CHAPTER VIII
THE EPISODE OF THE EUROPEAN WITH THE KAFFIR HEART
Unfashionable as it is to say so, I am a man of peace. I belong to
a profession whose province is to heal, not to destroy. Still
there ARE times which turn even the most peaceful of us perforce
into fighters--times when those we love, those we are bound to
protect, stand in danger of their lives; and at moments like that,
no man can doubt what is his plain duty. The Matabele revolt was
one such moment. In a conflict of race we MUST back our own
colour. I do not know whether the natives were justified in rising
or not; most likely, yes; for we had stolen their country; but when
once they rose, when the security of white women depended upon
repelling them, I felt I had no alternative. For Hilda's sake, for
the sake of every woman and child in Salisbury, and in all
Rhodesia, I was bound to bear my part in restoring order.
For the immediate future, it is true, we were safe enough in the
little town; but we did not know how far the revolt might have
spread; we could not tell what had happened at Charter, at
Buluwayo, at the outlying stations. The Matabele, perhaps, had
risen in force over the whole vast area which was once Lo-Bengula's
country; if so, their first object would certainly be to cut us off
from communication with the main body of English settlers at
Buluwayo.
"I trust to you, Hilda," I said, on the day after the massacre at
Klaas's, "to divine for us where these savages are next likely to
attack us."
She cooed at the motherless baby, raising one bent finger, and then
turned to me with a white smile. "Then you ask too much of me,"
she answered. "Just think what a correct answer would imply!
First, a knowledge of these savages' character; next, a knowledge
of their mode of fighting. Can't you see that only a person who
possessed my trick of intuition, and who had also spent years in
warfare among the Matabele, would be really able to answer your
question?"
"And yet such questions have been answered before now by people far
less intuitive than you," I went on. "Why, I've read somewhere
how, when the war between Napoleon the First and the Prussians
broke out, in 1806, Jomini predicted that the decisive battle of
the campaign would be fought near Jena; and near Jena it was
fought. Are not YOU better than many Jominis?"
Hilda tickled the baby's cheek. "Smile, then, baby, smile!" she
said, pouncing one soft finger on a gathering dimple. "And who WAS
your friend Jomini?"
"The greatest military critic and tactician of his age," I
answered. "One of Napoleon's generals. I fancy he wrote a book,
don't you know--a book on war--Des Grandes Operations Militaires,
or something of that sort."
"Well, there you are, then! That's just it! Your Jomini, or
Hominy, or whatever you call him, not only understood Napoleon's
temperament, but understood war and understood tactics. It was all
a question of the lie of the land, and strategy, and so forth. If
_I_ had been asked, I could never have answered a quarter as well
as Jomini Piccolomini--could I, baby? Jomini would have been worth
a good many me's. There, there, a dear, motherless darling! Why,
she crows just as if she hadn't lost all her family!"
"But, Hilda, we must be serious. I count upon you to help us in
this matter. We are still in danger. Even now these Matabele may
attack and destroy us."
She laid the child on her lap, and looked grave. "I know it,
Hubert; but I must leave it now to you men. I am no tactician.
Don't take ME for one of Napoleon's generals."
"Still," I said, "we have not only the Matabele to reckon with,
recollect. There is Sebastian as well. And, whether you know your
Matabele or not, you at least know your Sebastian."
She shuddered. "I know him; yes, I know him. . . . But this case
is so difficult. We have Sebastian--complicated by a rabble of
savages, whose habits and manners I do not understand. It is THAT
that makes the difficulty."
"But Sebastian himself?" I urged. "Take him first, in isolation."
She paused for a full minute, with her chin on her hand and her
elbow on the table. Her brow gathered. "Sebastian?" she repeated.
"Sebastian?--ah, there I might guess something. Well, of course,
having once begun this attempt, and being definitely committed, as
it were, to a policy of killing us, he will go through to the
bitter end, no matter how many other lives it may cost. That is
Sebastian's method."
"You don't think, having once found out that I saw and recognised
him, he would consider the game lost, and slink away to the coast
again?"
