Benita, an African romanceHaggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
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Benita, an African romance
Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; Africa, East -- Fiction
If our adventurers, or any of them, hoped that they were going to be
led to the secret places of the fortress that day, they were destined
to disappointment. Indeed, the remainder of it was employed arduously
enough in unpacking rifles, and a supply of ammunition; also in giving
to a few of the leading Makalanga preliminary lessons in the method of
their use, a matter as to which their ideas were of the vaguest. The
rest of the tribe, having brought their women and children into the
outer enclosure of the ancient stronghold, and with them their sheep
and goats and the few cattle which remained to them, were employed in
building up the entrance permanently with stones, a zigzag secret path
upon the river side, that could be stopped in a few minutes, being now
their only method of ingress and egress through the thickness of the
walls. A certain number of men were also sent out as spies to discover,
if possible, the whereabouts of the Matabele impi.
That there was some impi they were almost sure, for a woman who had
followed them reported that the injured captain, Maduna, and his
companion had been met at a distance of about three miles from Bambatse
by a small party of Matabele, who were hiding in some bushes, and that
these men had made litters for them, and carried them away; whither she
did not know, for she had not dared to pursue them further.
That night Benita passed in the guesthouse, which was only a hut rather
larger than the others, while the two men slept in the waggon just
outside. She was so tired that for a long while she could not rest. Her
mind kept flying back to all the events of the day: the strange words
of that mystic old Molimo, concerning herself; the arrival of the brutal
messengers and the indaba that followed; then the sudden and awful
destruction of their spokesman at the hand of Jacob Meyer. The scene
would not leave her eyes, she saw it again and yet again: the quick
transformation of Meyer’s indifferent face when the soldier began to
insult and threaten her, the lightning-like movement of his hand, the
flash, the report, the change from life to death, and the slayer’s cruel
laugh. He could be very terrible, Jacob Meyer, when his passions were
roused!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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