Chapter 1. Coffee And Chicory, But Not For Breakfast

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_ CHAPTER ONE. COFFEE AND CHICORY, BUT NOT FOR BREAKFAST.

"Just look at him, Dick. Be quiet; don't speak."

"Oh, the dirty sunburnt little varmint! I'd like the job o' washing him."

"If you say another word, Dinny, I'll give you a crack with your own stick."

"An' is it meself would belave you'd hurt your own man Dinny wid a shtick, Masther Jack? Why ye wouldn't knock a fly off me."

"Then be quiet. I want to see what he's going to do."

"Shure an' it's one of the masther's owld boots I threw away wid me own hands this morning, because it hadn't a bit more wear in it. An' look at the dirty unclane monkey now."

"He'll hear you directly, Dinny, and I want to see what he's going to do. Hold your tongue."

"Shure an' ye ask me so politely, Masther Jack, that it's obliged to be silent I am."

"Pa was quite right when he said you had got too long a tongue."

"Who said so, Masther Jack?"

"Pa--papa!"

"Shure the masther said--and it's meself heard him--that you was to lave your papa at home in owld England, and that when ye came into these savage parts of the wide world, it was to be father."

"Well, father, then. Now hold your tongue. Just look at him, Dick."

"It's meself won't spake again for an hour, and not then if they don't ax me to," said Dennis Riley, generally known as "Dinny," and nothing more. And he, too, joined in watching the "unclane little savage," as he called him, to wit, a handsome, well-grown Zulu lad, whose skin was of a rich brown, and who, like his companion, seemed to be a model of savage health and grace.

For there were two of these lads, exceedingly lightly clad, in a necklace, and a strip of skin round the loins, one of whom was lying on his chest with his chin resting upon his hands, kicking up his feet, and clapping them together as he watched the other, who was evidently in a high state of delight over an old boot.

This boot he had found thrown out in the fenced-in yard at the back of the cottage, and he was now seated upon a bank trying it on.

First, he drew it on with a most serious aspect, held out his leg and gave it a shake, when, finding the boot too loose, he took it off and filled the toe with sand; but as the sand ran out of a gap between the upper leather and the sole close to the toe and as fast as he put it in, he had to look out for something else, which he found in the shape of some coarse dry grass. With this he half filled the boot, and then, with a good deal of difficulty, managed to wriggle in his toes, after which he drew the boot above his ankle, rose up with a smile of gratified pride upon his countenance, and began to strut up and down before his companion.

There was something very laughable in the scene, for it did not seem to occur to the Zulu boy that he required anything else to add to his costume. He had on one English boot, the same as the white men wore, and that seemed to him sufficient, as he stuck his arms akimbo, then folded them as he walked with head erect, and ended by standing on one leg and holding out the booted foot before his admiring companion. This was too much for the other boy, whose eyes glittered as he made a snatch at the boot, dragged it off, and was about to leap up and run away; but his victim was too quick, for, lithe and active as a serpent, he dashed upon the would-be robber, and a fierce struggle ensued for the possession of the boot.

John Rogers, otherwise Jack, a frank English lad of about sixteen, sprang forward to separate the combatants, but Dinny, his father's servant, who had been groom and gardener at home, restrained him.

"No, no, Masther Jack," he cried, "let the young haythens fight it out. It'll make them behave betther by-an'-by."

"I won't; I don't like to see them fight," cried Jack, slipping himself free, and seemingly joining in the fray.

"Don't, Masther Jack," cried Dinny; "they'll come off black on your hands. Masther Dick, sir, tell him to lave them alone."

The lad appealed to, a pale delicate-looking youth, clenched his fists and sprang forward to help his brother. But he stopped directly and began to laugh, as, after a short scuffle, Jack Rogers separated the combatants, and stood between them with the boot in dispute.

For a moment it seemed as if the two Zulu lads were about to make a combined attack, but there was something about the English lad which restrained them, and they stood chattering away in their native tongue, protesting against his interference, and each laying claim to the boot.

"Speak English," cried Jack. "And now you two have got to shake hands like Englishmen, and make friends."

"Want a boot! want a boot! want a boot!" the Zulu lads kept repeating.

"Well, you do as I tell you, and you shall each have a pair of boots."

"Two boot? Two boot?" cried the boy who had lost his treasure.

"Yes; two boots," said Jack. "You've got an old pair, haven't you, Dick?"

"Yes; they can have my old ones," was the reply. "Go and get them, Dinny."

"And my old lace-ups too," said Jack.

"Ugh!" ejaculated Dinny, spitting on the ground in token of disgust. "Ye'll both repint being such friends with cannibal savages like them, young gentlemen. They'll turn round on ye some day, and rend and ate ye both."