"Sebastian? Oh, no; that is the absolute antipodes of his type and
temperament."
"He will never give up because of a temporary check, you think?"
"No, never. The man has a will of sheer steel--it may break, but
it will not bend. Besides, consider: he is too deeply involved.
You have seen him; you know; and he knows you know. You may bring
this thing home to him. Then what is his plain policy? Why, to
egg on the natives whose confidence he has somehow gained into
making a further attack, and cutting off all Salisbury. If he had
succeeded in getting you and me massacred at Klaas's, as he hoped,
he would no doubt have slunk off to the coast at once, leaving his
black dupes to be shot down at leisure by Rhodes's soldiers."
"I see; but having failed in that?"
"Then he is bound to go through with it, and kill us if he can,
even if he has to kill all Salisbury with us. That, I feel sure,
is Sebastian's plan. Whether he can get the Matabele to back him
up in it or not is a different matter."
"But taking Sebastian himself; alone?"
"Oh, Sebastian himself alone would naturally say: 'Never mind
Buluwayo! Concentrate round Salisbury, and kill off all there
first; when that is done, then you can move on at your ease and cut
them to pieces in Charter and Buluwayo.' You see, he would have no
interest in the movement, himself, once he had fairly got rid of us
here. The Matabele are only the pieces in his game. It is ME he
wants, not Salisbury. He would clear out of Rhodesia as soon as he
had carried his point. But he would have to give some reasonable
ground to the Matabele for his first advice; and it seems a
reasonable ground to say, 'Don't leave Salisbury in your rear, so
as to put yourselves between two fires. Capture the outpost first;
that down, march on undistracted to the principal stronghold.'"
"Who is no tactician?" I murmured, half aloud.
She laughed. "That's not tactics, Hubert; that's plain common
sense--and knowledge of Sebastian. Still, it comes to nothing.
The question is not, 'What would Sebastian wish?' it is, 'Could
Sebastian persuade these angry black men to accept his guidance?'"
"Sebastian!" I cried; "Sebastian could persuade the very devil! I
know the man's fiery enthusiasm, his contagious eloquence. He
thrilled me through, myself, with his electric personality, so that
it took me six years--and your aid--to find him out at last. His
very abstractness tells. Why, even in this war, you may be sure,
he will be making notes all the time on the healing of wounds in
tropical climates, contrasting the African with the European
constitution."
"Oh, yes; of course. Whatever he does, he will never forget the
interests of science. He is true to his lady-love, to whomever
else he plays false. That is his saving virtue."
"And he will talk down the Matabele," I went on, "even if he
doesn't know their language. But I suspect he does; for, you must
remember, he was three years in South Africa as a young man, on a
scientific expedition, collecting specimens. He can ride like a
trooper; and he knows the country. His masterful ways, his austere
face, will cow the natives. Then, again, he has the air of a
prophet; and prophets always stir the negro. I can imagine with
what air he will bid them drive out the intrusive white men who
have usurped their land, and draw them flattering pictures of a new
Matabele empire about to arise under a new chief, too strong for
these gold-grubbing, diamond-hunting mobs from over sea to meddle
with."
She reflected once more. "Do you mean to say anything of our
suspicions in Salisbury, Hubert?" she asked at last.
"It is useless," I answered. "The Salisbury folk believe there is
a white man at the bottom of this trouble already. They will try
to catch him; that's all that is necessary. If we said it was
Sebastian, people would only laugh at us. They must understand
Sebastian, as you and I understand him, before they would think
such a move credible. As a rule in life, if you know anything
which other people do not know, better keep it to yourself; you
will only get laughed at as a fool for telling it."
"I think so, too. That is why I never say what I suspect or infer
from my knowledge of types--except to a few who can understand and
appreciate. Hubert, if they all arm for the defence of the town,
you will stop here, I suppose, to tend the wounded?"
Her lips trembled as she spoke, and she gazed at me with a strange
wistfulness. "No, dearest," I answered at once, taking her face in
my hands. "I shall fight with the rest. Salisbury has more need
to-day of fighters than of healers."
