Perils in the Transvaal and Zululand

Chapter Fifteen

The waggons had stopped for the night, the oxen were outspanned, and the native servants were engaged in knee-haltering their masters’ horses, which were then turned into the veldt to graze. They had not yet advanced far enough into the Transvaal country for any danger to be apprehended from wild animals. George and Margetts, assisted by Hardy, were engaged in lighting two large fires, partly to cook the supper, partly to dispel the chill which they felt creeping over them; for, though winter was now past, and the early spring was usually mild and balmy, yet after nightfall it is apt to become extremely cold. There is no country in the world, it may be remarked, more liable to sudden and rapid changes from cold to heat, and again from heat to cold, than that which they were now traversing.

They had left Zululand – that is, Vander Heyden, George, and Redgy had left it – a day or two after the capture of Cetewayo, and proceeded straight to Luneberg, whither the waggons had been despatched from Newcastle to join them. Annchen had travelled under the charge of her brother’s two chief Hottentot servants, Koboo and Utango. Matamo and Haxo had been despatched by their respective masters to join the party at Newcastle, and Hardy arrived the following day from Landman’s Drift. The whole party being assembled, they set off about the end of the first week of September.

There were two waggons, each with its full team of oxen and four servants attached to each. All these belonged to Vander Heyden, and contained valuables of all kinds, household furniture, farm implements, guns and ammunition, and a considerable supply of provisions, it being difficult and sometimes impossible to procure even the commonest articles at various places on their route. They were to proceed first to Heidelberg, by Elandsberg and Standerton; afterwards journeying north of Potchefstroom to Lichtenberg, and so to Zeerust. Supposing them to be able to travel every day, and no casualties to delay them, it would probably be five or six weeks before they would reach their destination. But there might be obstacles of all descriptions to encounter. Heavy rains might oblige them to remain inactive for days together. Disease might attack the cattle, especially the lung disease, of which mention has already been made, to which horses were so liable in that country. There was also a risk from wild animals. The more dangerous beasts, the lion, the rhinoceros, and the like, had become very scarce of late years in all the southern portion of the Transvaal, unable to endure the vicinity of the white man and his rifle. Still they might be met with at various points of their route, and the tiger (that is, the African leopard, which is so-called in that country) and the hyena were still numerous. Annchen and her attendant were accommodated in the best waggon. Vander Heyden and Hardy usually slept in the other, as did the others indeed also, Vander Heyden having courteously offered sleeping berths to George and Margetts. The native servants usually made their bed on the ground outside.

It was now the end of the second day of their journey, and they were beginning to make their way into the wilder country of the Transvaal, leaving the more civilised parts behind them. The road during the greater part of the day had lain across lonely tracts of country – such kraals and farmhouses as they had fallen in with being few and far between. The main features of the scenery had been long undulating downs, over which the tall coarse grass was growing up in abundance, diversified now and then by masses of rock rising abruptly into sharp eminences, and crossed occasionally by deep watercourses overgrown with weeds. These were, in general, difficult and sometimes dangerous to pass. Every now and then herds of springboks came by, bounding straight up into the air, as they caught sight of the travellers, like Jacks-in-the-box, to an astonishing height, and then rushing away with the fleetness of the wind. More rarely elands and hartebeests appeared, and once a number of gnus – these strange animals, which seem to be something half-way between the horse and the ox – went by at their awkward gallop. George and Matamo rode in pursuit and succeeded in killing a hartebeest and two springboks, the more dainty parts of which were cooked for the evening meal.

Annchen took her supper with the rest of the party, but soon afterwards retired to her waggon; and the four Europeans, sitting round the largest fire, for the night was unusually cold, began to converse together.

“This is near the place where that disaster occurred – Intombe – isn’t it?” asked Margetts, knocking the ashes out of his pipe.

“Yes,” answered Hardy; “the spot where the massacre took place is down on the bank of the river, only a little way from this. One would have thought that Isandhlwana would have been enough to teach even our countrymen common prudence. But I suppose nothing ever will.”

