Adams Henry Cadwallader
Hair-Breadth Escapes: The Adventures of Three Boys in South Africa

Chapter Sixteen
Strange Company – Captured again – The Kaffir Village – Chuma Obdurate – Lavie’s Mission – The Wizard – A Bond of Fellowship

It was a long and terrible night. The heaven was covered with vast masses of inky clouds, which the gale drove rapidly before it; and occasionally there were sharp bursts of rain, from which even the dense foliage of the tree in which they were lodged but imperfectly screened them. The howling of the wind round them, and the roaring of the torrent below, rendered all attempts to converse with one another impossible. They could only cling to their place of refuge, and count the weary minutes as they passed, gazing anxiously on the eastern sky in the hope of seeing there the first faint streaks of dawn.

A little after midnight the fury of the elements seemed to have reached its height, and now a new danger threatened them. The huge tree rocked to and fro under the gusts of wind, as though it had been a bulrush, and every now and then a loud crack from below, intimated that one of the strong roots had yielded to its violence. At length, after one blast, more fierce than any which had preceded it, the last fibre gave way. De Walden felt the great trunk bend slowly forward, and settle down in the water; and almost immediately afterwards it was carried down the current, whirling and crashing against other trees as it went, with a force which nearly shook its occupants from their hold. Fortunately they had taken their stations on a branch which still remained above the water when the tree was uprooted; but it was nevertheless only by the most desperate exertion of the little strength which still remained to them, that they could save themselves from dropping, exhausted and benumbed, into the watery abyss beneath.

At length the dawn began to glimmer, and showed that the tree, which had become entangled with a number of others, had reached a point in the river where it could proceed no further. The vast floating débris had lodged against lofty rocks, which projected some distance into the stream, and thus an insuperable obstacle was offered to its farther progress. As the light grew stronger, it revealed a spectacle so extraordinary, and at the same time so frightful, that De Walden, with all his long and varied experience, could not recall the like of it. Numberless animals had taken refuge, as he and his party had done, in the boughs of trees, or had been carried against them by the torrent. The confused mass of trunks and branches was now crowded with the most strangely assorted occupants that had ever been brought together since the day of the great deluge; their natural instincts being, for the time, completely overpowered by terror. The lion and the eland crouched close beside one another; the steinbok and the ocelot clung to the same limb; the hyena and the sheep, the tiger and zebra, jostled each other, all alike apparently unaware of the presence of their neighbours. More deadly enemies still were close at hand unheeded. Huge pythons, puff adders, cobras, ondaras, black snakes, were twisted round every projecting bough, darting their heads to and fro, and protruding their tongues in the extremity of alarm. Even the huge bulk of the rhinoceros might be discerned here and there, lodged on the bole of some giant acacia or baobab; while above, the smaller boughs were tenanted by multitudes of monkeys, for once omitting their customary scream and chatter in the presence of mortal peril.

De Walden perceived that it would be possible for the party now to make their way from tree to tree, until the right hand bank should be reached. That to the left, which was the one along which their journey now lay, being cut off from them by impassable obstacles. But they must get on shore first, and again attempt the passage of the river afterwards. He shouted to the others, and at length succeeded in rousing them from the torpor, which for some time had been creeping over them. Guided by him, they crawled stiffly and wearily from their resting-places, along one trunk after another, often almost pushing aside beasts of prey, which it would have been death to approach at other times, but which now shrank away from them in deadly fear – until at last the river’s bank was attained. Here they struggled on for a short distance, through the dense underwood of thorn and reed, until they had reached a patch of long grass; when all, with one consent as it were, threw themselves on the soft couch, and were soon locked in the profoundest sleep.

How long they might have slept it is impossible to say. They were awakened about the middle of the day by finding themselves in the hands of a number of black men, who had already despoiled them of their accoutrements, and were engaged in tying their arms behind their backs with rheims of rhinoceros hide. They sat up and stared about them, hardly realising at first what had happened.

“Hallo, blacky,” exclaimed Nick, when he had at length taken in the situation, “what may you happen to be about? Do you know, these legs and arms, that you are handling after that free-and-easy fashion, belong to me? Why, I declare,” he continued, as he caught a clearer view of the man who was employed in tying him, “I declare that is one of the fellows whom you let off one fine morning about three weeks ago, Mr De Walden! One blacky is generally as like another as an egg is to an egg, but I think I could swear to that fellow’s nose and eyebrows. Ain’t I right, sir?”