"I thought you would," she answered, slowly. "And I think you do
right." Her face was set white; she played nervously with the
baby. "I would not urge you; but I am glad you say so. I want you
to stop; yet I could not love you so much if I did not see you
ready to play the man at such a crisis."
"I shall give in my name with the rest," I answered.
"Hubert, it is hard to spare you--hard to send you to such danger.
But for one other thing, I am glad you are going. . . . They must
take Sebastian alive; they must NOT kill him."
"They will shoot him red-handed if they catch him," I answered
confidently. "A white man who sides with the blacks in an
insurrection!"
"Then YOU must see that they do not do it. They must bring him in
alive, and try him legally. For me--and therefore for you--that is
of the first importance."
"Why so, Hilda?"
"Hubert, you want to marry me." I nodded vehemently. "Well, you
know I can only marry you on one condition--that I have succeeded
first in clearing my father's memory. Now, the only man living who
can clear it is Sebastian. If Sebastian were to be shot, it could
NEVER be cleared--and then, law of Medes and Persians, I could
never marry you."
"But how can you expect Sebastian, of all men, to clear it, Hilda?"
I cried. "He is ready to kill us both, merely to prevent your
attempting a revision; is it likely you can force him to confess
his crime, still less induce him to admit it voluntarily?"
She placed her hands over her eyes and pressed them hard with a
strange, prophetic air she often had about her when she gazed into
the future. "I know my man," she answered, slowly, without
uncovering her eyes. "I know how I can do it--if the chance ever
comes to me. But the chance must come first. It is hard to find.
I lost it once at Nathaniel's. I must not lose it again. If
Sebastian is killed skulking here in Rhodesia, my life's purpose
will have failed; I shall not have vindicated my father's good
name; and then, we can never marry."
"So I understand, Hilda, my orders are these: I am to go out and
fight for the women and children, if possible; that Sebastian shall
be made prisoner alive, and on no account to let him be killed in
the open!"
"I give you no orders, Hubert. I tell you how it seems best to me.
But if Sebastian is shot dead--then you understand it must be all
over between us. I NEVER can marry you until, or unless, I have
cleared my father."
"Sebastian shall not be shot dead," I cried, with my youthful
impetuosity. "He shall be brought in alive, though all Salisbury
as one man try its best to lynch him."
I went out to report myself as a volunteer for service. Within the
next few hours the whole town had been put in a state of siege, and
all available men armed to oppose the insurgent Matabele. Hasty
preparations were made for defence. The ox-waggons of settlers
were drawn up outside in little circles here and there, so as to
form laagers, which acted practically as temporary forts for the
protection of the outskirts. In one of these I was posted. With
our company were two American scouts, named Colebrook and Doolittle,
irregular fighters whose value in South African campaigns had
already been tested in the old Matabele war against Lo-Bengula.
Colebrook, in particular, was an odd-looking creature--a tall,
spare man, bodied like a weasel. He was red-haired, ferret-eyed,
and an excellent scout, but scrappier and more inarticulate in his
manner of speech than any human being I had ever encountered. His
conversation was a series of rapid interjections, jerked out at
intervals, and made comprehensible by a running play of gesture and
attitude.
"Well, yes," he said, when I tried to draw him out on the Matabele
mode of fighting. "Not on the open. Never! Grass, if you like.
Or bushes. The eyes of them! The eyes! . . ." He leaned eagerly
forward, as if looking for something. "See here, Doctor; I'm
telling you. Spots. Gleaming. Among the grass. Long grass. And
armed, too. A pair of 'em each. One to throw"--he raised his hand
as if lancing something--"the other for close fighting. Assegais,
you know. That's the name of it. Only the eyes. Creeping,
creeping, creeping. No noise. One raised. Waggons drawn up in
laager. Oxen out-spanned in the middle. Trekking all day. Tired
out; dog tired. Crawl, crawl, crawl! Hands and knees. Might be
snakes. A wriggle. Men sitting about the camp fire. Smoking.
