Part 26 (1/2)
he sneered.
”My daughter take up with a scoundrel of a white man! It is false. What is this man's name?”
”I don't know, but the natives call him Dario, and say that he is young, and has fair hair, and that she is in love with him. That's all I can tell you about the man.”
Mr. Dove shook his head, but his wife sat up suddenly in bed, and plucked him by the sleeve, for she had been listening intently to everything that pa.s.sed.
”Dario! Young, fair hair, in love with him--” she repeated in a thick whisper, then added, ”John, it is Richard Darrien grown up--the boy who saved her in the Umtooma River, years ago, and whom she has never forgotten. Oh! thank G.o.d! Thank G.o.d! With him she will be safe. I always knew that he would find her, for they belong to each other,” and she sank back exhausted.
”That's what the Zulus say, that they belong to each other,” replied Ishmael, with another sneer. ”Perhaps they are married native fas.h.i.+on.”
”Stop insulting my daughter, sir,” said Mr. Dove angrily. ”She would not take a husband as you take your wives, nor if this man is Richard Darrien, as I pray, would he be a party to such a thing. Tell me, are they coming here?”
”Not they, they are far too comfortable where they are. Also the Zulus would prevent them. But don't be sad about it, for I am sent to take you both to join her at the Great Place where you are to live.”
”To join her! It is impossible,” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. Dove, glancing at his sick wife.
”Impossible or not, you've got to come at once, both of you. That is the King's order and the Inkosazana's wish, and what is more there is an impi outside to see that you obey. Now I give you five minutes to get ready, and then we start.”
”Man, are you mad? How can my wife travel to Zululand in her state? She cannot walk a step.”
”Then she can be carried,” answered Ishmael callously. ”Come, don't waste time in talking. Those are my orders, and I am not going to have my throat cut for either of you. If Mrs. Dove won't dress wrap her up in blankets.”
”You go, John, you go,” whispered his wife, ”or they will kill you. Never mind about me; my time has come, and I die happy, for Richard Darrien is with Rachel.”
The mention of Richard's name seemed to infuriate Ishmael. At any rate he said brutally:
”Are you coming, or must I use force?”
”Coming, you wicked villain! How can I come?” shouted Mr. Dove, for he was mad with grief and rage. ”Be off with your savages. I will shoot the first man who lays a finger on my wife,” and as he spoke he s.n.a.t.c.hed a double-barrelled pistol which hung upon the wall and c.o.c.ked it.
Ishmael turned to the Zulus who stood behind him watching this scene with curiosity.
”Seize the Shouter,” he said, ”and bind him. Lift the old woman on her mattress, and carry her. If she dies on the road we cannot help it.”
The captains hesitated, not from fear, but because Mrs. Dove's condition moved even their savage hearts to pity.
”Why do you not obey?” roared Ishmael. ”Dogs and cowards, it is the King's word. Take her up or you shall die, every man of you, you know how. Knock down the old Evildoer with your sticks if he gives trouble.”
Now the men hesitated no longer. Springing forward, several of them seized the mattress and began to lift it bodily. Mrs. Dove rose and tried to struggle from the bed, then uttered a low moaning cry, fell back, and lay still.
”You devils, you have killed her!” gasped Mr. Dove, as lifting the pistol he fired at the Zulu nearest to him, shooting him through the body so that he sank upon the floor dying. Then, fearing lest he should shoot again, the captains fell upon the poor old man, striking him with kerries and the handles of their spears, for they sought to disable him and make him drop the pistol.
As it chanced, though this was not their intention, in the confusion a heavy blow from a k.n.o.bstick struck him on the temple. The second barrel of the pistol went off, and the bullet from it but just missed Ishmael who was standing to one side. When the smoke cleared away it was seen that Mr.
Dove had fallen backwards on to the bed. The martyrdom he always sought and expected had overtaken him. He was quite dead. They were both dead!
The head induna in command of the impi stepped forward and looked at them, then felt their hearts.
”_Wow!_” he said, ”these white people have 'gone beyond.' They have gone to join the spirits, both of them. What now, Ibubesi?”
Ishmael, who stood in the corner, very white-faced, and staring with round eyes, for the tragedy had taken a turn that he did not intend or expect, shook himself and rubbed his forehead with his hand, answering: