John Ames, Native Commissioner: A Romance of the Matabele Rising

  CHAPTER TWENTY.

  ALONE.

  "I think we'll move on a little further to-day, if you feel equal to it,Nidia."

  She looked up in surprise.

  "Certainly, if you think it advisable," she answered.

  "Well, to tell the truth, I do. It's not a good plan to remain too longin the same place. My notion is to work our way gradually to thenorthern edge of the range, where we can reconnoitre the open countrybetween it and Bulawayo. It'll be that way we shall be most likely tostrike a patrol."

  John Ames was occupied in plucking the guinea-fowls he had brought inyesterday. Nidia had just lighted the fire and was engaged in making itburn. The sun had just risen upon a glorious day of cloudlessness, ofcoolness too, judging from the keen edge which still ran through theatmosphere.

  "John," she said, looking up suddenly, "is it because of what I told youyesterday?"

  "The proposed move? N-no. Yet, perhaps a little of that too. Youwould never feel easy if left alone here again. But I have otherreasons--that smoke, for instance, I saw yesterday. It may meannatives. There may have been fighting down Sikumbutana way or on theUmgwane, and they may be taking to the mountains. We had better getfurther on."

  "Do you know, I am glad you have come to that conclusion. What I toldyou yesterday has rather got upon my nerves, and, now we are going tomove, I'll tell you something more. I dreamt of it--dreamt that awfulface was bending over me looking into mine. You know--one of thosedreams that is horribly real, one that remains with you after you wake,and, in fact, that you remember as though it had actually happened. Arethose birds ready?"

  "Yes. Never mind. I'll fix them," he replied; and in a moment, fixedon a deft arrangement of sticks, they were hissing and sputtering overthe fire. His mind was full of Nidia's dream. But was it a dream?That shape, brushing past him in the darkness--the hollow, demoniacallaugh? Had the being, whatever it was, actually entered the cave,passing him seated there on guard? Was it a dream, indeed, or was itthe actual face which she had seen? The latter seemed far more like it.Then he remembered that even if such were the case, it was too dark forfeatures to be distinguishable. He was fairly puzzled. And by way offinding some solution to the mystery he went down to the spot whichNidia pointed out to him as the scene of the first apparition, andexamined the ground long and carefully. There was not a trace of ahuman footmark--not a stone displaced. He felt more puzzled than ever.

  But not to Nidia was he going to impart his misgivings. With a changeof camping-place she would forget this rather unpleasant mystery, ifonly it did not take to following them, that is--and indeed they wouldbe fortunate if they met with no more material cause for alarm.

  "On the whole it's rather lucky we struck old Shiminya's place," heremarked, as they were seated at their primitive breakfast. "Blankets,matches, everything we have--and that's not much--we owe to him, eventhe rifle and cartridges. When I cleared from Sikumbutana, with nothingon earth but a pipe, a sword-bayonet, and a bunch of keys, I felt prettyhelpless, I can tell you. What must you have felt, when you first foundyourself adrift?"

  "It was awful. That night--shall I ever forget it? And how strange weshould have met like that. The very next day I was going to send overto let you know I was at the Hollingworths'. I only heard from MrMoseley that you were so near. Would you have come to see me?"

  "Have you forgotten that last long day of ours, down by the sea, thatyou can ask such a question?" he said gravely, his full, straight glancemeeting hers. Nidia was conscious of ever so slight a flush stealingover her face. "How ingenious you are," intently examining one of thewooden forks which he had roughly carved for her as they went along."You must let me keep these as a memento of this wandering of ours."

  "How many are there?" he answered. "Three--may not I keep one of them?I want a memento, too."

  "Am I getting irremediably freckled and tanned?" she said. "Andtattered? Yet one would be in absolute rags, but for thatthorn-and-fibre needle and thread of yours."

  "I never saw you look better in my life. There are no freckles, and thebrown will soon wear off, if you want it to. Though really it'sbecoming--makes the eyes larger. So make your mind easy on that score.As for tatters"--looking at his own attire--"I'm afraid we are rather aragged pair. By the way, I wonder what your people in England would sayif they could see you now."

  "I know what they'd say to you for the care you've taken of me," sheanswered seriously, "what they will say, I hope, one of these days."

  He turned away suddenly, and bending down, began busying himself overthe rolling up of their scanty kit.

  "Oh, as to that," he rejoined, speaking in a tone of studiedcarelessness, "where should I have been all this time without you? Nicecheerful work it would have been romping about the mountains alone,wouldn't it?"

  "You would have been in safety long ago without myself as a drag uponyou."

  "Possibly; possibly not. But, speaking selfishly, I prefer things asthey are. But it's rough on you, that's what I'm thinking about. Bythe way, old Shiminya isn't quite such a rip as I thought. I was morethan half afraid he'd have given us away when they cut him loose. Buthe doesn't seem to have done so, or we'd have heard about it beforenow."

