Part 59 (1/2)
”Well, and who says I'm not?” retorted Payne. ”Can't a fellow drive into the village for the day without having trekked?”
”Oh, for the day!” repeated the first speaker, significantly. ”Then, my good fellow, let me recommend you to remain. After that last affair we shall have old Kreli coming straight across to give as a look up, he'll be so c.o.c.k-a-hoop.”
”Wish he would,” growled another. ”We'd give him particular toko.”
”What last affair?” said Payne, half antic.i.p.ating the answer. ”Has there been a fight?”
”I should jes' think there had. A few of the Police and a lot of Fingoes were tackled by the Gcalekas; but you must have heard!”
”No, I haven't; not a word.”
”Well, then,” went on the other, brightening up as a man will do when he is the first to impart to you a big bit of news; ”the thing was this. A lot of Gcalekas--five thousand, they say--were going across to thrash the Fingoes, and the Police were ordered out to support the Fingoes.
They met, and the gun opened fire--one of them seven-pounders they were practising here with t'other day. It appears that they made very good shootin', and mowed down the Kafirs like smoke; and then somehow or other the gun broke down, and, by George, sir, before you could say 'knife' the Fingoes turned tail and ran--bolted clean. Well, of course it wasn't to be expected a few Police--a mere handful as it were--How many were there, Jim?” broke off the narrator, turning to a companion.
”About one hundred and sixty.”
”Yes. Well, it wasn't to be expected they could stand against five thousand of Kreli's chaps; and they didn't. The order was given to retire, and then it became a job to catch the horses, and, as the Kafirs charged them, they were obliged to run for it. Some who couldn't catch their horses were killed--six--six privates and a sub-inspector; and now old Kreli's c.o.c.k of the walk--for the time being.”
”Where was the row?” asked Claverton.
”Well, it was at a place called Guadana--just on the boundary of the Idutywa Reserve.”
”When was it--yesterday?” inquired Payne.
”No--day before. I'm expecting a chap round here directly who's straight from up there. Come in and liquor, and we'll get him to tell us all about it.”
”The day before yesterday!” echoed Payne, opening his eyes wide--and he and Claverton looked meaningly at each other--for it was on the evening of that very day that the old Kafir had come to them with his stealthy warning, and the dread Fire Trumpet had blazed forth on the Kei hills, signalling to the expectant tribes within the colonial boundary, the news of their brethren's victory. And it was on the following day that they two had so nearly carried the war into the enemy's country in pursuit of the stolen cattle, all unconscious, then, of the mad rashness of the undertaking--an undertaking, which, had it been carried out, would a.s.suredly have cost them their lives.
VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER EIGHT.
THE ATTACK ON THE ”GREAT PLACE.”
It is night. Night, that is to say, for all practical purposes, though strict chronological accuracy might compel us to define it as morning; for nearly three hours have elapsed since midnight. But, be that as it may, at present it is as dark as the nethermost shades, as one of that long, silent file of hors.e.m.e.n, wending its way through the gloom, remarks to a comrade.
A chill breeze stirs the raw atmosphere, and sweeps before it puffs of misty vapour which have been resting thickly alike upon hill-top and low-lying bottom. Overhead a few sickly stars s.h.i.+ne forth through the flying scud, to be quickly veiled again, and replaced by another spangled patch. And, advancing at a foot-pace, comes line upon line of mounted men, moving through the darkness like the phantom hors.e.m.e.n of some eerie legend. Very little talking is there in the ranks. m.u.f.fled in their overcoats and with hats slouched over their faces the men ride on, stolid, and meditative, and little inclined for conversation in the damp, raw air which has a corresponding effect upon their spirits, even if orders had not been issued for quiet and caution; for it is a night march in the heart of the enemy's country.
It is difficult to distinguish face or feature of any description in the profundity of the gloom; but now and again the dull silence and the dead monotonous tramp of hoofs is relieved by the clank of arms and the jingle of a bit; or the smothered imprecation of some one whose horse has stumbled in the darkness, as he holds up the careless animal, who gives a snort of alarm. And the march continues on through the night, till at last the gloom shows signs of lightening, and we begin to make out the aspect of this bellicose-looking cavalcade advancing over the hills and dales of savage Gcalekaland. We see a number of roughly-clad, bearded men, mostly attired in serviceable corduroy and with a gaily-coloured handkerchief twined round their slouch hats, mounted on tough, wiry steeds. On their saddles are strapped blankets or mackintoshes and for arms each man carries a rifle of some sort--from the Government Snider, to the double-barrelled weapon in ordinary frontier use, rifled and smooth-barrel for varying distance or quarry.
Not a few have revolvers also; and broad, heavy belts, holding at least two hundred rounds of cartridge, are buckled round them or slung over their shoulders. Many of which bullets will, I trow, find their mark in the dusky bodies of the savage enemy before the day is very far advanced. This is a corps of Irregular Horse, frontiersmen all of them.
Another side of the column we see, in the gathering dawn, is composed of mounted volunteers--townsmen--whose gay uniforms, cavalry sabres, and glittering accoutrements, show out in contrast to the more sombre trappings of the corps first noticed. Yet of the two it is not difficult to predict which the enemy would rather meet in battle.
Another ingredient in this martial array is the Frontier Armed and Mounted Police, two or three troops of which useful force, looking ready and soldier-like in their helmets and sober uniforms, flank the march-- these are armed with short carbine and revolver. And lo, moving along, drawn by several stout horses, black and rakish-looking in the uncertain light, are the field-pieces, with their attendant gunners--a smart and efficient selection of men.
The object of the expedition may be divulged by a sc.r.a.p of the conversation of one of its members.
”So we shall smoke the old fox out of his own earth at last,” is saying a st.u.r.dy young fellow in the ranks of the Irregular Horse.
”Ha, ha! Shall we? You don't suppose old Kreli is sitting at home waiting for us, do you?” is his comrade's reply. ”Why, he's miles off, I expect.”
”Bet you he isn't,” cut in a third. ”Bet you one to five in half-crowns we n.o.bble old Kreli to-day.”