Marie: An Episode in the Life of the Late Allan Quatermain by H. Rider Haggard (ebook reader macos TXT) 📖

too late. So they too were out of the slaughter, for, Allan, many, many have been killed—they say five or six hundred, most of them women and children. But thank God! many more escaped, since the men came in from the other camps farther off and from their shooting parties, and drove away the Zulus, killing them by scores.”

“Are your father and Pereira here now?” I asked.

“No, Allan. They learned of the massacre and that the Zulus were all gone yesterday morning. Also they got the bad news that Retief and everyone with him had been killed at Dingaan’s town, it is said through the treachery of the English, who arranged with Dingaan that he should kill them.”

“That is false,” I said; “but go on.”

“Then, Allan, they came and told me that I was a widow like many other women—I who had never been a wife. Allan, Hernan said that I should not grieve for you, as you deserved your fate, since you had been caught in your own snare, being one of those who had betrayed the Boers. The Vrouw Prinsloo answered to his face that he lied, and, Allan, I said that I would never speak to him again until we met before the Judgment Seat of God; nor will I do so.”

“But I will speak to him,” I muttered. “Well, where are they now?”

“They rode this morning back to the other Boers. I think they want to bring a party of them here to settle, if they like this place, as it is so easy to defend. They said they would return to-morrow, and that meanwhile we were quite safe, as they had sure tidings that all the Zulus were back over the Tugela, taking some of their wounded with them, and also the Boer cattle as an offering to Dingaan. But come to the house, Allan—our home that I had made ready for you as well as I could. Oh! my God! our home on the threshold of which I believed you would never set a foot. Yes, when the moon rose from that cloud I believed it, and look, they are still quite close together. Hark, what is that?”

I listened, and caught the sound of a horse’s hoofs stumbling among the rocks.

“Don’t be frightened,” I answered; “it is only Hans with my horse. He escaped also; I will tell you how afterwards.” And as I spoke he appeared, a woebegone and exhausted object.

“Good day, missie,” he said with an attempt at cheerfulness. “Now you should give me a fine dinner, for you see I have brought the baas back safe to you. Did I not tell you, baas, that everything would come right?”

Then he grew silent from exhaustion. Nor were we sorry, who at that moment did not wish to listen to the poor fellow’s talk.

Something over two hours had gone by since the moon broke out from the clouds. I had greeted the Vrouw Prinsloo and all my other friends, and been received by them with rapture as one risen from the dead. If they had loved me before, now a new gratitude was added to their love, since had it not been for my warning they also must have made acquaintance with the Zulu spears and perished. It was on their part of the camp that the worst of the attack fell. Indeed, from those wagons hardly anyone escaped.

I had told them all the story, to which they listened in dead silence. Only when it was finished the Heer Meyer, whose natural gloom had been deepened by all these events, said:

“Allemachte! but you have luck, Allan, to be left when everyone else is taken. Now, did I not know you so well, like Hernan Pereira I should think that you and that devil Dingaan had winked at each other.”

The Vrouw Prinsloo turned on him furiously.

“How dare you say such words, Carl Meyer?” she exclaimed. “Must Allan always be insulted just because he is English, which he cannot help? For my part, I think that if anyone winked at Dingaan it was the stinkcat Pereira. Otherwise why did he come away before the killing and bring that madman, Henri Marais, with him?”

“I don’t know, I am sure, aunt,” said Meyer humbly, for like everyone else he was afraid of the Vrouw Prinsloo.

“Then why can’t you hold your tongue instead of saying silly things which must give pain?” asked the vrouw. “No, don’t answer, for you will only make matters worse; but take the rest of that meat to the poor Hottentot, Hans”—I should explain that we had been supping—“who, although he has eaten enough to burst any white stomach, I dare say can manage another pound or two.”

Meyer obeyed meekly, and the others melted away also as they were wont to do when the vrouw showed signs of war, so that she and we two were left alone.

“Now,” said the vrouw, “everyone is tired, and I say that it is time to go to rest. Good night, nephew Allan and niece Marie,” and she waddled away leaving us together.

“Husband,” said Marie presently, “will you come and see the home that I made ready for you before I thought that you were dead? It is a poor place, but I pray God that we may be happy there,” and she took me by the hand and kissed me once and twice and thrice.

About noon on the following day, when my wife and I were laughing and arguing over some little domestic detail of our meagre establishment—so soon are great griefs forgotten in an overwhelming joy, of a sudden I saw her face change, and asked what was the matter.

“Hist!” she said, “I hear horses,” and she pointed in a certain direction.

I looked, and there, round the corner of the hill, came a body of Boers with their after-riders, thirty-two or three of them in all, of whom twenty were white men.

“See,” said Marie, “my father is among them, and my cousin Hernan rides at his side.”

It was true. There was Henri Marais, and just behind him, talking into his ear, rode Hernan Pereira. I remember that the two of them reminded me of a tale I had read about a man who was cursed with an evil genius that drew him to some dreadful doom in spite of the promptings of his better nature. The thin, worn, wild-eyed Marais, and the rich-faced, carnal Pereira whispering slyly into his ear; they were exact types of that man in the story and his evil genius who dragged him down to hell. Prompted by some impulse, I threw my arms round Marie and embraced her, saying:

“At least we have been very happy for a while.”