“Quite right, I am sorry to say, Nick,” replied De Walden. “I am more vexed than surprised at this. I knew these fellows would not return to Chuma without us if they could help it, and half feared they might be following us. But if we had got safe across the Gariep, they would have come no further. It can’t be helped, Lavie,” addressing the surgeon, who seemed inclined to remonstrate. “I would ask them to let you go, and take me only with them, and it is possible, though not likely, that they would consent But they would certainly seize your guns and ammunition, and without these, and without a guide, you would hardly reach Cape Town. No, we must go to Chuma’s kraal now, and try what may be done with him. I don’t think he will venture to hurt us – anyhow, he won’t hurt you. There is the annoyance of the detention, but that will be all.”

“I have no doubt you are right,” said Lavie. “They have taken us by surprise; and without arms we could do nothing against their superior numbers. The less we say or do the better, until we reach their village. Is it far off, do you suppose?”

“I can’t quite tell where we are. But I should think five or six days’ journey. Well, since you agree with me in the matter, I will tell them we are ready to start.”

The Kaffir, who seemed the chief of the party, received this intimation with evident satisfaction. It was plain that, although he was determined, if he could, to take the missionary with him, and considered that the presence of the rest of the party would be acceptable to the chief, he was more than half afraid of the Englishmen, and would have been very unwilling to employ force. He gave orders to his companions to set out without loss of time, and in another quarter of an hour they were on their way. Kamo, as the leader was called, walked first, and carried De Walden’s rifle, the prisoners, all five together, following, and the rest of the blacks, seven in number, occupying their flank and rear.

De Walden’s calculations proved to be very nearly correct. On the evening of the sixth day, the travellers could perceive from the demeanour of their conductors, that they were approaching their destination. A halt was made about an hour before sunset, and two of the Kaffirs set forward, carrying the rifles and other articles taken from the English. In rather more than half an hour afterwards they returned, accompanied by a considerable number of their countrymen, carrying clubs, bows, and assegais, and evidently designed as a guard of honour. They formed themselves into a sort of procession, five Kaffirs in front with clubs and shields; then the whites in Indian file, with two blacks on either side of each one of them, and the remainder of the savages bringing up the rear.

In this order, about a quarter of an hour subsequently, they entered the Kaffir kraal; which was in some respects very like, but in others different from, that of the Hottentots. The huts were not built in the same regular order, as in the instance of the latter, and they were entirely composed of wicker-work besmeared with clay. Small too as had been the amount of cleanliness and order observable among the Hottentots, there was even less here. On the other hand, there were tokens of superior civilisation to be discerned on every side. There were large fields of Indian corn (or mealies as they were called), which were carefully fenced in, and now nearly ripe for harvest. There were gardens, too, in which pumpkins and sugar-canes grew. Before almost every door stood wicker baskets, earthenware pans, and iron or copper bowls and pails – all evidently of domestic manufacture. One of the largest huts seemed to be that of the village smith, and he and his assistant were at work, engaged in hammering an axe head.

The men were much darker, as well as of a taller and more powerful build, than the Namaquas. The weather being warm, they wore scarcely any clothing, and the stalwart muscular frames and well-formed features of many among them, might have served a sculptor as models of the Lybian Hercules. The women were not equal, either in symmetry of form or regularity of feature, to the males – the consequence, probably, of the severe and incessant toil required of them. They wore, for the most part, a skin petticoat descending half-way down the thigh, to which in colder weather they added a mantle of hide, secured by a collar round the throat. It was growing dusk when the party entered the kraal; but the chief, Chuma, came forth to greet De Walden, for whom it was plain that he entertained a strange mixture of fear, admiration, and dislike. He began by reproaching the missionary for his thanklessness in rejecting his repeated invitations. Anxious as he was to bestow all manner of honours and good gifts on the prophet of the white men, it was ungrateful of him to withhold his good offices in return. “See,” he said, “the best house the kraal contains is yours, if you choose to occupy it; or if that suits you not, we will build you a house after your own fancy. As many cows and sheep as you may desire, as many fields of corn, as many fruit trees as you name, shall be given you. We will be your servants, and you may choose what wives you will. They will be sent to your house without payment. Only, in return, do not suffer our cattle to die of murrain, or our crops wither up for lack of rain. What injury have we done you, that you refuse us your aid in our necessity?”

“It is in vain that I tell you I cannot do what you ask of me,” returned De Walden. “Again and again I have assured you, that I am as unable to prevent the visitations of disease and drought as you yourselves are. The God, of whom I have spoken to you, and about whom you will not hear, He, and He only, can accomplish the things you ask. If you wish to obtain the blessings of which you speak, bow down before Him, and ask Him for them.”

“If I so bow down, will the prophet of the white men assure me, that I shall receive what I entreat for?”

“No,” replied the missionary, “I can give you no such assurance. God hears prayer always, and is well pleased with those who offer it with a true heart; but He does not always grant what men ask for. It may not be good for them to receive it.”

