Forging the Blades: A Tale of the Zulu Rebellion

Chapter Nine.
The New Arrival

“I suppose you couldn’t tell me where to find a man named Halse, could you, Mrs Shelford? He lives somewhere in this country.”

The pretty and popular hostess of the Nodwengu Hotel at Ezulwini looked up quickly from her plate. So did several others seated at table.

“Yes,” she answered, a little surprised. “Do you know him, then, Mr Denham?”

“Well, in a sort of a way,” was the answer. “That is, I’ve heard a good deal about him, and was rather interested to make his acquaintance.”

Now the expression “heard a good deal about him” raised a covert smile on more than one face round the table.

“Ben Halse lives up in the Lumisana district,” answered the hostess. “But it’s an out-of-the-way place, and not easily got at.”

“All the better. I like out-of-the-way places. They’re so jolly interesting. That’s why I pricked out a cross-country course here.”

The speaker was a tall man, broad-shouldered and well set up, with a square, intellectual head; fair, clear-eyed and self-possessed, and might have been in the late thirties, i.e. in his very prime. He had arrived at Ezulwini the evening before, on horseback, and his baggage for the present consisted of what that unreliable animal could carry strapped across the saddle.

“By the way,” said another man at the table, “I heard something about Ben Halse being due here just about now. Heard anything about it, Mrs Shelford?”

“No.”

“Perhaps he’s going to the opposition shop,” said the other mischievously.

“He can if he likes,” was the crisp retort. “Only Ben Halse and ourselves have known each other all our lives, so I don’t think there’s much fun in that remark.”

“That’s all there was in it, anyhow,” was the answer. “Now I think of it the report came through some of the police.”

“Now, Mrs Shelford, you mustn’t say it,” cut in another man, in mock warning, he, incidentally, holding rank as Inspector in that useful corps.

“Say what?”

“That they are always ‘talking through their necks.’”

“Wait till I do,” she retorted, with a laugh, the fact being that she was exceedingly popular with the police, rank and file, and had two brothers in it. “Well, what about Ben Halse, and where had they seen him?”

“At his own shop.”

“Who were they?”

“I’m not sure. Meyrick, I think, was one.”

“Well, if it’s true it’ll save you a journey, Mr Denham,” she said.

“I’ll hold on here for a day or two, then, and see. I’m in no violent hurry.”

He was inclined to do this in any case. There was a homelike friendliness about these people among whom he had dropped only the night before, which very much appealed to him. Eight or ten of them would gather at table three times a day, and there was not one among them with whom he had not some idea in common. Most of them, too, had been in the country for years, and he had sat quite late into the previous night listening to some of their experiences – experiences narrated with no tom-fool idea of “cramming” a stranger, but, if anything, set in rather too matter-of-fact a frame, at least so it had struck him. And in the said capacity of stranger each and all had laid themselves out to show him courtesy.

Breakfast over, the other boarders went off to their respective avocations, and Denham, lighting a cigar, strolled outside. It was a perfect morning. The sky was a vivid, unclouded blue, the sun, though hot, was not oppressive, and there was just sufficient stirring of the air to make against sultriness. At the back, dropping abruptly from the compound itself, was the first of a series of densely forested kloofs, whose tumbled masses of dark foliage seemed to roll like the irregular waves of a sea, and beyond, just glimpsed through the golden haze, a range of green, round-topped hills rose on the skyline. Immediately at hand a non-indigenous profusion of trees and hedges, giving bosky shade to the snug bungalows and official buildings which constituted the township.

Denham, strolling leisurely up and down the broad, clean-swept garden path flanked by its red lines of Jerusalem thorn, was inclined to think that his lines had fallen in pleasant places. Over and above the beauty of the surroundings and the exhilaration of the clear and ambient air his naturalist soul had already begun to find interest in the unfamiliar birds and insects, which fluttered or crept. Bright butterflies alighting coquettishly upon the rose-blooms, the clumsy “whirr” of some ungainly beetle, winging blindly for nowhere in particular, all these were strange to him, and opened out a vista of boundless interest; but what he looked forward to was getting farther into the haunts of strange birds and beasts. He felt light-hearted as a school-boy just escaped for his holidays, lighter-hearted than he had felt for years.

