the days of my life-第18部分

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Another　noted　man　who　visited　us　was　Mr。　Anthony　Trollope；　who　rushed　through　South　Africa　in　a　post…cart；　and；　as　a　result；　published　his　impressions　of　that　country。　My　first　introduction　to　him　was　amusing。　I　had　been　sent　away　on　some　mission；　I　think　it　was　to　Rustenberg；　and　returned　to　Government　House　late　one　night。　On　going　into　the　room　where　I　was　then　sleeping　I　began　to　search　for　matches；　and　was　surprised　to　hear　a　gruff　voice；　proceeding　from　my　bed；　asking　who　the　deuce　I　was。　I　gave　my　name　and　asked　who　the　deuce　the　speaker　might　be。
“Anthony　Trollope；”　replied　the　gruff　voice；　“Anthony　Trollope。”
Mr。　Trollope　was　a　man　who　concealed　a　kind　heart　under　a　somewhat　rough　manner；　such　as　does　not　add　to　the　fort　of　colonial　travelling。
I　think　that　my　most　pleasant　recollections　of　the　Transvaal　are　those　connected　with　my　journeys　on　circuit　in　pany　with　Judge　Kotze。　Generally　we　travelled　in　an　ox…waggon　from　town　to　town；　and　employed　our　leisure　as　we　went　in　shooting；　for　at　that　time　parts　of　the　Transvaal　veld　were　still　black　with　game。　Then　at　night　we　would　sit　by　our　camp　fire　eating　the　dinner　which　I　always　cooked　—　for　I　was　very　expert　at　the　culinary　art　—　or；　if　it　were　wet　and　cold；　in　our　waggon；　where　we　read　Shakespeare　to　each　other　till　it　was　time　to　go　to　bed。
One　such　night　I　remember　well；　it　was　on　the　high　veld　somewhere　in　the　neighbourhood　of　Lake　Chrissie；　where　the　duck…shooting　was　magnificent。　We　read　“Romeo　and　Juliet”　and　went　to　sleep　in　due　course。　At　dawn　I　poked　my　head　between　the　curtains　of　the　waggon；　and　in　the　dense　mist　that　rolled　around　us　saw　a　great　herd　of　blesbuck　feeding　all　about　the　waggon。　I　woke　the　Judge；　and　reaching　down　our　rifles；　we　opened　fire。　He　missed　his　blesbuck　but　I　killed　two　at　one　shot；　a　thing　I　had　never　done　before。　Truth　pels　me　to　add　that　the　Judge　claimed　one　of　them；　but　on　that　point　I　was　unable　to　accept　his　learned　decision。
On　one　of　these　journeys　I　nearly　came　to　a　bad　end。　On　a　certain　morning　before　breakfast　I　wounded　a　bull　wildebeest；　breaking　one　of　its　hind　hocks；　and　mounting　a　famous　hunting　horse　that　I　had；　named　Moresco；　started　to　ride　it　down。　But　that　wildebeest　would　not　be　ridden　down；　at　least　for　a　very　long　while。　Being　thin；　notwithstanding　its　injury　it　went　like　the　wind；　and　finally　led　me　into　a　vast　pany　of　its　fellows：　I　think　there　must　have　been　three　or　four　hundred　of　them。　When　once　he　began　to　gallop　game；　Moresco　was　a　horse　that　could　not　be　held；　the　only　thing　to　do　was　to　let　him　have　his　head。　Into　that　herd　he　plunged；　keeping　his　eye　fixed　upon　the　wounded　beast；　which　in　the　end　he　cut　out　from　among　them。