Gleam of their eyes! Under the waggons. Nearer, nearer, nearer!
Then, the throwing ones in your midst. Shower of 'em. Right and
left. 'Halloa! stand by, boys!' Look up; see 'em swarming, black
like ants, over the waggons. Inside the laager. Snatch up rifles!
All up! Oxen stampeding, men running, blacks sticking 'em like
pigs in the back with their assegais. Bad job, the whole thing.
Don't care for it, myself. Very tough 'uns to fight. If they once
break laager."
"Then you should never let them get to close quarters," I
suggested, catching the general drift of his inarticulate swift
pictures.
"You're a square man, you are, Doctor! There you touch the spot.
Never let 'em get at close quarters. Sentries?--creep past 'em.
Outposts?--crawl between. Had Forbes and Wilson like that. Cut
'em off. Per-dition! . . . But Maxims will do it! Maxims! Never
let em get near. Sweep the ground all round. Durned hard, though,
to know just WHEN they're coming. A night; two nights; all clear;
only waste ammunition. Third, they swarm like bees; break laager;
all over!"
This was not exactly an agreeable picture of what we had to expect--
the more so as our particular laager happened to have no Maxims.
However, we kept a sharp lookout for those gleaming eyes in the
long grass of which Colebrook warned us; their flashing light was
the one thing to be seen, at night above all, when the black bodies
could crawl unperceived through the tall dry herbage. On our first
night out we had no adventures. We watched by turns outside,
relieving sentry from time to time, while those of us who slept
within the laager slept on the bare ground with our arms beside us.
Nobody spoke much. The tension was too great. Every moment we
expected an attack of the enemy.
Next day news reached us by scouts from all the other laagers.
None of them had been attacked; but in all there was a deep, half-
instinctive belief that the Matabele in force were drawing step by
step closer and closer around us. Lo-Bengula's old impis, or
native regiments, had gathered together once more under their own
indunas--men trained and drilled in all the arts and ruses of
savage warfare. On their own ground, and among their native scrub,
those rude strategists are formidable. They know the country, and
how to fight in it. We had nothing to oppose to them but a handful
of the new Matabeleland police, an old regular soldier or two, and
a raw crowd of volunteers, most of whom, like myself, had never
before really handled a rifle.
That afternoon, the Major in command decided to send out the two
American scouts to scour the grass and discover, if possible, how
near our lines the Matabele had penetrated. I begged hard to be
permitted to accompany them. I wanted, if I could, to get evidence
against Sebastian; or, at least, to learn whether he was still
directing and assisting the enemy. At first, the scouts laughed at
my request; but when I told them privately that I believed I had a
clue against the white traitor who had caused the revolt, and that
I wished to identify him, they changed their tone, and began to
think there might be something in it.
"Experience?" Colebrook asked in his brief shorthand of speech,
running his ferret eyes over me.
"None," I answered; "but a noiseless tread and a capacity for
crawling through holes in hedges which may perhaps be useful."
He glanced inquiry at Doolittle, who was a shorter and stouter man,
with a knack of getting over obstacles by sheer forcefulness.
"Hands and knees!" he said, abruptly, in the imperative mood,
pointing to a clump of dry grass with thorny bushes ringed about
it.
I went down on my hands and knees, and threaded my way through the
long grasses and matted boughs as noiselessly as I could. The two
old hands watched me. When I emerged several yards off, much to
their surprise, Colebrook turned to Doolittle. "Might answer," he
said curtly. "Major says, 'Choose your own men.' Anyhow, if they
catch him, nobody's fault but his. Wants to go. Will do it."
We set out through the long grass together, walking erect at first,
till we had got some distance from the laager, and then, creeping
as the Matabele themselves creep, without displacing the grass-
flowers, for a mere wave on top would have betrayed us at once to
the quick eyes of those observant savages. We crept on for a mile
or so. At last, Colebrook turned to me, one finger on his lips.
His ferret eyes gleamed. We were approaching a wooded hill, all
interspersed with boulders. "Kaffirs here!" he whispered low, as
if he knew by instinct. HOW he knew, I cannot tell; he seemed
almost to scent them.
