________________________________________________
_
CHAPTER V - JACOB MEYER
More than three weeks had gone by when one morning Benita, who slept
upon the cartel or hide-strung bed in the waggon, having dressed
herself as best she could in that confined place, thrust aside the
curtain and seated herself upon the voorkisse, or driving-box. The sun
was not yet up, and the air was cold with frost, for they were on the
Transvaal high-veld at the end of winter. Even through her thick cloak
Benita shivered and called to the driver of the waggon, who also acted
as cook, and whose blanket-draped form she could see bending over a
fire into which he was blowing life, to make haste with the coffee.
"By and by, Missie--by and by," he answered, coughing the rank smoke
from his lungs. "Kettle no sing yet, and fire black as hell."
Benita reflected that popular report painted this locality red, but
without entering into argument sat still upon the chest waiting till
the water boiled and her father appeared.
Presently he emerged from under the side flap of the waggon where he
slept, and remarking that it was really too cold to think of washing,
climbed to her side by help of the disselboom, and kissed her.
"How far are we now from Rooi Krantz, Father?" she asked, for that was
the name of Mr. Clifford's farm.
"About forty miles, dear. The waggon cannot make it to-night with
these two sick oxen, but after the midday outspan we will ride on, and
be there by sundown. I am afraid you are tired of this trekking."
"No," she answered. "I like it very much; it is so restful, and I
sleep sound upon that cartel. I feel as though I should like to trek
on for the rest of my life."
"So you shall if you wish, dear, for whole months. South Africa is
big, and when the grass grows, if you still wish it, we will take a
long journey."
She smiled, but made no answer, knowing that he was thinking of the
place so far away where he believed that once the Portuguese had
buried gold.
The kettle was singing now merrily enough, and Hans, the cook, lifting
it from the fire in triumph--for his blowing exertions had been
severe--poured into it a quantity of ground coffee from an old mustard
tin. Then, having stirred the mixture with a stick, he took a red
ember from the fire and dropped it into the kettle, a process which,
as travellers in the veld know well, has a clearing effect upon the
coffee. Next he produced pannikins, and handed them up with a pickle
jar full of sugar to Mr. Clifford, upon the waggon chest. Milk they
had none, yet that coffee tasted a great deal better than it looked;
indeed, Benita drank two cups of it to warm herself and wash down the
hard biscuit. Before the day was over glad enough was she that she had
done so.
The sun was rising; huge and red it looked seen through the clinging
mist, and, their breakfast finished, Mr. Clifford gave orders that the
oxen, which were filling themselves with the dry grass near at hand,
should be got up and inspanned. The voorlooper, a Zulu boy, who had
left them for a little while to share the rest of the coffee with
Hans, rose from his haunches with a grunt, and departed to fetch them.
A minute or two later Hans ceased from his occupation of packing up
the things, and said in a low voice:
"/Kek!/ Baas"--that is "Look!"
Following the line of his outstretched hand, Benita and her father
perceived, not more than a hundred yards away from them, a great troop
of wilderbeeste, or gnu, travelling along a ridge, and pausing now and
again to indulge in those extraordinary gambols which cause the Boers
to declare that these brutes have a worm in their brains.
"Give me my rifle, Hans," said Mr. Clifford. "We want meat."
By the time that the Westley-Richards was drawn from its case and
loaded, only one buck remained, for, having caught sight of the
waggon, it turned to stare at it suspiciously. Mr. Clifford aimed and
fired. Down went the buck, then springing to its feet again, vanished
behind the ridge. Mr. Clifford shook his head sadly.
"I don't often do that sort of thing, my dear, but the light is still
very bad. Still, he's hit. What do you say? Shall we get on the horses
and catch him? A canter would warm you."
Benita, who was tender-hearted, reflected that it would be kinder to
put the poor creature out of its pain, and nodded her head. Five
minutes later they were cantering together up the rise, Mr. Clifford
having first ordered the waggon to trek on till they rejoined it, and
slipped a packet of cartridges into his pocket. Beyond the rise lay a
wide stretch of marshy ground, bordered by another rise half a mile or
more away, from the crest of which--for now the air was clear enough--
they saw the wounded bull standing. On they went after him, but before
they could come within shot, he had moved forward once more, for he
was only lightly hurt in the flank, and guessed whence his trouble
came.
