same man again, and shortly after his return to Natal he sold off his waggons and went back to Scotland. Being young and strong I soon recovered from my privation.”
“Lions are very abundant in some parts of the interior, are they not, Mr Harvey?” one of the officers asked, after they had thanked the trader for his story.
“Extraordinarily so,” Mr Harvey replied; “in fact it has long been a puzzle among us how such vast quantities could find food—in no other country in the world could they do so; but here the abundance of deer is so great that the lions are able to kill vast numbers, without making any great impression upon them.”
“But I should not have thought,” an officer said, “that a lion could run down a deer!”
“He cannot,” Mr Harvey said, “except for short distances. The South African lion is a lighter and more active beast than the northern lion, and can for the first hundred yards run with prodigious swiftness, taking long bounds like a cat. Stealing through the long grass, and keeping to leeward of the herd, he will craw
l up to within a short distance unperceived, and then with half a dozen tremendous bounds he is among them before they have fairly time to get up their full speed. They hunt too in regular packs; twenty or thirty of them will surround a herd, and, gradually lessening their circle, close upon their affrighted prey, who stand paralysed with fear until the lions are fairly among them.
“I was once surrounded by them, and had a very narrow escape of my life. I had left my waggons at a large native village, and had ridden—accompanied only by my native servant—some fifty miles across the country to another tribe, to see whether they had lately been visited by any traders, and whether they had goods to dispose of. I reached the kraal in the morning, and the palaver with the chief as usual wasted the best part of the day; it was nearly dark when I started, but I was accustomed to ride by the light of the stars, and had no fear of missing my way. I had been only two hours on the road, when the sky became overcast, and half an hour later a tremendous storm burst. Having now no index for directing my way I found that it was useless to proceed; the plain was open, but I knew that a goodsized river ran a short distance to the north, so I turned my horse’s head in that direction, knowing that on a river-bank I was likely to meet with trees. Several times I missed my way in the driving rain, for the wind shifted frequently, and that was of course the only guide I had.
“At last, to my great satisfaction, I struck upon the river and kept along its bank until I came to a large clump of trees; here we unsaddled our horses, picked out a comparatively dry spot under a big tree, which stood just at the edge of the river, wrapped ourselves in our rugs, and prepared to pass the night as comfortably as we could. The river was high, and my only fear was that it might overflow its banks and set us afloat before morning. However, we had not been there long before the rain ceased, the sky cleared, and the stars came out again; but as the horses had done a long day’s work on the previous day, I determined to remain where I was until morning. Having been in the saddle all the previous night, I slept heavily. The wind was still blowing strongly, and I suppose that the noise in the trees, and the lapping of the water by the bank close by, prevented my hearing the stamping of the horses, which, under ordinary circumstances, would certainly have warned me of the approaching danger. Suddenly I awoke with a terrific uproar. I sprang to my feet, but was instantly knocked down, and a beast, I knew to be a lion, seized me by the left shoulder. My revolver was, as always, in my belt; I drew it out, and fired into the brute’s eye; his jaw relaxed, and I knew the shot was fatal. A terrible din was going on all round; there was light enough for me to see that both the horses had been pulled to the ground; two lions were rending the body of my servant, and others were approaching with loud roars. I sprang to my feet and climbed up into the tree, just as two more lions arrived upon the spot. My servant had not uttered a cry, and was, I have no doubt, struck dead at once. The horses ceased to struggle by the time I gained my tree. At least twenty lions gathered round, and growled and quarrelled over the carcases of the horses. When they had finished these, they walked round and round the tree, roaring horridly; some of them reared themselves against the trunk, as if they would try to climb it, but the lion is not a tree-climber, and I had not much fear that they would make the attempt. I hoped that in the morning they would move off; but they had clearly no intention of doing so, for, as it became daylight, they retired a short distance and then either lay down or sat upon their haunches in a semicircle fifty yards distant, watching me.