The Settler and the Savage
by R. M. Ballantyne · English · Gutenberg #21701 · 543,637 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Settler and the Savage
Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Release date: June 6, 2007 [eBook #21701]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21701
Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SETTLER AND THE SAVAGE ***
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
THE SETTLER AND THE SAVAGE, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE WILD KARROO.
A solitary horseman--a youth in early manhood--riding at a snail's pace
over the great plains, or karroo, of South Africa. His chin on his
breast; his hands in the pockets of an old shooting-coat; his legs in
ragged trousers, and his feet in worn-out boots. Regardless of
stirrups, the last are dangling. The reins hang on the neck of his
steed, whose head may be said to dangle from its shoulders, so nearly
does its nose approach the ground. A felt hat covers the youth's curly
black head, and a double-barrelled gun is slung across his broad
shoulders.
We present this picture to the reader as a subject of contemplation.
It was in the first quarter of the present century that the youth
referred to--Charlie Considine by name--rode thus meditatively over that
South African karroo. His depression was evidently not due to lack of
spirit, for, when he suddenly awoke from his reverie, drew himself up
and shook back his hair, his dark eyes opened with something like a
flash. They lost some of their fire, however, as he gazed round on the
hot plain which undulated like the great ocean to the horizon, where a
line of blue indicated mountains.
The truth is that Charlie Considine was lost--utterly lost on the
karroo! That his horse was in the same lost condition became apparent
from its stopping without orders and looking round languidly with a
sigh.
"Come, Rob Roy," said the youth, gathering up the reins and patting the
steed's neck, "this will never do. You and I must not give in to our
first misfortune. No doubt the want of water for two days is hard to
bear, but we are strong and young both of us. Come, let's try at least
for a sheltering bush to sleep under, before the sun goes down."
Animated by the cheering voice, if not by the words, of its rider, the
horse responded to the exhortation by breaking into a shuffling canter.
After a short time the youth came in sight of what appeared to be a herd
of cattle in the far distance. In eager expectation he galloped towards
them and found that his conjectures were correct. They were cattle in
charge of one of that lowest of the human race, a Bushman. The
diminutive, black-skinned, and monkey-faced creature was nearly naked.
He carried a sheepskin kaross, or blanket, on his left shoulder, and a
knobbed stick, or "kerrie," in his right hand.
"Can you speak English?" asked Considine as he rode up.
The Bushman looked vacant and made no reply.
"Where is your master's house?" asked the youth.
A stare was the only answer.
"Can't you speak, you dried-up essence of stupidity!" exclaimed Charlie
with impatience.
At this the Bushman uttered something with so many klicks, klucks, and
gurgles in it that his interrogator at once relinquished the use of the
tongue, and took to signs, but with no better success, his efforts
having only the effect of causing the mouth of the Bushman to expand
from ear to ear. Uttering a few more klicks and gurgles, he pointed in
the direction of the setting sun. As Considine could elicit no fuller
information he bade him a contemptuous farewell and rode away in the
direction indicated.
He had not gone far when a dark speck became visible on the horizon
directly in front.
"Ho! Rob," he exclaimed, "that looks like something--a bush, is it? If
so, we may find water there, who knows--eh? No, it can't be a bush, for
it moves," he added in a tone of disappointment. "Why, I do believe
it's an ostrich! Well, if we can't find anything to drink, I'll try to
get something to eat."
Urging his jaded steed into a gallop, the youth soon drew near enough to
discover that the object was neither bush nor ostrich, but a horseman.
The times of which we write were unsettled. Considine, although "lost,"
was sufficiently aware of his whereabouts to understand that he was near
the north-eastern frontier of Cape Colony. He deemed it prudent,
therefore, to unsling his gun. On drawing nearer he became convinced
from the appearance of the stranger that he could not be a Kafir. When
close enough to perceive that he was a white man, mounted and armed much
like himself, he re-slung his gun, waved his cap in token of friendship,
and galloped forward with the confidence of youth.
The stranger proved to be a young man of about his own age--a little
over twenty--but much taller and more massive in frame. He was, indeed,
a young giant, and bestrode a horse suitable to his weight. He was clad
in the rough woollen and leathern garments worn by the frontier farmers,
or boers, of that period, and carried one of those long heavy flint-lock
guns, or "roers," which the Dutch-African colonist then deemed the most
effective weapon in the universe.
"Well met!" exclaimed Considine heartily, as he rode up.
"Humph! that depends on whether we meet as friends or foes," replied the
stranger, with a smile on his cheerful countenance that accorded ill
with the caution of his words.
