'Tween Snow and Fire: A Tale of the Last Kafir War

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

  THE SHIELD OF HER LOVE.

  When Eustace Milne fell from his saddle to the earth, the savage who hadstabbed him, and who was about to follow up the blow, started back witha loud shout of astonishment and dismay.

  It arrested the others. They paused as they stood. It arrested assegaiblades quivering to bury themselves in the fallen man's body. Itarrested murderous knob-kerries whistling in the air ready to descendand crash out the fallen man's brains. They stood, those maddened,bloodthirsty barbarians, paralysed, petrified, as they took up with onevoice their compatriot's dismayed shout.

  "_Au! Umtagati! Mawo_!" [Ha! Witchcraft! A wonder!]

  They crowded round the prostrate body, but none would touch it. Theblow had been dealt hard and fair, by a hand which had dealt more thanone such blow before, and always with deadly effect. Yet the wound didnot bleed.

  The dealer of it stood, contemplating his assegai, with looks ofamazement, of alarm. Instead of driving its great broad blade up to thehilt in the yielding body of his victim, and feeling the warm blood gushforth upon his hand, the point had encountered something hard, with theeffect of administering quite a shock to wrist and arm, so great was theforce of the blow and the resistance. And the point of the spear bladehad snapped off by at least an inch.

  "Witchcraft!" they cried again. "He is dead, and yet he does not bleed._Mawo_!"

  He was. Not a movement stirred his limbs; not a breath heaved his chestever so faintly. The lips, slightly parted, were as livid as thefeatures.

  For a few moments they stood contemplating their victim in speechlessamazement. Then one, more daring or less credulous than his fellows,reached forward as if about to plunge his assegai into the motionlessbody. The rest hung breathlessly watching the result of the experiment.But before it could be carried into effect the deep tones of aperemptory voice suspended the uplifted weapon. Every head turned, andthe circle parted to make way for the new arrival.

  He was a tall, muscular Kafir, as straight as a dart, and carried hishead with an air of command which, with the marked deference shown him,bespoke him a man of considerable rank. His bronzed and sinewyproportions were plentifully adorned with fantastic ornaments ofbeadwork and cow-tails, and he wore a headpiece of monkey skinsurmounted by the long waving plumes of the blue crane.

  Without a word he advanced, and, bending over the prostrate body,scrutinised the dead man's features. A slight start and exclamation ofastonishment escaped him, then, recovering himself, he carefullyexamined, without touching it, the place where the assegai had struck.There it was, visible to all, a clean cut in the cord jacket--yet nosign of blood.

  "_Au_! He does not bleed! He does not bleed!" ejaculated the crowdagain.

  By this time the numbers of the latter had augmented. Having given upthe chase of the other two whites, or leaving it to their advanceguards, the Kafirs swarmed back by twos and threes to where thegathering crowd showed that something unusual was going on.

  The chief drew a knife from his girdle and bent once more over theprostrate form. But his purpose was not at present a bloodthirsty one,for he only held the broad blade across the livid lips. Then raising ithe scrutinised it keenly. The bright steel was ever so slightly dimmed.

  "Ha!" he exclaimed in a tone of satisfaction, rising to his feet afterrepeating the operation. Then he issued his orders, with the resultthat poor Eustace was lifted on to a stout blanket, and four men,advancing, shouldered a corner apiece and thus, with their living burdenin their midst, the whole band moved away down the kloof.

  After about two hours' marching, during which the country grew wilderand more wooded, they halted at a water-hole--one of a chain of severalin the otherwise dried-up bed of a stream. Eustace was gently loweredto the ground, and, squatting around him, his bearers began to watch himwith a great and gathering curiosity, for he was beginning to show signsof returning life.

  At a rapid signal from the chief, water was fetched from the hole andhis brow and face bathed. A tremor ran through his frame and a sighescaped him. Then he opened his eyes.

  "_Hau_!" exclaimed the Kafirs, bending eagerly forward.

