Part 3

Beth turned her to the stoep. With sensuous breath The moonflower drenched the garden in its scent, Ardent, voluptuous, and white as death It hung long blossoms, heavy with intent. The morning glories folded into sleep. Lay purple in undress, and slumber deep.

Behind the wattles rose the circled moon, Splashing her silver over poort and track. The boys went chattering to their kraals, and soon Long shadows ribbed the tent in white and black. Beth closed the entrance fast, then slowly sped, A lonely woman, to a lonely bed.

* * * * *

Come away, Come away, Come, come, come away, For the moon, For the moon Wove a shroud in the day, All of white, All of white, Which she flings over all In the night, In the night Like a pall, In the night, in the night.

Come away, Come away, Come, come, come away, For the moon, For the moon Threw my blossoms a ray, They are white, Deadly white, And their petals are pale, Wan and light. Do not fail, Come away--in the night.

Come away, Come away, Come, come, come away, For the moon, For the moon Wove a shroud in the day, And my scent, Oh my scent Which I waft over all, Is of death! Feel its breath! And the moon made a pall Which she lent to us all, To us all! Come away.... Come away, Come, Come, Come....

"Come, come!"--The sleeper moved. An argent shroud Woven with silver cross-stitch into stars. Was that the moonflower singing from the cloud? Why were its petals bruised and veined with scars? "Come!"--It was not the moonflower. Wide awake Beth started up. That voice!--For pity's sake!

That dear loved voice. The midnight echoed clear, Rang with that urgent summons from the veld, That startling premonition. Far and near Cries shivered through her brain. Dick's voice. She felt It vibrant in her ears. A call, for her. She sprang up quickly, every sense astir.

Down past the shadowed garden, through the kloof, She knew the way, she followed to the cry. No stealthy footpad, sound of howl or hoof Could scare her in the awful mystery Of God-begotten knowledge. Dick had called, Terrestrial things nor checked her, nor appalled.

"This is the shroud," she murmured. Over all The moon had spread her splendour, cold and white. "This is the shining drapery, the pall, This hoary sheet of clean pellucid light." Grasping a small revolver in her hand She hurried on, across the broken land.

A mighty Silence wrapped the veld in dreams. The breath of night hung in the soundless air. A wilderness unknown, unconquered streams Lay with the Universe, at one, to dare In majesty of nature, undisturbed The flux of centuries, untrod, uncurbed.

The white world grew before her. Silhouettes Of shadowed kopjes struck against the sky. The vlei gleamed fitfully. With sharp-edged frets The coarse grass cut the horizon lustily. The dancing moonway on the swollen drift Broke into patterns on the current swift.

Thwarted. Beth stared in piteous dismay. A frantic river, wild with recent rains, Largened beyond all daring, barred her way. Flooding the plains, drunk with illicit gains It dashed with savage fury, tossing high Its waters over bank and boundary.

The girl looked anxiously around. Below The river widened, shallowing its bed, Seeming to flow on leisurely and slow. Above, it narrowed to a ravine, fed By the Fountains. Three bald-headed rocks Stood solemnly midstream on thick-set hocks.

Straightly she turned towards the upper reach. The portly rocks as old and grey as time Offered a bridge. On past the sunken beach Of unclean ooze, the sea of gathered slime, Across the hunching boulders, where the course Of huddled waters broke their angry force.

Climbing from rock to rock, from crest to crest, She threw her weight upon the further bank Into a clod of mud, whose squelching breast Received her greedily. She seized the rank Wild clumps of herbage with her hands, then strove Until she reached the trusty ridge above.

Over the drift! The whisperings of her soul Soothed every hindrance to a thing of naught. The billowing veld, its tawny ceaseless roll Was but the highway to the end she sought. Love was her pilot, and by love controlled Its radiance led her, like the Star of old.

Far to the east a straggling knot of trees Hinted a farm was nestling in their rear, The scent of flowers floated on the breeze, The cattle in their kraals, in safety near Drowsed in the heavy slumber hours of night. But to the west she hurried, in her flight.

On, on past trackless scrub, where all around Like shapeless monsters bulging heap on heap, Crouched the vast ant heaps on the virgin ground. And winding in and out them, pressed and deep, Two wheel spoors scarred the earth. She traced the curve The cart had chiselled in a sudden swerve.

With feverish haste she followed line on line Each deep-hewn rut that carved itself in sand. Here by the grace of heaven was a sign, A way to realise her dream's command, Her instinct's prophecy. God! what was that? Rending the Silences with tear and scrat.

Again! That shot! Then all the world lay still, Calm in the deep placidity of strength That recks for nothing human. Passive till Man desecrates its hallowed peace at length. But to that sound she fled. For Dick lay west, His wide eyes staring, blood upon his breast.

Dead, with his face against the cart-wheel. Dead. A scarlet river flowing, flowing--oh! His lips were red, his hands--the plains were red! She knelt beside him, spoke him loudly so He needs must hear. She bound his wounds in vain, That nerveless heap would never speak again.

Dawn came at last. No need to wail or cry, Dick was beyond all help, and none would hear. She clasped him in her full-souled agony, Feeling the young gold morning, fresh and clear, Yet seeing nothing. Stunned to outward things, She only knew the dullness sorrow brings.

And in her numbness heeded not the red Tall grasses swaying as they bowed and bent Beneath a crawling Kaffir, or his head Rear up, a cringing caterpillar sent To rob the great white Baas; for plenty slow Some white men take to die, as black men know.