"Well met, I say again, whether we be friends or foes," returned
Considine still more heartily, "for if we be friends we shall
fraternise; if we be foes we shall fight, and I would rather fight you
for love, hate, or fun, than die of starvation in the karroo."
"What is your name, and where do you come from?" demanded the stranger.
"One question at a time, if you please," answered the youth. "My name
is Charles Considine. What is yours?"
"Hans Marais."
"Well, Mr Marais, I come from England, which is my native home. In the
coming I managed to get wrecked in Table Bay, landed at Capetown, joined
a frontier farmer, and came up here--a long and roughish journey, as
probably you know, and as my garments testify. On the way I lost my
comrades, and in trying to find them lost myself. For two days nothing
in the shape of meat or drink has passed my lips, and my poor horse has
fared little better in the way of drink, though the karroo-bush has
furnished him with food enough to keep his bones together. So now, you
have my biography in brief, and if you be a man possessed of any powers
of sympathy, you will know what to do."
The young Dutchman held out his huge hand, which Considine grasped and
shook warmly.
"Come," he said, while a slight smile played on his bronzed countenance;
"I have nothing here to give you, but if you will come with me to yon
koppie you shall have both meat and drink."
The koppie to which he referred was a scarce discernible knoll on the
horizon.
Hans Marais seemed to be a man of few words, for he turned and galloped
away, without for some time uttering another syllable to his companion.
As for Considine, the thought of once more feasting on any sort of meat
and drink was so fascinating, in his then ravenous condition, that he
cared for nought else, and followed his guide in silence.
Soon the herbage on the plain became more luxuriant, and in half an hour
the two horsemen found themselves riding among scattered groups of
mimosa bushes, the thorns of which were from three to five inches long,
while their sweet fragrance scented the whole atmosphere.
On reaching the ridge of one of the undulations of the plain, Hans
Marais drew rein and gazed intently towards the distant horizon. At the
same time Considine's horse pricked up its ears, pawed the ground, and
exhibited unwonted signs of a desire to advance.
"Hallo, Rob!" exclaimed its master, "what's wrong with you?"
"Your horse has been gifted by his Maker with a power," said Hans,
"which has been denied to man. He scents water. But before he shall
taste it he must help me to procure fresh meat. Do you see the boks on
that koppie?"
"Do you mean those white specks like ostrich eggs on the hillock to the
right of the big bush?"
"The same. These are springboks. Ride away down by that hollow till
you get somewhat in their rear, and then drive them in the direction of
that clump of bushes on our left, just under the sun."
Without waiting for a reply Hans rode off at a gallop, and Considine
proceeded to obey orders.
A few minutes sufficed to bring him close to the springboks, which
beautiful antelopes no sooner observed him than, after one brief gaze of
surprise, they bounded away in the direction of the bushes indicated by
Hans,--conscious apparently of their superior fleetness, for they seemed
in no great haste, but leaped about as if half in play, one and another
taking an occasional spring of six feet or more into the air. As they
passed the bushes towards which Considine drove them, a white puff was
seen to burst from them, and the huge roer of Hans Marais sent forth its
bellowing report. It seemed as if the entire flock of boks had received
an electric shock, so high did they spring into the air. Then they
dashed off at full speed, leaving one of their number dead upon the
plain.
When Considine came up he found that Hans had already disembowelled the
springbok, and was in the act of fastening the carcase on his horse
behind the saddle. Remounting immediately, the hunter galloped towards
a mound, on the top of which the bushes formed a dense brake. Skirting
this till he reached the other side, he pulled up, exclaiming--
"There, you'll find good water in the hollow; go drink, while I prepare
supper on the koppie."
Considine went off at once. Indeed, he could not have done otherwise,
for his impatient horse took the bit in its mouth and galloped towards a
small pool of water, which was so yellow with mud that it resembled thin
pea-soup.
Thirsty though he was, the youth could not help smiling at his new
friend's idea of "good" water, but he was not in a condition to be
fastidious. Jumping out of the saddle, he lay down on his breast,
dipped his lips into the muddy liquid, and drank with as much enjoyment
as if the beverage had been nectar--or Bass. Rob Roy also stood, in a
state of perfect bliss, in the middle of the pool, sucking the water in
with unwearied vigour. It seemed as if man and horse had laid a wager
as to who should drink most. At last, the point of utmost capacity in
both was reached, and they retired with a sigh of contentment, Rob Roy
to browse on the plain, and his master to betake himself to the
encampment on the knoll, where Hans Marais quickly supplied him with
glorious steaks of springbok venison.
