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CHAPTER IV
THE LAST VIGIL FOR a while Leonard sat by the body of his brother. The
daylight grew and gathered about him, the round ball of the sun appeared above
the mountains. The storm was gone. Were it not for some broken fragments
of the vanished hut it would have been difficult to know even that it had been.
Insects began to chirrup, lizards ran from the crevices of the rocks, yonder
the rain-washed bud of a mountain lily opened visibly before his eyes. Still
Leonard sat on, his face stony with grief, till at length a shadow fell upon
him from above. He looked up — it was cast by a vulture’s wings, as they
hurried to the place of death. Grasping his loaded rifle Leonard sprang to his feet. Nearer
and nearer came the bird, wheeling above him in lessening circles: it forgot
the presence of the living in its desire for the dead. Leonard lifted the
rifle, aimed and fired. The report rang out clearly on the silent air and was
echoed from krantz and kloof and mountain side, and from above answered the
thud of the bullet. For a moment the smitten bird swayed upon its wide pinions,
then they seemed to crumple beneath its weight and it fell heavily and lay
flapping and striking at the stones with its strong beak. ‘I also can kill,’ said Leonard to himself as he watched it
die. ‘Kill till you are killed — that is the law of life.’ Then he turned to
the body of his brother and made it ready for burial as best he might, closing
the eyes, tying up the chin with a band of twisted grass, and folding the thin toil-worn
hands upon the quiet heart. When all was finished he paused from his dreadful task and a
thought struck him. ‘Where are those Kaffirs?’ he said aloud — the sound of his
voice seemed to dull the edge of solitude — ’the lazy hounds, they ought to
have been up an hour ago. Hi! Otter, Otter!’ The mountains echoed ‘Otter, Otter’; there was no other
reply. Again he shouted without result. ‘I don’t like to leave it,’ he said, ‘but
I must go and see’; and, having covered the body with a red blanket to scare
away the vultures, he started at a run round some projecting rocks that
bordered the little plateau on which the hut had stood. Beyond them the plateau
continued, and some fifty paces from the rocks was a hollow in the mountain
side, where a softer vein of stone had been eaten away by centuries of weather. It was here that the Kaffirs slept — four of them — and in
front of this cave or grotto it was their custom to make a fire for cooking.
But on that morning no fire was burning, and no Kaffirs were to be seen. ‘Still asleep,’ was Leonard’s comment as he strode swiftly
towards the cave. In another moment he was in it shouting ‘Otter, Otter!’ and
saluting with a vigorous kick a prostrate form, of which he could just see the
outline. The form did not move, which was strange, for such a kick should have
sufficed to wake even the laziest Basuto from his soundest sleep. Leonard
stooped to examine it, and the next moment started back violently, exclaiming: ‘Great Heavens! it is Cheat, and he is dead.’ At this moment a thick voice spoke from the corner of the
cave in Dutch, the voice of Otter: ‘I am here, Baas, but I am tied: the Baas must loosen me, I
cannot stir.’ Leonard advanced, striking a match as he came. Presently it
burnt up and he saw the man Otter lying on his back, his legs and arms bound
firmly with rimpis of hide, his face and body a mass of contusions. Drawing his
hunting-knife Leonard cut the rimpis and brought the man from out the cave,
carrying rather than leading him. Otter was a knob-nosed Kaffir, that is of the Bastard Zulu
race. The brothers had found him wandering about the country in a state of semi-starvation,
and he had served them faithfully for some years. They had christened him
Otter, his native patronymic being quite unpronounceable, because of his
extraordinary skill in swimming, which almost equalled that of the animal after
which he was named. In face the man was hideous, though his ugliness was not
unpleasant, being due chiefly to a great development of his tribal feature, the
nose, and in body he was misshapen to the verge of monstrosity. In fact Otter
was a dwarf, measuring little more than four feet in height. But what he lacked
in height he made up in breadth; it almost seemed as though, intended by nature