On　we　went　again　and　got　into　a　great　patch　of　ant…bear　holes。　Some　he　dodged；　some　he　jumped；　but　at　length　went　up　to　his　chest　in　one　of　them；　throwing　me　on　to　his　neck。　Recovering　himself　with　marvellous　activity；　he　literally　jerked　me　back　into　the　saddle　with　a　toss　of　his　head；　and　we　proceeded　in　our　wild　career。　The　end　of　it　was　that　at　last　the　bull　was　ridden　to　a　standstill；　but　I　could　not　pull　up　Moresco　to　get　a　shot　at　it。　He　went　at　the　beast　as　though　he　were　going　to　eat　it。　The　bull　charged　us；　and　Moresco　only　avoided　disaster　by　sitting　down　on　his　tail。　As　the　beast　passed　underneath　his　head　I　held　out　my　rifle　with　one　hand　and　pulled　the　trigger；　the　bullet　went　through　its　heart　and　it　dropped　like　a　stone。　Then　I　tied　my　handkerchief　to　its　horn　in　order　to　scare　away　the　aasvogel；　and　rode　off　to　find　the　camp　in　order　to　get　assistance。
All　that　day　I　rode；　but　I　never　found　the　camp　on　those　vast；　rolling　plains。　Once　towards　sunset　I　thought　that　I　saw　the　white　caps　of　the　waggons　five　or　six　miles　away。　I　rode　to　them　to　discover　that　they　were　but　white　stones。　A　tremendous　thunderstorm　came　on　and　wetted　me　to　the　skin。　In　the　gloom　the　horse　put　his　foot　upon　a　rolling　stone　that　gave　me　a　terrible　fall　that　bruised　and　nearly　knocked　the　senses　out　of　me。
After　lying　a　while　I　recovered。　Mounting　again；　I　remembered　that　when　I　left　the　waggons　the　rising　sun　had　struck　me　in　the　face。　So　I　rode　on　towards　the　west　until　utter　darkness　overtook　me。　Then　I　dismounted；　slipped　the　horse’s　reins　over　my　arm；　and；　lying　down　on　the　fire…swept　veld；　placed　the　saddle…cloth　over　me　to　try　to　protect　myself　against　the　cold；　which　at　that　season　of　the　year　was　very　bitter　on　this　high　land。　Wet　through；　exhausted；　shaken；　and　starved　as　I　was　—　for　I　had　eaten　nothing　since　the　previous　night　—　my　position　was　what　might　be　called　precarious。　Game　trekked　past　me；　I　could　see　their　outlines　by　the　light　of　such　stars　as　there　were。　Then　hyenas　came　and　howled　about　me。　I　had　three　cartridges　left；　and　fired　two　of　them　in　the　direction　of　the　howls。　By　an　afterthought　I　discharged　the　third　straight　up　into　the　air。　Then　I　lay　down　and　sank　into　a　kind　of　torpor；　from　which　I　was　aroused　by　the　sound　of　distant　shouts。　I　answered　them；　and　the　shouts　grew　nearer；　till　at　length　out　of　the　darkness　emerged　my　Zulu　servant；　Mazooku。
It　seemed　that　this　last　shot　saved　me；　for　really　I　do　not　know　what　would　have　happened　if　I　had　lain　all　night　in　that　wet　and　frost；　or　if　I　should　ever　have　found　strength　to　get　on　my　horse　again　in　the　morning。　Mazooku　and　other　natives　had　been　searching　for　me　for　hours；　till　at　length　all　abandoned　the　quest　except　for　Mazooku；　who　said　that　he　would　go　on。　So　he　wandered　about　over　the　veld　till　at　length　his　keen　eyes　caught　sight　of　the　flash　from　my　rifle　—　he　was　much　too　far　away　to　hear　its　report。　He　walked　in　the　direction　of　the　flash　for　several　miles；　shouting　as　he　came；　till　at　length　I　answered　him。