  At sight of the ring of dark faces gazing upon him in the gatheringdusk, Eustace raised his head with a slight start. Then, asrecollection returned to him, he sank wearily back. His head wasaching, too, as if it would split. He would be fortunate if the blowwhich had deprived him of consciousness did not end in concussion of thebrain.

  With the return of consciousness came a feeling of intense gratificationthat he was still alive. This may seem a superfluous statement, yetnot. Many a man waking to the consciousness that he was a helplesscaptive in the power of fierce and ruthless barbarians, has prayed withall his soul for the mercy of a swift and certain death, and has done sowith a grim and terrible earnestness. Not so, however, Eustace Milne.He had something to live for now. While there was life there was hope.He was not going to throw away a single chance.

  To this end, then, he lay perfectly still, closing his eyes again, forhe wanted to think, to clear his terribly aching and beclouded brain.And while thus lying, seemingly unconscious, his ears caught the subduedhum of his captors' conversation--caught the whispered burden of theirsuperstitious misgivings, and he resolved to turn them to account.

  "It is a powerful `charm,'" one of them was saying. "We ought to findit--to take it away from him."

  "We had better not meddle with it," was the reply. "Wait and see. Itmay not be too powerful for Ngcenika, or it may. We shall see."

  "Ha! Ngcenika--the great prophetess. _Ewa, ewa_!" [Yes--yes]exclaimed several.

  A powerful charm? Ngcenika, the prophetess? What did they mean. Thenit dawned upon him as in a flash. The uplifted assegai, the greatleaping barbarian, grinning in bloodthirsty glee as the weapon quiveredin his sinewy grasp: then the blow--straight at his heart. It all cameback lo him now.

  Yet how had he escaped? The stroke had been straight, strong, andsurely directed. He had felt the contact. Checking an impulse to raisehis hand to his heart, he expanded his chest ever so slightly. Nosharp, pricking pang, as of a stab or cut. He was unwounded. But how?

  And then as the truth burst upon him, such a thrill of new-born hoperadiated throughout his being that he could hardly refrain from leapingto his feet then and there. The silver box--Eanswyth's gift atparting--this was what had interposed between him and certain death!The silver box--with its contents, the representation of that sweetface, those last lines, tear stained, "warm from her hand and heart," asshe herself had put it--this was what had turned the deadly stroke whichshould have cleft his heart in twain. What an omen!

  A "charm," they had called it--a powerful "charm." Ha! that must be hiscue. Would it prove too potent for Ngcenika? they had conjectured. Thename was familiar to him as owned by Kreli's principal witch-doctress, ashadowy personage withal, and known to few, if any, of the whites, andtherefore credited with powers above the average. Certain it was thather influence at that time was great.

  More than ever now had he his cue, for he could guess his destination.They were taking him to the hiding place of the Paramount Chief, andwith the thorough knowledge he possessed of his captors, the chance ofsome opportunity presenting itself seemed a fairly good one. But, aboveall, he must keep up his character for invulnerability. Neither perilnor pain must wring from him the faintest indication of weakness.

  In furtherance of this idea--the racking, splitting pain in his headnotwithstanding--he sat up and looked deliberately around as though justawakening from an ordinary sleep. He noticed a start run round thecircle of swarthy, wondering countenances. As he did so, his glancefell upon one that was familiar to him.

  "_Hau_, Ixeshane!" cried its owner, stepping forth from the circle."You have come a long way to visit us!" and the ghost of a mocking smilelurked round the speaker's mouth.

  "That is so, Hlangani. Here--tell one of them to dip that half-full ofwater at the hole."
He had drawn a flask from his pocket and held outthe metal cup. One of the Kafirs took it and proceeded to execute hisrequest without a word. Then, adding some spirit to the water, he drankit off, and half-filling the cup again--with raw brandy--he handed it tothe chief. Hlangani drained it at a single gulp.

  "_Silungile_!" [Good] he said briefly, then stood wailing as if to seewhat the other would say next. Calmly Eustace returned the flask to hispocket. But he said nothing.

  After about an hour's halt the band arose, and, gathering up theirweapons and such scanty _impedimenta_ as they possessed, the Kafirsprepared to start.

  "Can you walk, Ixeshane?" said the chief.

