The Curse of Carne's Hold: A Tale of AdventureHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
History
The Curse of Carne's Hold: A Tale of Adventure
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
South Africa -- History -- Frontier Wars, 1811-1878 -- Juvenile fiction
"I will go down at once," Ronald said; "they're making such a noise that
it is unlikely any one outside the hut would hear me, however loud I
spoke, while if I waited until it got quieter, I might be heard. Take my
rifle, Kreta, and one of the pistols; I want to carry nothing extra with
me, in case I have to make a sudden bolt for it."
Mary Armstrong was lying apparently unnoticed by the wall of the hut,
while a dozen women were chattering round the fire in the centre.
Suddenly she started; for from the door, which was but three feet high,
there came a loud, clear voice, "Mary Armstrong, do not sleep to-night.
Rescue is at hand."
The women started to their feet with a cry of alarm at these mysterious
sounds, and stood gazing at the entrance; then there was a clamour of
tongues, and presently one of them, older than the rest, walked to the
entrance and looked out.
"There is no one here," she said, looking round, and the greater part of
the women at once rushed out. Their conduct convinced Mary Armstrong
that she was not in a dream, as she at first thought, but had really
heard the words. Who could have spoken them, or what rescue could reach
her? This she could not imagine; but she had sufficient self-possession
to resume her reclining position, from which she had half risen, and to
close her eyes as if sound asleep. A minute later, one of the women
appeared with a blazing brand, and held it close to her eyes.
"The girl is asleep," she said in Kaffir, which Mary understood
perfectly; "what can have been the words we heard?"
"It must have been an evil spirit," another woman said; "who else can
have spoken in an unknown tongue to us?"
There was a good deal of hubbub in the kraal when the women told their
story; some of the men took up their weapons and searched the village
and the surrounding bushes, but the greater portion altogether
disbelieved the story. Whoever heard of a spirit talking in an unknown
tongue to a lot of women? If he had wanted to say anything to them, he
would have spoken so that they could understand. It must have been some
man who had drunk too much, and who bellowed in at the door to startle
them; and so gradually the din subsided, the men returned to the dance,
and the women to their huts.
Had Mary Armstrong been in spirits to enjoy it, she would have been
amused at the various propositions started by the women to account for
the voice they had heard; not one of them approached the truth, for it
did not occur to them as even possible that a white man should have
penetrated the Amatolas to Macomo's kraal.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE RESCUE.
Ronald, with Kreta and two of his men, now crept down to the very edge
of the bushes at a spot where they could command a view of the entrance
to the hut. For a long time female figures came in and out, and it was
not until long past midnight that they saw the last female figure
disappear inside and the skin drawn across the entrance.
"How long shall we give them, Kreta?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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