“What good, then, to pray, if there be no favourable answer?” rejoined the chief, a cloud gathering on his brow. “You ask me to commit folly. You trifle with me. You have brought down rain for others, and driven away the disease that slew the cattle for others. Look, you shall live here in the village, and we will kill you, if you attempt to escape. If the rain does not come in its season, you shall bring it. If the cattle die of pestilence you shall cause it to depart, or you shall yourself suffer pain and hunger and death. As for these others, are they prophets and wizards too?”

“They are simply English travellers, on their way to Cape Town,” said De Walden, “and their friends are persons of importance there. You have heard of the English?”

“The English,” said Chuma. “Ah, the English. Yes, I have heard of them. They came over the great salt water, years ago, and fought with the Dutch – did they not?”

“They did. They fought with the Dutch and conquered them. You know well that the Dutch are dangerous enemies to meet in battle. None of the races whose skins are dark – the Bechuanas, the Basutos, the Zulus, the Namaquas – none of them can stand before the Dutch – ”

“They have the fire-tubes,” interposed the chief angrily, – “the fire-tubes which strike men dead from a great distance like the lightning, and no one can avoid it. They wear iron coats, and caps, which turn aside the arrows and the assegais. They ride on horses too, which are taught to fight like themselves. It is not equal. Let them lay aside their coats and their tubes, and fight on foot like our warriors, with clubs and assegais, and see who will conquer then.”

“You know they are not likely to do that,” returned the missionary; “but that is nothing to the present matter. I wish to show you that if you cannot stand before the Dutch, much less would you be able to face the English, who are braver warriors, and better acquainted with war, than even the Dutch.”

“Ah, but the English have gone away,” rejoined Chuma. “You try to deceive me, but you cannot. The Dutch rule over the country again now. The White Queen, who is a great magician, sent messengers to the English chief not many months ago. But they came back and told her he was gone. I know that, for Kama was in the Basuto kraal when they returned, and heard their tale. She, I say, was a great magician, and they could not have deceived her, even if they dared speak falsely.”

“They did not speak falsely,” said De Walden. “The English went away three or four years ago, and have stayed in their own land until now. But not many weeks ago they came back over the salt water, and have again conquered the Dutch, and are masters of the land.”

“Ah, the English again masters! We will not quarrel with the English. We have seen them fight. But how do I know that they have come back? How do I know that these persons are English, or that they have great friends there?”

“You have my word,” returned the other.

“Ah, but you deceive me in some matters, and may in others. I must have proof of what you tell me before I let them go. But see here. Will they give me their fire-tubes and their black powder as their ransom? Then they may depart.”

“They cannot do so,” said the missionary. “If you deprive them of their guide and their weapons, how can they find their way so many hundred miles, and how provide themselves with food by the way? You must let them take their guns; and, if you are resolved on compelling me to remain here, you must furnish them with a guide. By him they will send you back any ransom you may agree on.”

“And when they get near the dwelling of their friends, they will send their guide away empty-handed, or it may be they will kill him, and I shall hear no more of him or them either. It is not good. No, I will not quarrel with the English. But they live far off. They will know nothing of these men where they are, or what may have become of them. If I keep them prisoners, or if I put them to death” – the eyes of the savage emitted a fierce light as he spoke – “if I put them to death,” he repeated slowly, “who will tell the English of it?”

“It will certainly be discovered,” said De Walden. “It is known that they have landed on the sea-coast at no great distance from here, and that they are wandering about in these regions. One of them is the son of a great sea warrior; the others are his friends and companions. The great Chief of the English will send out soldiers to search for them. He will learn from many whither they have been taken; and if harm has been done them, he will exact heavy punishment.”

Chuma shook his head, but he evidently was much moved by the missionary’s words. He conferred apart with some of his counsellors, and an animated debate, to all appearance, ensued. At length he turned away from them, and again addressed De Walden.

“See,” he said, “this is the way of it. One of the whites, whomsoever they may choose, goes alone to the great village of the whites, and Kama goes with him as guide; but the white man leaves the fire-tube here behind him, which he will not need, for Kama finds food on the way. The others – they too stay behind here in the village till Kama returns, and tells me what he has seen and heard – does this please you?”

“I will report to them what you have said,” returned De Walden, “and bring you their answer.”

He stepped up to the place where the four travellers were resting themselves on a heap of skins, and reported to them Chuma’s proposal. “On the whole,” he added, “I should advise you to accept it. I know how suspicious these Bechuanas are. Never practising anything like truthful and fair dealing themselves, they are incapable of believing that any one else can do so. If you refuse, your refusal will be imputed to some sinister designs which you are secretly cherishing; and Chuma is fully capable of relieving himself from all immediate anxiety by putting the whole party to death.”

“I quite see that,” said Lavie. “The only alternative is attempting to escape, and the chances are greatly against our succeeding in that. In any case,” he mentally added, “such a step would bring ruin and death on you. No,” he resumed, “we must certainly close with Chuma’s offer. The only question is, which of us is to be the one to go.”

“You must not choose me,” said Gilbert. “I should only make a mess of it.”

“I would go,” said Frank, “but I do not think I am strong enough yet to attempt such a journey.”

“And I would rather not leave Mr De Walden,” added Warley. “You had better go yourself, Charles. You are in every way better fitted to manage the business.”

“I should not object,” said Lavie, “but I do not like to leave you in the hands of these treacherous savages.”

“You leave us under Mr De Walden’s care,” rejoined Warley, “and I, for one, can fully trust to that.”

After some further discussion, it was so arranged. Chuma was informed that his terms were accepted; and on the following day the doctor, having taken an affectionate farewell of his young companions, set out for Cape Town with Kama and another Bechuana for his guides; while the others prepared themselves to endure, as patiently as they could, the long weeks of waiting which must inevitably ensue.

“Are these Kaffirs utterly without the idea of God, as people say they are?” asked Ernest one day of Mr De Walden, about a week after their friends, departure. “I was talking one day to a gentleman on board the Hooghly, who seemed to be well acquainted with them, and he declared that they had positively no religion at all. But another gentleman differed from him, and was going on, I believe, to produce some proofs to the contrary, but the conversation was broken off. I should like to know what you would say on the subject.”

“They have no religion in the proper sense of the word,” answered the elder man. “No sense of connection, that is to say, with a Being infinitely powerful and good, who made and sustains them, and to whom they are accountable. It is this that constitutes a religion, and of this they know nothing. But they are extremely superstitious. They believe in the existence of Evil Spirits, who have alike the power and the will to afflict and torment them. To these they attribute every disaster or suffering which may befall them.”

“A creed of fear, in fact, without love,” suggested Ernest.

“Precisely. They have no idea of pleasing the Unseen Powers by duty and affection, but are keenly alive to the necessity of propitiating them by continual sacrifices. They believe also, that it is possible to obtain from their Evil Spirits the power of benefiting or afflicting others; and those who are presumed to be in possession of these powers are held in as great – practically in greater – reverence than the Spirits themselves.”

“These persons are, of course, impostors.”

“In the main, yes. But there are some who are half impostors and half fanatics – really thinking they possess some of the gifts attributed to them, though how much, they themselves hardly know. This is the common case with false prophets. Their heaviest punishment ever is, that they partially credit their own lie.”

“And this chief, Chuma, supposes you to be one of these prophets?”

“He does, and nothing I can say will disabuse his mind of the idea. It is not uncommon with these pretenders, to appear to deny the possession of supernatural powers, until they have obtained their price from the chiefs! Chuma will not be persuaded that my disclaimers have no deeper meaning than this. And I have given up the point in despair.”

“Are there any of these pretended prophets among the tribe?”

“There is one – a man named Maomo. He was once in great favour with Chuma; but a long drought, some two years ago, which he failed to relieve, forfeited his prestige in the chief’s eyes. He has been labouring for a long time past to regain his power; and he regards me, I know, with especial dislike, because he views me as the chief obstacle to the attainment of his wishes.”

“He is not likely, I suppose, to succeed in his design. The chief seems to regard you with the deepest awe, if not affection.”

“Ernest,” said the missionary, “that is all delusive. His awe of me is founded on an unreal basis, which will some day, and may any day, crumble into nothing. And the moment Chuma ceases to fear me, his hate will burst out in all its deadly fury. Maomo has already (as I know quite well) so far worked upon the chief’s prejudices, that he views me as an enemy, though one whom it is not safe to attack. He has persuaded him that the Spirits are angry at my attempts to draw away his people from their ancient belief, and the consequence, he has assured him, will be some heavy visitation of disease, or famine, or drought. Chuma has, in consequence, positively forbidden me to attempt to make any converts, or even offer prayers to our God, under penalty of his heaviest displeasure. This very day he has told me so.”

“And you, sir?” asked Ernest, anxiously.

“I, Ernest,” answered the missionary, somewhat reproachfully, “I told him, of course, that I should obey God rather than him, and strive to bring any soul among his people to the knowledge of Christ. I left him somewhat subdued, as determined language always subdues him; but the moment any trouble befalls him, I know well what what will follow.”

“Let me help you,” said Ernest, deeply moved.

“Give me some of your work to do. I will do it to the best of my power.”

“Notwithstanding the consequences?” asked De Walden.

“Notwithstanding the consequences,” answered Warley resolutely. And the two shook hands with a warmth neither had before felt towards the other.