Adventure stories; Clergy -- Fiction; Scots -- South Africa -- Fiction; South Africa -- Fiction; Zulu (African people) -- Fiction
Archie, the skilled tracker, was the one who all but betrayed us. His
knee slipped on the seaweed, and he rolled off a boulder, bringing down
with him a clatter of small stones. We lay as still as mice, in terror
lest the man should have heard the noise and have come to look for the
cause. By-and-by when I ventured to raise my head above a flat-topped
stone I saw that he was undisturbed. The fire still burned, and he was
pacing round it. On the edge of the pools was an outcrop of red
sandstone much fissured by the sea. Here was an excellent
vantage-ground, and all three of us curled behind it, with our eyes
just over the edge. The man was not twenty yards off, and I could see
clearly what manner of fellow he was. For one thing he was huge of
size, or so he seemed to me in the half-light. He wore nothing but a
shirt and trousers, and I could hear by the flap of his feet on the
sand that he was barefoot.
Suddenly Tam Dyke gave a gasp of astonishment. “Gosh, it’s the black
minister!” he said.
It was indeed a black man, as we saw when the moon came out of a cloud.
His head was on his breast, and he walked round the fire with measured,
regular steps. At intervals he would stop and raise both hands to the
sky, and bend his body in the direction of the moon. But he never
uttered a word.
“It’s magic,” said Archie. “He’s going to raise Satan. We must bide
here and see what happens, for he’ll grip us if we try to go back. The
moon’s ower high.”
The procession continued as if to some slow music. I had been in no
fear of the adventure back there by our cave; but now that I saw the
thing from close at hand, my courage began to ebb. There was something
desperately uncanny about this great negro, who had shed his clerical
garments, and was now practising some strange magic alone by the sea. I
had no doubt it was the black art, for there was that in the air and
the scene which spelled the unlawful. As we watched, the circles
stopped, and the man threw something on the fire. A thick smoke rose of
which we could feel the aromatic scent, and when it was gone the flame
burned with a silvery blueness like moonlight. Still no sound came from
the minister, but he took something from his belt, and began to make
odd markings in the sand between the inner circle and the fire. As he
turned, the moon gleamed on the implement, and we saw it was a great
knife.
We were now scared in real earnest. Here were we, three boys, at night
in a lonely place a few yards from a savage with a knife. The adventure
was far past my liking, and even the intrepid Archie was having qualms,
if I could judge from his set face. As for Tam, his teeth were
chattering like a threshing-mill.
Suddenly I felt something soft and warm on the rock at my right hand. I
felt again, and, lo! it was the man’s clothes. There were his boots and
socks, his minister’s coat and his minister’s hat.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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