The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier

  VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER TEN.

  CAVEANT!

  "Well, you'll have a fine day for your ride. Hicks, leave a buck or twoup at Jim's in case I should be coming over. I suppose you'll all beback the day after to-morrow. Good-bye."

  The speaker was Mr Brathwaite; the spoken to, an equestrian group offour, consisting of Claverton, Hicks, and the two girls, who werestarting on a long-promised visit to Jim Brathwaite's place, where abushbuck hunt was to be organised on the following day. It was themorning after the narrow escape of the luckless Allen from a waterydemise--he and Armitage had returned home to fetch their guns, and wereto rejoin the others at the farm of a certain Dutchman who abodehalf-way. The Naylors had gone on ahead in their trap, and the fourequestrians were the last to start. And such a morning! The rain hadcleared away, and the great deep vault overhead was unflecked by asingle feathery cloud. The sun shot his golden darts from his amberwheel, and the outlines of the mountains slept in soft-toned reliefbeneath the liquid blue. A perfect day, with exhilaration in everybreath of the fresh, healthy atmosphere, now cooled by the thunderstormand rain of the previous evening. And the glorious freshness andradiant sunlight communicated itself to the spirits of the riders, asthey cantered gaily along, chatting and laughing in thorough enjoymentof the unclouded present.

  "Now, Mr Claverton," cried Ethel, as their horses bounded along over asmooth level stretch, "we'll have our race--I'm to have a hundred yardsstart, you know. Shall we begin?"

  "On no account. I received strict injunctions from your aunt not to letyou do anything rash, and I intend exerting my authority to theuttermost."

  "Do you? Well now, why don't you say you're afraid of being beaten?You are, you know. I'll tell you what. _You_ shall have the hundredyards start. We shall easily walk in before that lazy old `Sticks,'shan't we, Springbok, my beauty?" she said, banteringly, patting theneck of her steed, a light, elastic-stepping animal with blood andmettle in him, who arched his neck and shook his mane in response to thecaress. She sat him to perfection, the little hand bearing ever solightly on the reins; and in a habit fitting her like a glove, and acoquettish straw hat surrounded by a sweeping ostrich plume, beneathwhich the blue eyes danced and sparkled in sheer light-heartedness, shemade as pretty a picture as ever one could wish to look upon. At anyrate, so thought her companion.

  "Well, Sticks is lazy--at times--I grant you; but there's method in hislaziness. Don't abuse Sticks."

  "Never mind, I know you're afraid. Don't think any more about it. NowI suppose you're dying to. You men always want to do a thing directlyyou're told not to."

  What will be the upshot, by-the-bye, of this standing arrangement ofquartette? This is not the first ride by any means that those four havetaken together. Together! It has been shown that one of the party, atany rate, had reached the "two's company, three's a crowd" stage--or forthe present purpose four. Thus it followed that however often the groupmay have started together, it was bound to split up before going veryfar. Frequently Hicks would manage to drop behind with one, and thatone was not Ethel. Frequently, also, Ethel would, manoeuvre to rushahead in a swinging gallop, in which case she could not be suffered toride alone, but whoever undertook to superintend her on these occasions,certainly it was not Hicks. Whether she was wont to execute thesemanoeuvres at Laura's previous instigation, or whether her motives wereless disinterested, deponent sayeth not. As for Claverton, he acceptedthe situation with, characteristic indifference. Yet what could be morefraught with elements of possible combustion? As for the man, he wasperfectly unsusceptible, and wholly devoid of vanity. He looked uponhis beautiful companion as a spoilt, pretty child, fond of teasing andchaff, and who amused him, and if he thought anything about himself inthe matter, he supposed that he managed to amuse her. This is how helooked at it--but how did Ethel herself?

  "Hallo! There goes a buck!" cried Claverton, suddenly. "May as wellhave a shot," and he made a movement to dismount.

  "No, don't--please don't! Springbok won't stand fire, you know, andhe'll bolt with me."

  "Oh, all right. Then that lazy old Sticks has his good points afterall?"

  "Yes; a steady old arm-chair has its good points too. You can shootfrom it," she replied, scornfully.

  "What a wooden comparison! Why not say a clothes-horse?"

  Bang! The report of a gun behind them. "Hicks to the fore," remarkedClaverton, shading his eyes to watch the effect of the shot. But thebuck held on its way, caring not a straw for the bullet which burieditself in the earth with a vicious thud some ten or a dozen yardsbehind.