to be a man of many inches, he had been compressed to his present dimensions by
art. His vast chest and limbs, indicating strength nearly superhuman, his long
iron arms and massive head, all gave colour to this idea. Utter had one redeeming
feature, however — his eyes, that when visible, which at this moment was not
the case, were large, steady, and, like his skin, of a brilliant black. ‘What has happened?’ said Leonard, also speaking in Dutch. ‘This, Baas! Last night those three Basuto villains, your
servants, made up their minds to desert. They told me nothing and they were so
cunning that, though I watched even their thoughts, I never guessed. They knew
better than to tell me for I would have beaten them — yes, all! So they waited,
till I was sound asleep, then came behind me, the three of them, and tied me
fast that I should not hinder them and that they might take away Baas Tom’s gun
which you lent me, and other things. Soon I found out their plans and though I
laughed to their faces, oh! my heart was black with rage. ‘When the Basuto dogs had tied me they mocked me, calling
me foul names and saying that I might stop and starve with the white fools, my
masters, who always dug for yellow iron and found so little, being fools. Then
they got together everything of value, yes, down to the kettle, and made ready
to go, and each of them came and slapped me on the face and one burnt me here
upon the nose with a hot brand. ‘All this I bore as a man must bear trouble which comes from
the skies, but when Cheat took up Baas Tom’s gun and the others came with a reim
to tie me to the rock, I could bear it no more. So I shouted aloud and drove at
Cheat, who held the gun. Ah! they had forgotten that if my arms
are strong, my head is stronger! Butting like a bull I caught him fair in the
middle and his back was against the side of the cave. He made one noise, no
more; he will never make another noise, for my head smashed him up inside and
the rock hurt me through him. Then the other two hit at me with kerries — great
blows — and my arms being tied I could not defend myself, though I knew that
they would soon kill me; so I groaned and dropped down, pretending to be dead —
just like a stink-cat. ‘At last, thinking that they had finished me the Basutos ran
away in a great hurry, for they feared lest you might hear the shouting and
should come after them with rifles. They were so much afraid that they left the
gun and most of the other things. After that I fainted; it was silly, but those
kerries of theirs are of rhinoceros horn — I should not have minded so much had
they been of wood, but the horn bites deep. That is all the story. It will
please Baas Tom to know that I saved his gun. When he hears it he will forget
his sickness and say, “Well done, Otter! Ha! Otter, your head is hard.”‘ ‘Make your heart hard also,’ said Leonard with a sad smile, ‘Baas
Tom is dead. He died at daybreak in my arms. The fever killed him as it killed
the other Inkoosis
(chiefs).’ Otter heard, and letting his bruised head fall upon his
mighty chest, remained for a while in silence. At length he lifted it and
Leonard saw two tears wandering down the battered countenance. ‘Wow,’ he said, ‘is it so? Oh! My father,
are you dead, you who were brave like a lion and gentle as a girl? Yes, you are
dead, my ears have heard it. And were it not for your brother, the Baas Leonard,
I think that I would kill myself and follow you. Wow, my father, are you
indeed dead, who smiled upon me yesterday?’ ‘Come,’ said Leonard, ‘I dare not leave him long.’ And he went, Otter following him with a reeling gait, for he
was weak from his injuries. Presently they reached the spot and Otter saw that
the hut was gone. ‘Certainly,’ he said, ‘our bad spirits were abroad last night.
Well, next time it will be the turn of the good ones.’ Then he drew near to the
corpse and saluted it with uplifted hand and voice. ‘Chief and Father,’ he said in Zulu, for Otter had wandered
long and knew many tongues, but he loved the Zulu best of all. ‘While you lived
upon earth, you were a good man and brave, though somewhat quick of temper and
quarrelsome like a woman. Now you have wearied of this world and flown away
like an eagle towards the sun, and there where you live in the light of the sun
you will be braver and better yet, and become more patient and not quarrel any
more with those who are less clever than you. Chief and Father, I salute you!