Again and again did he retreat as they drew near, until at length,
just as Mr. Clifford was about to dismount to risk a long shot, the
beast took to its heels in earnest.
"Come on," he said; "don't let's be beat," for by this time the hunter
was alive in him.
So off they went at a gallop, up slopes and down slopes that reminded
Benita of the Bay of Biscay in a storm, across half-dried vleis that
in the wet season were ponds, through stony ground and patches of ant-
bear holes in which they nearly came to grief. For five miles at least
the chase went on, since at the end of winter the wilderbeeste was
thin and could gallop well, notwithstanding its injury, faster even
than their good horses. At last, rising a ridge, they found whither it
was going, for suddenly they were in the midst of vast herds of game,
thousands and tens of thousands of them stretching as far as the eye
could reach.
It was a wondrous sight that now, alas! will be seen no more--at any
rate upon the Transvaal veld; wilderbeeste, blesbok, springbok, in
countless multitudes, and amongst them a few quagga and hartebeeste.
With a sound like that of thunder, their flashing myriad hoofs casting
up clouds of dust from the fire-blackened veld, the great herds
separated at the appearance of their enemy, man. This way and that
they went in groups and long brown lines, leaving the wounded and
exhausted wilderbeeste behind them, so that presently he was the sole
tenant of that great cup of land.
At him they rode till Mr. Clifford, who was a little ahead of his
daughter, drew almost alongside. Then the poor maddened brute tried
its last shift. Stopping suddenly, it wheeled round and charged head
down. Mr. Clifford, as it came, held out his rifle in his right hand
and fired at a hazard. The bullet passed through the bull, but could
not stop its charge. Its horns, held low, struck the forelegs of the
horse, and next instant horse, man, and wilderbeeste rolled on the
veld together.
Benita, who was fifty yards behind, uttered a little cry of fear, but
before ever she reached him, her father had risen laughing, for he was
quite unhurt. The horse, too, was getting up, but the bull could rise
no more. It struggled to its forefeet, uttered a kind of sobbing
groan, stared round wildly, and rolled over, dead.
"I never knew a wilderbeeste charge like that before," said Mr.
Clifford. "Confound it! I believe my horse is lamed."
Lamed it was, indeed, where the bull had struck the foreleg, though,
as it chanced, not badly. Having tied a handkerchief to the horn of
the buck in order to scare away the vultures, and thrown some tufts of
dry grass upon its body, which he proposed, if possible, to fetch or
send for, Mr. Clifford mounted his lame horse and headed for the
waggon. But they had galloped farther than they thought, and it was
midday before they came to what they took to be the road. As there was
no spoor upon it, they followed this track backwards, expecting to
find the waggon outspanned, but although they rode for mile upon mile,
no waggon could they see. Then, realizing their mistake, they retraced
their steps, and leaving this path at the spot where they had found
it, struck off again to the right.
Meanwhile, the sky was darkening, and at about three o'clock in the
afternoon a thunderstorm broke over them accompanied by torrents of
icy rain, the first fall of the spring, and a bitter wind which
chilled them through. More, after the heavy rain came drizzle and a
thick mist that deepened as evening approached.
Now their plight was very wretched. Lost, starved, soaked to the skin,
with tired horses one of which was lame, they wandered about on the
lonely veld. Only one stroke of fortune came to them. As the sun set,
for a few moments its rays pierced the mist, telling them in what
direction they should go. Turning their horses, they headed for it,
and so rode on until the darkness fell. Then they halted a while, but
feeling that if they stood still in that horrible cold they would
certainly perish before morning, once more pushed on again. By now Mr.
Clifford's horse was almost too lame to ride, so he led it, walking at
his daughter's side, and reproaching himself bitterly for his
foolishness in having brought her into this trouble.
"It doesn't matter, Father," she answered wearily, for she was very
tired. "Nothing matters; one may as well die upon the veld as in the
sea or anywhere else."
