Forging the Blades A Tale of the Zulu Rebellion

Bertram Mitford

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pubOne.info present you this wonderfully illustrated edition. The river swirled on through the heat, the sweltering, fever-breathing heat. The long, deep reach made but scant murmur, save where the boughs of a luxuriant vegetation dipped on its surface. Above, on either hand, masses of rolling verdure, tall forest trees, undergrowth in rich profusion, and, high up against the blue sky, battlemented rock walls.

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 27 septembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819925170
• Langue: English

Extrait

Bertram Mitford
“Forging the Blades”
Chapter One.
The Tragedy.
The river swirled on through the heat, thesweltering, fever-breathing heat. The long, deep reach made butscant murmur, save where the boughs of a luxuriant vegetationdipped on its surface. Above, on either hand, masses of rollingverdure, tall forest trees, undergrowth in rich profusion, and,high up against the blue sky, battlemented rock walls.
Two dark objects relieved the shimmering smoothnessof the surface of the reach— two minute dark objects to theordinary observer, afloat, motionless. Yet why should these remainmotionless instead of floating down with the fairly strong, thoughsmooth, current? Well, there might have been, behind each, abouttwelve feet of ugly, scaly saurian, whose powerful under-waterstroke kept them stationary, while watchful, against the descendingstream.
A grassy glade slopes down to the bank, tailing awayinland into a path something like a “ride” in an English gamecovert. Great trees, rising overhead, shade this, in a dimnesswhich shuts out, save in a faint network, the glare of the moltensun. And it is at present occupied by two horses and a man.
The horses still have their saddles on, though thegirths are loosened. The animals are grazing, their bridlestrailing on the ground. Suddenly both throw up their heads andsnort, then walk quickly away, further up the forest path. The man,who is standing up, gazing meditatively out upon the river reach,notices this and turns. Then he advances a step or two, and haltssuddenly. For there is a movement in the grass a few yards infront, and immediately from this rises the head and neck of a largegreen mamba.
Instinctively the man’s hand goes to his revolver,then he pauses. The snake is hissing viciously. More of the longneck appears, waving to and fro as though preparing for a spring.This is a peculiarly fierce and aggressive species when disturbed,and the man knows it. He knows also that the chances of being ableto stop its rush with a bullet are small. He abandons the firearmand starts another plan.
He begins whistling in a low but peculiarly clearnote. The effect is magical. The angry, excited waving of thesinuous neck ceases. The head, still raised, is motionless asthough under some new and enthralling influence. Clearly on thepart of its owner hostilities are suspended.
He sustains the spell. Tune after tune trills forthin that clear note, and the reptile, its deadly head still raised,its original fury dulled to an almost placid expression, stilllistens. To the performer the position now seems ridiculous, thenrather interesting. He has never set up as a snake-charmer before.For now, indeed, the horror with which the much dreaded reptile hadinspired him has given way to a subtle sort of sympathy. He nolonger fears it. He seems to have tamed it, and feels accordingly.It is a strange and appropriate picture: the man and the dreadedserpent, the dim shadowing away of the tangled forest, the twohorses snuffing with uneasy curiosity in the background, the riverreach, still and deep-flowing, with the muzzles of its twovoracious denizens causing a light ripple on its surface.
All thought of destruction has faded from the mindof the human actor in this weird performance. He continues toevolve his natural music, even advancing a few steps nearer to hisgrim listener. The latter shows no sign of fear or resentment. Thenan interruption occurs.
Crash! The motionless, uplifted neck of the serpentseems to fly nearly in half, and the great coils beat and burstconvulsively in the grass. The man turns. Another man is standingbehind him holding a shotgun, one barrel of which is stillsmoking.
“What the devil did you do that for? ” says thefirst angrily.
The other laughs, a thick sort of laugh, and by nomeans a pleasant one.
“Do that for? ” he echoes, speaking with somewhat ofa Jewish tone and accent. “Can’t I shoot a blighted snake withouthaving to ask your leave? ”
“You idiot. I was in the thick of a most interestingexperiment, and you’ve spoilt it all by your infernal and officiousinterference. ”
“Interesting experiment? I call it disgusting. ”
“Here, drop that gun sharp, or I’ll blow your headinto the river. ”
The Jewish-looking man with the shotgun starts. Theother’s revolver is pointing right at his chest, and there is nomistaking the determination in his steely eyes. He knows full wellthat there is every reason why his life is in mortal peril. So hedrops the gun sullenly into the grass.
“Now, then. Take five steps back from it. If youmove otherwise you’re dead. ”
There is no alternative but to obey, and this thethreatened one does.