But if the Baas were dead, beyond all doubt Slink could be brave. His belly clave the ground. Had anybody heard the white man's shout, Caught by the kopjes, echoed in rebound? Ach! how he wriggled! Now the cart was Slink's, The scoff, the silver watch, the fiery drinks.

And look, the mules outspanned were plenty good, So was the stolen gun. He reached the pool Of crimson where the two-wheeled Cape-cart stood. He slithered nearer, wet in dewdrops cool, His rough patched trousers soaked, then sneaking round Peeped from his vantage to the bleeding ground.

Spooks!--His eyes bulged, down dropped his brutal jaw. Rooted to where he clung, a-sweat with fright, The cramps of terror gripping at his maw. Spooks!--Pallid spooks! He shrieked away the sight Till the wide veld was reeling. Blurred and pale A spook arose, to follow on his trail.

It glided nearer, nearer--nearer yet, Tall as the English mysi far away! His tongue stuck in his throat, and bleeding wet He saw the master sitting up at bay! He heard his name, he heard the still air crack, Then dropped astonished, wondering, on his back,

Till every spook had vanished. Slink had gone To make a longer trek, where plains were dim. And haggard-eyed and worn, stern vengeance done, Beth huddled by the poor stiff clay of him She loved, the smoking weapon in her hand To scare the scavenger of carrion brand.

The hours crawled by. Soaked through with thunder rains She kept her vigil, loosening her hair In shining masses o'er him. Wild refrains Of piteous croonings and of vague despair Crept to her lips, then died away, unsung, Hiding their tunes, her shattered dreams among.

* * * * *

Jan Rissik trekked him homeward. Half a day To Cellier's farmstead more. The patient team Of oxen, plodding slowly on their way, Bent to the nekstrop. Huick! a thin sharp gleam Of curling whip flicked at the leader, clean, Sure as a rapier thrust, and long and lean.

The voorlooper strode on ahead. The boys Marched to the rhythm of a sing-song chaunt To ease their work. The wagon's lumbering noise, The cheering of the oxen, stormed the haunt Of nature. 'Neath the awning, broad and square Sat Rissik's vrouw, worn with maternal care.

Her children nestled round her. Two hours yet! The Dutchman whistled as he jogged along In leisured haste. He licked his thick lips wet To loose his tune. A heavy winging throng Of gorging vultures, black as devil's brood, Rose swearing on the air, with protests crude.

Some rotting beast! Jan Rissik raised his eyes To watch the swart aasvogel[B] in their flight, Cracking his whip to dissipate the flies That swarmed in thousands. Pestilential! Right Where his oxen wended, straight in front! He clambered from his seat with angry grunt,

And pious prayer politely blended, sure The Powers above would note the quoted text, Nor heed the fact that while he prayed, he swore! His keen eyes swept the veld, grave and perplexed. Two mules strayed fettered by the reim, outspanned, A cart unhitched, stuck in the khaki sand.

Jan pulled his slouch hat down, and stroked his beard. The harsh birds croaked, the dingy clotted brown That stained the earth confirmed the tale he feared. A woman in the burning dust stooped down Over a crumpled figure; and a sheen Of golden tresses veiled it, like a screen.

She rocked her too and fro, a little breath That might be song, or might be strangled word Broke from her now and then; but only death Lay in her arms and answered not, nor heard.

"Come away, come away, Come, come, come away, For the moon, for the moon Made a shroud in the day. Come away, come away, come, _come_, the moon, The flowers are calling, Dick--my love, come soon."

Some hundred yards--Pah! Jan felt strangely sick-- _She_ must have dragged that fearful thing away, The devil's brood had claimed. The Rooinek Was safe. Heaven knew how desperate the fray! The fierce shot spent, the havoc, showed too well Her awful battle with those fiends from hell.

He spoke her in the Taal; he touched her hand; She scarcely moved, but with a tear-stained smile Babbled in words he could not understand, Nodding her head towards the plains the while. "The other one is dead. He was so black. He killed my husband, so I killed him back.

"I want to lay the moonflowers on Dick's breast, They told me he was calling, so I came; They kept on nodding, nodding to the west, I want to have those moonflowers, the same That told me. Dick is dead. So cold and dead I don't remember all the flowers said.

"But if we are not very quick, the shroud Of silver cross-stitch, woven star on star, Will be quite stolen by the thunder-cloud, It's creeping, creeping, growling from afar." "Ja, Ja," the old Boer nodded. "Both are dead." "One must be buried!" so the good vrouw said.

They laboured hard to dig the white man's bed, Jan Rissik and his trusty man and boys, Then laid him gently down. With prayer unsaid But beating at her throat, no word that cloys Or mars itself in speech--Beth flung the sod Over her love--and left him there--with God.

Only a dusty mound to mark his grave, A dream out-dreamed, a tiny buried cross From off her neck. The Lord had called, who gave His rich Acceptance that the world deems loss! Father, forgive us! For our eyes that see Only our sorrows--when we should see Thee!

* * * * *

To Cellier's farm Jan Rissik trekked at morn. The English girl lay sleeping in his cart Clasped to the Dutch vrouw's breast. No longer torn By grief and passion, human fears, her heart Was now at rest; her Christ-soul lulled to peace, Her hands outstretched, to meet the Great Release.

[B] Aasvogel--vultures.

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