We stole on farther, going more furtively than ever now. I could
notice by this time that there were waggons in front, and could
hear men speaking in them. I wanted to proceed, but Colebrook held
up one warning hand. "Won't do," he said, shortly, in a low tone.
"Only myself. Danger ahead! Stop here and wait for me."
Doolittle and myself waited. Colebrook kept on cautiously,
squirming his long body in sinuous waves like a lizard's through
the grass, and was soon lost to us. No snake could have been
lither. We waited, with ears intent. One minute, two minutes,
many minutes passed. We could catch the voices of the Kaffirs in
the bush all round. They were speaking freely, but what they said
I did not know, as I had picked up only a very few words of the
Matabele language.
It seemed hours while we waited, still as mice in our ambush, and
alert. I began to think Colebrook must have been lost or killed--
so long was he gone--and that we must return without him. At last--
we leaned forward--a muffled movement in the grass ahead! A
slight wave at the base! Then it divided below, bit by bit, while
the tops remained stationary. A weasel-like body slank noiselessly
through. Finger on lips once more, Colebrook glided beside us. We
turned and crawled back, stifling our very pulses. For many
minutes none of us spoke. But we heard in our rear a loud cry and
a shaking of assegais; the Kaffirs behind us were yelling
frightfully. They must have suspected something--seen some
movement in the tufted heads of grass, for they spread abroad,
shouting. We halted, holding our breath. After a time, however;
the noise died down. They were moving another way. We crept on
again, stealthily.
When, at last, after many minutes, we found ourselves beyond a
sheltering belt of brushwood, we ventured to rise and speak.
"Well?" I asked of Colebrook. "Did you discover anything?"
He nodded assent. "Couldn't see him," he said shortly. "But he's
there, right enough. White man. Heard 'em talk of him."
"What did they say?" I asked, eagerly.
"Said he had a white skin, but his heart was a Kaffir's. Great
induna; leader of many impis. Prophet, wise weather doctor!
Friend of old Moselekatse's. Destroy the white men from over the
big water; restore the land to the Matabele. Kill all in
Salisbury, especially the white women. Witches--all witches. They
give charms to the men; cook lions' hearts for them; make them
brave with love-drinks."
"They said that?" I exclaimed, taken aback. "Kill all the white
women!"
"Yes. Kill all. White witches, every one. The young ones worst.
Word of the great induna."
"And you could not see him?"
"Crept near waggons, close. Fellow himself inside. Heard his
voice; spoke English, with a little Matabele. Kaffir boy who was
servant at the mission interpreted."
"What sort of voice? Like this?" And I imitated Sebastian's cold,
clear-cut tone as well as I was able.
"The man! That's him, Doctor. You've got him down to the ground.
The very voice. Heard him giving orders."
That settled the question. I was certain of it now. Sebastian was
with the insurgents.
We made our way back to our laager, flung ourselves down, and slept
a little on the ground before taking our turn in the fatigues of
the night watch. Our horses were loosely tied, ready for any
sudden alarm. About midnight, we three were sitting with others
about the fire, talking low to one another. All at once Doolittle
sprang up, alert and eager. "Look out, boys!" he cried, pointing
his hands under the waggons. "What's wriggling in the grass
there?"
I looked, and saw nothing. Our sentries were posted outside, about
a hundred yards apart, walking up and down till they met, and
exchanging "All's well" aloud at each meeting.
"They should have been stationary!" one of our scouts exclaimed,
looking out at them. "It's easier for the Matabele to see them so,
when they walk up and down, moving against the sky. The Major
ought to have posted them where it wouldn't have been so simple for
a Kaffir to see them and creep in between them!"
"Too late now, boys!" Colebrook burst out, with a rare effort of
articulateness. "Call back the sentries, Major! The blacks have
broken line! Hold there! They're in upon us!"
