Chapter Thirty One
A Bugle Call
“Hulloa, Bassie! I thought this fine morning would bring you over. The sap’s running strong, and the quail are gathering thick in the young wheat. Hear to them whistling. Where’s your gun?”
“I did not come to shoot.”
“Soh! Well, you don’t look like shooting. Been eating too much green fruit?”
“I’ve passed the green fruit stage, Abe.”
“I ain’t; there’s nothing better’n a pie of green apricots with cream, and green mealies is better’n kissing. You’re not in love, are you?”
“I have been writing poetry,” I said, with an air of unconcern; “and I want to take your opinion of it.”
“Fire away,” said Abe, fetching up a judicial expression; “it’s many a year since I learnt poetry, my boy – many a year. The ole mum onct, in the moonlight, when I were knee high, read to me outer a torn sheet she had, and these words I remember:
“‘He prayeth best who loveth best
All things, both great and small;
For the dear God that loveth us,
He made and loveth all.’
“Long years agone the old mother read that outer a torn slip of paper, and I know it yet, sonny. I’d like to year some more.”
“I don’t think I’ll read it you, on second thoughts,” I said, with sudden doubt.
“You bet you will, sonny. A man that’s got the gift of making poetry has no occasion to stand back in the corner.”
“Well it’s only a little thing I dashed off the other night. Here it is:
“‘Oh, frog, that sits on the garden seat
(Croak, croak! where the trees hang low),
Have you ever swum in the ocean deep,
In the waves where the wild winds blow,
Where the red crabs crawl on the rocks below,
On the rocks where the dead men sleep?’”
“It’s kind o’ buttery,” said Abe slowly, “but I don’t see no sense in it. What’s a frog on a garden seat got anything to do with dead men? And crabs ain’t red.”
“Oh, that’s a poet’s licence.”
“It are, eh? Well, I won’t go to your shop for spirrits. Is there any more?”
“This is the second verse,” I said, rather discouraged:
“‘Oh, speckled toad, did you ever dream
(Croak, croak! there’s a snake on the wall),
Did you ever dream of my lady dear,
Who sometimes walks in the garden here
(While the milk in the pan is making cream),
And sings when there’s no one near?’”
“How does it sound?”
“It sounds like treacle,” said Abe, with a puzzled look; “but I don’t see what the podder’s got to do with it, anyhow; and the young woman’s got no business to be wasting her time waiting for the milk to set. Why don’t she use the cream separator?”
“I couldn’t write about a machine.”
“Why not – hum – er – hum – why not say this:
“After she turned the cream separator,
She sat and ate a cold pertater.”
“There is no sentiment in that!” I said indignantly; “and the words have no rhythm.”
“What’s rhythm?”
“Why, tone, modulation, music; you know!”
“Sonny! is there any music in the croak of a frog – is there? In course not! Now listen – what do you hear?”
I listened, and heard nothing but the drowsy hum and hollow drone of the surf.
“I can hear nothing.”
“Soh! Well, now jes’ cock yer ear, and hearken to the voice of the sea – rising and falling, soft and melancholy. Dying away to a whisper, then swellin’ up as the big wave rolls in, swinging to and fro in a great song of quiet and peace. That’s music, sonny; and when the wind rises, and in the dark of the night, the spring-tide, coming in with the power of the sea behind, thunders on the beach, there’s music there – wild and grand – and when the clouds pile up outer the sea higher and higher, and the yearth waitin’ in silence, when there is no breath of air, shakes to the rollin’ crash of the thunder – there’s music then. Where’s your potery beside them sounds and the lightning flash and the rush of the wind, and the splashing of water risin’ suddenly?”
I thrust my paper back into my pocket.
“There’s music, sonny, in the veld and bush, and in the night cries of the wild animiles and birds; but I yeard onct a sound I shall never forget, and I guess there was in it a whole book of potery. But you ain’t finished about your podder.”
“Never mind the frog, the snake has swallowed him by this. Tell me the story.”
“Well it were in the Borna Pass, time of the Kaffir War, and the ole 94th were halted in the jaws of the pass, waitin’ for the cool of the afternoon before they marched. I recomember it well – the dark woods in the narrow pass rising up till they ’most shut out the sky; the red-coats down by the water; the smoke rising in tall columns from the cooking fires; the horses standing in a bunch switching the flies offen ’em; the oxen knee-deep in the water; and a silence born of the hot sun over all. It were as quiet as Sunday down in the mouth of the pass, with the sun running up and down the bayonets like fire, and no red to stain them, for there was no news of Kaffirs within a day’s march.