“It looks like it, certainly,” said George. “But it does not often happen that three such instances of carelessness, followed by such terrible results, follow in the course of one single campaign, as Isandhlwana, Intombe, and the death of the Prince Imperial.”

“That last was rather cowardice than carelessness, wasn’t it?” asked Margetts.

“I don’t think so,” said George. “The Prince Imperial was an entirely raw and inexperienced officer. The country was known to be in a most dangerous state, full of armed Zulus, who are among the most stealthy and cunning of all enemies; and he was allowed to go out in command of a party with no one competent to advise him. They tried to make out that he was not in command of the party, but nothing could be plainer than that he was; and that it was his total ignorance of the Zulus and the Zulu country that caused the disaster.”

“The troopers might have stopped to help him,” suggested Margetts.

“They were told to mount and ride,” said George, “and they did what they were told. How can you blame them for obeying their officer’s orders? Don’t you think so, Hardy?”

“Most certainly,” assented Hardy. “It does not appear that any of them, except his own French attendant, knew that the Prince was in any more danger than the rest of the party, until it was too late to do anything for him. The attempt to make out that that unfortunate Lieutenant Carey had the command of the party and was answerable for the loss of the Prince, was one of the most dishonest things I ever remember. The person really to blame was the officer who sent out the party under the Prince Imperial’s charge. But I suppose it was necessary to have a scapegoat, and this poor young Carey was the most convenient person to select.”

“What will become of Cetewayo?” suggested Vander Heyden. “Will they send him to Robben Island, along with Langalabalele and a lot of others?”

“Most likely,” said Hardy; “and there he will enjoy himself along with his wives, and grow fat, and die an old man most likely.”

“Yes, if a party in England don’t take him up,” said Rivers. “I am told there are persons in England who are raising a great clamour and making out that he has been shamefully used.”

“I wish they could be made to come out and live under his rule in Zululand,” suggested Hardy. “What is that?” he exclaimed a moment afterwards, starting up. “There is something in the bush there, creeping near us. Take your rifles. We must see to this.” He caught up a long burning stick from the fire and threw it down among a number of dry canes and reeds which lay at a short distance. A bright flame sprang up and showed some dark figures moving off into the scrub at a little distance; but the shadows fell so confusedly that it was difficult to make out whether they were men or animals. A minute afterwards Matamo passed them on horseback, cantering off in the direction of the scrub.

“That’s all right,” said Vander Heyden; “he’s sure to truck them, if any one can. We may sit down again. I suppose you couldn’t see what they were, Hardy?”

“It was something crawling on four legs,” said Hardy, “and I caught a momentary glimpse of a spotted skin, but whether it was the kaross of a Zulu, or a real tiger, I can’t say.”

“The tigers are very bold,” said Vander Heyden, “in this country. I suppose they are not such formidable beasts as the tigers of Bengal, though.”

“No, indeed,” said Hardy. “If you had ever come into contact with them, you would know the difference.”

“Did you ever kill a tiger in Bengal?” asked Margetts.

“Why, no, Mr Margetts, but one very near killed me.”

“Did he? Tell us about it,” said Redgy.

“Well, it was very soon after I went to India, when I was quite a young man. There was a letter of importance to be taken to the officer in command at Meerut; there was no one at hand who could take it, and they were obliged to entrust it to me. I was to travel by what they call dak, – travelling all night in a palanquin on men’s shoulders, and resting during the hot hours of the day. We were travelling in the wildest part of the country, when one of the bearers put his head in between the curtains. ‘Would massa like to see a tiger?’ he said.

“I had been dozing, but I started up. ‘No,’ I said; ‘there are few things I should like to see less.’

“‘Massa see one if he like it. Very big tiger yonder!’

“I looked out, and there, sure enough, about two hundred yards ahead of us there was a big tiger, trotting along in advance; I could see his striped skin clearly in the moonlight.

“‘Won’t you stop?’ I inquired of the bearers.

“‘No good stop!’ was the comforting reply; ‘tiger see us before we see him. If he mean to eat us, he eat us; if he don’t, he leave us alone.’

