Part 13 (1/2)
Thus the alternative was offered the soldier, of a plentiful estate, with an excellent house, built indeed on the ashes of a former homestead, and to be held by force of arms, but all preferable, as it appeared to Mr Morland, to life with a regiment at home. The corps was on the eve of embarkation, his wife on the eve of her confinement, and, within a month of the offer, Daveney had ”made his book” in his corps, and, with a goodly stock of furniture from the kind merchant's store, he bade adieu to his brother-officers, and _trekked_ from the town to the wilderness.
He promised his soldier friends he would see them all again before they marched, and so he did, but from a distance. On the morning that the Forty --th were to start from Graham's Town, he reached the hill overlooking the green parade-ground at Fort England. The men were hurrying from quarters, oxen were yoking to the baggage-wagons--men and officers were fully accoutred--they fell into the ranks--he could see some of them looking up the road--were they watching for him? The regiment formed column, the band struck up ”The girl I left behind me,”
and Daveney's old comrades turned their backs upon him.
He sat motionless on his horse, watching, with a swelling heart, the long cavalcade of troops and baggage. He could see it all pa.s.sing through the wide streets of the great straggling African town. People came running from their houses, waving their hands in token of farewell; Daveney heard the soldiers cheer, and then, with something more like a sob than a sigh, he turned his horse's head homewards, led it slowly down the steep irregular pathway, let it browse upon the sweet green pasturage, and sat down to shed a flood of tears.
Still he felt he had acted, as far as he could judge, for the best. A career of trust and command was before him. He was to think for others as well as himself. He was in possession of house, land, and cattle.
He was to be umpire, in a large district, between the great powers of might and right. He stood with ten talents in his hand, for which he was to be responsible.
A certain spasm shot through his wife's heart, as well as his own, when the old uniform was laid aside for ever--the sword hung up, the number cut from the forage-cap; but within her mind lay, deeper than in his, the germ and elements of an unrecognised ambition. Had she been born to power at home, she would have exercised it with the same lofty bearing with which, on one occasion, in her husband's absence on duty, she had set her house in array to receive a troop of savages, who had been seen stalking, brand and a.s.segai in hand, through the pa.s.ses of the district.
The letter we have quoted was but a girlish effusion. Still, the shrewd woman of the world, the embryo d.u.c.h.ess, read her friend and playmate aright when, on laying down this epistle from a soldier's wife, she remarked to a friend who had heard its contents, ”Africa will suit Eleanor Daveney. In England she could neither be seen nor heard above her compeers. I know her better than she knows herself. She is just one of those who profess self-abnegation in their desire to be placed in a sphere of usefulness, but whose enthusiasm would fall to the ground without the excitement of success or applause.”
”There is some good sense, though, and much good feeling,” observed the other lady, ”in all Eleanor says, and, without intending it, she has placed her husband in a pleasant light. I should think he was just the man to appreciate the good sense, and turn the warmth of heart to wise account.”
”Yes, I dare say,” replied Eleanor's friend, with an absent air, as she walked to the window, overlooking Piccadilly, and watched the restless thoroughfare through her eye-gla.s.s. Then a carriage, in most perfect taste, drove up, a portly man, with a hook nose and rubicund visage, descended, and the d.u.c.h.ess-elect forgot Mrs Daveney's existence for many years, till her cousin Frankfort, by a letter, revived for a short time the old a.s.sociation.
But let future events develop the characters I have faintly sketched.
Supper is ready in the eating-room, and Mr Daveney, as we shall for the future style him, having introduced his guests to his tiny dressing-room, where they refreshed themselves with clean water and a slight change of dress, taps at the door and waits to usher them to his hospitable board.
The sportsmen gladly acceded, and followed him to the dining-room, where Mrs Daveney and two daughters awaited them.
Frankfort's eye rested at once upon the pale face of Eleanor, the elder of these daughters. He recognised the high thoughtful forehead of the father, but the long grey eye, with dark lashes, resembled her mother's, so did the lip, that had narrowly escaped being scornful; and, though strongly resembling her mother, the features of the youthful face were soft. But much older than that young fair face was the expression it wore,--_wore_, for it was not natural to it. Was it the result of mournful experiences? Yes, surely so, thought Frankfort, as Mr Daveney took his daughter's hand, and placing her beside himself, introduced her to his guests.
She looked up, and bending gracefully to both gentlemen, her eyes and Frankfort's met. Oh, the mysterious charm cast on the traveller from the depths of those earnest, melancholy orbs!