“I yeard a honey-bird call outer the black of the wood, and I jes’ moved off with nothin’ mor’n a pipe and a clasp-knife.
“‘Where you going, Abe?’ said a little bugler chap, lookin’ up from the shade of a bush.
“‘Bee huntin’, sonny.’
“‘I’ll come along o’ you,’ he sed; ‘as there ain’t no bloomin’ Kafs to hunt, bees’ll do.’
“He were a little chap, with his lips all cracked by the sun, and a little nose that you couldn’t see for the freckles, and brown eyes like you see in a bird or a buck – clear and bright. Always he were on the move, like a willey-wagtail, and him and me were chums. Ah yes; many a story I tole him by the camp fire, him a sitting with his chin in his hands staring at me with his big round eyes, and they called him ‘Abe’s kid,’ ’cos I downed a fellow for boosting him with a leather belt. I tole you how a little dream lad had come to me one night outer the sea; that were he, my son – that were my little boy.”
“Did he die?” I said, looking at the old man.
“He went away, sonny, but he said he’d wait for me, and he’ll keep his word.” There was a wistful look in the old man’s face as he looked towards the sea for some time in silence. “Yes; we slipped inter the wood, the honey-bird calling – the only sound outer the great stillness of the woods, ’cept for the crushing of the dried leaves under our tread, and the bird, flitting like a shadder from tree to tree, led us on deeper and deeper into the heart of the Borna Pass, till I pulled up to take bearings.
“‘We must get away back, little chap,’ I said.
“‘Then it’s not true what you tole me about the honey-bird?’ and he looked at me askance.
“‘Why not?’ said I.
“‘’Cos there he is a calling like mad, same as ever. I don’t believe he’s a honey-bird, and I don’t believe any of them stories you’ve been tellin’ me. You’re no pal of mine,’ he said, looking at me with a wrinkle ’tween his eyes.
“‘I’m thinkin’ we’re gettin’ too far from the lines,’ I sed, ‘and you ain’t used to the bush if Kaffirs were to come.’
“‘You’re afraid,’ he sed; ‘that’s what.’
“‘Come on,’ I sed, like a fool; and I went on, stooping through the bush, going mighty quick, and him panting after me. ‘I can smell honey,’ I sed, stopping short, and noticin’ that the bird had done his flight.
“‘Garn!’ he sed, wrinkling up his little nose. There was a holler tree standin’ up in a little clearin’ no bigger’n a room, and the hum of the bees came to us as we stood.
“‘I see ’em,’ he says; ‘look at ’em streaming in! What a lark! Cut a hole with your knife,’ he says, ‘’an I’ll carry some honey back in this bugle,’ and he laughed.
“‘Well,’ says I, ‘who’s been tellin’ lies?’
“He laughed again.
“‘I takes it back, Abe,’ he says. ‘Oh my eye! Jes’ look!’
“I seed then we’d clomb high up on the left side of the pass, and from the clearin’ there was a sight of the hanging woods over against us, of the narrow path below, and the soldiers away down to the left.
“‘Now you’ve seed the bee-tree,’ I says, ‘we mus’ go back.’
“‘Jes’ a little honey, Abe,’ he says; ‘jes’ a little to take back, else that Jimmy’ll never b’lieve I been up here.’
“I were looking across at the dark wood, and I said to him quietly, ‘Get behind the tree,’ for I’d seed a Kaffir stretched out on a grey rock that stood outer the bush.
“‘What’s the row?’ he says, looking a little scared. Maybe ’cos I looked the same.
“‘Take off that coat,’ I sed; for the red showed up plain.
“‘Take off the Queen’s coat?’ he sed, going red and white; ‘not me!’
“‘My lad,’ I sed to him quiet; ‘there are Kaffirs in the bush.’
“‘What larx,’ he sed in a whisper, and his eyes opening wide as he stared at me.
“‘And if you keep your coat on they’ll see you.’
“‘Let ’em,’ he said, swallering his throat.
“‘Take it off,’ I said.
“‘Not me.’