  This apparently careless change of subject did not impose upon Nidia.She saw through and appreciated it--and a thrill of pride and admirationwent through her. Whimsically enough, her own words, spoken to herfriend on the day of that first meeting, came into her mind. "I thinkwe'll get to know him, he looks nice." And now--he had impressed her asno man had ever before done. Full of resource, strong, tactful, andeminently companionable as he had shown himself, she was intensely proudof the chivalrous adoration with which she knew he regarded her, and allmanifestation of which he was ever striving to repress. What would shedo when they returned to safety, and their ways would lie apart? Forsomehow in Nidia's mind the certainty that they would return to safetyhad firmly taken root.

  "Perhaps they haven't cut him loose yet," she suggested.

  Her companion gave a whistle, and looked scared. Only for a moment,though.

  "Bad for him in that case. It would have been better for him and saferfor us--to have given him a tap on the head. I couldn't prove anythingagainst him, though I've had my eye on him for some time--besides, heseems to have taken some care of you. But he's sure to have been found.He's one of these Abantwana 'Mlimo, and too much in request just now."

  "Is there anything in that Umlimo superstition, do you think, John?"

  "There is, to this extent. From what I can get out of the natives it isof Makalaka origin, and manifests itself in a voice speaking from acave. Now I believe that to be effected by ventriloquy. There is aclose `ring' of hierarchs of the Abstraction, probably most of themventriloquists, and they retain their power by the very simple butseldom practised expedient of keeping their eyes and ears open and theirmouths shut. That is about the secret of all necromancy, I suspect,from its very beginning."

  "Then you don't believe in a particular prophet who talks out of acave?"

  "No; if only for the reason that the cave the Umlimo is supposed tospeak from is one that no man could get into or out of--at least, so theMatabele say. No; the thing is a mere abstraction; an idea cleverlyfostered by Messrs. Shiminya and Co. They shout up questions to thecave, and ventriloquise the answers back."

  What was it? Did the speaker actually hear at that moment a shadowyecho of the mocking laugh which had been hurled at him from thedarkness, or did he imagine it? The latter, of course. But here, inthe very home of the superstition they had been discussing, could there,after all, be more in it--more than met the eye? He could not but feelvaguely uneasy. He glanced at his companion. She had altered neitherattitude nor expression. He felt relieved.

  Over less forbidding looking ground their way now lay. The grey chaoticbillowings and craters of granite blocks gave way to table-land coveredwith long grass and abundant foliage. Here they advanced ever withc
aution, conversing but little, and then only in whispers. Indeed,after the rest and comparative safety of their late refuge, it was likeentering into all the anxiety and apprehensions of peril renewed. Notvery fast, however, could they travel, for Nidia, though a good walker,felt the heat, and John Ames, although, as he declared, he had "humped"a heavier "swag" than that comprised by their load, yet it demoralisedhim too.

  A fireless camp amid the rocks, then on again in the cool of themorning. And as their way lay over high ground, the sun rose upon sucha sea of vast and unrivalled wildness--castellated peaks and needle-likegranite shafts, here a huge grey rock-dome, smooth, and banded round bya beautiful formation of delicate pink; there, and all around, cone-likekopjes of tumbled angular boulders, as though the fire whirlpool beneathearth's surface had swept round and round, throwing on high its rockybillows, leaving in the centre this great dome, smooth and unriven.Doves cooed among the greenness of the acacias, whose feathery spraysgleamed bright against the background of grim rock in sombre masses.

  "Yes, it is about as wild a bit of scene as you could find anywhere,"said John Ames, in reply to his companion's cry of amazement anddelight. "You will have something to talk about after this; for you cansafely say you have been where very very few whites have ever set foot.Even now there are parts of the Matopos which have never been explored.The old-time hunters avoided them because there was no game--as we, bythe way, know to our cost; the traders because there were no natives--aswe know to our advantage; and the prospectors because granite and golddon't go together."

  The foliage grew more abundant as they advanced; the "marula" and wildfig, and omnipresent acacia. Winding around the spurs of the greathills every turn of their way would reveal some fresh view of exquisitewildness and beauty.

  "Look over there, Nidia. That might be the cave of the Umlimo himself,"said John Ames, pointing to a great granite cone which rose up from thevalley bottom some little distance off. It was apparently about twohundred feet in height, and in the centre of its face yawned a greatsquare hole, black and darksome.

  "I wonder is it?" she said, gazing with interest at what was in fact asufficiently remarkable object, "If it isn't, it ought to be."

  "Look," he went on. "Imagine it a bright moonlight night, and thatvalley bottom crowded with about half the Matabele fighting-men, allranged in crescent formation, looking up at the cave there. Thenimagine the oracle booming forth its answers from the blackness ofyonder hole. Wouldn't that make a scene--eh?"

  "Yes, indeed it would. But--how could anybody get up there? It looksquite inaccessible."

  "So it probably is. But there would be no necessity for anybody to getup there. Messrs. Shiminya and Co. would take care of that part of theentertainment, as I was telling you the other day. Well, we won't campnear it on the off chance that it may be the real place."

  The spot they did select for a camp-ground was some little way furtheron, and a wild and secluded one it was, right in among rocks and trees,and well up on the hillside. This elevated position was of furtheradvantage in that a reedy swamp wound through the valley bottom; twowater-holes of oval formation, gleaming like a pair of great eyes fromits midst.

