The Fire Trumpet Part 20

We thought of going back, too; but it seemed no use, so we rode on as hard as we could, and got here in the thick of the storm, wet through."

"Ethel doesn't like Dutch houses, but she had to sleep in a worse one than Van Rooyen's once," said Mrs Brathwaite. "There were only two rooms, and five of us had to turn into one, while all the men took possession of the other. But it was such a place! We couldn't sleep all night."

"I suppose not," said Claverton. If they were at cross purposes, it was not his business to go out of his way to enlighten them, especially as, in this instance, cross purposes were best.

And Ethel evidently thought so too.

Note 1. The large striped hyaena is called "wolf" in South Afrioa, just as the panther is always referred to as "tiger." Both terms are, of course, zoologically erroneous.

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

"LIKE THUNDERBOLT FROM A CLEAR SKY."

"Drive on, Piet, Mopela! Sharp's the word; don't give them time to think. Look alive, now!"

The speaker is Mr Brathwaite; the scene the wash-pool. A long line of fleecy backs is moving over the _veldt_, propelled by the shouts of three or four Kafirs, whose naked bodies glisten in the sun as they advance swiftly behind the flock, brandishing their red blankets and whistling shrilly. For it may be that the leaders of that st.u.r.dy ma.s.s of fat wethers, over a thousand in number, may take a sudden freak into their woolly heads, and refuse to go any further when once within that _cul de sac_ of thorn-fence gradually narrowing down to an outlet, and that outlet the water--which will mean that each particular animal must be thrown in separately, not once, but four or five times. Therefore they must be kept on the move and run down as quickly as possible. Once they begin jumping all will follow, but should the foremost happen to jib, then the morning's work will be a hard one indeed.

A pleasant spot is this; bush and open _veldt_ about in equal proportion. Yonder, across the river, rises a ridge of high ground whose slopes are well wooded, and over the wash-pool, which consists of a long, smooth reach, the finks are flitting about their pendulous, swaying nests, and twittering in the sunshine; while that shadowy krantz overhanging the stream further down echoes back the long-drawn piping of spreuws and the "coo" of a solitary dove.

Mr Brathwaite and his two lieutenants are evidently got up for business--rough shirts and trousers and broad-brimmed hats, the last a very necessary safeguard, for the morning, though still young, is unconscionably warm.

"Don't think these will give us any trouble, they always take to the water like ducks. It's the next lot, the ewes, that are brutes to funk; and once on that tack the devil himself won't make them jump. Bles, you _schelm_!" he exclaims, with a crack of his whip to hasten the decision of the _voerbok_, who is slackening pace dubiously at the entrance to the _cul de sac_. The old goat gives a start and resumes his course, trotting down towards the water; the sheep stream after him, and before he has time to think better of it, even if so disposed, his woolly followers press so closely upon him that there is no help for it; he springs from the rock into the water, about two feet and a half beneath, and the whole flock hastens to follow by threes and fours, and swimming across emerges dripping on the other side. Indeed, so fast do they press forward that it becomes necessary for some one to stand at the water's edge and check them, lest they should injure themselves or their neighbours by jumping upon each other's backs.

"That's how I like to see them jump. Fine sheep like that ought never to want throwing in," says the old farmer, watching his well-bred flock with some pride.

On they come, their drivers keeping them well at it, and in a short time the last jumps in. The whole lot are through and scattering slowly over the _veldt_ on the other side, the steam arising in clouds from their dripping fleeces.

"Bring them on again," calls out Mr Brathwaite, after a little time has been given them to rest and get warm again. The animals are driven through at a shallow place lower down the river, and brought round to the jumping place again. Then they are headed once more for the water, going through this time even better than the first.

"Hallo!" cries Hicks, running down to the edge and scrutinising the surface all alive with panting heads and spongy fleeces. "One's down.

Yes, there it is," pointing to four kicking legs above the surface, but which immediately disappear. "In with you, Mopela--Piet--look sharp!"

The first addressed pretends not to hear, but Piet, throwing aside his kaross, takes a header, and as he reappears he just catches sight of the drowning animal. In a twinkling he has seized it, and holding its head above water, he strikes out for the bank, dragging his c.u.mbersome and struggling burthen. The animal had been suddenly taken with a fit and gone under--an occurrence which now and then happens, and but for Hicks'

prompt.i.tude would have been drowned. As it was, it lay upon the ground, and after some gasping staggered to its legs, tottered a little way, then lay down again, and finally picked itself up and began nibbling a little gra.s.s, and in a few minutes had quite recovered.

The operation is repeated in precisely the same way as at first, and after the flock had been through four times, it wore a very different appearance to what it had done before; every fleece looking almost snowy white by contrast as the animals are slowly driven off to their ordinary pasturage, nibbling as they go.

"Piet, go and tell Umgiswe to bring on his lot," says Mr Brathwaite.

"There are under five hundred, and it won't take us very long," he adds, for the benefit of his lieutenants, "that is if they jump well. 'Tisn't twelve o'clock yet, so there'll be lots of time for them to dry."

Twenty minutes' rest, and then a sound of approaching bleating told that the other flock was at hand.

Then arises a deafening and hideous din as the sheep are driven into the _cul de sac_. Yelling, and shouting, and whistling, white and black alike contributing towards the general row, waving karosses, cracking whips, and beating the ground with branches. The _voerbok_ spasmodically rushes on ahead, plunges into the water and swims through; but the sheep, suddenly deserted by their leader, stop half-way down the pa.s.sage, and, in spite of the pressure from behind, and the earsplitting shindy, steadfastly refuse to budge.

"We've bungled it somehow," says the old farmer, in a cool, matter-of-fact tone. "No use bothering them any more just now. Bring round the goat, and we'll try again."