“‘Then I leave you.’ And with that I slipped away, but turned on my tracks and come back softly to peer at him. He were still standing behin’ the tree, looking away off at the soldiers, but his coat were buttoned up tight to his throat I went up to him tip-toe and touched him on the soldier, and he gave a low cry and jumped aside with his fists up. When he seed who it were, the tears came into his eyes.
“‘Abe Pike,’ he sed, tremblin’, ‘that’s a mean trick to play on a boy – a mean dirty trick.’
“I allow it were mean, but I thought I’d skeer him into taking off that red rag. Then I give it up. ‘Come on,’ I sed, ‘foller me; stop when I stop, run when I run, and keep quiet.’
“So we sot off tenderly through the bush, and we hadn’t gone mor’n fifty paces when I smelt the Kaffirs. I sank down; he did, too, and I peered through the shadders. A sound came to us – the sound of naked feet, of moving branches – and I knew the pass were full of men.
“He touched me on the arm as the bugle call to ‘fall in’ rang along into the still pass, ekering as it went from side to side.
“I put my mouth to his ear to tell him the Kaffirs were swarming, and that we could not go on, but must go up the ridge and work round to the troops.
“‘What are the Kaffirs doing?’ he sed.
“‘They are making an ambush.’
“‘And the General doesn’t know?’
“‘No, sonny, he doesn’t.’
“‘And they’ll march in and be stabbed,’ he whispered, with his eyes round and staring.
“‘Oh, they’ll fight their way out,’ I sed. ‘Come on after me.’
“‘Good-bye,’ he said, sitting down. ‘You go on – I’m tired.’
“‘I’ll carry you, little chap,’ says I, and I picked him up, but he was heavy for his size, and the bush was thick, and more than that, he kicked.
“So I sot him down, and I yeard a Kaffir calling out to his friends to know what the noise was. I motioned to him to come, but he sot there, with his face white, and shook his head; then he altered his mind. ‘Go on,’ he said, ‘I’ll foller – go quick!’ So I sot off up the ridge through the wood, slipping from tree to tree, thinking he were coming, when all of a sudden outer the wood, ringing out clear and loud, a bugle sounded the alarm. I looked round and the boy were not there. I ran back, and saw him with the bugle to his lips, and his cheeks swelling as he blew another blast. I can hear it now – the call of that little chap, with the muttered cries of the Kaffirs, and the sound of their naked feet running, as they came up.
“‘You little devil,’ I yelled; ‘they’ll kill you. Run!’
“He gave me one look over his shoulder, and he put his life into that last blow. As the last note went swinging away, there came an answering note from the regiment – to form square.
“‘That’ll be Jimmy,’ he said. And the next minnit an assegai struck him on the neck, and he fell into my arms.”
Abe stopped, and looked away.
“What, then?” I said, touching him on the shoulder.
“I don’t know, sonny, what happened, till I laid him down afore the General.”
“You carried him out?”
“I s’pose so – I s’pose so – seeing as we were both there; and my clothes were in rags from the thorns, and my head cut open with a kerrie. Yes, I laid him afore the General.
“‘What’s this?’ he says.
“‘General,’ I said, ‘this boy has saved the regiment; he could a’ run – but he didn’t.’
“‘Who sounded the alarm?’ he sed.
“‘It was him, and the pass is full of Kaffirs.’
“The General stooped down, and looked into the little feller’s face.
“‘Damn you, man,’ he said, turning on me; ‘what did you take him into the wood for?’
“The little chap opened his eyes, and they were fixed, all glazed, on the General, and the officers stood around, looking, and the soldiers in the square.
“The General brought his hand to his cap, then he wheeled round: ‘Ninety fourth – present – arms!’
“The ranks came to a salute, and the officers brought their heels together and their swords up.
“The little chap let his eyes scan the lines.
“‘They are saluting you, my brave boy,’ said the General.
“I felt him move in my arms, and I lifted his hand to his head to salute. Then he sighed, then he smiled, and his eyes closed. ‘I’ll wait for you, Abe,’ he said, and he was dead.
“‘Ninety-fourth,’ said the General, ‘the enemy’s in the pass.’
“They came by in columns, and as they passed, they looked at the little chap and saluted, and they went on in silence with their mouths shut.
