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
“Oh! my swallow,” I cried aloud in grief, “the accursed hawk has
carried away my swallow.”
“Nay, look,” said Sihamba, pointing upwards.
I looked, and behold! a black crow that appeared from behind the house,
was wheeling about the hawk, striking at it with its beak until, that
it might have its talons free to defend itself, it let go the swallow,
which, followed by its mate, came fluttering to the earth, while the
crow and the falcon passed away fighting, till they were lost in the
blue depths of air.
Springing from the _stoep_ I ran to where the swallow lay, but Sihamba
was there before me and had it in her hands.
“The hawk’s beak has wounded it,” she said pointing to a blood stain
among the red feathers of the breast, “but none of its bones are
broken, and I think that it will live. Let us put it in the nest and
leave it to its mate and nature.”
This we did, and there in the nest it stayed for some days, its mate
feeding it with flies as though it were still unfledged. After that
they vanished, both of them together, seeking some new home, nor did
they ever build again beneath our eaves.
“Would you speak with me, Sihamba?” I asked when this matter of the
swallows was done with.
“I would speak with the Baas, or with you, it is the same thing,” she
answered, “and for this reason. I go upon a journey; for myself I have
the good black horse which the Baas gave me after I had ridden to warn
you in Tiger Kloof yonder, the one that I cured of sickness. But I need
another beast to carry pots and food and my servant Zinti, who
accompanies me. There is the brown mule which you use little because he
is vicious, but he is very strong and Zinti does not fear him. Will you
sell him to me for the two cows I earned from the Kaffir whose wife I
saved when the snake bit her? He is worth three, but I have no more to
offer.”
“Whither do you wish to journey, Sihamba?” I asked.
“I follow my mistress to the dorp,” she answered.
“Did she bid you follow her, Sihamba?”
“No! is it likely that she would think of me at such a time, or care
whether I come or go? Fear not, I shall not trouble her, or put her to
cost; I shall follow, but I shall not be seen until I am wanted.”
Now I had made up my mind to gainsay Sihamba, not that I could find any
fault with her plan, but because if such arrangements are to be made, I
like to make them myself, as is the business of the head of the house.
I think Sihamba guessed this; at any rate she answered me before I
spoke, and that in an odd way, namely, by looking first at the
swallow’s nest, then at the blooming bough of the peach tree, and
lastly into the far distances of air.
“It was the black crow that drove the hawk away,” she said,
reflectively, as though she were thinking of something else, “though I
think, for my eyes are better than yours, that the hawk killed the
crow, or perhaps they killed each other; at the least I saw them
falling to the earth beyond the crest of the mountain.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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