"Not they, Dinny," laughed Jack. "They'd prefer Irishmen, so we should be safe if you were there."

"Ah, ye may laugh," said Dinny, "but they're a dangerous lot, them savages, and I wouldn't trust 'em the length of my fut."

Dinny went towards the back door of Mr Rogers' roomy, verandah-surrounded cottage farm, high up in the slopes of the Drakensberg, and looking a perfect bower with its flowers, creepers, and fruit-trees, many being old English friends; and Jack proceeded to make peace between the two Zulu boys.

"Now look here, Sepopo, you've got to shake hands with your brother," he cried.

"No!" cried the Zulu boy who had been lying down when he snatched the boot, and he threw himself in a monkey-like attitude on all fours.

"Now you, Bechele, you've got to make friends and shake hands," continued Jack, paying no heed to Sepopo's defiant attitude.

"No!" cried the last-addressed, emphatically. "'Tole a boot! 'Tole a boot!" And he too plumped himself down upon all fours and stared at the ground.

"I say yes!" cried Jack; when, as if moved by the same influence, the two Zulu boys leaped up, ran a few yards, and picked up each his "kiri," a short stick with a knob at the end nearly as big as the fist, ran back to where the English lads were standing, and with flashing eyes began to beat the sand with their clubs.

"Come along, Dick!" cried Jack. "They shan't fight. You take Sepopo, I'll take Bechele. No; don't! It will make you hot, and you're not strong. I'll give it them both."

Jack, who was very strong and active for his age, made a dash at the young Zulus just as they began threatening each other and evidently meaning to fight, when for a few moments there was a confused struggle, in which Jack would not have been successful but for his brother's help, he having overrated his strength. But Dick joined in, and in spite of their anger the Zulu boys did not attempt to strike at their young masters, the result being that they allowed their kiris to be wrenched from their hands, and the next minute were seated opposite to each other on the ground.

"They're as strong as horses, Dick," panted Jack. "There! Now, you sirs, shake hands!"

"No!" shouted one.

"No!" shouted the other; and with a make believe of fierceness, Jack gave each what he called a topper on the head with one of the kiris he held.

"Now will you make friends?" cried Jack; and again they shouted, "No!"

"They won't. Let them go," said Dick, languidly; "and it makes one so hot and tired."

"They shan't go till they've made friends," said Jack, setting his teeth; and thrusting his hand into his pocket he brought out a piece of thick string, the Zulu boys watching him intently.

They remained where Jack had placed them, and going down on one knee he seized the right hand of each, placed them together, and proceeded to tie them--pretty tightly too.

"There!" cried Jack. "Now you stop till you're good friends once more."

"Good boy now," cried one on the instant.

"Good boy now," cried the other.

"Then shake hands properly," said Jack.

"Give him the boot," cried Sepopo, as soon as his hand was untied, and he had gone through the required ceremony with his brother.

"No, no; give him the boot," cried the other.

"Hold your tongues," cried Jack. "I say, Dick, let's call them something else if they are going to stop with us, Sepopo! Bechele! What names!"

"Well," said Dick, languidly, as he sat down in a weary fashion: "one's going to be your boy, and the other mine. Let's call them 'Black Jack' and 'Black Dick.'"

"But they are brown," said his brother.

"Yes, they are brown certainly," said Dick, thoughtfully. "Regular coffee colour. You might call one of them 'Coffee.'"

"That'll do," said Jack, laughing, "'Coffee!' and shorten it into 'Cough.' I say, Dick, I'll have that name, and I can tell people I've got a bad 'Cough.' But what will you call the other?"

"I don't know. Stop a moment--'Chicory.'"

"And shorten it into 'chick'. That will do, Dick; splendid! Cough and Chick. Now you two, one of you is to be Cough and the other Chick; do you hear?"

The Zulu boys nodded and laughed, though, in spite of the pretty good knowledge of the English language which they had picked up from their intercourse with the British settlers, it is doubtful whether they understood the drift. What they did comprehend, however, was, that they should make friends; and this being settled, there was the old boot.

"Give me boot, and show you big snake," cried Chicory.

"No, no, give me; show more big snake," cried Coffee.

Just then Dinny came up with two old pairs of the lads' boots, which he threw down upon the sandy earth; and reading consent in their young masters' eyes, the Zulu lads pounced upon them with cries of triumph, Coffee obtaining the two rights, and Chicory the two lefts, with which they danced about, flourishing them over their heads with delight.

"Come here, stupids!" cried Jack; and after a little contention, the boys being exceedingly unwilling to part as they thought with their prizes, he managed to make them understand that the boots ought to go in pairs; and the exchange having been made, each boy holding on to a boot with one hand till he got a good grip of the other, they proceeded to put them on.