On they plodded, they knew not whither. Benita fell asleep upon her
saddle, and was awakened once by a hyena howling quite close to them,
and once by her horse falling to its knees.
"What is the time?" she said at last.
Her father struck a match and looked at his watch. It was ten o'clock;
they had been fifteen hours away from the waggon and without food. At
intervals Mr. Clifford, who had remounted, fired his rifle. Now there
was but one cartridge left, and having caught sight of his daughter's
exhausted face by the light of the match, he fired this also, though
in that desperate wilderness there was little hope of its bringing
succour.
"Shall we stop or go on?" he asked.
"I do not care," she answered. "Only if I stop I think it will be for
ever. Let us go on."
Now the rain had ceased, but the mist was as dense as before. Also
they seemed to have got among bush, for wet leaves brushed their
faces. Utterly exhausted they stumbled forward, till suddenly Benita
felt her horse stop as though a hand had seized its bridle, and heard
a man's voice, speaking with a foreign accent, say:
"Mein Gott! Where are you going?"
"I wish I knew," she answered, like one in a dream.
At this instant the moon rose above the mists, and Benita saw Jacob
Meyer for the first time.
In that light his appearance was not unpleasing. A man of about forty
years of age, not over tall, slight and active in build, with a
pointed black beard, regular, Semitic features, a complexion of an
ivory pallor which even the African sun did not seem to tan, and dark,
lustrous eyes that appeared, now to sleep, and now to catch the fire
of the thoughts within. Yet, weary though she was, there was something
in the man's personality which repelled and alarmed Benita, something
wild and cruel. She felt that he was filled with unsatisfied ambitions
and desires, and that to attain to them he would shrink at nothing. In
a moment he was speaking again in tones that compelled her attention.
"It was a good thought that brought me here to look for you. No; not a
thought--what do you call it?--an instinct. I think your mind must
have spoken to my mind, and called me to save you. See now, Clifford,
my friend, where you have led your daughter. See, see!" And he pointed
downwards.
They leaned forward and stared. There, immediately beneath them, was a
mighty gulf whereof the moonlight did not reveal the bottom.
"You are no good veld traveller, Clifford, my friend; one more step of
those silly beasts, and down below there would have been two red heaps
with bits of bones sticking out of them--yes, there on the rocks five
hundred feet beneath. Ah! you would have slept soundly to-night, both
of you."
"Where is the place?" asked Mr. Clifford in a dazed fashion.
"Leopard's Kloof?"
"Yes; Leopard's Kloof, no other. You have travelled along the top of
the hill, not at the bottom. Certainly that was a good thought which
came to me from the lady your daughter, for she is one of the thought
senders, I am sure. Ah! it came to me suddenly; it hit me like a stick
whilst I was searching for you, having found that you had lost the
waggon. It said to me, 'Ride to the top of Leopard's Kloof. Ride
hard.' I rode hard through the rocks and the darkness, through the
mist and the rain, and not one minute had I been here when you came
and I caught the lady's bridle."
"I am sure we are very grateful to you," murmured Benita.
"Then I am paid back ten thousand times. No; it is I who am grateful--
I who have saved your life through the thought you sent me."
"Thought or no thought, all's well that ends well," broke in Mr.
Clifford impatiently. "And thank Heaven we are not more than three
miles away from home. Will you lead the way, Jacob? You always could
see in the dark?"
"Yes, yes," and he took hold of Benita's bridle with his firm, white
hand. "Oh! my horse will follow, or put your arm through his rein--so.
Now come on, Miss Clifford, and be afraid no more. With Jacob Meyer
you are safe."
So they began their descent of the hill. Meyer did not speak again;
all his attention seemed to be concentrated upon finding a safe path
on which the horses would not stumble. Nor did Benita speak; she was
too utterly exhausted--so exhausted, indeed, that she could no longer
control her mind and imagination. These seemed to loose themselves
from her and to acquire new powers, notably that of entering into the
secret thoughts of the man at her side. She saw them pass before her
like living things, and yet she could not read them. Still, something
she did understand--that she had suddenly grown important to this man,
not in the way in which women are generally important to men, but
otherwise. She felt as though she had become interwoven with the
objects of his life, and was henceforth necessary to their fulfilment,
as though she were someone whom he had been seeking for years on
years, the one person who could give him light in his darkness.