A strange insect motionless upon a rose-stem attracted his attention. Deftly he captured it by the back of the neck, and holding it lightly but firmly proceeded to examine it. The stick-like joints jerked and struggled slightly, but on the whole the captive seemed to accept the situation with philosophy. So absorbed was he in the examination of the “specimen” that the steps of his hostess, tripping down the garden path behind him, were unheard.

“Beetle-catching, Mr Denham?” she laughed, becoming alive to his present occupation. “What have you got there?”

“It isn’t a beetle. It’s a fine specimen of the ‘praying’ amantis. They are the most hypocritical scoundrels in the insect world. They stand for hours motionless in an attitude of intense prayer, ready to grab the first butterfly or anything else that comes in reach.”

“Ugh, I don’t like crawling things,” she laughed. “But I suppose you collect them, do you?”

“Yes; but I shan’t keep this one,” replacing it upon its stalk, where it at once resumed position as if it had never been disturbed. “Why, you do look workman-like,” as he took in the kind of long, artist blouse which she had got on over her dress. “As to which I couldn’t help admiring your energy – here, there and everywhere – while taking my own lazy stroll.”

She laughed again. “You have to be, if you want to keep a place like this on the go.”

“Well, I must say, as far as I’ve seen, the result is a success.”

“Oh, thanks. Well, if you’re not always looking after these boys they’ll shirk. You don’t know what Kafirs are, Mr Denham.”

“Not yet. I doubtless shall – in time.”

“Are you out here for long, then?”

“Well, that depends. In fact, I don’t know what it depends on,” he added, with a laugh.

“That’s fortunate. It must be jolly to be able to go about as you like. Wouldn’t I like it! But what I came out to tell you was that Inspector James sent round to say that he’ll put you up at the club as an honorary member if you’ll meet him there at twelve. You were talking about it this morning, weren’t you?”

“Yes; that’ll be very kind of him. I’ll be there. Where is it, by the bye?”

“Right opposite the Court House. Any one will tell you. It’s only a small affair, of course, but you’ll meet every one there, and it’s handy if you’re here for a few days to have somewhere to turn into and see the papers. Well, you must excuse me, I’ve got lots more to do this morning.” And she left him.

Denham, going forth presently, could hardly realise, as he strolled along the broad macadamised road fringed by tall eucalyptus-trees and high hedges, through which were glimpsed snug bungalows embedded in flowering gardens, that this was in the heart of what he had always supposed to be a savage country. Yet in even his brief experience he had had opportunity of knowing that in parts still it could be a very savage country indeed. A gang of native convicts, in their white prison dress – undisfigured, however, by the abominable broad arrow – passed him, in charge of three or four native constables; the latter, stalwart fellows in their smart uniforms of dark blue and red, each with a pair of handcuffs in his belt and armed with very business-like assegais. These saluted him as they passed. Then one or two groups of native women, mostly with bundles on their heads. These did not salute him.

This was obviously the Court House. He had time to spare, so decided to investigate it. Several natives, squatted outside, gazed curiously at him, but they, too, saluted him. The white man’s rule seemed pretty well established here at any rate, he thought; in which connection he also thought of a strange experience or two of his own in this very country, which contrasted with this show of law and order.

The rather bare room seemed dim and cool in contrast to the glare outside. The magistrate looked up, and seeing a stranger, courteously signalled him where to find a seat. There were only trivial cases that morning, and except the court officials Denham was the only white man there. A few natives at the back of the room stood listening to the proceedings! or not finding these interesting enough crept noiselessly out. Denham, to kill time, followed the evidence as it was interpreted by the clerk, and heard the prisoner fined for not paying his dog tax, and the succeeding one sent to gaol for deferred payment of his hut tax, and metaphorically rubbed his eyes. Here was the white man’s rule with a vengeance. Witness box and dock, gaol and fine, where a few years back, comparatively speaking, the spear-and-shield armed impis swept, in all the bravery of their war array. A touch on the shoulder interrupted his meditations. Looking up he beheld Inspector James.

“Didn’t find you at the club,” whispered, the latter. “Shall we go over now?”

