'Tween Snow and Fire by Bertram Mitford (world best books to read txt) đ
- Author: Bertram Mitford
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Every scrap of news from the seat of war she had caught at eagerly. She had shuddered and thrilled over the account of the battle with Sheltonâs patrol and its stirring and victorious termination. Every movement of the Kaffrarian Rangers was known to her as soon as it became public property, and sometimes before; for there were some in an official position who were not averse to stretching a point to obtain such a smile of welcome as would come into the beautiful face of Mrs Carhayes, if they confidentially hinted to her a piece of intelligence just come in from the front and not yet made known to the general public. She had even tried to establish a kind of private intelligence department of her own among some of the Kafirs who hung around the settlement, but these were so contradictory in their statements, and moreover she began to suspect that the rascals were not above drawing pretty freely upon their imaginations for the sake of the sixpences, or cast-off clothes, or packets of coffee and sugar, with which their efforts were invariably rewarded. So this she discontinued, or at any rate ceased to place any reliance on their stories.
She had heard from her husband once or twice, a mere rough scrawl of half a dozen lines, and those chiefly devoted to explaining that camp lifeâmade up as it was of patrols and horse guards and hunting up the enemyâleft no time for any such trivial occupations as mere letter-writing. She had heard from Eustace oftener, letters of great length, entertaining withal, but such as all the world might read. But this in no wise troubled her now, for she understood. Eustace was far too cautious to intrust anything that the world might not read to so uncertain a means of transit as was then at his disposal. Express-riders might be cut off by the enemy in the course of their precarious and sometimes extremely perilous mission; occasionally were cut off.
A few days now and she would see him again, would hear his voice, would live in the delight of his presence daily as before. Ah, butâhow was it to end? The old thought, put far away into the background during the dull heartache of their separation, came to the fore now. They would go back to their home, to Antaâs Kloof, and things would be as before. Ah, but would they? There lay the sting. Neverâa thousand times never. Things could never be as they were. For now that her love for the one had been awakened, what had she left for the other? Not even the kindly toleration of companionship which she had up till then mistaken for love. A sentiment perilously akin to aversion had now taken the place of this. Alas and alas! How was it to end?
The return of the Kaffrarian Rangers became a matter of daily expectation. Preparations were made for their reception, including a banquet on a large scale. Still they came not.
Then an ugly report got wind in Komghaâwhispered at first. A disaster had befallen. Several men belonging to the expected corps had been killed. They had constituted a patrol, report saidâthen a shooting party straying from the main body. Anyway, they had been cut off by the enemy and massacred to a man. It was only the Moordenaarâs Kop affair over again, people said.
Later the rumour began to boil down a little. Only four men had come to grief as reported. They had left the main body to get up a bushbuck hunt on the banks of the Bashi. They must have crossed the river for some reason or other, probably in pursuance of their hunt; anyhow, they were surprised by the Kafirs and killed. And the missing men were Hoste, Payne, Carhayes, and Eustace Milne.
The rumour spread like wildfire. The excitement became prodigious. Men stood in eager knots at the street corners, at the bars, everywhere, each trying to appear as if he knew more about it than his fellows; each claiming to be a greater authority upon the probabilities or improbabilities of the case than all the rest put together. But all were agreed on one pointâthat the errand of breaking the news to those most concerned was the duty of anybody but themselves. And three of the unfortunate men were married; two of their wivesânow widows, alasâbeing actually resident in the place, within a stoneâs throw, in fact. It was further agreed that, by whoever eventually performed, the longer this duty could be deferred the better. Further information might arrive any moment. It would be as well to wait.
For once, public opinion was sound in its judgment. Further information did arrive, this time authentic, and it had the effect of boiling down rumour considerablyâin fact, by one-half. The four men had set out and crossed the Bashi into the Bomvana country, as at first stated. They had been attacked by the Kafirs in overwhelming numbers, and after a terrible running fight Hoste and Payne had escaped. Their horses had been mortally wounded and themselves forced to lie hidden among the thick bush and krantzes along the Bashi River for two nights and a day, when they were found in a half-starved condition by a strong patrol of the Rangers, which had turned back to search for them. The other two men were missing, and from the report of the survivors no hope could be entertained of their escape. In fact, their fate was placed beyond the shadow of a doubt, for the Rangers had proceeded straight to the scene of the conflict, and though they did not discover the bodiesâwhich the jackals and other wild animals might have accounted for meanwhileâthey found the spots, not very far apart, where both men had been slain, and in or near the great patches of dried-up blood were fragments of the unfortunate menâs clothing and other articles, including a new and patent kind of spur known to have belonged to Milne.
This was better. The killed had been reduced from four to two, the number of widows from three to one. Still, it was sufficiently terrible. Both men had lived in their midstâone for many years, the other for a shorter timeâand were more or less well-known to all. This time the news was genuine, for three of the Rangers themselves had ridden in with all particulars. The sensation created was tremendous. Everybody had something to say.