So；　thanks　to　Mazooku；　I　escaped　from　that　trouble；　and；　what　is　more；　took　no　harm；　either　from　the　fall　or　the　chill　and　exhaustion。　He　was　a　very　brave　and　faithful　fellow；　and；　as　this　story　shows；　much　attached　to　me。　I　think　that　some　instinct；　lost　to　us　but　still　remaining　to　savages；　led　him　towards　me　over　that　mighty　sea　of　uninhabited　veld。　Or　of　course　it　may　have　been　pure　chance；　though　this　seems　improbable。　At　any　rate　he　found　me　and　through　the　darkness　led　me　back　to　the　camp；　which　was　miles　away。　The　vituperation　of　Kaffirs　is　a　mon　habit　among　many　white　men；　but　in　difficulty　or　danger　may　I　never　have　a　worse　friend　at　hand　than　one　like　the　poor　Kaffir　who　is　prepared　to　die　for　the　master　whom　he　loves。
Ultimately　the　Pretoria　Horse　was　disbanded。　So　many　British　troops　had　been　poured　into　Africa　that　the　Boers；　with　their　usual　slimness；　thought　the　time　inopportune　to　push　matters　to　the　point　of　actual　rebellion；　and　therefore　dispersed　to　their　homes　to　await　a　more　favourable　hour。　This　came　later　when　Sir　Gar　Wolseley；　who；　whatever　his　gifts；　was　not　blessed　with　foresight；　had；　as　I　have　said；　despatched　all　the　cavalry　back　to　England。　At　this　time　no　local　assistance　was　required　in　the　Zulu　War。　So　it　happened　that　my　soldiering　came　to　a　sudden　end；　for　which　I　was　sorry；　for　I　had　found　the　occupation　congenial。　Also　I　was；　as　I　have　said；　restless　and　reckless；　and　since　Sir　Theophilus　had　left　Pretoria　everything　seemed　changed。　Most　of　my　colleagues　had　departed　this　way　and　that；　and　one　of　them；　old　Dr。　Lyle；　was　dead。　He　had　built　a　house　near　the　town；　purposing　to　settle　there；　but　was　seized　with　some　frightful　liver　plaint。　I　went　to　say　good…bye　to　him；　and　never　shall　I　forget　this　last　farewell。　At　the　door　of　the　death…chamber　I　turned　round。　He　had　raised　himself　on　his　arms　and　was　looking　after　me；　his　dark　eyes　filled　with　tenderness；　shining　large　and　round　in　a　face　that　had　wasted　to　the　size　of　that　of　a　child。　In　a　day　or　two　he　was　gone；　a　martyr　to　his　own　goodness　if　all　the　tale　were　told。
Cochrane　and　I　took　it　into　our　heads　that　we　would　shake　off　the　dust　of　Government　service　and　farm　ostriches。　As　a　beginning　we　purchased　some　three　thousand　acres　of　land　at　Newcastle　in　Natal　from　Mr。　Osborn；　together　with　the　house　that　he　had　built　when　he　was　Resident　Magistrate　there。　We　had　never　seen　the　land　and　did　not　think　it　worth　while　to　undertake　the　journey　necessary　to　that　purpose；　as　it　lay　two　hundred　miles　away。　In　this　matter　our　confidence　was　perfectly　justified；　since　my　dear　friend　Osborn　had　scrupulously　undervalued　the　whole　estate；　which　was　a　most　excellent　one　of　its　sort。
I　forget　what　we　paid　him　for　it；　but　it　was　a　very　modest　sum。　Or　rather　we　did　not　pay　him　at　the　time；　as　we　wished　to　keep　our　working　capital　in　hand；　nor　do　I　think　that　he　demanded　any　security　in　the　shape　of　mortgages　or　promissory　notes。　He　knew　that　we　should　not　fail　him　in　this　matter；　nor　did　we　do　so。
On　my　part　it　was　a　mad　thing　to　do；　seeing　that　I　had　a　high　office　and　was　well　thought　of；　yet；　as　it　chanced；　the　wisest　that　I　could　have　done。　Had　I　stopped　on　at　Pretoria；　within　two　years　I　should　have　been　thrown　out　of　my　employment　without　pensation；　as　happened　to　all　the　other　British　officials　when　Mr。　Gladstone　surrendered　the　Transvaal　to　the　Boers　after　our　defeat　at　Majuba；　or　at　any　rate　to　those　of　them　who　would　not　take　service　under　the　Dutch　Republic；　as　I　for　one　could　never　have　consented　to　do。