  In this way they rode on in the pleasant sunshine, and eventually drewrein in front of a prettily situated though roughly built house of redbrick, with thatched roof and high _stoep_. This was the abode of aDutchman, Isaac Van Rooyen by name, and here they had arranged to stayand have dinner, for on the frontier a standing hospitality is the rule,and in travelling every one makes a convenience of his neighbour and ismade a convenience of in turn. The Boer, a large corpulent man of aboutsixty, advanced to welcome them as the clamorous tongues of a yelpingand mongrel pack gave warning of their approach, and consigning theirhorses to a dilapidated-looking Hottentot, they entered the house. Along, low room furnished with the characteristic plainness of such anabode; a substantial table, several chairs, on some of which none but alunatic or an inebriate would venture to trust his proportions for asingle instant. In one corner stood an ancient and battered harmonium,another contained a sewing-machine and a huge family Bible in ponderousDutch lettering, while the walls were garnished with sundry grievousprints, high in colour and grisly in design, representing Mosesdestroying the Tables of the Law, Elijah and the prophets of Baal, andso on. The _vrouw_ arose from her coffee-brewing as they entered--theabsorption of coffee is a _sine qua non_ in a Boer domicile on thearrival of visitors--and greeted them with stolid and wooden greeting,and a brace of great shy and ungainly damsels--exact reproductions oftheir mother at twenty and twenty-one--looked scared as they limplyshook hands with the new-comers. But others were there besides theregular inmates, for the Naylors had arrived, as also Armitage andAllen, and our friend Will Jeffreys, and these were keeping up alaborious conversation with the worthy Boer and his ponderous _vrouw_,whose daughters, aforesaid, eat together in speechless inanity, now andagain venturing a "Ja" or a "Nay" if addressed, and straightwayrelapsing into a spasmodic giggle beneath their _kapjes_.

  "Doesn't Miss Brathwaite play?" inquired the Boer, with a glance atEthel and then at the harmonium.

  "`England expects.' Go now and elicit wheezy strains from yon venerableand timeworn fire-engine," said Claverton, in a low tone.

  She drew off her gloves in a resigned manner, and was about to sit downat the despised instrument, when some one putting a book on themusic-stool in order to heighten the seat, that fabric underwent a totalcollapse and came to the ground with a crash. Another seat was found,and she began to play--but oh! what an instrument of torture it was--more to the performer than to the audience. Every other note stuckfast, keeping up an earsplitting and discordant hum throughout; and thebellows being afflicted with innumerable leaks, were the cause of muchlabour and sorrow to the player.

  "I can't play on this thing," she said. "Every other note sticks down,and the bellows are all in holes, and--I won't."

  Naylor explained to the Dutchman that Ethel was a great pianist but wasnothing at harmoniums, which excuse covered her somewhat petulantretreat from the abominable instrument, and just then dinner was broughtin. Then it became a question of finding seats, many of the chairsbeing _hors de combat_.

  "Here you are, Allen; come and sit here," called out Armitage. In aconfiding moment, and the table being full, the unsuspecting youthdropped into the seat indicated, and then--dropped on the floor, for therickety concern forthwith "resigned," even as the music-stool had donebefore it. A roar of laughter went up from the incorrigible joker atthe success of his impromptu trap, and Allen arose from the ruins of
thechair, like Phoenix from the ashes.

  "I say, though, that's better than the cruise down the river with thebee in your bonnet, isn't it, old chap?" said Armitage, exploding again.Allen looked rather glum, and another seat, not much less rickety thanthe other, was found for him.

  When he was settled, the Boer stood up and with closed eyes began along, rambling oration, presumably to the Creator, which was meant forgrace, and having discoursed unctuously on everything, or nothing, forthe space of several minutes, he set the example of falling to.

  "Going up to Jim Brathwaite's for the hunt to-morrow, Oom Isaac?" askedArmitage of his host. [Note 1.]

  "Ja," replied old Van Rooyen. "Can _he_ shoot?" designating Claverton--the popular idea on the frontier being that an "imported" Briton mustnecessarily be an ass in all things pertaining to field pursuits.

  "He just can. Didn't you hear how he licked the Pexters down at myplace?"

  "Yes, I did hear that; I remember now;" and the Dutchman looked atClaverton with increased respect.

  "But that's the fellow to bring down a buck at five hundred yards," wenton Armitage, indicating Allen, who, regardless of what went on aroundhim, was making terrific play with his knife and fork, and who, althoughseated next the speaker, remained in blissful unconsciousness of beingthe subject of any chaff, by reason of his ignorance of the Dutchlanguage.

  "Is he now? I shouldn't have thought that," was the deliberating reply;the matter-of-fact Boer not dreaming for a moment that the other wasgammoning him.