“I looked carefully to the loading of my gun, and lay back in the litter, watching our fellow-traveller, who jogged on, apparently entirely regardless of us. Presently he turned into the jungle and disappeared.

“‘Well!’ I said, ‘to be sure you are not going to pass the spot where he very likely is laying wait for us?’

“‘If he mean to have us, he have us,’ was the only answer I got.

“I had a strong presentiment that he did mean to have us, and I was half inclined to get out of the litter and leave them to make the experiment in their own persons. But at this moment there was a ringing noise heard in the distance, and a troop of native horsemen, who had been sent on some errand, came riding up. I informed the officer in command of our predicament, and he gave us an escort of his men to the nearest station. We heard afterwards that the tiger in question had been for many weeks past the terror of the neighbourhood, having killed great numbers of men. I was exceedingly glad to hear, when I returned that way a week or two afterwards, that he had been tracked out and shot.”

“I know they are formidable beasts,” said Vander Heyden. “I saw some of them when I was in England, and also at the Cape. The so-called tiger of this country is an awkward beast to come into contact with, though. But I consider the buffalo, if he is wounded, a much more dangerous animal.”

“I agree with you,” said Hardy. “A full-grown buffalo is pretty nearly a match for a lion, and a herd of them can put a lion to flight at any time.”

“Yes, I have seen that myself,” said Vander Heyden. “I remember once, when I was out hunting in the country near the Crocodile river, I came upon a lion who had just seized a buffalo calf, which had strayed, I suppose, for none of the herd were in sight. He was carrying it off to his lair probably. I fired, and my bullet struck one of his legs. It was a bad shot, and only inflicted a flesh wound. The lion turned, and I suppose would have rushed upon me. But at that moment a trampling was heard, and a troop of buffalo came in sight, headed probably by the mother. The lion left the calf and galloped off as fast as he could to the jungle, which lay a mile or so off. He would have got clear of them, I have no doubt, if it hadn’t been for the wound I had given him. But that crippled him so much, that the herd presently overtook and charged him. He turned and sprang upon one of them. But they had him down in a minute, and gored him to death with their horns, without his being able to make any resistance.”

The sound of horses’ feet was now heard, and Matamo came up. “Well, Matamo,” cried Redgy, “what was it then? was it a tiger, or a hyena, or a wild dog, or what?”

“I am not sure,” said Matamo, “but I think it was a bush thief?”

“A bush thief?” repeated Hardy; “do you mean a native or a white man?”

“A white thief, Mr Hardy,” answered the Bechuana, – “the same who attacked us before.”

“What! on the banks of the Blood river, you mean – before Isandhlwana, eh?” said George.

“Yes, Mr Rivers, – the man you rode after and did not catch.”

“What makes you suppose that? Colonel Wood is believed to have cleared the country of the gang by whom we were attacked,” observed Margetts.

“The colonel did not drive him off,” said Matamo. “I remember him quite well; I saw him in Luneberg the day before we left. He was looking at the waggons and asking questions. He thought I did not know him, but I did.”

“Then you think he is dogging us?” suggested Rivers.

“He is certainly after us, and means us harm,” rejoined the Bechuana. “I saw him long way off to-day. I knew his horse.”

“Horse! was he on horseback when you saw him just now – that is, if you did see him?”

“He was creeping through the bush on his hands and knees when I first saw him,” was the answer. “When I first got on my horse and rode after him, I saw him a long way off, on the edge of the wood, he and one or two more. They got on their horses and rode off before I could come up.”

“Well, they won’t come back to-night, anyhow,” observed Rivers; “and to-morrow we must devise some means of circumventing them.”

No more was said, and presently the party turned in to their sleeping-places for the night.

Rivers tapped Vander Heyden on the shoulder, and the two moved off a short distance out of hearing.

“What do you think of this, Mr Vander Heyden?” inquired George when they were out of hearing distance.

