Hendricks the Hunter | Page 8

was strewed with the dead bodies of its late
inhabitants. As he had supposed, the assegais of the avengers had been
used too well to allow any of them to escape with life. Some lay
outside, others within the two circles of ashes where the huts had stood.
Still it was possible that some might have crept to a distance. He and
his companion searched, however, all round, and although every bush
was examined, no one was discovered, nor did they perceive any traces
of blood which might have indicated that some wounded person had
got thus far from the scene of slaughter.
They were about to return to the camp, when, looking towards the kraal,
the trader fancied that he saw some object move in the centre among
several dead oxen, which had probably been wounded by the assegais
of the attacking party, and had returned there to die. He accordingly
made his way towards the spot, followed by Umgolo, over the still
warm ashes. He preferred the risk of burning his boots to going round
through the entrance, where the bodies of the slaughtered people lay so
thickly that he could scarcely pass without treading upon them.
"Who can this be?" he exclaimed as he got near where the dead oxen
lay. "If my eyes do not deceive me, here's a young white boy. Who are
you? What brought you here, my child?" he asked in a kind tone.
But the boy did not reply. He had been lying between two of the cattle,
partly under one of them, and having apparently been asleep, and just
awakened, was endeavouring to get up. Round his waist was a robe of

monkey skins, and a cloak of wild cat skins hung over his shoulders.
Both were stained with blood, but whether it came from a wound he
had received, or was that of the animals whose bodies had sheltered
him, it was difficult to say. When the trader lifted him up, he evinced
no fear, though he still did not speak.
"Are you English or Dutch?" asked the trader. "A Zulu you cannot be,
though dressed like one."
There was no reply. The boy, who seemed to be about eight or nine
years old, looked round with an astonished gaze at the circle of ashes to
which the kraal had been reduced.
"Why, the poor child is wounded, I fear," said the trader, examining his
arm. "Terror probably has deprived him of his wits."
As he said this, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he bound it
round the injured limb, so as to staunch the flow of blood.
"The sooner we get him to the camp the better: he wants both food and
water. Although he cannot say anything about himself, I have no doubt
that Mangaleesu will be able to give an account of him."
Saying this, the trader, giving his gun to Umgolo to carry, lifted the boy
up in his arms, and hurried with him down the hill towards the camp.
Had the boy been a Zulu, Umgolo would probably have recommended
that he should be left to shift for himself, but observing his white skin
he did not venture to interfere.
The child, evidently satisfied that he had found a friend, lay quietly in
the strong arms of the trader, who walked on with rapid steps, carrying
him as if he had been an infant.
The camp was soon reached, and the trader, placing the boy on some
skins in the shade of the waggon, ordered one of his Kaffirs who acted
as cook to get some broth ready, while he sent off another to obtain
fresh water from the spring.

This done, he examined the wound in the boy's arm, more carefully
than he had before been able to do. He first got out of the waggon a
salve and some lint, with some linen bandages; for he was too
experienced a hunter to travel without articles which might
occasionally be of the greatest necessity.
Having taken off the handkerchief and carefully washed the wound in
warm water, he dressed it with the skill of a surgeon. The boy looked
up gratefully in his new friend's face, but still did not speak. The trader
having in vain endeavoured to obtain an answer when addressing him
in English or Dutch, he at last spoke to him in Kaffir.
The boy at once said, "I thank you, white stranger, for what you have
done for me. I thought at first that you belonged to those who had
killed our people, and that you were going to kill me. Now I know that
you are my friend."
"You are right, my boy; I wish to be so," said the trader. "But tell me,
how comes it that you who