“They clean frightened the Kaffirs that time; and next day – they buried the little chap – the band playing – and all the regiment in full dress. My little chap – my little chap!” said Abe, in a whisper – “‘I’ll wait for you, Abe,’ he sed. And when he sounds the bugle ole Abe’ll go. Yes, I sit and listen for it.” He sat still, looking toward the sea, and I went quietly away.
Chapter Thirty Two
The “Red” Kaffirs!
I found Abe Pike one afternoon poring over a newspaper, tracing each word with a horny finger, and laboriously spelling out the long words.
“Getting hints about pumpkin-growing, Abe?”
“No, sonny; jes’ studying how to give spoon-food to infants, and you’ve come in time.”
The old man looked vexed. He suddenly rolled the paper into a ball, and threw it at a lizard.
“It’s mean!” he said; “danged mean!”
“What?”
He held out his hand, and I mechanically gave him my tobacco pouch.
“Ever been to England?” he said.
“Yes; you know I have.”
“Soh! Is the people there white?”
“Of course!”
“Same as you and me?”
“A little whiter, I should say, Abe. What are you driving at?”
“Look here, sonny! I’ve been in this country, man an’ boy, ever since I were born; and, you b’lieve me, I never get hole of a paper from the Ole Land but there’s some abuse of us colonists. That’s why I ask you is they white.”
“What have they been saying now?”
“Saying; why the same old story – that we’re a hard lot, always driving the Kaffirs, an’ killing ’em, an’ stealing their lands, an’ ’busin’ their women-folk, and grindin’ ’em down.”
“Well; what does it matter!”
“It matters the hull sackful. Look at me – I’ve never been to England, but all the same it’s my home. I love the ole flag, and cry ‘Hurrah’ for the Queen; an’, ole as I am, I’d boost anybody over the head as ’ud up an’ say England was not the best and the biggest and the grandest country in the world. Yessir!”
“She’s not very big, Abe.”
“Soh! Well, she’s big enough to spread her arms all round the yearth, and fetch anybody on the other side ‘ker-blum’ with a man-o’-war’s big gun. We give her all – it ain’t much, maybe – an’ we get back a crop of suspicions. That’s why I ask, is the people in the Ole Land white?”
“We are all of one family, Abe, and relations don’t compliment each other.”
“Who’s crying out for compliments? I leave ’em to the chaps over in England, who praise each other to their face in the halls, and tell each other what fine fellows they are to save the Kaffirs from them cruel, savageous colonists. May the Lord look up and down ’em for the mischief they’ve done.”
“You seem very bitter, Abe.”
“Well, the reading in that paper has lef a bitter taste. You see, sonny, I recomember the wars of the ‘thirties’ and the ‘forties,’ when your father were a boy – and his uncles and brothers, and sisters and wives – the whole lot of us – were raw to the land – when the country all round were wild – and the Kaffirs hangin’ on the frontier like a great dark wave way out on the sea – ready to rush in and sweep us offern the land. Three times they rushed in – three times we had to leave our homes, our flocks, our crops, and make for the posts. Then we had to fight ’em back, and those people away over in England each time ’ud fetch a howl that reached across the sea about the cruelty of the colonists – with never a word about the burnt houses, and the cattle swept off, and the women and children.
“Look here, sonny,” said Abe, his face growing dark; “I’ll tell you somethin’ I seed when I was a grown boy – somethin’ about one of these very wars the people at home have blamed us for making for our own gain.
“The Kaffirs were over yonder; about twenty miles away across the Chumie, and the farmers were scattered all about, thinkin’ of nothin’ at all but the mealie crop, and the wheat nearly ripe, and the pumpkin patches – for they had been through hard times, and the season were good. Jes’ away back of this place, where the three springs of the Kleinemonde rise out of the flats, there were a little valley no bigger’n ten acres, set around with small hills, and the water runnin’ through and round it under big yellerwood and Kaffir plum trees; while in the water stood clumps of palmeit and tree ferns, yeller and green, and rustlin’ to the wind. Beyond the hills the grass veld rolled away to the Fish River bush, over here towards the Kaffirs, and the Kowie bush ’way back. On the grass veld were a many herd of bucks – springbok and blesbok – while in the thick bush were koodoo and buffel – ay, an’ elephant!
“It is a mooi place now, that little valley; but I tell you then it were a spot to make a man look and long. But it were risky. The Fish River bush were a leetle too close, in case the Kaffirs raided.