I　find　among　my　papers　the　letter　accepting　my　resignation。　It　is　as　follows：
Colonial　Secretary’s　Office；
Pretoria：　May　31；　1879。
Sir；　—　I　have　the　honour　to　acknowledge　receipt　of　your　letter　of　the　29th　inst。　tendering　the　resignation　of　your　office　as　Master　and　Registrar　of　the　High　Court；　and　to　inform　you　by　direction　of　his　Excellency　that　he　regrets　that　the　Government　should　lose　the　services　of　an　officer　who　has　performed　difficult　duties　so　satisfactorily。
I　have　the　honour；　sir；　to　be
Your　obedient　Servant；
M。　Osborn；
Colonial　Secretary。
I　find　also　the　following　letter　from　Mr。　Kotze；　the　Chief　Justice。
Pretoria；　Transvaal：　May　24；　1879。
My　dear　Haggard；　—　Before　you　leave　Pretoria　I　desire　to　record　my　regret　at　losing　your　services　as　Master　and　Registrar　of　the　High　Court　of　this　territory。
For　two　years　you　have　discharged　th
Chapter　7　MARRIAGE
Death　of　Prince　Imperial　—　Justin　Sheil；　early　friend　of　H。　R。　H。　—　Thinks　of　being　Trappist　monk　—　H。　R。　H。　tries　to　dissuade　him　—　Sheil　takes　simple　vows　—　H。　R。　H。　visits　him　—　Takes　final　vows　as　Brother　Basil　—　Death　of　Father　Basil；　who　had　bee　Sub…Prior　—　H。　R。　H。　returns　home　to　Bradenham　—　Engaged　to　be　married　—　Married　August　11；　1880　—　Jack　Osborn；　son　of　Sir　Melmoth　—　H。　R。　H。　bees　his　guardian　—　Goes　to　school　in　England　—　Returns　to　South　Africa　and　dies　—　Sir　Melmoth　Osborn’s　gratitude　to　H。　R。　H。　and　his　father　—　He　bees　British　Resident　in　Zululand　—　Origin　of　character　of　Alston　in　“The　Witch’s　Head”　—　Letters　from　Judge　Kotze。
One　of　the　last　things　that　happened　before　I　left　South　Africa　was　the　slaying　of　the　Prince　Imperial　by　a　Zulu　outpost。　Well　can　I　remember　the　thrill　of　horror；　and；　I　may　add；　of　shame；　that　this　news　sent　through　all　the　land。　Yet　it　has　always　seemed　to　me　that　the　most　of　the　blame　should　have　fallen；　not　upon　the　unfortunate　officer　and　his　panions　who　were　with　the　Prince；　but　on　whoever　allowed　him　to　go　out　upon　picket　duty　of　so　peculiarly　dangerous　a　nature。　The　incident　itself　is　easily　explained。　Nothing　is　more　terrible　than　a　sudden　rush　of　savages　on　a　little　party　that　does　not　suspect　their　presence；　especially　when　the　attacking　force　may　perhaps　be　numbered　by　hundreds。　The　Englishmen　concerned　lost　their　heads；　that　was　all。　It　was　a　case　of　sauve　qui　peut。　Doubtless　until　it　was　too　late　they　thought　the　Prince　was　with　them。　Well；　he　died　as　anyone　might　be　proud　to　die；　and；　as　it　seems　probable；　by　his　death　changed　the　history　of　Europe；　or　at　any　rate　the　destiny　of　France；　for　doubtless；　had　he　lived；　his　chance　of　succeeding　to　the　imperial　throne　was　excellent。　Again；　one　wonders　whether　such　things　happen　by　hazard；　or　if　it　were　the　hand　of　Fate　that　threw　those　assegais。
