The White Hand and the Black Part 35

"And so shall we."

Cheered by the optimistic demeanour of his official superior, and the no less calm one of his other companion in adversity the young Police trooper began to enjoy the situation. What would his people at home say if they could see him now, a prisoner in the hands of armed savages?

It was no end exciting; for of course they would manage to escape. As he had said, people always did--in books. Poor boy!

Those who custodied them, even as those forming the escort for the two girls, were not communicative. To the question as to where was Tongwana the reply was short. The chief had gone away. To that as to where they were bound for it was shorter still. They would see.

It was dark when they reached a large kraal, situated in a wide, bushy valley. The country as they journeyed had become more and more wild and broken. Thornhill declared they couldn't be far from the Tugela Valley, which seemed to point to an intention on the part of their custodians to rush them over the Zulu border, for the sake of better concealment.

Their arrival seemed to provoke no curiosity, or, at best a languid one; certainly there were not many about to evince it. Thornhill, though not seeming to do so, was keeping a bright look-out. Two or three faces he thought he knew, but the bulk were those of strangers. They were taken to a large hut in the centre of the kraal, and ordered to enter. But when Parry would have followed the other two in he was promptly and roughly stopped. It was in vain that both Thornhill and Elvesdon pleaded that he might not be separated from them. He was only a boy, they represented, and could not talk with their tongue. Let him remain with those who could. One stalwart scoundrel who appeared to be in a position of some authority, bent down and shook a bright, wicked looking blade within the low doorway.

"Keep quiet, _Abelungu_! You are not masters here. If you come forth without orders, that is death."

"_Abelungu_!" "White men!" That was a pretty insolent sort of way to address a Government official, together with a man of Thornhill's standing. It bore its full significance too. But they were helpless.

Two men unarmed against a large armed force! Of course they were helpless.

"Poor boy," said Elvesdon as they were left alone. "I'm afraid he won't find it so exciting now."

"In a way I'm glad we're alone together for a time at any rate," was the answer. "We can talk things over more freely. And we'll not have to do that too loud either, for there's a good sprinkling of these chaps who know English--though they won't let go that they do--thanks to the mischievous idiots who have gone in for educating them."

"If we come through this all right, I'll put in all the good word I can to get that youngster on in the force," said Elvesdon. "He showed pluck and readiness to-day, never lost his head for a single moment."

"More he did. Now I wonder who wrote you that letter."

"Oh don't refer to the beastly thing, Thornhill. If only I had opened it at first--as I ought to have done. No--it won't bear thinking about.

Wait--I'll burn it, in case it might compromise the writer, if the worst comes to the worst."

He twisted the letter into a screw and set it alight, kindling his pipe with it. Anyone might come in at any moment, and such a proceeding would, in that event, look less suspicious.

Someone did come in, but it was rather a welcome entry, for it was that of a couple of women, bearing food; roasted mealies and some grilled beef, which latter, however, neither looked nor smelt very tempting.

"What's this? Water?" said Elvesdon, investigating the contents of a bowl. "The stingy swabs might have sent us some _tywala_ while they were about it."

Putting it to the women, who were kindling a fire in the round hollow in the middle of the floor, one of them replied that beer was scarce.

There were so many men in the kraal--she supposed they must have drunk it all. Elvesdon put his hand into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a shilling.

"See if you can find some," he said. "Here. This is for you--for the two of you. You can halve it."

But the recipient, carefully placing the coin in her bag, replied stolidly that she could not halve a gift. Elvesdon laughed and found a similar coin for the other. It proved, however, a bad investment, for no _tywala_ was forthcoming.

"This looks more cheerful," he went on, when they were alone again, and were discussing the food. "It was beastly cold, too, without a fire.

Wonder where they've put the young 'un. It rather handicaps us being apart from him in case we saw a chance of doing a bunk, for of course we can't leave him behind."

"No, we can't, but we shall get no such chance just yet. Hear that."

All round them was the sound of voices, deep voices. Some were right against the hut which was their prison. A strong odour of roast told that their custodians were enjoying themselves in the most enjoyable way known to savages--feasting, to wit. Once Elvesdon opened the door to look forth. In a moment two savages, armed with a.s.segais, sprang before the entrance and ordered them to keep it shut.

"I've a notion," said Thornhill, "that this is Nteseni's 'great' place, and if so we've fallen into bad hands."

"That bears out what Teliso used to say. He always maintained that Ntesini was a bad egg."