“I am afraid Matamo is right,” answered the Dutchman. “I know more of this man Cargill, or, as he chooses to call himself, Bostock, than I have cared to say. He was once in the Dutch service, and was received in society as a gentleman. At the Hague he fell in with my sister, to whom he offered very marked attentions – indeed, once made her an offer of marriage.”

“But she repelled him?” said George.

“Yes, so decidedly that he had no pretext for intruding further on her. But he would not desist, and my sister appealed to me for protection. I called at his quarters, and the result was a quarrel and a challenge, which I accepted. But the same night, at the burgomaster’s ball, he was so insolent in his demeanour to Annchen, that I insisted on his leaving the ballroom. A fracas with the police ensued, and he was lodged in prison, from which he made his escape. I never heard what had become of him until I saw him on board the Zulu Queen. But he had sent a notice to me, while in prison, that the defiance which had been exchanged between us still held good, if I dared to meet him. I answered that I stood prepared to do so when and where he might demand it. I could not then foresee that he would fall to his present level. He reminded me of my words when we met that day near the Blood river. I daresay you wondered that I should condescend to a duel with such a fellow. But my word had been given, though at that time I did not like to tell you all.”

“I see,” said George; “but you are not bound to meet him again.”

“No, nor have I any intention of doing so. Indeed, I told him so. But you heard what he said, – ‘he would find his opportunity of returning my fire,’ or some such words. He is quite ruffian enough to shoot at me without further warning.”

“If I thought that,” exclaimed George, “I declare I would fire upon him without ceremony! What, do you think he was creeping up through the reeds with that intention when Matamo saw him?”

“I cannot say. But if it was really he that Matamo saw, I don’t think it unlikely.”

“Well, we must be on our guard of course. It is a pity we haven’t a good dog with us. We must see if we can’t get one at one of the houses we pass. There is nothing for it but to go to sleep now. I think we are safe for to-night.”

The night passed as had been anticipated, without further disturbance. In the morning the route was resumed, the place appointed for that evening’s halt being Elandsberg. They were able to proceed with greater speed than on the previous day, the long, level plain being rarely interrupted by watercourses. The only drawback was that the veldt, though to all appearance level and firm, was in many places undermined by the burrows of the ant-bears which abound in this district, and which the long grass renders invisible. The horses were continually plunging into these fetlock deep, and sometimes almost to the knee. The greatest care was necessary to prevent a dangerous accident. This formation of ground lasted through the whole of the morning’s ride, so that Vander Heyden had no opportunity of resuming the conversation with George which he had held on the previous evening. But when the mid-day halt had been made, the Dutchman, who had been seated near him under the shade of a large oomehahma, asked him to take a turn with him into the wood, while the drivers were engaged in inspanning the cattle.

“Mr Rivers,” he said, “I think I ought to tell you what I have heard from my sister about this man Cargill, of whom we were speaking last night. I suppose she had overheard something from the Hottentots, which induced her to suppose that he had been seen in the neighbourhood. But it certainly is necessary that some steps should be taken to prevent the mischief which may otherwise not improbably follow. You will perhaps think it strange that I should speak to you, of all men, about her. I know the light in which you regard her. You have never, indeed, made any secret of it.” He paused and hesitated, looking at George in an embarrassed manner.

Rivers bowed rather distantly. “You are right, Mr Vander Heyden,” he said; “I have said and done nothing secretly. But I am aware of your feeling on the subject. You must allow me to say that you have made no secret of your feeling either.”

“That is true, Mr Rivers, and is one reason why I wish to speak to you now. I will not deny that when we first met, on board the Zulu Queen, my feeling was one of simple dislike to your countrymen. That may be an unreasonable prejudice; but if you knew my family history, you would not wonder at it. But the events which ensued on board the ship, and afterwards during the campaign in Zululand, have, permit me to say, completely altered my feeling. I have learned your true character, and honour and esteem you.”

George again bowed, and put out his hand, which the other took frankly. “I, too, Mr Vander Heyden, have had prejudices to get over,” he said, “and may say with truth that I have surmounted them.”