Even as he spoke, I followed his eager pointing hand with my eyes,
and just descried among the grass two gleaming objects, seen under
the hollow of one of the waggons. Two: then two; then two again;
and behind, whole pairs of them. They looked like twin stars; but
they were eyes, black eyes, reflecting the starlight and the red
glare of the camp-fire. They crept on tortuously in serpentine
curves through the long, dry grasses. I could feel, rather than
see, that they were Matabele, crawling prone on their bellies, and
trailing their snake-like way between the dark jungle. Quick as
thought, I raised my rifle and blazed away at the foremost. So did
several others. But the Major shouted, angrily: "Who fired?
Don't shoot, boys, till you hear the word of command! Back,
sentries, to laager! Not a shot till they're safe inside! You'll
hit your own people!"
Almost before he said it, the sentries darted back. The Matabele,
crouching on hands and knees in the long grass, had passed between
them unseen. A wild moment followed. I can hardly describe it;
the whole thing was so new to me, and took place so quickly.
Hordes of black human ants seemed to surge up all at once over and
under the waggons. Assegais whizzed through the air, or gleamed
brandished around one. Our men fell back to the centre of the
laager, and formed themselves hastily under the Major's orders.
Then a pause; a deadly fire. Once, twice, thrice we volleyed. The
Matabele fell by dozens--but they came on by hundreds. As fast as
we fired and mowed down one swarm, fresh swarms seemed to spring
from the earth and stream over the waggons. Others appeared to
grow up almost beneath our feet as they wormed their way on their
faces along the ground between the wheels, squirmed into the
circle, and then rose suddenly, erect and naked, in front of us.
Meanwhile, they yelled and shouted, clashing their spears and
shields. The oxen bellowed. The rifles volleyed. It was a
pandemonium of sound in an orgy of gloom. Darkness, lurid flame,
blood, wounds, death, horror!
Yet, in the midst of all this hubbub, I could not help admiring the
cool military calm and self-control of our Major. His voice rose
clear above the confused tumult. "Steady, boys, steady! Don't
fire at random. Pick each your likeliest man, and aim at him
deliberately. That's right; easy--easy! Shoot at leisure, and
don't waste ammunition!"
He stood as if he were on parade, in the midst of this palpitating
turmoil of savages. Some of us, encouraged by his example, mounted
the waggons, and shot from the tops at our approaching assailants.
How long the hurly-burly went on, I cannot say. We fired, fired,
fired, and Kaffirs fell like sheep; yet more Kaffirs rose fresh
from the long grass to replace them. They swarmed with greater
ease now over the covered waggons, across the mangled and writhing
bodies of their fellows; for the dead outside made an inclined
plane for the living to mount by. But the enemy were getting less
numerous, I thought, and less anxious to fight. The steady fire
told on them. By-and-by, with a little halt, for the first time
they wavered. All our men now mounted the waggons, and began to
fire on them in regular volleys as they came up. The evil effects
of the surprise were gone by this time; we were acting with
coolness and obeying orders. But several of our people dropped
close beside me, pierced through with assegais.
All at once, as if a panic had burst over them, the Matabele, with
one mind, stopped dead short in their advance and ceased fighting.
Till that moment, no number of deaths seemed to make any difference
to them. Men fell, disabled; others sprang up from the ground by
magic. But now, of a sudden, their courage flagged--they faltered,
gave way, broke, and shambled in a body. At last, as one man, they
turned and fled. Many of them leapt up with a loud cry from the
long grass where they were skulking, flung away their big shields
with the white thongs interlaced, and ran for dear life, black,
crouching figures, through the dense, dry jungle. They held their
assegais still, but did not dare to use them. It was a flight,
pell-mell--and the devil take the hindmost.
Not until then had I leisure to THINK, and to realise my position.
