Swallow: A Tale of the Great TrekHaggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
History
Swallow: A Tale of the Great Trek
Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Historical fiction; South Africa -- History -- Great Trek, 1836-1840 -- Fiction; Transvaal (South Africa) -- Fiction
“There is one more thing,” I went on; “you say the mother of him you
seek was a great lady. Well, I saw the body of the mother of the boy
who was found, and it was that of a common person very roughly clad
with coarse underclothes and hands hard with labour, on which there was
but one ring, and that of silver. Here it is,” and going to a drawer I
took from it a common silver ring which I once bought from a pedlar
because he worried me into it. “Lastly, gentlemen, the father of our
lad was no lord, unless in your country it is the custom of lords to
herd sheep, for the boy told me that in his own land his father was a
shepherd, and that he was travelling to some distant English colony to
follow his trade. That is all I have to say about it, though I am sorry
that the lad is not here to tell it you himself.”
When he had heard this statement of mine, which I made in a cold and
indifferent voice, the young lord, Ralph’s cousin, rose and stretched
himself, smiling happily.
“Well,” he said, “there is the end of a very bad nightmare, and I am
glad enough that we came here and found out the truth, for had we not
done so I should never have been happy in my mind.”
“Yes,” answered the lawyer, the interpreter rendering their words all
the while, “the Vrouw Botmar’s evidence is conclusive, though I shall
put her statement in writing and ask her to sign it. There is only one
thing, and that is the strange resemblance of the names,” and he
glanced at him with his quick eyes.
“There are many Mackenzies in Scotland,” answered Lord Glenthirsk, “and
I have no doubt that this poor fellow was a shepherd emigrating with
his wife and child to Australia or somewhere.” Then he yawned and
added, “I am going outside to get some air before I sleep. Perhaps you
will draw up the paper for the good lady to sign.”
“Certainly, my lord,” answered the lawyer, and the young man went away
quite convinced.
After he had gone the lawyer produced pen and ink and wrote out the
statement, putting in it all the lies that I had told, and copying the
extract from the fly-leaf of the Bible. When he had done the
interpreter translated it to me, and then it was that the lawyer told
me about the last wishes of the dying lord, and how it would have cost
him ten thousand pounds and much business also had the tale proved
true. Now at last he gave me the paper to sign. Besides the candles on
the table, which being of mutton fat had burnt out, there was a lamp
fed with whale’s oil, but this also was dying, the oil being exhausted,
so that its flame, which had sunk low, jumped from time to time with a
little noise, giving out a blue light. In that unholy blue light, which
turned our faces ghastly pale, the lawyer and I looked at each other as
I sat before him, the pen in my hand, and in his eyes I read that he
was certain that I was about to sign to a wicked lie, and in mine he
read that I knew it to be a lie.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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