Trooper Peter Halket of Mashonaland Page 4
"And do you know," said Peter, striking his knee, and lookingimpressively across the fire at the stranger; "what I'm as sure of asthat I'm sitting here? It's that that nigger I caught at my hut, thatday, was her nigger husband! He'd come to fetch her that time; and whenshe saw she couldn't get away without our catching her, she got thecartridges for him!" Peter paused impressively between the words. "Andnow she's gone back to him. It's for him she's taken that ammunition!"
Peter looked across the fire at the stranger, to see what impression hisstory was making.
"I tell you what," said Peter, "if I'd had any idea that day who thatbloody nigger was, the day I saw him standing at my door, I'd have givenhim one cartridge in the back of his head more than ever he reckonedfor!" Peter looked triumphantly at the stranger. This was his onlystory; and he had told it a score of times round the camp fire for thebenefit of some new-comer. When this point was reached, a low murmurof applause and sympathy always ran round the group: tonight there wasquiet; the stranger's large dark eyes watched the fire almost as thoughhe heard nothing.
"I shouldn't have minded so much," said Peter after a while, "though noman likes to have his woman taken away from him; but she was going tohave a kid in a month or two--and so was the little one for anything Iknow; she looked like it! I expect they did away with it before it came;they've no hearts, these niggers; they'd think nothing of doing thatwith a white man's child. They've no hearts; they'd rather go back to ablack man, however well you've treated them. It's all right if you getthem quite young and keep them away from their own people; but if oncea nigger woman's had a nigger man and had children by him, you might aswell try to hold a she-devil! they'll always go back. If ever I'm shot,it's as likely as not it'll be by my own gun, with my own cartridges.And she'd stand by and watch it, and cheer them on; though I never gaveher a blow all the time she was with me. But I tell you what--if ever Icome across that bloody nigger, I'll take it out of him. He won't countmany days to his year, after I've spotted him!" Peter Halket paused.It seemed to him that the eyes under their heavy, curled lashes, werelooking at something beyond him with an infinite sadness, almost as ofeyes that wept.
"You look awfully tired," said Peter; "wouldn't you like to lie down andsleep? You could put your head down on that stone, and I'd keep watch."
"I have no need of sleep," the stranger said; "I will watch with you."
"You've been in the wars, too, I see," said Peter, bending forward alittle, and looking at the stranger's feet. "By God! Both of them!--Andright through! You must have had a bad time of it?"
"It was very long ago," said the stranger.
Peter Halket threw two more logs on the fire. "Do you know," he said,"I've been wondering ever since you came, who it was you reminded me of.It's my mother! You're not like her in the face, but when your eyes lookat me it seems to me as if it was she looking at me. Curious, isn't it?I don't know you from Adam, and you've hardly spoken a word since youcame; and yet I seem as if I'd known you all my life." Peter moved alittle nearer him. "I was awfully afraid of you when you first came;even when I first saw you;--you aren't dressed as most of us dress,you know. But the minute the fire shone on your face I said, 'It's allright.' Curious, isn't it?" said Peter. "I don't know you from Adam, butif you were to take up my gun and point it at me, I wouldn't move! I'dlie down here and go to sleep with my head at your feet; curious, isn'tit, when I don't know you from Adam? My name's Peter Halket. What'syours?"
But the stranger was arranging the logs on the fire. The flames shot upbright and high, and almost hid him from Peter Halket's view.
"By gad! how they burn when you arrange them!" said Peter.
They sat quiet in the blaze for a while.
Then Peter said, "Did you see any niggers about yesterday? I haven'tcome across any in this part."
"There is," said the stranger, raising himself, "an old woman in a caveover yonder, and there is one man in the bush, ten miles from this spot.He has lived there six weeks, since you destroyed the kraal, living onroots or herbs. He was wounded in the thigh, and left for dead. He iswaiting till you have all left this part of the country that he may setout to follow his own people. His leg is not yet so strong that he maywalk fast."
"Did you speak to him?" said Peter.
"I took him down to the water where a large pool was. The bank was toohigh for the man to descend alone."
"It's a lucky thing for you our fellows didn't catch you," said Peter."Our captain's a regular little martinet. He'd shoot you as soon as lookat you, if he saw you fooling round with a wounded nigger. It's luckyyou kept out of his way."
"The young ravens have meat given to them," said the stranger, liftinghimself up; "and the lions go down to the streams to drink."
"Ah--yes--" said Peter; "but that's because we can't help it!"
They were silent again for a little while. Then Peter, seeing that thestranger showed no inclination to speak, said, "Did you hear of thespree they had up Bulawayo way, hanging those three niggers for spies? Iwasn't there myself, but a fellow who was told me they made the niggersjump down from the tree and hang themselves; one fellow wouldn't ballyjump, till they gave him a charge of buckshot in the back: and then hecaught hold of a branch with his hands and they had to shoot 'em loose.He didn't like hanging. I don't know if it's true, of course; I wasn'tthere myself, but a fellow who was told me. Another fellow who was atBulawayo, but who wasn't there when they were hung, said they fired atthem just after they jumped, to kill 'em. I--"
"I was there," said the stranger.
"Oh, you were?" said Peter. "I saw a photograph of the niggers hanging,and our fellows standing round smoking; but I didn't see you in it. Isuppose you'd just gone away?"
"I was beside the men when they were hung," said the stranger.
"Oh, you were, were you?" said Peter. "I don't much care about seeingthat sort of thing myself. Some fellows think it's the best fun out tosee the niggers kick; but I can't stand it: it turns my stomach. It'snot liver-heartedness," said Peter, quickly, anxious to remove anyadverse impression as to his courage which the stranger might form; "ifit's shooting or fighting, I'm there. I've potted as many niggers as anyman in our troop, I bet. It's floggings and hangings I'm off. It's theway one's brought up, you know. My mother never even would kill ourducks; she let them die of old age, and we had the feathers and theeggs: and she was always drumming into me;--don't hit a fellow smallerthan yourself; don't hit a fellow weaker than yourself; don't hit afellow unless he can hit you back as good again. When you've always hadthat sort of thing drummed into you, you can't get rid of it, somehow.Now there was that other nigger they shot. They say he sat as still asif he was cut out of stone, with his arms round his legs; and some ofthe fellows gave him blows about the head and face before they took himoff to shoot him. Now, that's the sort of thing I can't do. It makes mesick here, somehow." Peter put his hand rather low down over the pit ofhis stomach. "I'll shoot as many as you like if they'll run, but theymustn't be tied up."
"I was there when that man was shot," said the stranger.
"Why, you seem to have been everywhere," said Peter. "Have you seenCecil Rhodes?"
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"Yes, I have seen him," said the stranger.
"Now he's death on niggers," said Peter Halket, warming his hands by thefire; "they say when he was Prime Minister down in the Colony he triedto pass a law