Ormsby soon found that both sisters had been, in Cape Town, Marion within the last twelve months, visiting some friends of her father, who were enjoying the Cape climate after the sultry sun of India. He was fully prepared to admire his fair neighbour's bright eyes, and at the same time enjoy the repast spread before him; it was plentiful, savoury, and far from inelegant. Before the host was that first-rate Irish dish, a cold shoulder of corned mutton, garnished with fresh, green, crisp parsley; on lifting the cover from the side-dishes, a fragrant steam arose, that warmed a hungry man's heart as he inhaled it. In one was a fine cuc.u.mber, scooped hollow, and then stuffed with seasoned meat, and stewed in rich sauce. In another smoked a famous Dutch _plat_, called _La partje_, square inches of mutton, skewered on little sticks, dipped in sauce, made of tomatoes and capsic.u.ms and eschalots if none better offers, and toasted over a wood fire. A third contained a pile of rice, white as snow; the next a _rechauffe_ of ox-tail curry; added to these were potatoes, baked with their jackets on in the ashes, roasted _meelies_ (Indian corn), so delicious when young, grated biltongue, excellent b.u.t.ter, some delicious rolls, a household loaf on a trencher, with a knife beside it, whereof the handle was of polished horn from the head of the African gemsbok; then there was such preserved quince, and marmalade, as a Scotchman's soul would have delighted in, to say nothing of poached eggs, brought in hot after all had sat down. It was all like magic to the travellers, and had they seen the old Malay in the kitchen, with his mysterious contrivances, which no European cook would condescend to understand, they would have been still more astonished.
He was an old creature, who had lived with the Morlands, and then followed the Daveneys to the wilderness, where he had his own way, and sent forth all manner of savoury dishes from a huge fireplace, without a grate, before which he was seated all day, issuing his orders to an a.s.sistant imp, something like May.
There were no fine wines, no foaming English ale, but the Cape Madeira made good beverage, mixed with water; and there was an old-fas.h.i.+oned silver service before Mrs Daveney, from which she distilled coffee clear as amber, and steaming milk; the table-linen was white as an African sun can bleach it, and the light from two tall wax candles, mantled in the cherry-patterned delf. The ladies took some coffee, in compliment to their guests--what trifles place people at ease with one another. Their light supper was long since over; but Mr Daveney, who had been busy about his farm defences all day, enjoyed his meal the more for the companions.h.i.+p of brother-soldiers.
At the sound of Eleanor's voice, Ormsby, who had paid no attention to her appearance beyond a bow, glanced across the table, and, with his usual air of nonchalance, put aside the light on his left hand, that he might have a better view of the speaker; and having satisfied himself that the pale cheek and braided hair of the one sister was less attractive to him than the radiant smile and sunny ringlets of the other, he helped himself to the smoking _La partje_, and prepared to do full justice to the good cheer he so little expected to find in the wilderness.
Frankfort, as he looked round upon this family group, entered with deep interest into Mr Daveney's anecdotes of sport and peril--his anxieties for the present, his projects for the future. They went back together to the crowded homes of England, its pallid manufacturing children, its cities with dark buildings jammed together, its thronged populace, toiling; toiling on, with heaven's sunlight bricked out; its gigantic schemes,--some successful, blazing up and illuminating the world; some, like rockets, aiming at the sky, and falling in smoke upon the great ocean of eternity; some lying in gloom, with hopeless projectors, whose thoughts were to be seized and worked out by men who could and _would_ be heard. They talked too, of the struggle of the better cla.s.ses to ”keep up appearances,” to ”get their sons on,” and their daughters ”settled;” they, who had scarcely wherewithal to buy food and raiment,-- while here was a fair, plentiful country lying waste--a savage hunting-ground--s.p.a.ce for thousands--a wild and lovely country, awaiting the hand of civilisation to make it prosperous and peaceful for all.
Frankfort could see that to touch on domestic questions was tender ground. His host turned the tide of conversation to the troubles of the colony, its grand resources; and Mrs Daveney, as she listened to the conversation, at times joining in it, said earnestly to Frankfort, how she wished that such as he might stand up in the council-chambers of England, and plead the cause of the colonist of Southern Africa. But Eleanor only joined in the discussion with a smile or a sigh, as her father's reference to past events demanded. Still, Frankfort read the heart, as he looked into those deep eyes, and pondered afterwards on trifling things, which would have escaped a man not enthralled with their expression of deep melancholy.
The meal ended, the ladies retired to a table, on which books and work had been scattered in some confusion on the arrival of the sportsmen and their wagons. The cloth was withdrawn from the polished oaken table; a little kettle, with its spirit-lamp, was glowing beside Mr Daveney, and he was about to blew some mulled Pontac, the rich red wine of the Cape, when Frankfort begged to withdraw, in order to make inquiries concerning the absent Piet.
Some unusual sounds without had already caught the ear of the master of the dwelling. The dogs were growing restless in the yards; the people were astir in the outbuildings; and at the moment that Daveney and Frankfort rose together to go out and reconnoitre, Ormsby comfortably establis.h.i.+ng himself in a camp arm-chair, brought from his wagon, the door was thrown open, and May rushed in; terror was in his face, the pa.s.sage behind him was filled with servants, and, gasping for breath, he exclaimed--”Master, good Master Frankfort, come out and see, come out and listen; the fires are lighted on the hills; but that is not all-- open your ears, and hear the war-cry on the mountains. Oh! master,”
cried the poor bushman, in a voice of despair, ”what shall I do?--my wife! my little child!”
Mrs Daveney stood up, silent, but appalled; Marion's cheek faded to the hue of death; Eleanor went up to her father, and put her arm through his.
”My dear,” said he, ”you must summon all your presence of mind, for I must go.”
”I know it, father, but tell us what you would have us do; the house is already defensible”--the windows had been partially bricked up for some days, in consequence of intelligence from the towns--”but you must appoint us our places, if you are obliged to leave us.”