  "Certainly," was the reply. His head was splitting and it was all hecould do to keep on his feet at all. Still his new character must bekept up, and the night air was cool and invigorating. But just as hewas about to step forth with the others, his arms were suddenly forcedbehind him and quickly and securely bound. There was no time forresistance, even had he entertained the idea of offering any, which hehad not.

  "Am I a fool, Hlangani?" he said. "Do I imagine that I, unarmed andalone, can escape from about two hundred armed warriors, think you?Why, then, this precaution?"

  "It is night," replied the chief laconically.

  It was night, but it was bright moonlight. The Kafirs were marching inno particular order, very much at ease in fact, and as he walked,surrounded by a strong body guard, he could form some idea of thestrength of the band. This numbered at least a couple of hundred, heestimated; but the full strength of the party which had so disastrouslysurprised them must have consisted of nearly twice that number. Then hequestioned them concerning the fate of his comrades. For answer theygrinned significantly, going through a pantomimic form of slaying aprostrate enemy with assegais.

  "All killed?" said Eustace, incredulously.

  "No. Only the one who is with you," was the answer. "But the other twowill be dead by this time. Their horses were used up, and our peopleare sure to have overtaken them long before they got to the river. _Auumlungu_!" went on the speaker, "Were you all mad, you four poor whites,that you thought to come into the country of the Great Chief, Sarili,the Chief Paramount, and eat the cattle of his children?"

  "But this is not his country. It belongs to Moni, the chief of theAmabomvane."

  "Not his country. Ha!" echoed the listeners, wagging their heads indisdain. "Not his country! The white man's `charm' may be potent, butit has rendered him mad."

  "Ho, Sarili--father!" chorused the warriors, launching out into animpromptu song in honour of the might and virtues of their chief."Sarili--lord! The Great, Great One! The deadly snake! The mightybuffalo bull, scattering the enemy's hosts with the thunder of hischarge! The fierce tiger, lying in wait to spring! Give us thy whiteenemies that we may devour them alive. Ha--ah!"

  The last ejaculation was thundered out in a prolonged, unanimous roar,and inspired by the fierce rhythm of the chant, the warriors with oneaccord formed up into columns, and the dark serried ranks, marchingthrough the night, swelling the wild war-song, beating time with sticks,the quivering rattle of assegai hafts mingling with the thunderous treadof hundreds of feet, and the gleam of the moonlight upon weapons androlling eyeballs, went to form a picture of indescribable grandeur andawe.

  Again and again surged forth the weird rhythm:

  Ho, Sarili, son of Hintza! Great Chief of the House of Gcaleka! Great Father of the children of Xosa! Strong lion, devourer of the whites! Great serpent, striking dead thine enemies! Give us thy white enemies that we may hew them into small pieces. Ha--Ah! Great Chief! whose kraals overflow with fatness! Great Chief! whose cornfields wave to feed a people! Warrior of warriors, whom weapons surround like the trees of a forest! We return to thee drunk with the blood of thine enemies. "Ha--ha--ha!"

  With each wild roar, shouted in unison at the end of each of theseimpromptu strophes, the barbarians immediately surrounding him wouldturn to Eustace and flash their blades in his face, brandishing theirweapons in pantomimic representation of carving him to pieces. This toone less versed in their habits and character would have been to thelast degree terrifying, bound and at their mercy as he was. But itinspired in him but little alarm. They were merely letting off steam.Whatever his fate might eventually be, his time had not yet come, andthis he knew.

  After a great deal more of this sort of thing, they began to get tiredof their martial display. The chanting ceased and the singers subsidedonce more into their normal state of free and easy jollity. Theylaughed and poked fun among themselves, and let off a good deal of chaffat the expense of their prisoner. And this metamorphosis was not alittle curious. The fierce, ruthless expression, blazing with racialantipathy, depicted on each dark countenance during that wild andheadlong chase for blood, had disappeared, giving way to one that wasactually pleasing, the normal light-hearted demeanour of a keen-wittedand kindly natured people. Yet the chances of the prisoner's life beingeventually spared were infinitesimal.