CHAPTER XI
THE SHOT IN THE KLOOF
I think it was about three weeks after these events that we began our
southward trek. On the morning subsequent to our arrival at Marais's
camp, Pereira came up to me when several people were present, and,
taking my hand, thanked me in a loud voice for having saved his life.
Thenceforward, he declared, I should be dearer to him than a brother,
for was there not a blood bond between us?
I answered I did not think any such bond existed; indeed, I was not sure
what it meant. I had done my duty by him, neither less nor more, and
there was nothing further to be said.
It turned out, however, that there was a great deal further to be said,
since Pereira desired to borrow money, or, rather, goods, from me. He
explained that owing to the prejudices of the vulgar Boers who remained
alive in that camp, and especially of the scandalous-tongued Vrouw
Prinsloo, both he and his uncle had come to the conclusion that it would
be wise for him to remove himself as soon as possible. Therefore he
proposed to trek away alone.
I answered that I should have thought he had done enough solitary
travelling in this veld, seeing how his last expedition had ended. He
replied that he had, indeed, but everyone here was so bitter against him
that no choice was left. Then he added with an outburst of truth:
"Allemachte! Mynheer Quatermain, do you suppose that it is pleasant for
me to see you making love all day to the maid who was my betrothed, and
to see her paying back the love with her eyes? Yes, and doubtless with
her lips, too, from all I hear."
"You could leave her whom you called your betrothed, but who never was
betrothed to anyone but me with her own will, to starve in the veld,
mynheer. Why, then, should you be angry because I picked up that which
you threw away, that, too, which was always my own and not yours? Had
it not been for me, there would now be no maid left for us to quarrel
over, as, had it not been for me, there would be no man left for me to
quarrel with about the maid."
"Are you God, then, Englishman, that you dispose of the lives of men and
women at your will? It was He Who saved us, not you."
"He may have saved you, but it was through me. I carried out the rescue
of these poor people whom you deserted, and I nursed you back to life."
"I did not desert them; I went to get help for them."
"Taking all the powder and the only horse with you! Well, that is done
with, and now you want to borrow goods to pay for cattle--from me, whom
you hate. You are not proud, Mynheer Pereira, when you have an end to
serve, whatever that end may be," and I looked at him. My instinct
warned me against this false and treacherous man, who, I felt, was even
then plotting in his heart to bring some evil upon me.
"No, I am not proud. Why should I be, seeing that I mean to repay you
twice over for anything which you may lend me now?"
I reflected a while. Certainly our journey to Natal would be pleasanter
if Pereira were not of the company. Also, if he went with us, I was
sure that before we came to the end of that trek, one or other of us
would leave his bones on the road. In short, not to put too fine a
point on it, I feared lest in this way or in that he would bring me to
my death in order that he might possess himself of Marie. We were in a
wild country, with few witnesses and no law courts, where such deeds
might be done again and again and the doer never called to account for
lack of evidence and judges.
So I made up my mind to fall in with his wishes, and we began to
bargain. The end of it was that I advanced him enough of my remaining
goods to buy the cattle he required from the surrounding natives. It
was no great quantity, after all, seeing that in this uncivilised place
an ox could be purchased for a few strings of beads or a cheap knife.
Further, I sold him a few of the beasts that I had broken, a gun, some
ammunition and certain other necessaries, for all of which things he
gave me a note of hand written in my pocket-book. Indeed, I did more;
for as none of the Boers would help him I assisted Pereira to break in
the cattle he bought, and even consented when he asked me to give him
the services of two of the Zulus whom I had hired.
All these preparations took a long while. If I remember right, twelve
more days had gone by before Pereira finally trekked off from Marais's
camp, by which time he was quite well and strong again.
We all assembled to see the start, and Marais offered up a prayer for
his nephew's safe journey and our happy meeting again in Natal at the
laager of Retief, which was to be our rendezvous, if that leader were
still in Natal. No one else joined in the prayer. Only Vrouw Prinsloo
audibly added another of her own. It was to the effect that he might
not come back a second time, and that she might never see his face
again, either at Retief's laager or anywhere else, if it would please
the good Lord so to arrange matters.
The Boers tittered; even the Meyer children tittered, for by this time
the hatred of the Vrouw Prinsloo for Hernan Pereira was the joke of the
place. But Pereira himself pretended not to hear, said good-bye to us
all affectionately, adding a special petition for the Vrouw Prinsloo,
and off we went.