“What do you mean, Allan?” she asked doubtfully.

“Only that I think our good hours are done with for the present.”

“Perhaps,” she answered slowly; “but at least they have been very good hours, and if I should die to-day I am glad to have lived to win them.”

Then the cavalcade of Boers came up.

Hernan Pereira, his senses sharpened perhaps by the instincts of hate and jealousy, was the first to recognise me.

“Why, Mynheer Allan Quatermain,” he said, “how is it that you are here? How is it that you still live? Commandant,” he added, turning to a dark, sad-faced man of about sixty whom at that time I did not know, “here is a strange thing. This Heer Quatermain, an Englishman, was with the Governor Retief at the town of the Zulu king, as the Heer Henri Marais can testify. Now, as we know for sure Pieter Retief and all his people are dead, murdered by Dingaan, how then does it happen that this man has escaped?”

“Why do you put riddles to me, Mynheer Pereira?” asked the dark Boer. “Doubtless the Englishman will explain.”

“Certainly I will, mynheer,” I said. “Is it your pleasure that I should speak now?”

The commandant hesitated. Then, having called Henri Marais apart and talked to him for a little while, he replied:

“No, not now, I think; the matter is too serious. After we have eaten we will listen to your story, Mynheer Quatermain, and meanwhile I command you not to leave this place.”

“Do you mean that I am a prisoner, commandant?” I asked.

“If you put it so—yes, Mynheer Quatermain—a prisoner who has to explain how some sixty of our brothers, who were your companions, came to be butchered like beasts in Zululand, while you escaped. Now, no more words; by and by doubtless there will be plenty of them. Here you, Carolus and Johannes, keep watch upon this Englishman, of whom I hear strange stories, with your guns loaded, please, and when we send to you, lead him before us.”

“As usual, your cousin Hernan brings evil gifts,” I said to Marie bitterly. “Well, let us also eat our dinner, which perhaps the Heeren Carolus and Johannes will do us the honour to share—bringing their loaded guns with them.”

Carolus and Johannes accepted the invitation, and from them we heard much news, all of it terrible enough to learn, especially the details of the massacre in that district, which, because of this fearful event is now and always will be known as Weenen, or The Place of Weeping. Suffice it to say that they were quite enough to take away all our appetite, although Carolus and Johannes, who by this time had recovered somewhat from the shock of that night of blood and terror, ate in a fashion which might have filled Hans himself with envy.

Shortly after we had finished our meal, Hans, who, by the way, seemed to have quite recovered from his fatigues, came to remove the dishes. He informed us that all the Boers were having a great “talk,” and that they were about to send for me. Sure enough, a few minutes later two armed men arrived and ordered me to follow them. I turned to say some words of farewell to Marie, but she said:

“I go where you do, husband,” and, as no objection was made by the guard, she came.

About two hundred yards away, sitting under the shade of one of the wagons, we found the Boers. Six of them were seated in a semicircle upon stools or whatever they could find, the black-browed commandant being in the centre and having in front of him a rough table on which were writing materials.

To the left of these six were the Prinsloos and Meyers, being those folk whom I had rescued from Delagoa, and to the right the other Boers who had ridden into the camp that morning. I saw at a glance that a court-martial had been arranged and that the six elders were the judges, the commandant being the president of the court.

I do not give their names purposely, since I have no wish that the actual perpetrators of the terrible blunder that I am about to describe should be known to posterity. After all, they acted honestly according to their lights, and were but tools in the hand of that villain Hernan Pereira.

“Allan Quatermain,” said the commandant, “you are brought here to be tried by a court-martial duly constituted according to the law published in the camps of the emigrant Boers. Do you acknowledge that law?”

“I know that there is such a law, commandant,” I answered, “but I do not acknowledge the authority of your court-martial to try a man who is no Boer, but a subject of the Queen of Great Britain.”

“We have considered that point, Allan Quatermain,” said the commandant, “and we disallow it. You will remember that in the camp at Bushman’s River, before you rode with the late Pieter Retief to the chief Sikonyela, when you were given command of the Zulus who went with him, you took an oath to interpret truly and to be faithful in all things to the General Retief, to his companions and to his cause. That oath we hold gives this court jurisdiction over you.”

“I deny your jurisdiction,” I answered, “although it is true that I took an oath to interpret faithfully, and I request that a note of my denial may be made in writing.”

“It shall be done,” said the commandant, and laboriously he made the note on the paper before him.

When he had finished he looked up and said: “The charge against you, Allan Quatermain, is that, being one of the commission who recently visited the Zulu king Dingaan, under command of the late Governor and General Pieter Retief, you did falsely and wickedly urge the said Dingaan to murder the said Pieter Retief and his companions, and especially Henri Marais, your father-in-law, and Hernando Pereira, his nephew, with both of whom you had a quarrel. Further, that afterwards you brought about the said murder, having first arranged with the king of the Zulus that you