A Vendetta of the Desert Part 9

When he was released a throb almost of joy went through the Bushman's untutored breast. Freedom, to the wild man, is as necessary as to the sea-mew. He hurried from the gaol door and made his way up the side of the mountain to where he had left Elsie eight days before, expecting to find her lying white among the rocks, half-covered by her s.h.i.+ning hair.

Bushmen, everyone says, have no hearts,--yet a spasm contracted the throat of this Bushman as he neared the spot where he had left the blind girl, which, in the case of a civilised man, would have been attributed to an agony of grief.

But no trace of Elsie could he see. His keen, microscopic eye searched the ground for a sign, but none was visible. The north-east wind had blown; the swift springing of vegetation had affected Nature's obliterative work--wiping away the faint traces of the tragedy from this small theatre as completely as Time, with the a.s.sistance of lichens, gra.s.s and a few others of Nature's busy legion, will finally obliterate man with all his works and pomps.

No sign.--Stay,--there, floating on the slow, sweet stream of sun-buoyant air, quivered a yellow thread,--bright as materialised sunlight. It hung from the bough of a shrub upon which bright, sweet-scented buds were struggling through between cruel-looking, black thorns, and miraculously getting the best of the struggle. Kanu carefully disentangled the precious filament, rolled it up into a minute coil and put it into a little bag containing several namelessly-unpleasant charms, which hung by a strand of twisted sinew from his neck.

Swiftly the Bushman examined every nook and cranny in the vicinity, but no other trace of the blind girl he had served so faithfully and unselfishly could be found. Then his eyes began to swim with what in the case of a European would certainly have been called tears, and his throat tightened once more with the same sensation he had a few minutes previously experienced.

Far away to the northward the great blue peaks of the Drakenstein glowed and pulsed in the suns.h.i.+ne, while their hollows were dyed a more wonderful purple than Tynan artificer ever took from the depths of the Mediterranean. Beyond this range, albeit on the other side of an almost interminable series of other ranges, seemingly as impa.s.sable, lay the desert; and towards this Kanu the Bushman sighed his savage soul.

One more look round--lest, haply he might have left some sign unread or some nook unsearched;--one more recurrence of the unaccountable (for a Bushman) sensation in his throat, and Kanu set his face to the North, and went forth for ever from the shadow of the dwelling-places of civilised men.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

ELSIE AND THE SATYRS.

The long day drew to a close but Elsie, with the sweet steadfastness of a nature that had hardly ever known what it was to repine, did not feel impatient. She knew that it would be impossible for her to go to Rondebosch until the following day, so she was content to sit in the mild sunlight, bathing her feet in the cool stream.

The portion of cold chicken that remained she had divided into two, one of which she ate for breakfast. When she knew from the coolness of the air that the sun had gone down, she ate the remainder. When night came she wondered why Kanu had not arrived, and the wild thought that he might by some wonderful chance have seen the Governor and then gone straight off to procure her father's release lifted her heart for one moment's wild delight. But she soon saw the impossibility of her imaginings, and her joy fell, broken-winged, to earth. However, her spirits soon regained the former mean. Fear she felt not; the only thing that had caused her terror was the mob of boys in the street of the city, but here, where Kanu had placed her, she felt quite safe. To those who are blind from birth darkness harbours no more terror than day.

Although the lovely scene which lay around her was cut off from her cognisance by the failure of her princ.i.p.al channel of sense, her remaining faculties had been so sharpened by the striving of the imprisoned individuality to apprehend its environment, that she might almost be said to have developed a special sense which those possessing sight have no idea of. To Elsie the evening was full of beauty and for one short hour she was soothed in the lap of Peace.

The faint, far-off murmur of the city stole up and seemed to cl.u.s.ter like a lot of echo-swallows against the sheer rock-wall that soared into its snow-white fleece of cloud above her head. To her fine-strung ear they made music. She wondered in what direction her father's prison lay. Perhaps he had breathed the very air which now, full of the scents and ichor of the sea, gently stirred her locks.

The dew-fall made everything damp; it was cold and she longed for a fire. Why was Kanu so long in coming back?--Her mind searched in vain for an explanation. Could it be possible, after all, that he had seen the Governor and then gone with the soldier and the great key to effect her father's release? Even now he might be hurrying up the rugged path, under the faithful Bushman's guidance, to greet the beloved child who had dared, suffered and accomplished so much for his sake. No, she reflected with a sigh, that was hardly to be hoped. The Governor would, doubtless, want to see and talk to herself before taking any steps.

Kanu was, after all, only a Bushman, and, although she knew how brave and honest and true he was, and how superior to his race, it was not to be expected that the Governor would recognise his good qualities at the very outset of their acquaintance.

But where _was_ Kanu? It was most extraordinary that he should have left her so long as this, all alone. Surely he could not have forgotten that she had no food and no means of lighting a fire.