“It’s a curious contrast,” began Denham, when they got outside, “all this law and order in a country with the traditions of this one.”

“Well, it’s an improvement for these devils, anyhow,” was the answer. “Where we fine them a pound or so Cetywayo would have had them knocked on the head, and I’m not sure his way of doing things wasn’t the best.”

“You don’t like them, then. Now it struck me some of these chaps with the head-rings on were rather fine-looking fellows.”

“Damned scoundrels, if you only knew as much about them as we do!” was the somewhat sour reply.

“They seem civil enough, anyhow.”

“Just here they are, because they’ve got to be. But they are not everywhere. In fact, they are getting more cheeky every day. It’s just possible you may have come up here in time to see some ‘scrapping’.”

“Well, I’ll take a hand if there’s any going. What’s up?”

Inspector James had suddenly stopped. A Zulu was approaching them down the road, a tall man, ringed, and clad in a long overcoat.

“There’s one I’d like to have by the heels,” he said. “He’s up to no good, I can tell you.”

The man saluted as he passed them, and then astonishment was in store for Denham. To new arrivals the faces of natives are very much alike, but the face of this one he had good reason to remember. He knew, too, that the recognition was mutual.

“Who is he, then?” he asked.

“Oh, he’s a sweep from Makanya way; but we’ve got an eye on him.”

“I mustn’t try and get behind police secrets,” laughed Denham. But the sight of that particular native set him thinking. Among other things he had reason to think that the Inspector’s estimate was very likely a correct one.

The Ezulwini Club was somewhat primitive, consisting of a corrugated iron building containing three rooms, the smallest and most important of which was the bar. Here they found two or three other members to whom Denham was duly introduced, and the usual libations were poured out. At this stage the door was darkened, and a tall man entered.

“Hallo! Blest if it isn’t Halse. How are you, Halse?”

“How’s yourself, Starmer? And you, James?” and there was general handshaking all round. “Pleased to meet you, sir,” he went on, as Denham’s introduction was effected. Then, to the native bar-tender, “Mabule. Set ’em up again. Here’s luck.”

“He’s staying at our shop, Halse,” said James, “so you’ll be able to-stroll back together. I shall have to be a bit late, I’m afraid. So long.”

“Well, it’s time we did stroll back, then,” said Halse, looking at the clock. “I just thought I’d drop in and see who was alive or dead. Ready, Mr Denham?”

“Quite.”

“I was a good bit surprised to get your letter saying you were actually here,” began Ben Halse, when they were outside. “I’m rather of a cautious disposition – suspicious, some folks call it, but it’s the upshot of experience, so I avoided any reference to our ever having heard of each other before.”

“I’m afraid I’ve given the show away, then, Mr Halse, for only this morning I was asking them at the hotel where you were to be found.”

“Ah, well; it can’t be helped. Besides, it doesn’t greatly matter.”

Denham had been sizing up this new – yet not new – acquaintance, and the process took no time at all. His impression, at first sight, was altogether a favourable one. They had been in correspondence together – had done business together – for quite a long time, and often had he speculated as to the up-country trader’s individual personality. One thing was certain – the man beside him had always been as straightforward, in all their dealings, as any one could be.

“I’ve got a rare record head for you now, Mr Denham,” went on Ben Halse. “A koodoo bull. Just as I’d got it, I got your letter, saying you were here. I thought I’d drive in, and if you care to come and stay out at my place a bit I’m sure you’d find a lot to interest you. It’s precious wild and also a bit rough, but if you can put up with that, you’re very welcome. By the way, don’t say a word to any one here or anywhere else about the head. The Lumisana’s a royal preserve, and there’s a hundred pound fine for shooting anything there without a permit.”

“By Jove! is there?” answered Denham, his interest kindling. “I’ll keep dark, never fear. I shall be delighted, though, to take up your invite. Here we are at the Nodwengu.”

“Amakosi!”

It was the same Zulu Denham had noticed when with Inspector James. Him Halse now stopped, and began conversing fluently in his own tongue.

“You’ll have to pick up the lingo, Mr Denham,” he said, as the man went on. “You’ll find it mighty useful.”