âTell you what it is, boys,â a weather-beaten, grizzled old farmer was sayingâharanguing a gathering of idlers on the stoep of the hotel. âThereâs always something of that sort happens every war. Fellers get so darn careless. They think because Jack Kafir funks sixty men heâs in just as big a funk of six. But he ainât. They reckon, too, that because they canât see no Kafirs that there ainât no Kafirs to see. Jest as if they werenât beinâ watched every blessed step they take. No, if you go out in a big party to find Jack Kafir you wonât find him, but if you go out in a small one, heâll be dead sure to find you. You may jest bet drinks all round on that. Hey? Did you say youâd take me, Bill?â broke off the old fellow with a twinkle in his eye as he caught that of a crony in the group.
âHaw, haw! No, I didnât, but I will though. Put a name to it, old Baas.â
âWell, Iâll call it âFrench.â Three star for choice.â
The liquid was duly brought and the old fellow, having disposed of two-thirds at a gulp, resumed his disquisition.
âItâs this way,â he went on. âIâm as certain of it as if Iâd seen it. Them oxen were nothinâ more or less than a trap. The Kafirs had been watching the poor devils all along and jest sent the oxen as a bait to draw them across the river. Itâs jest what might have been expected, but Iâm surprised they hadnât more sense than to be took so easily. Hoste and Payne especiallyânot being a couple of Britishersââ
âHere, I say, governorâstow all that for a yarn,â growled one of a brace of fresh-faced young Police troopers, who were consuming a modest âsplitâ at a table and resented what they thought was an imputation.
âWell, I donât mean no offence,â returned the old fellow testily. âI only mean that Britishers ainât got the experience us Colonial chaps has, and âll go runninâ their heads into a trap where we should know better.â
âAll the more credit to their pluck,â interrupted another patriotically disposed individual.
âOh, shut up, Smith. Who the deuce is saying anything against their pluck?â cried someone else.
âWell, Iâm sure I wasnât,â went on the original speaker. âTom Carhayes, now, is as plucky a fellow as ever livedâwas, ratherâandââ
âYou donât call Tom Carhayes a Britisher, do you?â objected another man.
âYes, I do. At least, perhaps not altogether. Heâs been here a good number of years now and got into our ways. Still, I remember when he first came out. And Milne only came out the other day.â
âWell, Milneâs âblanket friendsâ have paid him off in a coin he didnât bargain for. Wonder what he thinks of âem nowâif he can think,â said someone, with an ill-natured sneerâfor Eustace, like most men with any character in them, was not beloved by everybody.
âAh, poor chap,â went on the old man. âMilne was rather too fond of the Kafirs and Carhayes was a sight too much down on âem. And now the Kafirs have done for them both, without fear, favour, orââ
âTshâtshâtsh! Shut up, man alive, shut up!â
This was said in a low, warning whisper, and the speakerâs sleeve was violently plucked.
âEh? Whatâs the row?â he asked, turning in amazement.
âWhy, thatâs her!â was the reply, more earnest than grammatical.
âHer? Who?â
âHis wife, of course.â
A Cape cart was driving by, containing two ladies and two young girls. Of the former one was Mrs Hoste, the other Eanswyth. As they passed quite close to the speakers, Eanswyth turned her head with a bow and a smile to someone standing in front of the hotel. A dead, awkward silence fell upon the group of talkers.
âI say. She didnât hear, did she?â stage-whispered the old man eagerly, when the trap had gone by.
âShe didnât look much as though she hadâpoor thing!â said another whom the serene, radiant happiness shining in that sweet face had not escaped.
âPoor thing, indeed,â was the reply. âShe ought to be told, though. But I wouldnât be the man to do it, noânot for fifty pounds. Why, they say she can hardly eat or sleep since she heard Tom Carhayes was coming back, sheâs so pleased. And now, poor Tomâwhere is he? Lying out there hacked into Kafir mince-meat.â And the speaker, jerking his hand in the direction of the Transkei, stalked solemnly down the steps of the stoep, heaving a prodigious sigh.
The party in the Cape cart were returning from a drive out to Draaibosch, a roadside inn and canteen some ten or a dozen miles along the King Williamstown road. Two troops of Horse, one of them Brathwaiteâs, were encamped there the night before on their way homeward, and a goodly collection of their friends and well-wishers had driven or ridden over to see them start.
It was a lovely day, and the scene had been lively enough as the combined troopsânumbering upwards of two hundred horsemen, bronzed and war-worn, but âfitâ and in the highest of spirits, had struck their camp and filed off upon their homeward way, cheering and being cheered enthusiastically by the lines of spectators. An enthusiasm, however, in no wise
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