It was now, she knew, very late, for the noises had died down and the city lay as silent as the grave. She knew also that Kanu was not anywhere near. Last evening her supersensitive ear had been able to detect his approaching footsteps long, long before he arrived. She was now very hungry indeed and the penetrating dew had chilled her to the bone. But she was accustomed to exposure and she did not suffer in this respect as another might have done. She was crouched under the lee of a rock. Drawing her knees up for the sake of warmth she shook her tresses out over her like a tent, and soon fell asleep.

She awoke suddenly and started up with a wild cry, her every nerve tingling with horror. From the krantz-ledges above her head were issuing strident shrieks and hoa.r.s.e roarings. In an instant she recognised the sounds:--they came from a troop of large, fierce, dog-faced baboons which had taken up their quarters on the face of the cliff.

The baboons were having one of those noisy scuffles which, several times in the course of a night, invariably disturb an encampment of these animals. Down the face of the cliff came bounding good-sized pebbles and even small rocks, dislodged by the struggling simians. These thudded into the gra.s.s or crashed into the bushes close beside her.

Seizing the short staff which she always carried, the terror-smitten child felt her course away from the vicinity of the cliff and began descending the mountain with stumbling steps.

The sole and only terror which Elsie had felt on her native farm,--the dread of these animals,--returned upon her with irresistible force. The Tanqua Valley was full of these monsters, whose hoa.r.s.e roarings, heard from afar, haunted the dreams of her nervous childhood. In seasons of drought they would sometimes rush in among a flock of sheep and tear open the stomachs of the young lambs with their powerful paws, for the sake of the newly-drunk milk. To Elsie and her kind the baboon took the place of the dragon, the giant, and the gnome, around which cl.u.s.ter the terrors of northern childhood.

Bruised, bleeding, and palpitating with horror, the poor little blind child stumbled on down the rough, brambly mountain side until she lost her footing and fell heavily over a ledge. Then she swooned from the combined mental and physical shock, and for a time lay still in merciful unconsciousness. When she revived she could not at first realise what had occurred; then the horror came back upon her like a flood, and she once more arose and staggered forward, groping before her with her stick.

Then came another dreadful thought:--Kanu would not now know where to find her when he returned. What was she to do? She had dreaded the boys in the cruel, perplexing city--yet she felt that she could now fly to them for protection--if she only knew the way. And Kanu might--the thought brought a momentary gleam of cheerfulness--possibly track her course down the mountain side, but--if she once reached the streets he would never be able to trace her. No,--she had better remain somewhere on the mountain.--But the baboons--thus the poor, over-laden little brain reeled along the mazes of a labyrinth of frightful alternatives.

Now her alert senses told her that the day was breaking and the sweet influences of the dawn brought a momentary relief from the worst of her imaginary terrors. She thanked G.o.d with happy tears for the returning of the blessed day. But almost immediately afterwards the ripple of relief was swamped by a returning tide of dismay.

Even at this late day the baboons of Table Mountain sometimes a.s.sume a very threatening att.i.tude to persons rambling alone in the more unfrequented spots, but in the early days of the Cape settlement these great simians were far more daring. It was no uncommon thing for them to raid the vineyards and gardens on the outskirts of the city in the early morning,--and this is what they were preparing to do on the occasion of Elsie's great travail. At the first streak of light they began to descend from the krantzes and spread in skirmis.h.i.+ng order over the slopes beneath. The centre of the scattered column headed direct for the spot where Elsie lay cowering, and it was the guttural bark by which the animal that discovered her announced the presence of a human being to the others, that gave her such a redoubled shock of dread.

She tried to move, but her strength failed her; so she crept under a bush and lay there, crouched and quaking. On right and left she could hear the harsh signals of the sentinels, from flank to flank of the long-extended troop. Far and near she could hear the stones being rolled over as the baboons searched for scorpions and other vermin.

She heard a rustling close to her, and then a guttural grunt of mingled curiosity and surprise. The horrors of the situation struck her rigid, and she ceased, for a few seconds, to breathe. The baboon was now close to her, wondering no doubt, as to who and what she was. Then, with a movement which combined the elements of a slap and a scratch, the creature drove its hairy paw into her face.

With a long, shrill shriek Elsie sprang to her feet and fled down the steep slope. A th.o.r.n.y shrub caught and held her dress fast. She thought that one of the monsters had overtaken and captured her, and she fell to the ground and lay huddled in a swoon that was very nigh to death.

The fruit-orchard at the back of the du Plessis' dwelling had on several occasions suffered severely from the depredations of the baboons. Thus, whenever these brutes were heard roaring and coughing on the mountain side--which usually happened in the very early morning, it was customary for all the male members of the household to turn out in a body, to repel the attack.

On this occasion the slaves, armed with whatever weapons could be hurriedly laid hands on, and headed by the old white-headed gardener, who carried a blunderbuss of ancient make, rushed out to protect the fruit Mr du Plessis and his two daughters joined in the sortie a few minutes afterwards. The girls enjoyed this sort of thing very much, and the cry of "baviaan" would turn them out of bed earlier, and more quickly, than anything else. The sensation of "creeps," which any enterprise involving a small tincture of imaginary danger brings, is dear to the youthful female breast.