This was the first and only time I had ever seen a battle. I am a
bit of a coward, I believe--like most other men--though I have
courage enough to confess it; and I expected to find myself
terribly afraid when it came to fighting. Instead of that, to my
immense surprise, once the Matabele had swarmed over the laager,
and were upon us in their thousands, I had no time to be
frightened. The absolute necessity for keeping cool, for loading
and reloading, for aiming and firing, for beating them off at close
quarters--all this so occupied one's mind, and still more one's
hands, that one couldn't find room for any personal terrors. "They
are breaking over there!" "They will overpower us yonder!" "They
are faltering now!" Those thoughts were so uppermost in one's
head, and one's arms were so alert, that only after the enemy gave
way, and began to run at full pelt, could a man find breathing-
space to think of his own safety. Then the thought occurred to me,
"I have been through my first fight, and come out of it alive;
after all, I was a deal less afraid than I expected!"
That took but a second, however. Next instant, awaking to the
altered circumstances, we were after them at full speed;
accompanying them on their way back to their kraals in the uplands
with a running fire as a farewell attention.
As we broke laager in pursuit of them, by the uncertain starlight
we saw a sight which made us boil with indignation. A mounted man
turned and fled before them. He seemed their leader, unseen till
then. He was dressed like a European--tall, thin, unbending, in a
greyish-white suit. He rode a good horse, and sat it well; his air
was commanding, even as he turned and fled in the general rout from
that lost battle.
I seized Colebrook's arm, almost speechless with anger. "The white
man!" I cried. "The traitor!"
He did not answer a word, but with a set face of white rage loosed
his horse from where it was tethered among the waggons. At the
same moment, I loosed mine. So did Doolittle. Quick as thought,
but silently, we led them out all three where the laager was
broken. I clutched my mare's mane, and sprang to the stirrup to
pursue our enemy. My sorrel bounded off like a bird. The fugitive
had a good two minutes start of us; but our horses were fresh,
while his had probably been ridden all day. I patted my pony's
neck; she responded with a ringing neigh of joy. We tore after the
outlaw, all three of us abreast. I felt a sort of fierce delight
in the reaction after the fighting. Our ponies galloped wildly
over the plain; we burst out into the night, never heeding the
Matabele whom we passed on the open in panic-stricken retreat. I
noticed that many of them in their terror had even flung away their
shields and their assegais.
It was a mad chase across the dark veldt--we three, neck to neck,
against that one desperate runaway. We rode all we knew. I dug my
heels into my sorrel's flanks, and she responded bravely. The
tables were turned now on our traitor since the afternoon of the
massacre. HE was the pursued, and WE were the pursuers. We felt
we must run him down, and punish him for his treachery.
At a breakneck pace, we stumbled over low bushes; we grazed big
boulders; we rolled down the sides of steep ravines; but we kept
him in sight all the time, dim and black against the starry sky;
slowly, slowly--yes, yes!--we gained upon him. My pony led now.
The mysterious white man rode and rode--head bent, neck forward--
but never looked behind him. Bit by bit we lessened the distance
between us. As we drew near him at last, Doolittle called out to
me, in a warning voice: "Take care, Doctor! Have your revolvers
ready! He's driven to bay now! As we approach, he'll fire at us!"
Then it came home to me in a flash. I felt the truth of it. "He
DARE not fire!" I cried. "He dare not turn towards us. He cannot
show his face! If he did, we might recognise him!"
On we rode, still gaining. "Now, now," I cried, "we shall catch
him!"
Even as I leaned forward to seize his rein, the fugitive, without
checking his horse, without turning his head, drew his revolver
from his belt, and, raising his hand, fired behind him at random.
He fired towards us, on the chance. The bullet whizzed past my
ear, not hitting anyone. We scattered, right and left, still
galloping free and strong. We did not return his fire, as I had
told the others of my desire to take him alive. We might have shot
his horse; but the risk of hitting the rider, coupled with the
confidence we felt of eventually hunting him to earth, restrained
us. It was the great mistake we made.
He had gained a little by his shots, but we soon caught it up.
Once more I said, "We are on him!"
A minute later, we were pulled up short before an impenetrable
thicket of prickly shrubs, through which I saw at once it would
have been quite impossible to urge our staggering horses.
The other man, of course, reached it before us, with his mare's
last breath. He must have been making for it, indeed, of set
purpose; for the second he arrived at the edge of the thicket he
slipped off his tired pony, and seemed to dive into the bush as a
swimmer dives off a rock into the water.
