Off to the Wilds | Page 3

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,