“Howsomdever, there were one man who took the risk. He were ole Mr Tolver – a farmer from Devonshire, and with him were seven sons – two on ’em born here, the rest away in the ole country. My gum! you should a seed ’em. The ole man hisself were not so big, though he were broad an’ deep; but four of his boys were over six feet, and the other three were growing fast. Ole Mr Tolver druv his stake into the little valley. ‘This is my settlement,’ he sez to the Government officer who came riding round, and tried to persuade him to give it up, because of its aloneness. ‘Here I am,’ he sez, ‘and here I stays, and durn the Kaffirs!’
“‘You’re a stubborn man, Tolver,’ sez the officer, ‘but I have warned you. If the Kaffirs come they would cut you off before you could reach Grahamstown.’
“‘Jes’ cast your eyes over my boys,’ sez Tolver; and the boys laughed, and stood in a row.
“There was Jake at the top, six-foot-four, with a yeller beard, and eyes blue as a bit of sky. Slow he were and heavy in his tread, with a hand like a leg o’ mutton and a heart soft as a woman. He were courtin’ a girl over at Clumber. I seed him offen there, but all the time you’d a thought he were there to play with the little girl, and not her big sister. Nex’ to him were Oll, with a smooth face and a bull neck, and brown eyes that were always laughing. He took arter his mother. Arter him come Seth – long and thin and solum, with a habit of croonin’ to hisself. And nex’ him were Harry – the devil of the family; straight as a ramrod, handsome, and hot-tempered. He were a fine young chap, and the girls ran when he came in sight to put their hair straight. Then come one below six foot – young Willie, who took after his brother Jake, and jes’ follered Harry like a shadder. Nex’ him were barefooted Jimmy – a boy that was a born hunter, and knew more about animiles and how to cotch ’em than any man; an’ last of all were the baby Tom. Tho’ they called him ‘baby,’ he were as big a’most as you, with the hair sticking through a hole in his felt hat, and bare brown legs.
“There they stood in a row – the seven sons; and the officer threw his eye along ’em.
“‘By God!’ he sed, ‘they’re fine chips from the ole country. Well, you’ll do as you like, Tolver; but take my advice – build a house with stone walls out in the clearing, and don’t have a thatch-roof.’
“Well; he rode off, and Tolver squatted in that little valley, clearing out the bush from the centre, and growing a’most anything. Many a time I went over there to climb the trees for plums with Tom, or go off bee huntin’ with Jimmie, and in the quiet of the evenin’ I’ve sot outside with the others, while Seth he played on his concertina bellers, making the saddest music, fit to make you roll over an’ cry.
“One night I went over, so to be ready to go on a long hunt nex’ day with Jimmie, and down the hill there came a Kaffir, with his kerrie across his shoulder, and his arms resting on the stick by the wrists, after their way of walking.
“‘Gumela!’ he sed, and stood near by, waiting, drawin’ his red blanket round him, and his face set like a block o’ wood.
“Ole baas Tolver he jes’ grunted, and the Kaffir he stood there lookin’.
“Arter a time the ole baas up and sed – ‘Jake, fetch him a stick o’ tobacco!’
“Jake riz up, and there seemed no end to him, and he reached out a long arm with a yank of black tobak.
“‘Yoh!’ sed the Kaffir.
“‘Oll,’ said the ole baas; ‘step inside for a strip of meat. Seth, put another stick on the fire. You, Harry, draw a bucket o’ water from the spring.’
“As, one arter the other, these big chaps riz up from the ground, and went striding off about their jobs which the ole man had set them a-purpose, the Kaffir looked more an’ more s’prised.
“‘Sit and eat,’ sed the ole baas.
“‘Inkosi,’ sed the Kaffir; and he squatted down to the fire, with his hands out to the blaze, and his black eyes half-closed; while the meat spluttered on the coals, giving off a fine smell.
“‘Willie,’ sed the ole man; ‘fetch out the guns and give ’em a clean up.’
“Willie sprang up – nearly six foot of him – and the Kaffir looked roun’ the fire at the other two boys.
“‘Yoh,’ he said, ‘these men are like trees;’ and his eyes shone in the light, and on his breast there gleamed white a string of tiger claws.
“So he sot and eat, and then he said he were going on to the Kasouga to see his brother, who was herding cattle for a white man.
