ROUND THE CAMP-FIRE.
By HAROLD ERICSON.
IV.--A FIGHT WITH A RHINOCEROS.
It was now Vandeleur"s turn to tell his camp-fire story, and he looked so long and so dreamily into the embers before he began that Denison laughed and said, "Don"t go to sleep, old chap, before you begin!"
Vandeleur laughed also, good-naturedly.
I"m not a bit sleepy (he said) but when I think of Umkopo, one of the best and most faithful friends I ever possessed, it makes me thoughtful.
Umkopo, as the name suggests, had something to do with the Zulus or Matabeles. His was an extraordinary career, and I may have more to tell you about him in another yarn; but for the present I will merely tell you this, that, though he looked scarcely more like a "n.i.g.g.e.r" than any of us three, yet, as a matter of fact, I never for some time really doubted that he was a young Matabele, simply because it never occurred to me to doubt it under the circ.u.mstances. He was a boy of about seventeen when I first met him--a straight, well-made chap of about Bobby"s size and weight, black-haired and dark-skinned, but not so dark as the ordinary run of Mashonaland natives, about as dark, let us say, as you and I are at the end of a shooting trip somewhere in the equatorial regions.
Well, I was off some years ago upon a rhinoceros-hunting trip and at the moment in actual pursuit of a huge beast of greyish tint, a rare colour; this was an animal who had given me the slip many times, and I was most anxious to secure him. I was encamped somewhere within the district which he had chosen as his home, but for a week or two I had not been able to hit upon his tracks.
Now this was during the time of the first Matabele war, and I was, as a matter of fact, within the war-zone. I joined in the fighting a month or two later, finding that men were wanted on the British side, but at this time I was only hunting.
One day, prowling about the jungle with a Kaffir to carry my cartridges and a spare rifle, I suddenly came upon an unexpected sight.
A young man, apparently a native, lay by a pool of water at the foot of a tree, breathing, as it seemed to me, his last breath. He moaned a little when he saw us approaching, and made a feeble effort to rise and reach the club which lay at his side.
Finding that he was not going to be attacked, he gave up the effort, and lay breathing heavily.
"He is ill," said I to the Kaffir; "ask him whether he is in pain, and what ails him."
The Kaffir knew something of the Bantu-Matabele dialect, and spoke to the man, who replied in gasps.
"He say," the Kaffir reported, "want food; drank bad water, poisoned by Matabeles; better now, but want eat."
This was a need which was easily supplied. I had plenty of food with me, biscuits and tinned tongue, which I had brought for my lunch. I gave him this, and something to drink. He ate and drank greedily, which nearly choked him. He looked gratefully at me, and I placed him in a sitting posture with his back to a tree, and gave him a couple of prunes, which were evidently a novelty to him, and afforded him great delight.
The Kaffir, who rejoiced in the name of Billy, conversed with the young fellow from time to time, and suddenly Billy burst out laughing; a piece of rude behaviour which greatly shocked him the next moment, for he placed his hand over his mouth and looked very ashamed of himself.
"What is it, Billy?" I asked him.
"He say his people call him "White Witch,"" said Billy. "He say, "I t"ink I white man like your master.""
Billy again burst out laughing, and again stifled the laugh in shocked surprise at his own rudeness.
I gazed at the sick youth with new curiosity and interest. I examined his features: there was nothing of the low-caste negro type about him, that was clear; but then it often happens that a Zulu or a Matabele is born with features which resemble those of a higher type of humanity.
"Ask him why they call him "White Witch,"" said I.
After a long talk with our new friend, Billy apparently gave up the attempt to solve this mystery.
"No understand," he told me; "he talk nonsense--much nonsense; not tell any truth."
"What"s his name?" I next asked.
"Umkopo," said Billy. "Dat not white man name--dat Matabele name."
Billy looked so disgusted, and was clearly so displeased that a n.i.g.g.e.r should put forward a claim to white man"s blood, that I decided to worry the sick man no more at present with questions--at least, he should answer only one more.
"How came he here? ask him," said I.
"He been see Lobengula at Bulawayo," said Billy. "Lobengula chase him away into the jungle because he say bad words."
"What kind of bad words?" I asked, in some surprise.
"Bad words: he say Lobengula not fight white people; white people eat him up."
Umkopo, then, thought I, was like one of the prophets, who prophesied evil things which were unwelcome to the king.
"Lobengula chase him into jungle; much men run after him. Umkopo hide, drink bad water, nearly die, then no food."
It was clear that the poor lad could not be left where he was in his present weak state; he must return with us to camp, which was two or three miles away at the edge of this jungle.
But Umkopo, though he did his best to rise to his feet, and walk with us when invited to do so, proved far too weak. He almost fell in attempting to stand up, and was obliged to cling to the tree-trunk in order to prevent himself from sudden collapse.
"We shall have to carry him, Billy," said I. "Collect poles and branches, and we will make a litter for the poor chap."
Billy was evidently gravely displeased to be asked to do so much for a mere Matabele: he collected materials with his nose in air. "Who going to carry n.i.g.g.e.r?" he asked.
And when I replied that, naturally--there being no one else--he and I would do so, I thought Billy would have a fit.
Nevertheless, the Kaffir was obliged to swallow his feelings, for, when I had finished the litter, I took up Umkopo in my arms--I am fairly strong, as you know--and laid him in it, and bade the disgusted Billy catch hold of one end while I took the other.
As for Umkopo himself, he looked very gratefully in my face, but he did not seem in the least overpowered by the fact that a white man was condescending to act as bearer to him. This circ.u.mstance seemed to weigh much more heavily upon Billy than upon him; but then Billy was influenced by the feeling of disgust that he, should be called upon to take so much trouble for the sake of a mere native.
We got Umkopo back to camp in safety, Billy making a great show of weariness; and here I had a comfortable couch made for the invalid within the _zareeba_. He lay at his ease for a day or two, living upon antelope flesh and the best of everything, and even drinking, at my special request, several doses of a tonic which I had brought with me, in case of sickness. The faces he made over it were something too weird to describe.
Under this treatment Umkopo soon picked up strength, and we became great friends, he and I. I endeavoured to teach him a few English words, and one day--to my great astonishment and interest--he rattled off a sentence which I had not taught him, but which was certainly a species of English. It sounded like this: "Whenima gooboy nannagiv mejam on Sundays."
It was an obvious attempt to say, "When I"m a good boy, Nanna gives me jam on Sundays"--a sentence which not only told a tale of its own, but also gave a fellow a pretty wide field "to think in."
After this discovery, I began to take a very great and special interest in Umkopo, and taught him all the English I could. He was with me for a fortnight, and grew much attached to me. He was, of course, a bit of a savage, but there was something very attractive about him, and I grew both fond of and interested in him. This interest and fondness for a n.i.g.g.e.r greatly offended Billy, my chief Kaffir. None of my Kaffirs liked Umkopo, for all were jealous of him, I suppose; but Billy was particularly bitter against him, and once or twice I was obliged to reprimand him severely.
This uncomfortable state of affairs ended in a kind of tragedy, and I will just tell you of this and of its upshot before pa.s.sing on to the rhinoceros adventure, which is the real part of this yarn.
(_Concluded on page 154._)