I say "we went" because with my usual luck, to help him with the
half-broken oxen, I was commandeered to accompany this man to his first
outspan, a place with good water about twelve miles from the camp, where
he proposed to remain for the night.
Now, as we started about ten o'clock in the morning and the veld was
fairly level, I expected that we should reach this outspan by three or
four in the afternoon, which would give me time to walk back before
sunset. In fact, however, so many accidents happened of one sort or
another, both to the wagon itself, of which the woodwork had shrunk with
long standing in the sun, and to the cattle, which, being unused to the
yoke, tied themselves in a double knot upon every opportunity, that we
only arrived there at the approach of night.
The last mile of that trek was through a narrow gorge cut out by water
in the native rock. Here trees grew sparsely, also great ferns, but the
bottom of the gorge, along which game were accustomed to travel, was
smooth enough for wagons, save for a few fallen boulders, which it was
necessary to avoid.
When at length we reached the outspan I asked the Hottentot, Klaus, who
was assisting me to drive the team, where his master was, for I could
not see him anywhere. He answered that he had gone back down the kloof
to look for something that had fallen from the wagon, a bolt I think he
said.
"Very good," I replied. "Then tell him, if we do not meet, that I have
returned to the camp."
As I set out the sun was sinking below the horizon, but this did not
trouble me overmuch, as I had a rifle with me, that same light rifle
with which I had shot the geese in the great match. Also I knew that
the moon, being full, would be up presently.
The sun sank, and the kloof was plunged in gloom. The place seemed
eerie and lonesome, and suddenly I grew afraid. I began to wonder where
Pereira was, and what he might be doing. I even thought of turning back
and finding some way round, only having explored all this district
pretty thoroughly in my various shooting expeditions from the camp, I
knew there was no practicable path across those hills. So I went on
with my rifle at full cock, whistling to keep up my courage, which, of
course, in the circumstances was a foolish thing to do. It occurred to
me at the time that it was foolish, but, in truth, I would not give way
to the dark suspicions which crossed my mind. Doubtless by now Pereira
had passed me and reached the outspan.
The moon began to shine--that wonderful African moon, which turns night
to day--throwing a network of long, black shadows of trees and rocks
across the game track I was following. Right ahead of me was a
particularly dark patch of this shadow, caused by a projecting wall of
cliff, and beyond it an equally bright patch of moonlight. Somehow I
misdoubted me of that stretch of gloom, for although, of course, I could
see nothing there, my quick ear caught the sound of movements.
I halted for a moment. Then, reflecting that these were doubtless
caused by some night-walking creature, which, even should it chance to
be dangerous, would flee at the approach of man, I plunged into it
boldly. As I emerged at the other end--the shadow was eighteen or
twenty paces long--it occurred to me that if any enemy were lurking
there, I should be an easy target as I entered the line of clear light.
So, almost instinctively, for I do not remember that I reasoned the
thing out, after my first two steps forward in the light I gave a little
spring to the left, where there was still shadow, although it was not
deep. Well was it for me that I did so, for at that moment I felt
something touch my cheek and heard the loud report of a gun immediately
behind me.
Now, the wisest course would have been for me to run before whoever had
fired found time to reload. But a kind of fury seized me, and run I
would not. On the contrary, I turned with a shout, and charged back
into the shadow. Something heard me coming, something fled in front of
me. In a few seconds we were out into the moonlight beyond, and, as I
expected, I saw that this something was a man--Pereira!
He halted and wheeled round, lifting the stock of his gun, club fashion.
"Thank God! it is you, Heer Allan," he said; "I thought you were a
tiger."
"Then it is your last thought, murderer," I answered, raising my rifle.
"Don't shoot," he said. "Would you have my blood upon you? Why do you
want to kill me?"
"Why did you try to kill me?" I answered, covering him.
"I try to kill you! Are you mad? Listen, for your own sake. I sat
down on the bank yonder waiting for the moon, and, being tired, fell
asleep. Then I woke up with a start, and, thinking from the sounds that
a tiger was after me, fired to scare it. Allemachte! man, if I had
aimed at you, could I have missed at that distance?"
"You did not quite miss, and had I not stepped to the left, you would
have blown my head off. Say your prayers, you dog!"
"Allan Quatermain," he exclaimed with desperate energy," you think I
lie, who speak the truth. Kill me if you will, only then remember that
you will hang for it. We court one woman, that is known, and who will
believe this story of yours that I tried to shoot you? Soon the Kaffirs
will come to look for me, probably they are starting already, and will
find my body with your bullet in my heart. Then they will take it back
to Marais's camp, and I say--who will believe your story?"