After　an　absence　of　four　eventful　years　I　arrived　in　England　when　I　was　a　little　over　twenty…three；　an　age　at　which　many　young　fellows　nowadays　seem　to　be；　and　indeed　often　are；　but　boys。　In　one　thing　I　was　fortunate：　I　found　all　belonging　to　me　alive　and　for　the　most　part　well。　With　my　two　greatest　friends　of　the　Scoones’　period　of　my　life；　however；　Arthur　L。　and　Justin　Sheil；　it　was　otherwise。　The　former　was　dead；　he　was　a　good　fellow；　and　I　hope　that　some　day　and　somewhere　we　may　meet　again。　Meanwhile　God　rest　him！
My　recollection　is　that　Arthur　L。‘s　illness　began　in　a　form　of　religious　mania。　If　so；　my　other　great　friend；　Justin　Sheil；　also　passed　into　the　shadow；　or　the　glory；　of　religion。　Before　proceeding　further　with　my　story；　here　I　will　tell　his；　although　the　end　of　it　may　cause　me　to　anticipate。　This　I　do　not　only　because　he　was；　or　rather　is；　dear　to　me；　although　he　has　long　been　dead　—　for　I　may　truly　say　that　the　change　of　death　has　in　no　instance　altered　my　affections；　unless　it　be　in　the　manner　of　increasing　them　—　but　for　two　added　reasons。
Of　these　the　first　is　that　his　case　is　the　most　perfect　instance　of　what　I　may　call　the　monastic　mind　that　I　have　encountered。　The　second　is　that　I　presume　that　the　iron　rules　of　the　Trappist　monks；　save　in　questions　strictly　connected　with　the　advantage　of　their　Order；　allow　of　the　preservation　of　no　human　memorials　of　those　who　have　passed　on。　In　their　graveyard　at　Mount　St。　Bernard’s　Abbey　I　saw　certain　low　mounds　and；　at　the　head　of　these；　little　nameless　wooden　crosses；　all　that　remained　of　the　brethren　who　had　been　called　away。　Therefore　I；　a　sinner；　would　make　my　humble　offering　to　the　Manes　of　a　good　man　and　say　a　few　words　that　I　trust　may　help　to　preserve　his　memory　among　those　who　e　after　us。
As　it　chances；　certain　letters　that　Sheil；　or　Brother　Basil；　as　he　came　to　be　called　in　religion；　wrote　to　me　have　survived；　although　I　dare　say　that　others　are　lost。　The　first　of　these　evidently　was　written　in　answer　to　one　of　mine　sent　to　him　after　my　return　to　England　in　1879。　It　is　dated　Mount　St。　Bernard’s　Abbey；　Leicester；　October　21st。
After　congratulating　me　on　my　safe　return　to　England；　it　says：
I　suppose　that　you　have　not　seen　Walsh　or　the　unfortunate　Norris　since　you　came；　or　they　would　probably　have　told　you　of　my　strange　experiment　here；　I　am　thinking　of　being　a　monk　of　the　Cistercian　Order　monly　called　Trappists。　If　you　have　not　heard　it　before　I　suppose　you；　who　knew　me　better　than　most　people；　will　be　most　surprised。　When　I　first　came　here　I　intended　writing　to　you；　but　I　had　quite　forgotten　your　address；　and　when　I　got　it　from　my　brother　in　New　Zealand　I　thought　I　might　as　well　wait　till　I　had　made　up　my　mind　whether　to　stop　here　or　not。　I　may　say　that　I　am　still　uncertain　as　to　that；　the　life　is　hardish；　and　I　am　softish；　but　I　am　afraid　of　dropping　back　into　my　old　ways　if　I　leave；　so　I　am　hovering。　。　。　。
The　next　letter；　dated　October　26th；　is　evidently　written　in　answer　to　one　from　myself；　of　the　contents　of　which　I　have　no　recollection。　It　is　clear；　however；　from　the　context；　that　I　attempted　to　dissuade　Sheil　from　the　career　which　he　had　chosen　in　language　that　must　have　seemed　to　him　almost　impertinent。　In　fact　to　a　strict　Roman　Catholic　doubtless　it　was　impertinent。　In　youth　most　of　us　are　i