Zulu (African people) -- Fiction; Zululand (South Africa) -- History -- Fiction
At this moment Mr. Dove arrived with a blanket, which he offered to
Noie, who took it from him and threw it round her body. Then they went
into the camp, where Rachel changed her damp clothes, whilst Noie sat
by her in a corner of the tent. Presently, too, food was brought, and
Rachel ate hungrily, forcing Noie to do the same. Then she went out,
leaving the girl to rest in the tent, and with certain omissions, such
as the conduct of Noie when she found her dead father, told all the
story which, wild as were the times and strange as were the things that
happened in them, they found wonderful enough.
When she had done Mr. Dove knelt down and offered up thanks for his
daughter’s preservation through great danger, and with them prayers
that she might be forgiven for having shot the Zulu, a deed that,
except for the physical horror of it, did not weigh upon Rachel’s mind.
“You know, father, you would have done the same yourself,” she
explained, “and so would mother there, if she could hold a gun, so what
is the good of pretending that it is a sin? Also no one saw it except
that white man and the crocodiles which buried the body, so the less we
say about the matter the better it will be for all of us.”
“I admit,” answered Mr. Dove, “that the circumstances justified the
deed, though I fear that the truth will out, since blood calls for
blood. But what are we to do with the girl? They will come to seek her
and kill us all.”
“They will not seek, father, because they think that she is dead, and
will never know otherwise unless that white man tells them, which he
will scarcely do, as the Zulus would think that he shot the soldier,
not I. She has been sent to us, and it is our duty to keep her.”
“I suppose so,” said her father doubtfully. “Poor thing! Truly she has
cause for gratitude to Providence: all her relations killed by those
bloodthirsty savages, and she saved!”
“If all of you were killed and I were saved, I do not know that I
should feel particularly grateful,” answered Rachel. “But it is no use
arguing about such things, so let us be thankful that we are not killed
too. Now I am tired out, and going to lie down, for of course we can’t
leave this place at present, unless we trek back to Durban.”
Such was the finding of Noie.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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