"We have him now!" I cried, in a voice of triumph. And Colebrook
echoed, "We have him!"
We sprang down quickly. "Take him alive, if you can!" I exclaimed,
remembering Hilda's advice. "Let us find out who he is, and have
him properly tried and hanged at Buluwayo! Don't give him a
soldier's death! All he deserves is a murderer's!"
"You stop here," Colebrook said, briefly, flinging his bridle to
Doolittle to hold. "Doctor and I follow him. Thick bush. Knows
the ways of it. Revolvers ready!"
I handed my sorrel to Doolittle. He stopped behind, holding the
three foam-bespattered and panting horses, while Colebrook and I
dived after our fugitive into the matted bushes.
The thicket, as I have said, was impenetrable above; but it was
burrowed at its base by over-ground runs of some wild animal--not,
I think, a very large one; they were just like the runs which
rabbits make among gorse and heather, only on a bigger scale--
bigger, even, than a fox's or badger's. By crouching and bending
our backs, we could crawl through them with difficulty into the
scrubby tangle. It was hard work creeping. The runs divided soon.
Colebrook felt with his hands on the ground: "I can make out the
spoor!" he muttered, after a minute. "He has gone on this way!"
We tracked him a little distance in, crawling at times, and rising
now and again where the runs opened out on to the air for a moment.
The spoor was doubtful and the tunnels tortuous. I felt the ground
from time to time, but could not be sure of the tracks with my
fingers; I was not a trained scout, like Colebrook or Doolittle.
We wriggled deeper into the tangle. Something stirred once or
twice. It was not far from me. I was uncertain whether it was
HIM--Sebastian--or a Kaffir earth-hog, the animal which seemed
likeliest to have made the burrows. Was he going to elude us, even
now? Would he turn upon us with a knife? If so, could we hold
him?
At last, when we had pushed our way some distance in, we heard a
wild cry from outside. It was Doolittle's voice. "Quick! quick!
out again! The man will escape! He has come back on his tracks,
and rounded!"
I saw our mistake at once. We had left our companion out there
alone, rendered helpless by the care of all three horses.
Colebrook said never a word. He was a man of action. He turned
with instinctive haste, and followed our own spoor back again with
his hands and knees to the opening in the thicket by which we had
first entered.
Before we could reach it, however, two shots rang out clear in the
direction where we had left poor Doolittle and the horses. Then a
sharp cry broke the stillness--the cry of a wounded man. We
redoubled our pace. We knew we were outwitted.
When we reached the open, we saw at once by the uncertain light
what had happened. The fugitive was riding away on my own little
sorrel,--riding for dear life; not back the way we came from
Salisbury, but sideways across the veldt towards Chimoio and the
Portuguese seaports. The other two horses, riderless and
terrified, were scampering with loose heels over the dark plain.
Doolittle was not to be seen; he lay, a black lump, among the black
bushes about him.
We looked around for him, and found him. He was severely, I may
even say dangerously, wounded. The bullet had lodged in his right
side. We had to catch our two horses, and ride them back with our
wounded man, leading the fugitive's mare in tow, all blown and
breathless. I stuck to the fugitive's mare; it was the one clue we
had now against him. But Sebastian, if it WAS Sebastian, had
ridden off scot-free. I understood his game at a glance. He had
got the better of us once more. He would make for the coast by the
nearest road, give himself out as a settler escaped from the
massacre, and catch the next ship for England or the Cape, now this
coup had failed him.
Doolittle had not seen the traitor's face. The man rose from the
bush, he said, shot him, seized the pony, and rode off in a second
with ruthless haste. He was tall and thin, but erect--that was all
the wounded scout could tell us about his assailant. And THAT was
not enough to identify Sebastian.
All danger was over. We rode back to Salisbury. The first words
Hilda said when she saw me were: "Well, he has got away from you!"
"Yes; how did you know?"
"I read it in your step. But I guessed as much before. He is so
very keen; and you started too confident."