"Some, I think, murderer," but as I spoke the words a chill of fear
struck me. It was true, I could prove nothing, having no witnesses, and
henceforward I should be a Cain among the Boers, one who had slain a man
for jealousy. His gun was empty; yes, but it might be said that I had
fired it after his death. And as for the graze upon my cheek--why, a
twig might have caused it. What should I do, then? Drive him before me
to the camp, and tell this tale? Even then it would be but my word
against his. No, he had me in a forked stick. I must let him go, and
trust that Heaven would avenge his crime, since I could not. Moreover,
by now my first rage was cooling, and to execute a man thus--
"Hernan Pereira," I said, "you are a liar and a coward. You tried to
butcher me because Marie loves me and hates you, and you want to force
her to marry you. Yet I cannot shoot you down in cold blood as you
deserve. I leave it to God to punish you, as, soon or late, He will,
here or hereafter; you who thought to slaughter me and trust to the
hyenas to hide your crime, as they would have done before morning. Get
you gone before I change my mind, and be swift."
Without another word he turned and ran swiftly as a buck, leaping from
side to side as he ran, to disturb my aim in case I should shoot.
When he was a hundred yards away or more I, too, turned and ran, never
feeling safe till I knew there was a mile of ground between us.
It was past ten o'clock that night when I got back to the camp, where I
found Hans the Hottentot about to start to look for me, with two of the
Zulus, and told him that I had been detained by accidents to the wagon.
The Vrouw Prinsloo was still up also, waiting to hear of my arrival.
"What was the accident, Allan?" she asked. "It looks as though there
had been a bullet in it," and she pointed to the bloody smear upon my
cheek.
I nodded.
"Pereira's?" she asked again.
I nodded a second time.
"Did you kill him?"
"No; I let him go. It would have been said that I murdered him," and I
told her what had happened.
"Ja, Allan," she remarked when I had finished. "I think you were wise,
for you could have proved nothing. But oh! for what fate, I wonder, is
God Almighty saving up that stinkcat. Well, I will go and tell Marie
that you are back safe, for her father won't let her out of the hut so
late; but nothing more unless you wish it."
"No, Tante; I think nothing more, at any rate at present."
Here I may state, however, that within a few days Marie and everyone
else in the camp knew the story in detail, except perhaps Marais, to
whom no one spoke of his nephew. Evidently Vrouw Prinsloo had found
herself unable to keep secret such an example of the villainy of her
aversion, Pereira. So she told her daughter, who told the others
quickly enough, though I gathered that some of them set down what had
happened to accident. Bad as they knew Pereira to be, they could not
believe that he was guilty of so black a crime.
About a week later the rest of us started from Marais's camp, a place
that, notwithstanding the sadness of many of its associations, I confess
I left with some regret. The trek before us, although not so very long,
was of an extremely perilous nature. We had to pass through about two
hundred miles of country of which all we knew was that its inhabitants
were the Amatonga and other savage tribes. Here I should explain that
after much discussion we had abandoned the idea of retracing the route
followed by Marais on his ill-fated journey towards Delagoa.
Had we taken this it would have involved our crossing the terrible
Lobombo Mountains, over which it was doubtful whether our light cattle
could drag the wagons. Moreover, the country beyond the mountains was
said to be very bare of game and also of Kaffirs, so that food might be
lacking. On the other hand, if we kept to the east of the mountains the
veld through which we must pass was thickly populated, which meant that
in all probability we could buy grain.
What finally decided us to adopt this route, however, was that here in
these warm, low-lying lands there would be grass for the oxen. Indeed,
now, at the beginning of spring, in this part of Africa it was already
pushing. Even if it were not, the beasts could live upon what herbage
remained over from last summer and on the leaves of trees, neither of
which in this winter veld ever become quite lifeless, whereas on the
sere and fire-swept plains beyond the mountains they might find nothing
at all. So we determined to risk the savages and the lions which
followed the game into these hot districts, especially as it was not yet
the fever season or that of the heavy rains, so that the rivers would be
fordable.