“When he went the ole man laughed in his beard. ‘I guess,’ he sed, ‘he’ll see we’re too much of a mouthful in case they mean trouble.’
“‘I hope we haven’t frightened him,’ sed Harry; ‘things are gettin’ too quiet.’
“‘The quieter the better,’ sed Jake; ‘we don’t wan’t any Kaffirs swooping down here. I didn’t like the look of that fellow; he said too little.’
“‘Phooh!’ said Harry, ‘I’d take him with one hand.’
“‘I’ll jes’ walk over to Clumber,’ sed Jake, stretching hisself, ‘and fetch the sweet pertaters for sowing to-morrow.’
“Harry laughed.
“‘You’re getting nervous, Jake,’ he sed, ‘now you’re in love. There’s somethin’ sweeter’n pertaters over yonder.’
“Jake laid Harry on his back – not so’s to hurt him, and swung off inter the dark, while me and Jimmie and Tom reckoned that Harry was the chap if there was any trouble.
“Early next morn, me and Jim stretched away across the veld, towards the Fish River, carrying a tin for the honey and a hunk of black bread.
“We’d gone about six miles when Jimmie stubbed his toe, and sit down, with a holler, to nurse it.
“‘My gum!’ he sed, ‘it’s bad; I guess we’ll go back and leave this trip for nex’ week. There’s a honey-tree near home, and we’ll go there.’
“I were ’leven and he were sixteen, and what he sed I’d got to do, so we turned back, and he limpin’.
“All o’ a sudden, when we got in a dip, he give over limpin’. ‘Abe,’ he says, breathin’ hard, ‘there were a Kaffir watching us. Now you go along home – quick! Don’t say nothin’ to father. Maybe the chap’s up to no mischief, but if he is, I’ll find out.’
“‘Come back with me,’ I sed, skeered.
“‘Do what I tell you,’ he sez; and when I started to go, he slipped away to the left, up the hill. Well, I went on, gettin’ more and more skeered, till I saw the house, then I jes’ hid away and waited for Jim. Bymby, in the afternoon, here he came running, and I run to meet him when he slowed down.
“‘Whatjer see?’ I asked him.
“‘Nothin’,’ he sez.
“‘Whatjer run for, then?’
“‘To keep warm,’ he sez, though the sweat were running off him.
“Well, when we got to the clearin’ we met Jake hauling on a big stump.
“‘Well, youngsters,’ he says; wiping his forehead with the back of his hand; ‘had a good time?’
“‘Jake,’ said Jimmie, ‘there’s Kaffirs over yonder.’
“‘What’s that! Are you joking?’
“‘There’s Kaffirs over yonder,’ sed Jimmie, staring at his brother; ‘and the chap as was here last night is with ’em. I heard them call him. His name’s Tyali.’
“‘My God!’ said Jake, going white. ‘Tell father,’ he sed, and then he ran.
“I laughed, sneering at Jake, and Jimmie hit me in the side, though his mouth were twitching.
“‘What the row?’ sed Harry, coming up.
“‘Kaffirs!’ sed Jimmie, scowling after Jake.
“‘Hurrah!’ sed Harry, and threw up his hat.
“‘What’s all this I yere from Jake?’ said ole man Tolver, striding up. ‘So,’ he sed, when Jimmie tole him, putting the ends of his beard into his mouth, which were a trick he had when thinking. ‘So; they’re coming. Well, let ’em come! I tole that Guv’ment chap I’d stay here, and here I’ll stay. If any of you boys would like to go, you’d better clear now.’
“They were all of them together – all but Jake, and he had gone running into the house.
“‘It’s too much trouble to run,’ said Oll, biting on a piece of grass. ‘’Sides, I ain’t finished “scoffling” the mealies. I’ll stay.’
“The ole baas he jes’ grunted.
“‘So’ll I,’ said Seth.
“‘Ef you all went,’ said Harry, with his eyes shining, ‘I’d stop.’
“The ole baas he jes’ grunted ag’in.
“‘An’ me,’ said Willie; ‘and me too’ – ‘and me,’ said Jim and baby Tom.
“‘Thank you, my sons,’ sed Tolver, softly, and jes’ then Jake came outer the house – Jake the biggest and the oldest, and the kindest of the brothers. In his hand he carried a big chopping axe, which were like a little stick in his grasp. He looked at his brothers, and his father looked at him.