“And mighty difficult, I expect,” laughed the other.

In the verandah of the hotel a girl was standing. Denham looked at her with furtive interest. He had certainly not seen her there since his arrival.

“This is my daughter, Mr Denham,” said his companion.

“How do you do, Mr Denham?” she said, putting forth a hand. “I seem more than half to know you already through the post.”

Such a straight, frank, welcoming hand-clasp; such a straight, frank glance of the hazel eyes. Denham acknowledged the introduction with outward composure, but inwardly he was perturbed. What a splendid girl! he was thinking. He had no idea that Ben Halse owned a daughter; in fact, had never given a thought to anything of the kind. And then the trader’s cordial invitation seemed to take on an entirely new aspect. If his first impressions of the father had been entirely favourable, precisely the same held good with regard to the daughter.

Chapter Ten.
Impressions

If Denham’s impressions had been thus with regard to Verna, hers had been the same with regard to himself. She had seen him first, as he came up the garden path with her father, and the tall, fine figure, and clean-cut face had taken her imagination at once. She remembered, only the other day, asking her father what sort of man this would be likely to be, never expecting to set eyes on him, and now here he was.

“Got any room at the bigger table, Emmie?” said Ben Halse, as they went in. He had known the hostess of the Nodwengu – herself the daughter of a fine old up-country trader and pioneer – ever since she was born. “I like being among folks when I break away, which isn’t often.”

“Plenty. We’re anything but full now, worse luck. Here, next me. Verna, you sit there.”

“There” meant next Denham, an arrangement of which the latter thoroughly approved. “Verna!” So that was her name, he thought. It sounded pretty, and seemed to suit her.

“You’ve only just arrived, I hear, Mr Denham,” she began. “Well, I’m not going to ask you what you think of this country, because you haven’t had time to form an opinion.”

“I like what I’ve seen of it,” he answered. “Ezulwini seems a delightful spot.”

“Mr Denham collects butterflies and beetles, and all sorts of things,” struck in Mrs Shelford. “I came upon him this morning with a horrid leggy thing he’d just caught. What was it, Mr Denham? A praying – praying – something?”

“Amantis.”

“Yes. He’ll be catching snails next.”

“Shouldn’t wonder, Mrs Shelford. I’m keen on capturing the skin of the indhlondhlo.”

“He’s jolly rare,” said Ben Halse, with a twinkle in his eyes. “We might find one up my way, but it isn’t certain.”

“What did you call that snake, Mr Denham?” said Verna.

He repeated the word. Then, as something struck him —

“Now that’s not fair, Miss Halse. Remember I’ve only been in the country a few days.”

“Why? What? Oh, I see. No, really, I wasn’t making fun of the way you said it; on the contrary, you pronounced it so well I wanted to hear it again to make sure. Aren’t I right, father?”

“Right – as usual. But joking apart, I noticed the same thing. You’ll have to learn the lingo, Mr Denham, as I said.”

“I’ll try. By the way, what’s the meaning of the name of this place – Ezulwini?”

“In the heavens,” answered Verna. “Pretty name, isn’t it? It was named after the kraal of an old-time chief which stood on its site.”

“Why, yes. It’s rather good,” said Denham. “It’s much better to stick to the old native names instead of inventing British and new ones.”

“I agree with you. But the worst of it is there are so few that the British tongue can get round,” said Verna. “That makes rather a difficulty at a railway booking-office, for instance, when you have a newly-imported Britisher issuing tickets.”

“Such as myself,” laughed Denham.

“I didn’t know you issued tickets,” rejoined the girl mischievously.

“But the newly-imported Britisher!”

“Well, yes. I suppose you are that. But it isn’t incurable.”

There was a laugh at this. Denham was delighted. There was something about the girl at his side that was infinitely taking. She, for her part, talked on and talked well. How had she acquired the art, he marvelled, spending life in a place which her father had described as “precious wild.” But perhaps she had been home to England for educational purposes. But to a question to that effect Verna promptly replied in the negative. She had once been to Johannesburg, and that not for long; beyond that she had never been outside Zululand and Natal.

“I am utterly uneducated, you know,” she added frankly, but with the most taking smile.