“Don’t know if you’ve gone mad, ” he says. “Foolingwith snakes must have sent you off your chump, I reckon. ”
“Do you? Well, you chose to fasten yourself on to mefor your own purpose— to wit, blackmail. Now you are going to writedown, here and now, something which will put it out of your powerto try any more blackmail on me for ever. ”
“I’ll see you damned first. I’ll see you damnedbefore I write anything. ”
“Will you? But you’ll have to wait for that sometime— till you’ve had a spell of damnation yourself first. Now,then, are you going to do it? ”
“No. ”
The pistol cracks. It is a miss. The bullet hasgrazed the other’s ear. The assailed is standing just on the edgeof the bank with his back to the river.
“Don’t move. I’ll give you another chance. I’maiming lower this time. You’ll get it bang amidships, between windand water, so to say, and— it’ll hurt more. You were going to stickto me till I came to your price, were you? But you’ve stuck rathertoo tight. ”
“Oh, but— you’ll swing for this, ” says the other,between dry, tremulous lips.
“Not much ‘swing. ’ Why, nobody will be any thewiser. Not a soul has seen us together. You disappear, that’s all.Well, are you going to do as I tell you? I’ve got everything here—well-filled fountain pen, and paper; strangely out of place inthese surroundings, still, here they are. ”
The threatened man does not immediately reply. He iscalculating his chances, and in a flash it is borne home to himthat he has no chances. Opposite him stands a desperate anddetermined man dictating terms. These he will have to accept, andwill feel anything but safe even then; for well he knows that theother has every motive for sending him out of the world.
“Well? Are you going to do it? I’ll count five.”
But hardly has he begun to do so than the situationchanges. The man on the river brink suddenly puts his hand behindhim, ducking low as he does so, to avoid the shot thatsimultaneously whizzes over where his chest had been a fraction ofa second earlier. A revolver glints in his hand, but he is notquick enough. Before he can get in a shot the other pistol cracksagain, this time with effect. He topples heavily into thewater.
Yet he is struggling for his chance of life, but aglance is sufficient to show that he can hardly swim a stroke evenif unwounded— which he is not. The other points his pistol for afinal and decisive shot. But there is something in the wildappealing scream of the drowning wretch that unnerves him, thatshatters his callous desperation. And then— the crocodiles.
“Make for this stump, ” he shouts, running down thebank. “I’ll give you a hand out. Now I’m going to fire over yourhead. ”
There is nothing now to fire at. The two motionlessobjects have disappeared, nevertheless he sends a bullet into thewater at the place where they had been.
Splashing, kicking, panting, the drowning man makesfor the stump indicated. In a moment he will have seized it and theother is running down to help him. A yard further and he will besafe. His hand is already stretched forth to grasp it, when— with afrightful scream of agony and terror he disappears beneath thesurface.
The survivor stands on the bank appalled.
“The ‘crocs’ have got him, by God! ” he exclaims. Amoment back and he himself was ready to take this man’s life— forall he knew he had taken it. But the final method of his death isso revolting, so ghastly that he could wish him safe back again.Well, at any rate he had done what he could to save him. It was nothis fault if the fool chose to topple into the river. Yet, but forhis own compulsion the said “fool” would not have been standingwhere he was.
He stands gazing down the reach. Is that blood,floating in a dark patch upon the surface lower down? No. Only thelight and shade. And now, what to do next?
If the body should be found the bullet wound wouldtell its own tale. Even then the natives, already in a state ofunrest, would be credited with another outrage. But if, as hesurmised, the dead man had been pulled under by crocodiles, whythen there would be little enough left of him to tell any tale atall. But— what of his horse?
This is something of a problem, and sitting downwith his back against a yellowwood-tree he proceeds to think itout. Shall he shoot the animal and leave it there, for its returnanywhere without its rider will, of course, raise an alarm? Then anidea strikes him— rather an original and ghastly one. The deadmamba? Its poison glands are intact. Can he not by some means makethe dead head bite the living animal? That would look lesssuspicious than a bullet hole, in the event of the carcase beingfound. But he doubts whether the venom will inject under thecircumstances. No. He must sacrifice the poor brute to his ownsense of self-preservation.
The two horses have withdrawn some little way,uneasy at the sound of the firing. Now he lounges quietly towardsthem, and has no difficulty in securing the bridle rein of both,trailing, as that is, upon the grass. He hitches his own mount to astrong sapling and leads the other to the river bank.
But this is not so easy. The horse, by someinstinct, grasps that something is wrong, and demurs to leaving itsfellow. At last by dint of patience and coolness it is induced todo so, and is led to an overhanging bank similar to