Off to the Wilds Part 1

Off to the Wilds.

by George Manville Fenn.

CHAPTER ONE.

COFFEE AND CHICORY, BUT NOT FOR BREAKFAST.

"Just look at him, d.i.c.k. Be quiet; don't speak."

"Oh, the dirty sunburnt little varmint! I'd like the job o' was.h.i.+ng him."

"If you say another word, Dinny, I'll give you a crack with your own stick."

"An' is it meself would belave you'd hurt your own man Dinny wid a shtick, Masther Jack? Why ye wouldn't knock a fly off me."

"Then be quiet. I want to see what he's going to do."

"Shure an' it's one of the masther's owld boots I threw away wid me own hands this morning, because it hadn't a bit more wear in it. An' look at the dirty unclane monkey now."

"He'll hear you directly, Dinny, and I want to see what he's going to do. Hold your tongue."

"Shure an' ye ask me so politely, Masther Jack, that it's obliged to be silent I am."

"Pa was quite right when he said you had got too long a tongue."

"Who said so, Masther Jack?"

"Pa--papa!"

"Shure the masther said--and it's meself heard him--that you was to lave your papa at home in owld England, and that when ye came into these savage parts of the wide world, it was to be father."

"Well, father, then. Now hold your tongue. Just look at him, d.i.c.k."

"It's meself won't spake again for an hour, and not then if they don't ax me to," said Dennis Riley, generally known as "Dinny," and nothing more. And he, too, joined in watching the "unclane little savage," as he called him, to wit, a handsome, well-grown Zulu lad, whose skin was of a rich brown, and who, like his companion, seemed to be a model of savage health and grace.

For there were two of these lads, exceedingly lightly clad, in a necklace, and a strip of skin round the loins, one of whom was lying on his chest with his chin resting upon his hands, kicking up his feet, and clapping them together as he watched the other, who was evidently in a high state of delight over an old boot.

This boot he had found thrown out in the fenced-in yard at the back of the cottage, and he was now seated upon a bank trying it on.

First, he drew it on with a most serious aspect, held out his leg and gave it a shake, when, finding the boot too loose, he took it off and filled the toe with sand; but as the sand ran out of a gap between the upper leather and the sole close to the toe and as fast as he put it in, he had to look out for something else, which he found in the shape of some coa.r.s.e dry gra.s.s. With this he half filled the boot, and then, with a good deal of difficulty, managed to wriggle in his toes, after which he drew the boot above his ankle, rose up with a smile of gratified pride upon his countenance, and began to strut up and down before his companion.

There was something very laughable in the scene, for it did not seem to occur to the Zulu boy that he required anything else to add to his costume. He had on one English boot, the same as the white men wore, and that seemed to him sufficient, as he stuck his arms akimbo, then folded them as he walked with head erect, and ended by standing on one leg and holding out the booted foot before his admiring companion. This was too much for the other boy, whose eyes glittered as he made a s.n.a.t.c.h at the boot, dragged it off, and was about to leap up and run away; but his victim was too quick, for, lithe and active as a serpent, he dashed upon the would-be robber, and a fierce struggle ensued for the possession of the boot.

John Rogers, otherwise Jack, a frank English lad of about sixteen, sprang forward to separate the combatants, but Dinny, his father's servant, who had been groom and gardener at home, restrained him.

"No, no, Masther Jack," he cried, "let the young haythens fight it out.

It'll make them behave betther by-an'-by."

"I won't; I don't like to see them fight," cried Jack, slipping himself free, and seemingly joining in the fray.

"Don't, Masther Jack," cried Dinny; "they'll come off black on your hands. Masther d.i.c.k, sir, tell him to lave them alone."

The lad appealed to, a pale delicate-looking youth, clenched his fists and sprang forward to help his brother. But he stopped directly and began to laugh, as, after a short scuffle, Jack Rogers separated the combatants, and stood between them with the boot in dispute.

For a moment it seemed as if the two Zulu lads were about to make a combined attack, but there was something about the English lad which restrained them, and they stood chattering away in their native tongue, protesting against his interference, and each laying claim to the boot.

"Speak English," cried Jack. "And now you two have got to shake hands like Englishmen, and make friends."

"Want a boot! want a boot! want a boot!" the Zulu lads kept repeating.

"Well, you do as I tell you, and you shall each have a pair of boots."

"Two boot? Two boot?" cried the boy who had lost his treasure.

"Yes; two boots," said Jack. "You've got an old pair, haven't you, d.i.c.k?"

"Yes; they can have my old ones," was the reply. "Go and get them, Dinny."

"And my old lace-ups too," said Jack.

"Ugh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Dinny, spitting on the ground in token of disgust.

"Ye'll both repint being such friends with cannibal savages like them, young gentlemen. They'll turn round on ye some day, and rend and ate ye both."

"Not they, Dinny," laughed Jack. "They'd prefer Irishmen, so we should be safe if you were there."

"Ah, ye may laugh," said Dinny, "but they're a dangerous lot, them savages, and I wouldn't trust 'em the length of my fut."

Dinny went towards the back door of Mr Rogers' roomy, verandah-surrounded cottage farm, high up in the slopes of the Drakensberg, and looking a perfect bower with its flowers, creepers, and fruit-trees, many being old English friends; and Jack proceeded to make peace between the two Zulu boys.

"Now look here, Sepopo, you've got to shake hands with your brother," he cried.

"No!" cried the Zulu boy who had been lying down when he s.n.a.t.c.hed the boot, and he threw himself in a monkey-like att.i.tude on all fours.

"Now you, Bechele, you've got to make friends and shake hands,"

continued Jack, paying no heed to Sepopo's defiant att.i.tude.

"No!" cried the last-addressed, emphatically. "'Tole a boot! 'Tole a boot!" And he too plumped himself down upon all fours and stared at the ground.

"I say yes!" cried Jack; when, as if moved by the same influence, the two Zulu boys leaped up, ran a few yards, and picked up each his "kiri,"

a short stick with a k.n.o.b at the end nearly as big as the fist, ran back to where the English lads were standing, and with flas.h.i.+ng eyes began to beat the sand with their clubs.

"Come along, d.i.c.k!" cried Jack. "They shan't fight. You take Sepopo, I'll take Bechele. No; don't! It will make you hot, and you're not strong. I'll give it them both."

Jack, who was very strong and active for his age, made a dash at the young Zulus just as they began threatening each other and evidently meaning to fight, when for a few moments there was a confused struggle, in which Jack would not have been successful but for his brother's help, he having overrated his strength. But d.i.c.k joined in, and in spite of their anger the Zulu boys did not attempt to strike at their young masters, the result being that they allowed their kiris to be wrenched from their hands, and the next minute were seated opposite to each other on the ground.

"They're as strong as horses, d.i.c.k," panted Jack. "There! Now, you sirs, shake hands!"

"No!" shouted one.