“‘I’m going over to Clumber,’ he sed.
“‘So,’ sed his father; and they all stood silent.
“‘Yes,’ sed Jake after a time, ‘I give ’em warning.’
“‘And take yourself out of danger,’ sed the ole baas quietly.
“Jake looked at his father rather sad-like, and then he said: ‘Shall I take Jim and Tom with me?’
“‘I won’t go,’ sed Tom, turning red.
“Jimmie sed nothin’, but his lip trembled. He thought a heap of Jake, and here he seed him turnin’ tail.
“‘Abe,’ said Jake, speaking quietly; ‘you’ve got no part in this – come with me.’
“‘I’m not running away,’ I sed. ‘I’ll stay with Harry.’
“Jake opened his mouth as if he’d speak, then he turned on his heel and strode away with his axe over his shoulder.
“His brothers turned to look after him, and ole Tolver, he called out in a hard voice, ‘Don’t you come back here again. You’re no son of mine.’ Jake he gave no sign, and I seed Jimmie’s face working.
“‘Yah! you’re afraid like him,’ I sed.
“‘You lie,’ he sed, and hit me ’longside the jaw.
“‘Be quiet, boys,’ said Oll Tolver, ketching Jim by the arm.
“‘Seth,’ said the ole baas, speaking short and firm. ‘Get ter the top of that hill, and keep a sharp look-out. Willie and Jim, bring the cows into the kraal. Oll and Harry, fill the water barrel, and put it inside the house. Tom and you, Abe, move all the things outer the big room, and get the guns ready.’
“Seth sot off up the hill at a lope, and the other boys all went about their work, and got things to rights in no time. Then we hung about fidgettin’ – picking things up and putting them down, and looking up to Seth all the time.
“Arter a long time Seth lifted up his hand, and we all stood in a bunch watching him till our eyes ached – then here he come down the hill like a cart wheel, while the big chaps grabbed their guns, and I bolted inter the house.
“‘Are they coming?’ shouted Harry.
“Seth nodded as he ran.
“‘How many?’
“‘One,’ said Seth, with a gasp.
“‘Good lord!’ said Harry, throwing his rifle down.
“‘I say,’ sed Seth, drawlin’ out his words – his neck was that long; ‘you fellows jes’ slouch around ’s if you were at work. I’m goin’ to meet this chap. Maybe he’s a spy.’
“‘Seth’s right,’ said the ole baas; and the boys put the guns away, and scattered about as if they were restin’.
“Seth slipped a naked hunting-knife inside the band of his trousers, and lounged away up the path; and bymby, when he nearly got to the top, a Kaffir came over the ridge, stood a moment looking, then come down. He carried his blanket over his right shoulder.
“When they met, the Kaffir he took snuff, and Seth he gave him a bit of tobacco. Then they talked and talked, and the Kaffir, he kep’ his eye on the house, and arter a time he kep’ movin’ around – ’s if he’d like to get behind Seth – and Seth all the time he kep’ his face to the t’other. Then the Kaffir went away back, and Seth went up to the ridge again, and there was another spell of waiting.
“Then Harry sed he weren’t going to fool about any more, and he made tracks for the little wood above the clearing, and Willie follered. No sooner’d they got clear than here comes Seth again, like a streak.
“‘It’s all right,’ he sed; ‘they’re comin’ thick. The veld’s red with ’em.’
“They gave a hail for Harry and went inside, and each one looked to see the shiny, brass caps were hard down on the nipple – while Tom, he laid out the round bullets, and the greased rags for wroppin’ ’em in, and the slugs handy. Seth were tellin’ how the Kaffir ast him questions, and how he seed the assegai under his blanket – then there came a deep sound rolling along the ground, which made me hide away in the barrel churn, and made the brothers all go silent. It were the war song of the red Kaffirs, deep from their chests, slow and boomin’, and solum, and in between there were the shrill crying of the women, follering behind the fightin’ men with the mats and the pots.
“Ole baas Tolver stood at the door looking for Harry, and he give a shout for him to hurry; and the Kaffirs came over the crest of the hill. Jimmie pushed his rifle through a hole in the wall, with a gasp in his throat.
“‘Don’t shoot!’ sed his father; and he looked away to the woods for his two sons. And so they stood, waiting and watching.