I do not propose to set out our adventures in detail, for these would be
too long. Until the great one of which I shall have to tell presently,
they were of an annoying rather than of a serious nature. Travelling as
we did, between the mountains and the sea, we could not well lose our
way, especially as my Zulus had passed through that country; and when
their knowledge failed us, we generally managed to secure the services
of local guides. The roads, however, or rather the game tracks and
Kaffir paths which we followed, were terrible, for with the single
exception of that of Pereira for part of the distance, no wagon had ever
gone over them before. Indeed, a little later in the year they could
not have been travelled at all. Sometimes we stuck in bogs out of which
we had to dig the wheels, and sometimes in the rocky bottoms of streams,
while once we were obliged literally to cut our way through a belt of
dense bush from which it took us eight days to escape.
Our other chief trouble came from the lions, whereof there were great
numbers in this veld. The prevalence of these hungry beasts forced us
to watch our cattle very closely while they grazed, and at night,
wherever it was possible, to protect them and ourselves in "bombast," or
fences of thorns, within which we lit fires to scare away wild beasts.
Notwithstanding these precautions, we lost several of the oxen, and
ourselves had some narrow escapes.
Thus, one night, just as Marie was about to enter the wagon where the
women slept, a great lion, desperate with hunger, sprang over the fence.
She leapt away from the beast, and in so doing caught her foot and fell
down, whereon the lion came for her. In another few seconds she would
have been dead, or carried off living.
But as it chanced, Vrouw Prinsloo was close at hand. Seizing a flaming
bough from the fire, that intrepid woman ran at the lion and, as it
opened its huge mouth to roar or bite, thrust the burning end of the
bough into its throat. The lion closed its jaws upon it, then finding
the mouthful not to its taste, departed even more quickly than it had
come, uttering the most dreadful noises, and leaving Marie quite unhurt.
Needless to say, after this I really worshipped the Vrouw Prinsloo,
though she, good soul, thought nothing of the business, which in those
days was but a common incident of travel.
I think it was on the day after this lion episode that we came upon
Pereira's wagon, or rather its remains. Evidently he had tried to trek
along a steep, rocky bank which overhung a stream, with the result that
the wagon had fallen into the stream-bed, then almost dry, and been
smashed beyond repair.
The Tonga natives of the neighbourhood, who had burned most of the
woodwork in order to secure the precious iron bolts and fittings,
informed us that the white man and his servants who were with the wagon
had gone forward on foot some ten days before, driving their cattle with
them. Whether this story were true or not we had no means of finding
out. It was quite possible that Pereira and his companions had been
murdered, though as we found the Tongas very quiet folk if well treated
and given the usual complimentary presents for wayleaves, this did not
seem probable. Indeed, a week later our doubts upon this point were
cleared up thus.
We had reached a big kraal called Fokoti, on the Umkusi River, which
appeared to be almost deserted. We asked an old woman whom we met where
its people had gone. She answered that they had fled towards the
borders of Swaziland, fearing an attack from the Zulus, whose
territories began beyond this Umkusi River. It seemed that a few days
before a Zulu impi or regiment had appeared upon the banks of the river,
and although there was no war at the time between the Zulus and the
Tongas, the latter had thought it wise to put themselves out of reach of
those terrible spears.
On hearing this news we debated whether it would not be well for us to
follow their example and, trekking westwards, try to find a pass in the
mountains. Upon this point there was a division of opinion among us.
Marais, who was a fatalist, wished to go on, saying that the good Lord
would protect us, as He had done in the past.
"Allemachte!" answered the Vrouw Prinsloo. "Did He protect all those
who lie dead at Marais's camp, whither your folly led us, mynheer? The
good Lord expects us to look after our own skins, and I know that these
Zulus are of the same blood as Umsilikazi's Kaffirs, who have killed so
many of our people. Let us try the mountains, say I."
Of course her husband and son agreed with her, for to them the vrouw's
word was law; but Marais, being, as usual, obstinate, would not give
way. All that afternoon they wrangled, while I held my tongue,
declaring that I was willing to abide by the decision of the majority.
In the end, as I foresaw they would, they appealed to me to act as
umpire between them.
"Friends," I answered, "if you had asked me my opinion before, I should
have voted for trying the mountains, beyond which, perhaps, we might
find some Boers. I do not like this story of the Zulu impi. I think
that someone has told them of our coming, and that it is us they mean to
attack and not the Tongas, with whom they are at peace. My men say that
it is not usual for impis to visit this part of the country."
"Who could have told them?" asked Marais.
"I don't know, mynheer. Perhaps the natives have sent on word, or
perhaps--Hernan Pereira."
"I knew that you would suspect my nephew, Allan," he exclaimed angrily.