“You don’t expect me to take that seriously, Miss Halse?” said Denham.

“Well, it’s true.”

He shook his head, of course unconvinced. In rough and out-of-the-way parts a girl might suffer from want of educational opportunities, but this one had not. Her speaking voice was refined and her grammar flawless. Perhaps she had a clever and refined mother, he thought. And then it occurred to him for the first time that he was in entire ignorance as to what Ben Halse’s household consisted of. He had made no inquiries on the subject, and now he was going to be a temporary member of it.

“You won’t believe what I say?” she went on mischievously.

“No.”

“All right, you’ll see. Just get me on to Shakespeare and Byron, or is it Bacon? and all that lot that you learned people like talking about, and then you’ll see where I don’t come in.”

Denham was more and more delighted. There was such a charming frankness about this daughter of the wilderness that was clean outside all his experience. There was no affectation about it either. At the same time he could see that this was no ordinary type of womanhood. She had character, and plenty of it. Here was an object of interest – of vivid interest – he had by no means bargained for.

“But I’m not a ‘learned’ person, Miss Halse,” he answered, with a laugh. “Anything but. I like collecting things. That’s all.”

“Mr Denham’s coming up to stay with us a bit, Verna,” said Ben Halse. “He’ll be able to ‘collect things’ there to the top of his bent.”

“Are you, really? Oh, that’ll be delightful,” she said, turning upon Denham a sparkling, pleased face. “We can take you where you can find everything that creeps, or flies, or runs, down in the Lumisana forest.”

“That’ll be more than good. I shall enjoy it above all things,” he rejoined. “I suppose you are a good bit of a sportsman yourself, Miss Halse? Shoot and all that?”

“Oh, I haven’t always time,” she answered. “What with running the house and looking after things, and helping father in the store – that takes some time and patience, I can tell you. The people in these days have got so civilised and thoroughly understand the value of money, why, they’ll haggle for half-an-hour over anything, from a striped skirt to a packet of snuff.”

“Will they?” said Denham, more interested than ever. This girl – this splendid-looking girl with the fine presence and striking personality – sold striped skirts and packets of snuff to natives, and, moreover, had not the slightest hesitation in volunteering the fact. More and more did she rise in his estimation.

“Miss Halse nearly shot a Kafir once in that same store, Mr Denham,” struck in the hostess, who, while talking to the trader, had taken in the other conversation.

“Not really?”

“Oh, it was nothing,” explained Verna. “A man came in once to trade – not one of our people, but a stranger. I was alone and he got impudent, not merely impudent, but violent, began to throw things about, and all that. So I just gave him a scare shot, you know, a shot that shaved him near enough to scare him badly. I let him know that the next one would be nearer still and that I had five more. Then he subsided and became civil. But – it was nothing.”

“Well done! Well done!” cried Denham. “I suppose in those wild parts you have to know how to take care of yourself.” He had noticed, too, that there was no trace of brag in her narrative: it was utterly matter-of-fact.

“I’ve never known any trouble with our people, and I’ve been among them the best part of my life,” she answered. “This one was a stranger.”

“How d’you do, Miss Halse,” said Inspector James, who entered at that moment, “I thought your father wouldn’t have left you behind. Well, Halse, I knew I’d be late, and I am. It’s precious hot, though. What’s the latest?”

“Latest? I came here to hear the latest,” answered Ben Halse, with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Oh, of course. If you didn’t know what was going on before we did I’d be – well, astonished.”

“No, there’s no indaba– none fresh, that is, and what there is you know as well as I do, James.”

“Oh, those brutes are hatching no more mischief than usual,” grumbled the latter, who was hot and tired. “How’s your friend Sapazani, Halse?”

“Same as before. I’m going to have another drink, James. You cut in – you, Mr Denham?”

“Don’t mind. That sweep’s not trustworthy,” answered James, meaning not Denham but Sapazani.

“Is any one on this earth?” returned Ben Halse, while Verna remarked sweetly —

“Sapazani is a great friend of ours, Mr James.”

Denham, the while, listened amused, but said nothing.