"Ugh! the haythen bastes," said Dinny, with a look of disgust. "Think of the likes o' them wearing the young masthers' brogues. Ah, Masther Dick, dear, ye'll be repinting it one of these days."

"Dinny, you're a regular prophet of evil," said Dick, quietly.

"Avic--prophet of avil!" cried Dinny. "Well, isn't it the truth? Didn't I say avore we left the owld counthry that no good would come of it? And avore we'd been out here two years didn't the dear misthress-- the saints make her bed in heaven--go and die right away?"

"Dinny! how can you!" cried Jack, angrily, as he saw the tears start into his brother's eyes, and that in spite of the sunburning he turned haggard and pale.

"Don't take any notice, Dick," he whispered, in a tender, loving way, as he laid one arm on his brother's shoulder and drew him aside. "Dinny don't mean any harm, Dick, but he has such a long tongue."

Dick looked piteously in his brother's face, and one tear stole softly down his cheek.

"I say, Dick," cried Jack, imploringly, "don't look like that. It makes me think so of poor mamma. You look so like her. I say don't, or you'll make me cry too; and I won't," he cried, grinding his teeth. "I said I'd never cry again, because it's so childish; and I won't."

"Then I'm childish, Jack," said Dick, as he rubbed the tear away with one hand.

"No, no. You have been so weak and delicate that you can't help it. I'm strong. But I say, Dick, you are ever so much stronger than when we came out here."

"Yes," said Dick, with a wistful look at his brother's muscular arms. "I am stronger, but I do get tired so soon, Jack."

"Not so soon as you did, Dick; and father says you'll be a strong man yet. Hallo! what's the matter? Look there."

The brothers turned round, and hardly knew whether to laugh or to be alarmed; for a short distance away there was Dinny dancing about, waving his arms and shouting, while Coffee and Chicory, each with his kiri, were making attacks and feints, striking at the Irishman fiercely.

"Ah, would you, ye black baste?" shouted Dinny, as roaring now with laughter the brothers ran back.

"Shoo, Shoo! get out, you dirty-coloured spalpeen. Ah, ye didn't. Kape off wid you. An' me widout a bit of shtick in me fist. Masther Dick, dear! Masther Jack! it's murthering me the two black Whiteboys are. Kape off! Ah, would ye again! Iv I'd me shtick I'd talk to ye both, and see if your heads weren't thick as a Tipperary boy's, I would. Masther Dick! Masther Jack! they'll murther me avore they've done."

As aforesaid, the two Zulu boys had picked up a great deal of the English language, but their understanding thereof was sometimes very obscure. In this instance they had heard Dinny talking to his young masters in a way that had made the tears come in Dick's eye, and driven him and Jack away. This, in the estimation of the Zulu boys, must be through some act of cruelty or insult. They did not like Dinny, who made no attempt to disguise his contempt for them as "a pair of miserable young haythens," but at the same time they almost idolised the twin brothers as their superiors and masters, for whom they were almost ready to lay down their lives.

Here then was a cause for war. Their nature was to love and fight, as dearly as the wildest Irishman who was ever born. Dinny had offended their two "bosses"--as they called them, after the fashion of the Dutch Boers, and this set their blood on fire.

Hardly had the brothers walked away than, as if moved by the same spirit, they forgot the beauty of the old boots in which they had been parading--to such an extent that they kicked them off, and kiri in hand made so fierce an attack upon unarmed Dinny that, after a show of resistance, he fairly took to his heels and ran back to the house, just as the brothers came up.

"Popo give him kiri," cried Chicory.

"Bechele de boy make Boss Dinny run," cried the other, his eyes sparkling with delight. "No make de boss cry eye any more."

"No make Boss Dick cry eye any more," repeated Chicory.

The brothers looked at each other as they comprehended the meaning of the attack.

"Why, Jack," said Dick, "what faithful true fellows they are. They'll never leave us in a time of trouble."

"No, that they won't," cried Jack; and just then a tall, stern, sunburnt man, with grizzled hair and saddened eyes, came up to where they stood. Laying his hand affectionately on the shoulder of Dick,--

"Come, my boys," he said, "dinner is ready. Let's be punctual while we are leading a civilised life."

"And afterwards, father, as punctual a life as we can," said Dick, smiling.

"Hurray!" cried Jack, giving his cap a wave in the air. "Only another week, and then, father--"

"Yes," said Mr Rogers, with a quiet, sad look, "then, my boy, good-bye to civilisation."

"Only for a time, father," said Dick, quietly.

"Till you win health and strength, my boy," said Mr Rogers, with an affectionate glance.

"And that we'll soon find," cried Jack; "for we are off to the wilds." _

Read next: Chapter 2. Why They Went Away


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