"I suspect no one; I only weigh what is probable. However, it is too
late for us to move to-night either south or westwards, so I think I
will sleep over the business and see what I can find out from my Zulus."
That night, or rather the following morning, the question was settled
for us, for when I woke up at dawn, it was to see the faint light
glimmering on what I knew must be spears. We were surrounded by a great
company of Zulus, as I discovered afterwards, over two hundred strong.
Thinking that after their fashion they were preparing to attack us at
dawn, I called the news to the others, whereon Marais rushed forward,
just as he had left his bed, cocking his roer as he came.
"For the love of God, do not shoot!" I said. "How can we resist so
many? Soft words are our only chance."
Still he attempted to fire, and would have done so had I not thrown
myself upon him and literally torn the gun from his hand. By this time
the Vrouw Prinsloo had come up, a very weird spectacle, I recollect, in
what she called her "sleep-garments," that included a night-cap made of
a worn jackal skin and a kind of otter-pelt stomacher.
"Accursed fool!" she said to Marais, "would you cause all our throats to
be cut? Go forward, you, Allan, and talk to those 'swartzels'" (that
is, black creatures), "gently, as you would to a savage dog. You have a
tongue steeped in oil, and they may listen to you."
"Yes," I answered; "that seems the best thing to do. If I should not
return, give my love to Marie."
So I beckoned to the headman of my Zulus whom I had hired at Delagoa, to
accompany me, and marched forward boldly quite unarmed. We were
encamped upon a rise of ground a quarter of a mile from the river, and
the impi, or those of them whom we could see, were at the foot of this
rise about a hundred and sixty yards away. The light was growing now,
and when I was within fifty paces of them they saw me. At some word of
command a number of men rushed toward me, their fighting shields held
over their bodies and their spears up.
"We are dead!" exclaimed my Kaffir in a resigned voice. I shared his
opinion, but thought I might as well die standing as running away.
Now I should explain that though as yet I had never mixed with these
Zulus, I could talk several native dialects kindred to that which they
used very well indeed. Moreover, ever since I had hired men of their
race at Delagoa, I had spent all my spare time in conversing with them
and acquiring a knowledge of their language, history and customs. So by
this time I knew their tongue fairly, although occasionally I may have
used terms which were unfamiliar to them.
Thus it came about that I was able to shout to them, asking what was
their business with us. Hearing themselves addressed in words which
they understood, the men halted, and seeing that I was unarmed, three of
them approached me.
"We come to take you prisoners, white people, or to kill you if you
resist," said their captain.
"By whose order?" I asked.
"By the order of Dingaan our king."
"Is it so? And who told Dingaan that we were here?"
"The Boer who came in front of you."
"Is it so?" I said again. "And now what do you need of us?"
"That you should accompany us to the kraal of Dingaan."
"I understand. We are quite willing, since it lies upon our road. But
then why do you come against us, who are peaceful travellers, with your
spears lifted?"
"For this reason. The Boer told us that there is among you a 'child of
George'" (an Englishman), "a terrible man who would kill us unless we
killed or bound him first. Show us this child of George that we may
make him fast, or slay him, and we will not hurt the rest of you."
"I am the child of George," I answered, "and if you think it necessary
to make me fast, do so."
Now the Zulus burst out laughing.
"You! Why, you are but a boy who weighs no more than a fat girl,"
exclaimed their captain, a great, bony fellow who was named Kambula.
"That may be so," I answered; "but sometimes the wisdom of their fathers
dwells in the young. I am the son of George who saved these Boers from
death far away, and I am taking them back to their own people. We
desire to see Dingaan, your king. Be pleased therefore to lead us to
him as he has commanded you to do. If you do not believe what I tell
you, ask this man who is with me, and his companions who are of your own
race. They will tell you everything."
Then the captain Kambula called my servant apart and talked with him for
a long while.
When the interview was finished he advanced to me and said:
"Now I have heard all about you. I have heard that although young you
are very clever, so clever that you do not sleep, but watch by night as
well as by day. Therefore, that I, Kambula, name you Macumazahn,
Watcher-by-night, and by that name you shall henceforth be known among
us. Now, Macumazahn, son of George, bring out these Boers whom you are
guiding that I may lead them in their moving huts to the Great Place,
Umgungundhlovu, where dwells Dingaan the king. See, we lay down our
spears and will come to meet them unarmed, trusting to you to protect
us, O Macumazahn, Son of George," and he cast his assegai to the ground.
"Come," I said, and led them to the wagons.