“Oh, that’s all right, Miss Halse,” answered the Inspector. “Meanwhile, it’s a great thing to know who one’s friends are.”

“Who is Sapazani?” asked Denham, after a little more discussion.

“He’s our chief – I mean the big chief near us,” explained Verna. “We’ll introduce him to you when you come.”

The police officer was a trifle surprised. Denham was going to stay with the Halses, then! Now who the deuce could this Denham be? he began to wonder. There had been dark suspicions of gun-running in the part inhabited by Sapazani’s tribe, and now here was a stranger, about whom nobody knew anything at all, going on a visit to Ben Halse. Then it occurred to him that the said stranger had arrived unexpectedly at Ezulwini, not by the usual road and in the usual way, but alone, on horseback, from a different direction and through some of the most disaffected and out-of-the-way parts of the country. It also occurred to him that the said stranger’s previous movements might bear some looking into.

“Well, I shall leave you to take away poor Sapazani’s character together,” said Verna presently, rising from the table – the hostess had already retired.

“Going to have forty winks, Miss Halse?” laughed James.

“Perhaps.”

The men sat on for a little while longer, then the Inspector left them to return to his work. Ben Halse and Denham adjourned to the verandah to smoke another pipe or so.

“I’m glad you’ve found your way out here,” said the former. “We’ve done business together for quite a time, and it seems as if we ought to know each other.”

“And very satisfactory business it has been to me, Mr Halse – ”

“Glad to hear you say so. Yes, go on. I interrupted you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, not at all. Well, what I was going to say is this: I trust we shall continue it on the same satisfactory terms – er – I mean – of course it is most kind of you to offer me hospitality, and I assure you I look forward to my visit with keen pleasure. But you will understand that anything rare you may obtain for me in the way of specimens while I am with you, is obtained on exactly the same terms as before. You don’t mind?”

We have somewhat emphasised the fact that Ben Halse was fond of money, but also that there was no sort of meanness about him. He had a code of his own. Moreover, he had taken a very great liking, at first sight, to the man beside him.

“I don’t mind, Mr Denham,” he answered. “But I don’t think I’ll agree. While you are my guest we won’t go on the business tack over any thing.”

“Now you don’t want to cut my visit short, do you?” said the other, with a pleasant laugh.

“Certainly not. But this time you must let me have my own way. We haven’t known each other long, Mr Denham, but I don’t mind telling you there are people in these parts who say things about me; but whatever they say, there is one thing they are bound to say – unless they are liars – and that is that I have my ideas of what’s what, and I stick to them.”

“Very well, then, Mr Halse. You shall have your way, and I assure you I am looking forward to an altogether new and delightful experience.”

Then they talked on about veldt-craft and forest-craft, eventually coming round to the record koodoo head, which Denham was dying to see.

“Verna shot it,” said Ben Halse, somewhat lowering his voice. “As neat and clean a shot as ever was delivered.”

“No!” in delighted surprise.

“Fact. Verna shot it.”

“What did Verna shoot?”

Both started at the voice behind them, and turned their heads. The girl stood erect, smiling, in every way winsome and attractive.

“You shouldn’t talk so loud, father dear. You’re giving away our secrets to any passer-by. It doesn’t matter about Mr Denham, of course, because he’s in them: an accomplice, an accessary, both before and after the fact – isn’t that the correct expression?”

Denham was set wondering. “An accessary, both before and after the fact,” he repeated to himself. And this was the girl who had described herself as “utterly uneducated.”

“I’m going for a stroll,” she went on. “Will you come, father?”

“I think not, dear. I promised to meet one or two of them at the club about now.”

“All right.”

Denham started up, with an abruptness somewhat unusual in him.

“Might I accompany you, Miss Halse?” he said, as she was turning away.

“I shall be delighted,” she answered, flashing a smile at him, “We’ll go down through the bush – they’ve cut out some paths through it, and it’s lovely down there. We can come out again just below the Nongqai barracks. That’ll make just a nice round. So long, father.”

Ben Halse sat back in his chair, watching them down the garden path.

“They look well together. A fine pair, by Jove!” Then a sudden thought seemed to strike him, and again he ejaculated to himself with emphasis, “A fine pair, by Jove!”