Two of the Kafirs start off on that intent, but it takes some time to "collect" the truant, who runs. .h.i.ther and thither, bleating idiotically.

At last he is brought back to his post of honour at the head of the flock; the driving and the row recommences, and the goat leaps into the water manfully; but he is leading a forlorn hope, indeed, for not one of the sheep will follow him--devil a sheep--though they are on the brink of the water. There they stick, firmly and stubbornly.

"Come on, Claverton, we must pitch some of them in," cries Hicks, and the two promptly shove their way through the closely-wedged flock, which stands packed like sardines, wheezing and panting in the heat. In a twinkling they have seized half-a-dozen of the obstinate brutes and shied them in; but the rest show no signs of following, and so they go on, till at last they pause, breathless and bathed in perspiration, for two of the Kafirs to take their places; and finally, by relays of labour, the whole flock is through.

"Whew! but that's warm work," exclaims Claverton, as, after a short rest, the word is given to bring them on again. "Perhaps they'll jump this time."

His conjecture proves correct. Whether it is that they find their plunge cool and refreshing on this hot day, or that they are tired of resistance, or a little of both, is uncertain; but as again, amid whistling and din, the stupid animals are driven down to the water's edge, they follow their leader, at first gingerly and by twos and threes, and then so fast that Hicks takes up his position at the jumping place to check them; in process whereof, having imprudently got too near the edge, he is upset bodily into the water, and disappears from mortal view, to emerge, spluttering and puffing and making awful faces, as he scrambles up the bank, dripping like a half-drowned rat.

I know of nothing more funny than the sudden and unexpected descent of any one into deep water. The utter woefulness, combined with an indignant air of injured innocence, which the sufferer's countenance invariably a.s.sumes on emerging, should make a cat laugh; anyhow, nothing human can stand against it. And the savagely furious way in which the patient hisses between his chattering teeth, "What the devil is there to grin at?" While the _tout ensemble_, his garments clinging to his shivering carcase, is in no wise calculated to invest his just exasperation with the majesty of outraged dignity.

Poor Hicks formed no exception. Everybody was convulsed; one of the Kafirs to such an extent, that he could do nothing but roll on the ground in the exuberance of his glee, though he managed to recover sufficiently to dart out of the way just in time to avoid a mighty kick aimed at his nether quarters by the infuriated object of his mirth.

"There's something for you to grin at, you sooty son of a Cheshire cat!"

exclaimed Hicks, savagely; but, as we have seen, he missed his aim, and in a minute had recovered all his wonted good humour.

The sheep gave no more trouble, but went through after that as if they liked it. Two or three turned over in the water, and were rescued as previously described, while one died; but these accidents were inevitable, and soon the flock was straggling away across the _veldt_ to its feeding ground--white, clean, and freshened up.

When they reached home, the dining-room table was strewn with letters and newspapers. The postbag, which was fetched from the nearest agency once a week, had just arrived, and as they entered, Mrs Brathwaite was reading a letter aloud for the public benefit. The writer stated her intention of profiting by an unexpectedly early opportunity, and availing herself of a long-standing and oft-repeated invitation to visit them at Seringa Vale, in about a fortnight from then, and subscribed herself: "_Lilian Strange_."

"Poor thing!" said Mr Brathwaite. "We'll soon bring the roses back to her cheeks. A couple of months of this splendid air, and she'll be that strong and sunburnt they Won't know her when she goes back."

And the kindly, hospitable old couple went on discussing their prospective visitor and her joys and sorrows, past, present, and to come; projecting all manner of schemes for making her stay an enjoyable and a happy one.

There was one present whom this letter had set thinking, and that was Claverton. The name seemed familiar and yet not, for he couldn't for the life of him fit it to an individual.

"Lilian--Lilian Strange--Lilian," he kept repeating to himself. "Now where the deuce have I come across that name before? Lilian--it's a pretty name, too. No, I can't remember for the life of me." He could see the writing as the letter lay open on the table. It was rather large and very distinct, but not masculine. But neither it nor memory seemed to aid him, and he gave it up.

"What is she like, aunt?" asked Ethel. "And what sort of age is she?

Young or middling?"

The old lady laughed. "Young or middling? Gracious me, child. She's only twenty-three, is sweetly pretty, and has the loveliest eyes I ever saw."

"Present company excepted--ahem!" cut in Hicks, thinking he had said an excessively smart thing, and colouring and looking an a.s.s on the strength of it.

"We must make her enjoy her visit," went on Mrs Brathwaite. "Poor girl, I feel so sorry for her. Her mother is dead, and her stepfather was a country gentleman in England and a wealthy man. When he died all his property went to his own family, and Lilian was left without a penny. Her relations on the stepfather's side were not kind to her, and she was thrown on the world to get her living as best she could, and now she's teaching."

"Universal refuge for the dest.i.tute," murmured Ethel. "What brought her out here?"

"A ship," chimed in Hicks, intent on being funny. But Ethel looked angrily at him, and he collapsed.

"She came out as a companion to some lady," answered Mrs Brathwaite.

"Then the McColls at Port Elizabeth engaged her to teach their children, and a nice handful she must find them. I fancy her health has rather broken down. She looked anything but strong when we saw her last June."

"It'll be a great nuisance," said Ethel afterwards to her sister when they were alone together, "to have to be always trundling this girl about. She'll probably give herself no end of airs and try to patronise us all."

"I don't know," answered Laura, "I have an idea she'll be rather nice.

Her letter reads like it."

"Perhaps so," rejoined Ethel, a little ashamed of her inhospitable speech; "let's hope so, anyhow."