On the present occasion the enemy made even less show of resistance than usual. Driven back in disorder, they retreated to the mountain krantzes which were inaccessible to all but themselves, hoa.r.s.ely defiant and threatening what they would do next time.

The morning was delightful as only an early morning can be when listless Spring coquettes with impatient Summer under a cloudless, calm, and southern sky; so Mr du Plessis and his daughters decided to spend some of the time which must elapse before breakfast would be ready in strolling over the flower-strewn mountain slope. The lovely bay lay like a white-fringed purple robe cast down to earth from the couch of some regal G.o.ddess; in the deep, deep hollows of the Drakenstein the shattered remnants of the host of conquered night were cowering; overhead the scarred crags of Table Mountain lent, by force of contrast, a splendid foil to the softness of the rest of the landscape.

They had left the footpath and were wandering among the dew-bejewelled bushes. Suddenly, with one accord they all stood still; before them lay what appeared to be the dead body of a young girl, fallen upon its face.

Mr du Plessis stepped forward and bent over the pallid form. He ascertained that it still contained life, and he signed to the two girls to approach.

They turned the unconscious frame over upon its back and placed the slack limbs in an easy position. The face was untouched, but the poor hands had been sorely torn by thorns. The lips were almost bloodless and the whole form as cold as the earth it lay on. The hair, sadly tangled, glowed in the suns.h.i.+ne like live gold.

"The blind girl we saw with the Bushman," said Helena, in an awed whisper.

"Yes," said Mr du Plessis,--"there has been some foul play here. You girls rub her body as hard as you can and loosen her dress at the throat; I will run and send Ranzo and one of the boys with a basket-chair."

It was not long before the chair arrived, carried by two strong slaves.

Elsie was tenderly lifted from the cold earth and carried down to the cottage, where she was soon laid upon a soft, warm bed. Her damp clothes were removed and warm wraps subst.i.tuted. The doctor had been sent for at once, but in the meantime Mrs du Plessis poured a hot cordial down her throat. This soon caused a glow of warmth to spread over the almost pulseless body.

Soon the doctor arrived and ordered that the patient should be laid in a warm bath. This caused her to revive considerably. When her eyes opened it seemed as if they were filled with the pain of the whole world. After swallowing a little nourishment she fell into a swoon-like sleep, which lasted all day and into the middle of the night.

When Elsie awoke it was to delirium of the most painful kind. Ever and anon she would shriek with terror and try to spring from the bed. This lasted for several days, until the doctor feared brain-fever. However, she once more fell asleep, and lay for days like a faintly-breathing statue. She was wakened now and then and given nourishment, which she mechanically swallowed,--immediately afterwards sank back to deepest sleep.

The strange story of the finding of the blind girl with the wonderful hair had in the meantime spread abroad, and the circ.u.mstance aroused general interest. Many now recalled having seen the strange pair wandering up and down the streets upon their hopeless quest, and regretted, too late, that they had not rendered a.s.sistance. Public feeling,--that mad perverter of probabilities,--was very much aroused against Kanu, and had that unhappy Bushman been caught it would have gone hard with him. However, Kanu, with his savage equivalent for the emotion of grief, was straining every nerve to get as far away from civilisation as possible, bent on hiding his suspected head in the depths of the uttermost desert.

Many were the visitors at the cottage on the mountain slope during Elsie's illness. When the child grew better a favoured few were allowed to take a peep into the dimly-lighted room where, upon a bed as white as snow, the pallid, pathetically-beautiful image of tragic suffering lay.

The wonderful hair had been carefully combed; it flowed like a golden cataract over the headrail of the bedstead. When the light of a candle shone upon it through the gloom of the darkened room the beholders marvelled at a depth and richness of colour such as they had never before thought possible.

Up from the vaults of blank unconsciousness floated the mind of the blind girl until she became cognisant of her immediate surroundings; but the past remained to her an utter blank. Bit by bit she recovered the faculty of speech. It would be more correct to say that she re-acquired it, for she picked up words from those around her almost as an infant does--only more rapidly and intelligently. Her sweet, equable disposition had not altered. Thus, she began to fill in the obliterated pages of her mind with serene unconsciousness. She never laughed, but a strain of music, a sweet scent, or a soft touch from the hands she had learnt to love for their constant kindness would bring to her pale face the light of a rare smile, and flood it with a soft colour that was good to behold.

Thus blind Elsie, after her sore travail and disappointment, drifted, a derelict, into a harbour of safety and loving-kindness.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

ELSIE'S AWAKENING.

Four years had come and gone; four times had the winter rains from the hidden Antarctic floated up to the storm-smitten sh.o.r.es of that continent over which the wings of Ancient Mystery still brood, and made sweet the ways of Spring.

The cottage still stood on the slope of Table Mountain but it was no longer alone; other dwellers of the city had selected sites and built near it. Moreover, it could not so readily be seen from a distance as formerly, for the reason that the bowering trees had enviously stretched forth their boughs around it.