May he whom you named the Otter serve you and the Inkoosi your brother once
more in the House of the Great-Great, if one so ugly and misshapened can enter
there. As for the Basuto dog whom I slew and who would have stolen your gun, I
see now that I killed him in a fortunate hour, that he might be the slave
beneath your feet in the House of the Great-Great. Ah! had I known, I would
have sent a better man, for there as here Cheat will still be Cheat. ‘Hail, my Father! Hail, and farewell! Let your spirit watch
over us and be gentle towards us, who love you yet.’ And Otter turned away
without further ado; and having washed his wounds, he set himself to the task
of preparing such coarse food as they had in store. When it was ready Leonard ate of it, and after he had
finished eating, together they bore the body to the little cave for shelter. It
was Leonard’s purpose to bury his brother at sundown; he might not delay
longer, but till then he would watch by him, keeping the last of many vigils.
So all that remained of the Basuto Cheat having been dragged forth and thrust
unceremoniously into an ant-bear hole by Otter, who while he disposed of his
body did not spare to taunt the spirit of his late treacherous foe, the corpse
of Thomas Outram was laid in its place and Leonard sat himself by its side in
the gloom of the cave. About midday Otter, who had been sleeping off his sorrows,
physical and mental, came into the cavern. They were short of meat, he said,
and with the leave of the Baas, he would take the gun of the dead Baas and try
to shoot a buck. Leonard bade him go, but to be back by sundown, as he should
require his help. ‘Where shall we dig a hole, Baas?’ asked the dwarf. ‘One is dug,’ answered Leonard; ‘he who is dead dug it
himself as the others did. We will bury him in the last pit he made looking for
gold, to the right of where the hut stood. It is deep and ready.’ ‘Yes, Baas, a good place — though perhaps Baas Tom would not
have worked at it so strongly had he known. Wow! Who knows to what end he labours? But
perchance it is a little near the donga. Twice that hole has been flooded
while Baas Tom was digging in it. Then he could jump out, but now — ’ ‘I have settled it,’ said Leonard shortly; ‘go, and be back
half an hour before sundown at latest. Stop! Bring some of those rock-lilies if
you can. The Baas was fond of them.’ The dwarf saluted and went. ‘Ah!’ he said to himself as he waddled down the hill where he
hoped to find game, ‘ah! you do not fear men dead or living — overmuch; yet,
Otter, it is true that you are better here in the sun, though the sun is hot,
than yonder in the cave. Say, Otter, why does Baas Tom look awful now that he
is dead — he who was so gentle while yet he lived? Cheat did not look awful,
only uglier. But then you killed Cheat and the Heavens killed Baas Tom and set
their own seal upon him. And what will Baas Leonard do now that his brother is
dead and the Basutos have run away? Go on digging for the yellow iron which is
so hard to find, and of which, when it is found, no man can even make a spear.
Nay, what is that to you, Otter? What the Baas does you do — and here be the
spoor of an impala buck.’ Otter was right, the day was fearfully hot. It was summer in East Africa, or rather autumn, the season of fever, thunder and rain,
a time that none who valued their lives would care to spend in those latitudes
searching for gold with poor food and but little shelter. But men who seek
their fortunes are not chary of hazarding their own lives or those of others.
They become fatalists, not avowedly perhaps, but unconsciously. Those who are
destined to die must die, they think, the others will live. And, after all, it
does not greatly matter which they do, for, as they know well, the world will
never miss them. When Leonard Outram, his brother, and two companions in
adventure heard from the natives that at a particular spot on the mountains,
nominally in the Portuguese territory near the lowest branch of the Zambesi, gold
could be dug out like iron ore, and when, at the price of two Tower muskets and
a half-bred greyhound, they received a concession from the actual chief of
that territory to dig up and possess the gold without let or hindrance from any
person whatsoever, they did not postpone their undertaking because the country
was fever-stricken and the unhealthy season drew on. In the first place, their
resources were not great at the moment; and in the second, they feared lest
some other enterprising person with three Tower muskets and two greyhounds
should persuade the chief to rescind their concession in his favour. So they journeyed laboriously to the place of hidden wealth,
and with the help of such native labour as they could gather began their
search. At first they were moderately successful; indeed, wherever they dug
they found ‘colour,’ and once or twice stumbled upon pockets of nuggets. Their
hopes ran high, but presently one of the four — Askew by name — sickened and
died of fever. They buried him and persevered with varying luck. Then a second