“I am glad that you can say so,” resumed Henryk. “To proceed – I would now willingly accept you as a suitor for my sister’s hand, and, to be perfectly frank, do not much doubt that she would receive you favourably, but for a circumstance which is perhaps to be regretted, but cannot be set aside. My father entertained a still stronger resentment against the English than ever I have felt. The idea of being connected with them in any manner was odious to him. Above all, the notion that either I should ever marry an Englishwoman, or an Englishman become the husband of Annchen, was one against which he was determined to guard by every means in his power. She is seven or eight years younger than I am, and was indeed not more than twelve years old at the time of his death. He thought her too young to be spoken to on the subject. But he put a clause into his will, by which she forfeited her whole inheritance if she married an Englishman, and he also laid his solemn commands on me never to allow such a marriage. I gave him my promise, and nothing can ever release me from it.”

He again paused. But George only once more bowed, and Henryk went on. “I have never told Annchen of my interview with my father, which took place only a few days before his death; nor is she aware of the clause in his will of which I have told you. When I perceived your attentions to her, I warned her against entertaining any reciprocal feelings, but only on the ground that I could never consent to such an union. I did not wish to bring in my father’s name, if I could help it. Nor shall I do so, unless it becomes absolutely necessary. May I not hope, Mr Rivers, that you, seeing what the consequences of a marriage with her would be, will prevent the occurrence of this necessity by abstaining from any further persistence in your suit?”

George was silent for a minute or two, and then replied, “You have spoken frankly, Mr Vander Heyden, and in a manner that does you honour. I do not fear poverty myself, but I ought not to reduce her to it, unless at her own expressed wish. We should not, in England, think it right for a parent to exercise so extreme an authority over a daughter as a prohibition to marry a person of any particular nation, be he who or what he might, would amount to. But under the circumstances of the case, I am willing to respect your joint wishes, and will not, unless with your permission, ask Annchen to be my wife.”

“I thank you, Mr Rivers. You will observe that my father’s command was not addressed to her, forbidding her to marry an Englishman, but to me, requiring me to forbid it. If I could think it right to set my father’s injunction aside, she doubtless would feel no scruple. But that, I fear, can never be the case.”

There was a further pause, and then Vander Heyden again spoke. “Having told you this, I have no hesitation in asking your help in the present condition of things. This man Cargill, or Bostock, or whatever he may choose to call himself, does not pursue us in this manner only because he bears me a deadly hate. He has an equally deadly passion for Annchen. I had no idea till last night of the length to which he had gone. Even on board the ship, he had the insolence to speak to her. On the day when we left the Cape he contrived to find her alone, and warn her that there would probably be mutiny and danger to the captain and officers and passengers, but she might trust to him to preserve her from all harm.”

“Why did not Miss Vander Heyden warn you?” exclaimed Rivers, greatly startled.

“He timed it well. It was only just before the ship struck. Moritz and I were asleep in our cabin, and the captain was asleep in his also. He knew that there would be no possibility of warning us. Again, as I learn, while she was at the Swedish pastor’s house, just after our encounter on the banks of the Blood river, she received a letter which he contrived to have handed to her, telling her of his unaltered affection, and that he was still resolved she should be his. I learn that he was seen in Luneberg making inquiries as to the route we were to pursue, accompanied by some of the mutineers and one or two other notorious ruffians. There is, I am afraid, no doubt that some attempt will be made to carry her off during this journey to Zeerust.”

“It sounds like it, I fear,” said Rivers. “Well, Mr Vander Heyden, you may command my services to the utmost in averting so dreadful a calamity.”

“I thank you; I knew I might reckon on your generous help. I think, if we can reach Standerton in safety, as with great exertion may be done to-morrow, we may engage more men to accompany us. Our party may be made so numerous, that Cargill will not venture on any violence. We are at present ten in number, but two or three of them cannot be relied on. If we could engage five or six stout fellows, and arm them well with rifles and revolvers, they would not dare to attack us. I propose to have a watch kept throughout the night, as well as two or three men riding always in advance, and they may follow in our rear by day.”