These imaginings troubled her, so that she was very thankful when they
passed away as swiftly as they had arisen, and she knew only that she
was half dead with weariness and cold; that her limbs ached and that
the steep path seemed endless.
At length they reached level ground, and after travelling along it for
a while and crossing the bed of a stream, passed through a gate, and
stopped suddenly at the door of a house with lighted windows.
"Here is your home at last, Miss Clifford," said the musical voice of
Jacob Meyer, "and I thank the Fate which rules us that it has taught
me to bring you to it safely."
Making no answer she slid from the saddle, only to find that she could
not stand, for she sank into a heap upon the ground. With a gentle
exclamation he lifted her, and calling to two Kaffirs who had appeared
to take the horses, led her into the house.
"You must go to bed at once," he said, conducting her to a door which
opened out of the sitting-room. "I have had a fire lit in your chamber
in case you should come, and old Tante Sally will bring you soup with
brandy in it, and hot water for your feet. Ah! there you are, old
vrouw. Come now; help the lady, your mistress. Is all ready?"
"All, Baas," answered the woman, a stout half-breed with a kindly
face. "Come now, my little one, and I will undress you."
Half an hour later Benita, having drunk more brandy than ever she had
done in her life before, was wrapped up and fast asleep.
When she awoke the sun was streaming through the curtained window of
her room, and by the light of it she saw that the clock which stood
upon the mantelpiece pointed to half-past eleven. She had slept for
nearly twelve hours, and felt that, notwithstanding the cold and
exposure, save for stiffness and a certain numb feeling in her head--
the result, perhaps, of the unaccustomed brandy--she was well and,
what was more, quite hungry.
Outside on the verandah she heard the voice of Jacob Meyer, with which
she seemed already to have become familiar, telling some natives to
stop singing, as they would wake the chieftainess inside. He used the
Zulu word Inkosi-kaas, which, she remembered, meant head-lady or
chieftainess. He was very thoughtful for her, she reflected, and was
grateful, till suddenly she remembered the dislike she had taken to
the man.
Then she looked round her room and saw that it was very pretty, well
furnished and papered, with water-colour pictures on the walls of no
mean merit, things that she had not expected in this far-off place.
Also on a table stood a great bowl of arum lilies. She wondered who
had put them there; whether it were the old half-breed, Sally, or
Jacob Meyer. Also she wondered who had painted the pictures, which
were all of African scenery, and something told her that both the
flowers and the pictures came from Jacob Meyer.
On the little table by her bed was a handbell, which presently she
rang. Instantly she heard the voice of Sally calling for the coffee
"quick," and next minute the woman entered, bringing a tray with it,
and bread and butter--yes, and toast and eggs, which had evidently
been made ready for her. Speaking in English mixed with Dutch words,
she told Benita that her father was still in bed, but sent her his
love, and wished to know how she did. Then, while she ate her
breakfast with appetite, Sally set her a bath, and subsequently
appeared carrying the contents of the box she had used upon the
waggon, which had now arrived safely at the farm. Benita asked who had
ordered the box to be unpacked, and Sally answered that the Heer Meyer
had ordered it so that she might not be disturbed in her sleep, and
that her things should be ready for her when she woke.
"The Heer Meyer thinks a great deal about other people," said Benita.
"Ja, ja!" answered the old half-breed. "He tink much about people when
he want to tink about them, but he tink most about himself. Baas
Meyer, he a very clever man--oh! a very clever man, who want to be a
great man too. And one day, Missee, he be a great man, great and rich
--if the Heer God Almighty let him."
Content of CHAPTER V - JACOB MEYER [H. Rider Haggard's novel: Benita]
_
Read next: CHAPTER VI - THE GOLD COIN
Read previous: CHAPTER IV - MR. CLIFFORD
Table of content of Benita
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
