Cape of Good Hope (South Africa) -- Fiction; English fiction; Xhosa (African people) -- Fiction
"I am not a spy, you may trust us both; lead us into your cabin, or we
must climb higher up the hill to the hut where Tanner kept his powder in
old days. If it is not standing now, there is a cave near it, and we
can light a fire there in safety. My companion must have an hour's rest
and food, and we shall be secure enough there. To tell you the truth,
we are both hungry, and have travelled far."
It was clear that the speaker knew the ground on which he stood and the
calling of the trader, who, to outward observers travelling the country,
carried on a harmless traffic in ostrich-feathers, skins, horns,
tobacco, snuff, and such comforts as civilisation in her slow march
through Kafirland had taught the use of to the natives. Puzzled, and
rather disconcerted, he led the way to the hut.
It had a counter, shelves, weights and scales--all the accompaniments of
legitimate trade; but on striking a light, and holding it up, both
visitors and host were soon made aware of the devastated state at the
stores. The shelves had been cleared of their blankets, the walls were
bare of all but the nails to which beads and bugles had been suspended
in tempting array; the tobacco had been swept from the counter, the
remnant of tobacco-pipes lay broken on the trampled floor, and scarce a
vestige remained of any portable wares. A bunch of common candles
hanging in a corner had escaped the notice of the thieves. One of these
the host took down, and, going into an inner room, returned with the
welcome intelligence that there was something yet left in the locker.
Either overlooking the entrance to this inner apartment, or having found
sufficient plunder to satisfy themselves, the thieves had here left all
intact. The marauders had been Kafirs, who, not aware of the Fingoes'
proximity, had swept off all the property they could readily dislodge.
The Fingoes bore the odium of the theft, but they were only intent on
repossessing themselves of their own property.
A bed covered with skins stood at one end, a chest, a bench, and a
common table of yellow-wood at the other; a few household utensils
completed the furniture; the window was darkened by a rude shutter, and
the ashes of a wood fire were on the hearth.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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