member of their party, Johnson, was taken ill. He lingered for a month and died
also. After this Leonard was for abandoning the enterprise, but as fate would
have it, on the day following Johnson’s death they found gold in very promising
quantities, and his brother, whose desire to win the wealth necessary to their
ends was only increased by many disappointments, would not listen to such
advice. So they rebuilt the but on a higher and healthier spot and
stayed. But on one unfortunate day Thomas Outram went out shooting, and losing
his path m the bush was forced to spend a night in the fever-fog. A week afterwards
he complained of sickness and pains in the back and head — three weeks later he
died as we have seen. All these events and many others antecedent passed through
Leonard’s mind as he wore out the long hours seated by the side of his dead
brother. Never before had he felt so lonely, su utterly desolate, so bankrupt of all love and hope. It was a fact that
at this moment he had no friend in the wide world, unless he could call the knob-nosed
native Otter a friend. He had been many years away from England, his few
distant relations there troubled themselves no more about him or his brother,
outcasts, wanderers in strange lands, and his school and college companions in
all probability had forgotten his existence. There was one indeed, Jane Beach. But since that night of
parting, seven years ago, he had heard nothing of her. Twice he had written,
but no answer came to his letters. Then he gave up writing, for Leonard was a
proud man, moreover he guessed that she did not reply because she could not. As
he had said to his brother, Jane might be dead by now, or more probably married
to Mr. Cohen. And yet once they had loved each other, and to this hour he still
loved her, or thought that he did. At least, through all the weary years of
exile, labour and unceasing search after the unattainable, her image and memory
had been with him, a distant dream of sweetness, peace and beauty, and they
were with him yet, though nothing of her remained to him except the parting
gift of her prayer-book and the lock of hair within it. The wilderness is not a
place where men can forget their earliest love. No, he was alone, absolutely and utterly alone, a wanderer in
wild lands, a sojourner with rough unlettered men and savages. And now, what should he do? This place was played out. There
was alluvial gold indeed, but Leonard knew to-day that it was not in the earth,
but in the veins of quartz which permeated the mountains that the real wealth
must be sought for, and how could he extract it from the quartz without
machinery or capital? Besides, his Kaffir servants had deserted him, worn out
with hard work and fever, and there were no others to be had at this season.
Well, it was only one more disappointment; he must go back to Natal and take
his chance. At the worst he could always earn his living as a transport-rider, and
at the best he wearied of this search for wealth which was to build up their
family afresh. Then of a sudden Leonard remembered what he had promised — to
go on seeking till he died. Very good, he would keep the promise — till he
died. And he remembered also that curious prophecy to which Thomas had given
utterance on the previous night, that prophecy of wealth which should come to
him. Of course it was nothing but the distraught fancy of a dying
man. For many years his brother had brooded over this possibility of gaining
riches, not for their own sake indeed, but that they might be the means of
restoring the ancient family, which their father had brought to shame and ruin.
It was not wonderful in a man of his excitable temperament that at the hour of
his death he should have grasped at some vision of attainment of the object of
his life, though by the hand of another. And yet how strangely he had looked at
him With what conviction he had spoken! But all this was beside the point; he,
Leonard, had sworn an oath many years ago, and only last night he had promised
to continue to observe that oath. Therefore, come good or ill, he must pursue
it to the end. Thus he mused till he grew weary as he sat hour after hour
by the side of that rigid thing, which had been his playmate, his brother and
his friend. From time to time he rose and walked about the cave. As the
afternoon waned the air grew hotter and stiller, while a great cloud gathered ou the horizon. ‘There will be thunder at sundown,’ said Leonard aloud; ‘I
wish that Utter would come back, so that we might get the funeral over;
otherwise we shall have to wait till tomorrow.’ At length, about half-an-hour before nightfall, the dwarf
appeared at the mouth of the cave, looking more like a gnome than a man against
the lurid background of the angry sky. A buck was tied across his enormous
shoulders and in his hand he held a large bunch of the fragrant mountain-lilies. Then the two of them buried Thomas Outram, there in his
lonely grave which he himself had dug by the gully, and the roll of the thunder
was his requiem. It seemed a fitting termination to his stormy and laborious
life. |