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Giraffe Hunters

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<h3>Chapter Twenty Eight.</h3> <h4>Led out to die.</h4> Another day passed over, and no change was made in the treatment of the prisoners. In fact very little notice was taken of them, except by the women and children. The chief with some others of the tribe spent the day amusing themselves by firing the captured guns at a target, and learning the use of the various articles they had taken from their captives. “What are they waiting for?” exclaimed Hendrik in an impatient tone. “If they are going to put us to death, it would be almost better for us than to endure this misery.” “True,” rejoined Willem; “life is not worth much, suffering as we do; still, where there’s uncertainty, there is hope. Think of that, Hendrik. We have seen nothing of Sindo to-day. How carefully the ungrateful wretch keeps out of our sight!” “If we were not in need of a friend,” said Hendrik, “I dare say he would acknowledge our acquaintance. But never mind. He’s the last that will ever prove ungrateful, since we’re not likely ever again to have an opportunity of befriending any one in distress.” Night came on, and amongst the tribe the captives observed an unusual excitement. Several of the men were hurrying to and fro carrying torches and evidently making preparations for some great event. The horses were also being saddled. “I tole you so,” said Congo. “They take us away to die.” Willem and Hendrik remained silent spectators of what was going on. A party of the natives then approached them, and the three prisoners were set loose from the trees. Some scene, solemn and serious, was about to be enacted; but worn out with their misery, and weary of their long imprisonment, almost any change appeared a relief. The chief of the tribe was now seen mounted on Willem’s horse, heading a procession of from ten to twelve men. He rode off towards the pool, where his horses had been killed. The prisoners were conducted after him. Spoor’em and the other dogs accompanied the party, wholly unconscious of the fears that troubled their masters. As the procession passed out of the village, the old men, women, and children were ranged along the road, to see them depart. These gazed after them with expressions of curiosity, not unmingled with pity, though there were some that appeared to show satisfaction. The captives observed this, and talked of it. Why did they, the villagers, feel so much interested in their departure? They had not taken much heed of their arrival; and but little attention had been paid to them while bound to the trees. Why should there be now? There was but one answer to these questions. The natives were looking upon them with that expression of sad curiosity with which men gaze upon one who is about to suffer a violent death. The chief was carrying Willem’s roer, and from his behaviour he seemed preparing for an opportunity to use it. At intervals he brought it to his shoulder and glanced along the barrel. “Ask them where we are being taken, Congo,” said Hendrik. The Kaffir spoke to one of the natives who was near him, but only received a grunt in reply. “He don’t know where we go,” said Congo, interpreting the gruff answer to his question, “but I know.” “Where?” “We go to die.” “Congo!” exclaimed Willem, “ask after Sindo. He may do something to save us, or he may not. There can be no harm in trying. If not, we may get him into some trouble for his ingratitude. I should feel a satisfaction in that.” In compliance with his master’s command, Congo inquired for Sindo. The chief heard the inquiry and immediately ordered a halt, and put several questions to his followers. “The chief just like you, baas Willem,” said Congo. “He too want know where Sindo am.” The procession was delayed while the parley was going on. After it had ended, the chief and another rode back to the village;—they were now about half a mile distant from it. The prisoners, with their guards remained upon the spot. The chief was absent nearly an hour, when he returned seemingly in a great rage. By his angry talking, every one was made aware of the fact. Congo listened attentively to what he said. “He’s talking about Sindo,” said the Kaffir. “He swear he kill dat nigga to-morrow.” “I hope he’ll keep his oath,” said Willem. “I suppose we have succeeded in awaking his suspicions against the wretch he was harbouring; and he will be punished for his ingratitude. He should have tried to save us,—even at the risk of having again to make change of his tribe.” The march was again resumed, the chief leading the way with two of his subjects, one on each side of him carrying torches. After proceeding a little farther the prisoners recognised the spot where they had been made prisoners. The chief then delivered an harangue to his followers, which Congo interpreted to his fellow-captives. The bearing of it was, that the white strangers had wilfully and maliciously killed two of his horses,—the finest animals in the world. They had refused to make such reparation as lay in their power; and, when he had attempted to recompense himself for their loss, he had been resisted, knocked down, and severely injured in the presence of his own people. He stated, furthermore, that it was the unanimous opinion of the oldest and wisest of his subjects, that for these crimes the prisoners ought to be punished,—that the punishment should be death; and that he had brought them to the spot where the first offence had been committed as a proper spot for executing this just decree. After Congo had translated the speech to his fellow-captives, they directed him to inform the chief that he was welcome to the horses, guns, and other property, if he would let them depart, and they would promise never to return to his country or trouble him any more. Moreover, they would send him a present, by way of ransom for their liberty and lives. In answer to this communication they were told, that, as they were white men, their words could not be relied upon. Instead of presents, they would be more likely to seek some revenge; and that, to guard against this, he was determined they should die. Against this decision they were not allowed to make any appeal. From that moment no attention was paid to anything they said. Their guards only shouted, when Congo attempted to put in a word; while those who were around the chief began to make preparations for carrying out the dread sentence of death. <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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