  "I'm afraid `skoff' is running low, Nidia," remarked John Ames,surveying gravely a pair of turtle-doves and a _swempi_, the latter asmall variety of partridge, which he had knocked over with stones duringtheir journeying. "A brace of record pedestrians can't afford to letthemselves run down in condition. The English of which is that I mustgo out and kill something--or try to."

  "Mayn't I go with you?" she asked, rather wistfully. He lookeddoubtful.

  "I wish you could," he answered slowly. "But--you have walked enoughthe last couple of days; and apart from the discomfort to you, it isessential you should not overtire yourself. In fact, it might become amatter of life or death. No. Be good now, and remain perfectly quiethere, and rest. I'll be back before dark. Good-bye."

  What impulse moved her to put out both her bands to him? He took them.

  "Good-bye," he said again. One second more of their eyes thus meetingand his resolution would be shattered. With a farewell pressure hedropped her hands and was gone.

  It was early in the afternoon, and warm withal. Left alone Nidia grewdrowsy and fell into a doze. When she awoke the sun was just going offthe valley beneath, and she was still alone. She sat up congratulatingherself upon having got through those lonely hours in sleep. He wouldbe back now at any moment. Rising, she went over to the runnel of waterwhich trickled down the rocks just behind their resting-place, andbathed her face in one of its clear basins. Then she returned. Stillno John Ames.

  The sun was off the valley now--off the world. In the brief twilightthe stars began to rush forth. A terrible loneliness came over her.Oh, why was he so late? The two water-holes in the valley glared up ather with a lack-lustre stare, as of a pair of gigantic eyes, watchingher loneliness. Still he came not.

  Was he uncertain of the place? They had but just arrived there, and hemight well be. Fool that she was not to have thought of it, and now herhands trembled with eagerness as she collected some dry grass and stickstogether, and caring nothing what other eyes might see it if only hiswould, kindled them into a bright blaze.

  How her hearing was strained to its uttermost tension! Every rustle ofa leaf, every snapping of a twig, sent a thrill of anticipatory joythrough her being, only to give way to sickening disappointment. Anhour went by, then two. Faint and exhausted, she had not even theenergy to prepare food. The one consciousness of her appallingloneliness here in this scarcely trodden waste seemed to sap andparalyse all her facilities. The weird voices of the night held adifferent meaning now that she was lying out alone on the hillside.Below, in the swamp, the trailing gleam of will-o'-the-wisps playedfitfully, and the croaking of frogs was never stilled.

  Had anything befallen him? It must be so. Nothing short of that couldhave kept him from returning to her. And she? She could do nothing toaid him. She was so absolutely helpless.

  "Oh, darling! why did I ever allow you to leave me, my own, my truechivalrous love?" she murmured to herself amid a rain of tears,confiding to herself the secret of her heart in the agony of herdistress and terror. And still the dark hours wore on, one uponanother, and he--the companion, protector--lover--did not return.

  The night she had spent hiding in the river-bank after the slaughter ofthe Hollingworths could hardly be surpassed for horror and apprehension,Nidia had thought at the time. Now she recognised that it had been asnothing to this one. Then she had hardly known the secret of herheart--now she had discovered it. But--too late.

  Yet, was it too late? Harm might not have befallen him, after all. Hemight have missed his way in the darkness. In the very earliest dawn hewould return, and then the joy of it! This hope acted like a sedativeto poor Nidia's overwrought brain. The night air was soft and balmy.At last she slept.

  It was grey dawn when she awoke, but her awakening was startling, for itwas brought about by a loud harsh shout--almost in her ear. Nidiasprang to her feet, trembling with terror. Several great dark shapesfled to the rocks just overhanging her resting-place, and, gaining them,faced round again, uttering their harsh, angry shout. Baboons? Couldthey be? Nidia had seen here and there a dejected looking baboon or twochained to a post; but such had nothing in common with these greatfierce brutes up there, barely twenty yards distant, which skippedhither and thither, champing their great tusks and barking savagely.One old male of enormous size, outlined against the sky, on the apex ofa cone, looked as large as a lion. Others came swarming down the rocks;evil-looking horrors, repulsive as so many gigantic spiders.

  Wild-eyed with fear, Nidia snatched up a blanket, and ran towards them,waving it, and shouting. They retreated helter-skelter, but only toskip forward again, mowing and gibbering. Three of the foremost,indeed, great males, would hardly move at all. They squatted almostwithin springing distance, gnashing their tusks, hideously threatening.
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  Then, as by magic, the whole gnome-like troop wildly fled; but the causeof this change of front was hard and material. "Whizz--Bang--Whack!"came a succession of stones, forcibly hurled, splintering off a rocklike a bullet, thudding hard upon simian ribs. Yelling and jabbering,the whole crew skipped and shoggled up the rocks, and Nidia, with a verywan and scared smile upon her pallid face, turned to welcome hercompanion and protector--turned, to behold--not John Ames at all, but aburly savage--a tall Matabele warrior, barbarously picturesque in theweird panoply of his martial adornments.