  And the ball of conversation rolled on, and the unseasoned stew wassucceeded by a ponderous jar of quince preserve, then another lengthygrace and the inevitable coffee.

  Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Van Rooyen, with the freedomof his countrymen, was discussing "present company."

  "What a pretty girl she is!" he was saying, referring to Ethel. "Is sheanother of Mr Brathwaite's daughters?"

  "No, a niece," replied Naylor, to whom the remark was addressed. "Herfather is George Brathwaite, the M.L.A."

  "`Ja,' I know him," replied the Dutchman. "He isn't a good man (in thesense of `a good politician'). He voted against our interests inseveral things. But she's a pretty girl, a very pretty girl. And theEnglishman's a good-looking fellow, too. Are they engaged?"

  "Damned fool!" angrily muttered Claverton, who, while talking to Ethel,had overheard the above conversation and wondered whether Ethel had too.

  "What's the matter now?" said she, and the frown left his brow as thequestion convinced him she had not heard. But he turned and suggestedto Armitage that it was time to saddle up.

  "Well, yes--I think it is," replied that worthy, who was busily debatingin his own mind whether it would be carrying a joke too far if heinserted a burr or prickle of some sort beneath the saddle of Allen'ssteady-going old mare; and forthwith a general move was made for thehorses, which were duly brought to the door.

  "Now, Allen, old chap, keep those awful spurs of yours out of my horse'sflank, or there'll be the deuce to pay," called out Armitage, as theabsent-minded youth backed his steed violently into that of thespeaker--whereupon a kicking match became imminent. Meanwhile Ethel waswaiting to be put on her horse, and glanced half involuntarily andsomewhat angrily in the direction of Claverton, who, whether by accidentor of set purpose, was still on the _stoep_ beginning to fill his pipefrom Van Rooyen's pouch, and apparently as ignorant of his actualungallantry as though the fair sex formed no ingredient of the party.With concealed mortification she resigned herself to Will Jeffreys, whoadvanced to perform that necessary office, and eagerly seized theopportunity of riding by her side.

  "Mr Armitage," she called out, speaking over her shoulder, "do tell methat story about Spoek Krantz."

  Armitage ranged his horse on her unoccupied side and began hisnarrative, enlarging to an appalling extent as he went on.

  "Don't take in all he says, Miss Brathwaite. He's cooking up a yarn forthe occasion," said Jeffreys.

  Armitage vehemently protested that nothing was further from hisintention, but to the jocular recrimination which followed, Ethel hardlylistened. She thought that Claverton should be punished for his neglectby being made to ride behind. A punishment to which, by the way, thedelinquent seemed to submit with exemplary patience, for he puffed awayat his pipe, discoursing placidly to Allen, whom he was just in time toprevent from inflicting himself on Laura, thereby rendering Hicks asubstantial service. Nevertheless Ethel, before they had gone one-thirdof the way, began to wish that Armitage was less garrulously disposed,and would vacate the place to which she had summoned him, and once whenhe dropped behind a little to light his pipe, she half turned her headwith a strange wistfulness, and her pulses beat quicker as she hopedthat the hoof-strokes which she heard overtaking her were not those of_his_ steed. But they were, and as that light-hearted mortal ranged upbeside her and launched out into a fresh stream of chaff and jocularity,and the end of the ride drew near, it seemed to her that the sunshinehad gone out of the day, although there was not a cloud in the heavensand the whole beautiful landscape was bathed in that wondrous goldenglow which precedes a South African sunset; and shall it be confessed,she felt sore and angry, and snubbed poor Jeffreys, and irritablychecked the flow of Armitage's running fire of small wit, till at lastthey drew rein at Jim Brathwaite's house and were received by its jovialoccupant in person.

  "Hallo, Ethel; so you've come to help us shoot a buck. But where's yourgun?" chaffed he. "Keep quiet; get away you _schelms_," he went on,shying a couple of big stones into the midst of some half-dozen hugerough-haired dogs, which rushed open-mouthed towards the equestrians,baying furiously. The rude but serviceable pack, stopped in theircareer, thought better of it and turned back, one of their numberhowling piteously, and limping from the effects of another "rock" hurledby Jim's forcible and practised hand. "Well, Arthur," as the other twocame up, "we'll show you some fun to-morrow. But come inside; I'll sendKlaas round to off-saddle."

  Note 1. "Uncle." Among the Boers, "Oom" and "Tanta," "Uncle" and"Aunt," are used as complimentary prefixes when addressing elderlypeople, though these stand in no relation whatever to the speaker.