"M-yes. I wonder where the said Teliso is now. You know I hinted to you that he might require a little watching himself."

"He's been away a precious long time. By the way I wonder if he wrote that letter. He could talk some English but I don't know about his ability to write any. He may have been murdered for all we know."

"He _may_, or--he may not."

Elvesdon was impressed. A qualm of misgiving came over him that he might have trusted Teliso too much. What, by the way, if he were at the bottom of their seizure? He might be. There was no trusting anyone.

Decidedly there was something suspicious about the length of time Teliso had been away on his mission, and that without sending in any communication whatever.

Poor Teliso! His cracked and whitened bones lying in the lonely ravine beneath the krantz, picked clean by the tiger-wolves and jackals, could not now rise up under the stars to testify whether or not Nteseni was-- as Elvesdon had put it--"a bad egg."

The next morning to their intense relief they were allowed some measure of liberty. They could stroll about outside the kraal, for instance, but even then only in the open, and with groups of armed men constantly on their steps. If there was any considerable body gathered at the kraal those composing it must a.s.suredly have kept within the huts; possibly sleeping off the heaviness of the feast the night before.

Decidedly it was strange to these two, accustomed as they were when visiting or pa.s.sing such places to meet with deference at every turn-- now to find themselves actually obliged to obey orders from those over whom one of them at any rate had partially ruled. But the ruled now aspired to be the ruling, and, certainly, into far as they themselves were concerned, had succeeded.

They were threading their way among the huts when, from one of them there emerged suddenly a man--a black man--but not blacker than his coat, nor very much blacker than his dingy tie that had once been white.

He had crawled through the low doorway, and stood upright before he was aware of their presence. The instant he became aware of it he brought his hand to his mouth with an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of amazement and dismay, and stood staring, surprised for the moment out of all self-possession.

Both looked at him--Elvesdon especially--with an expression of aversion and contempt.

"So!" was all that Elvesdon said.

It seemed difficult to tell on which side the surprise felt was the greatest. In the fat, greasy features both the white men recognised the Rev Job Magwegwe, the Ethiopian preacher.

"You not get my letter, sir?" said the latter, hurriedly, eagerly.

"Your letter? Oh, I see," replied Elvesdon.

"I warned you sir; you not take my warning. It not my fault you here, sir."

"It's d.a.m.ned well your fault there's a 'here' for us to be in, and the fault of those who sent you, you scoundrel," returned Elvesdon bitterly, and perhaps a little unjustly. For again the self-reproach in not having taken the warning in time, came uppermost, and here was some one to vent it on.

"I help you sir--now if I can,"--said the Fingo, earnestly. "But--it not easy and--"

"_Whau_! Jobo!" cried a great voice as two hulking Zulus came up.

"Here is much white men's talk--too much. Get back to thy preaching-- that is more in thy line. _Whau_!"

They were Zulus from beyond the river, and cared nothing for missionaries and their methods--let alone for a greasy humbug of an inferior black man. The Rev Job Magwegwe slunk away before their great domineering voices and manner. And the two white men felt immeasurably more drawn to these.

"So that's the chap who sent the letter!" remarked Elvesdon. "He's an infernal rascal all the same. 'Help'! Fat lot of help he'll give us-- even if he could."

"Don't you be too c.o.c.k-sure about that, Elvesdon. I've known queerer things in my time than even that. It's astonishing how things can work round--not when--but _where_ you least expect them. It's something to know we have a friend among the enemy let me tell you. He might be of use to us yet."

"Well if he is I'll forgive him--or try to. These swine, though, are responsible for nearly all the mischief. I'd hang the whole 'Ethiopian Church' if I had despotic power, or, at any rate, give its infernal mischievous emissaries a hundred apiece with the cat and then disband the whole rotten organisation. But, Thornhill. Do you think this _schelm_ really would help us if he could?"

"I sort of do. You see when these chaps get partly civilised, although it deteriorates them as savages it has often the effect of making them all unconsciously cling to the white man. Now this one is a Fingo, and his traditions would make all that way. He no more wants to set up a universal black Power than you or I do; he knows where he, and all his like, would come in under it. At present he's paid to preach it but I'm perfectly certain he no more believes it possible than you or I do either. So let's make use of him if we can; though I doubt if we can, for they don't seem to trust him overmuch here from what we've just seen."

"'Can the Ethopian change his skin?'" quoted Elvesdon, sourly.