"Isn't it an enjoyable thing to eat when one is hungry, eh?" said
Considine, after half an hour's silent devotion to the duty in
hand.--"Why, where got you that?"
He referred to an ostrich egg which his companion had taken from a
saddle-bag, and in one end of which he was busy boring a hole.
"Found it in the sand just before I found you," said Hans. "Did you
ever eat one?"
"No, never."
"Well then, you shall do so now, and I'll show you how the niggers here
make an omelet."
He planted the huge egg in the hot ashes as he spoke, and kept stirring
its contents with a piece of stick until sufficiently cooked.
"Not bad,--eh?"
"Glorious!" exclaimed Considine, smacking his lips.
Both youths continued to smack their lips over the egg until it was
finished, after which Charlie pronounced it not only a glorious but a
satisfying morsel. This was doubtless true, for an ostrich egg is
considered equal to twenty-four hen's eggs.
Returning to the springbok steaks, the half-starved youth continued his
repast, while Hans Marais, having finished, extended his huge frame
beside the camp-fire, leaned upon his saddle, and smoked his pipe in
benignant contemplation of his companion.
"This is pleasant!" said Charlie, pausing, with a sigh, and looking up.
"Ja, it is pleasant," replied Hans.
"Ja!" repeated Charlie, quoting the Dutch "Yes" of the other; "are you a
Dutchman?"
"I am; at least I am a Cape colonist descended from Dutchmen. Why are
you surprised?"
"Because," replied his companion, while he prepared another steak over
the embers, "you speak English so well that I could not have known it.
How came you to learn the language so perfectly?"
"My father, being wiser than some of his friends and neighbours," said
Hans, "sent me to Capetown to be educated. I suppose that is the
reason. We dwelt in the western part of the colony then, and I was the
eldest of the family. When a number of us Dutchmen left that part of
the country--being disgusted with the Government,--and came up here, my
brothers and sister had to be taken from school. This was a pity, for
education taught me to know that education is an inestimable blessing--
the want of it a heavy misfortune."
"True," remarked Considine. But being still too busy with the steaks to
pursue the subject he merely added--"Does your father live near this?"
"About seven hours' ride, which, as I daresay you know, is forty-two
miles. You shall go home with me to-morrow."
"How many are there of you?" asked Considine, looking at the young
Dutchman over a bone. "Excuse my being so impolite," he added, "but
d'you know, one feels horribly like a tiger after a two days' fast."
"Don't stand on ceremony," said the other, with a laugh. "When you are
satisfied we can converse. There are fifteen of us: father, mother,
sister, and eleven boys besides myself. I'll tell you about them all
after supper; meanwhile I'll go fetch the horses, for there are lions
about, as I daresay you know, and some of them are nearly as ravenous as
yourself."
Hans rose, put his pipe in the band of his broad-brimmed hat, and
sauntered heavily out of the thicket.
In a few minutes he returned, leading the horses, and then busied
himself in surrounding the camp with an almost impenetrable wall of
mimosa-thorn branches, the spikes of which were so tremendous that it
seemed as if nothing smaller than an elephant could force its way
through. This done, he sat down and quietly refilled his pipe, while
Considine, having at last finished his meal, drew the embers of the fire
together, disposed his limbs comfortably on the ground, lay back on his
saddle, and prepared to enjoy a contemplative gaze at the cheering blaze
and an interrogative conversation with his new friend.
"Do you smoke?" asked Hans.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it makes me sick, and I don't like it."
Hans looked surprised. This was a new idea to him, and he sat for some
time pondering it; indeed, we may say with truth that he "smoked it" In
a few minutes he looked earnestly at the youth, and asked why he came to
the Cape.
"To make my fortune," answered Considine.
"Fortunes are not easily made at the Cape," was the grave reply. "My
father has been making his fortune for the last quarter of a century,
and it's not made yet.--Why did you choose the Cape?"
"I didn't choose it."
"No?" said the Dutchman, with a look of surprise.
"No," responded the Englishman; "my coming here was not a matter of
choice: it was necessity. Come, I will make a confidant of you and
relate my history. Don't be alarmed, I won't keep you up all night with
prosy details. My life, as you may see, has not yet been a long one,
and until this year it has been comparatively uneventful."
He paused a few moments as if to recall the past, while his companion,
picking his pipe with a mimosa thorn, settled himself to listen.
"Father, mother, brothers, and sisters I have none," began Considine as
he whittled a stick--a pastime, by the way, which is erroneously
supposed to be an exclusively American privilege. "Neither have I
grandfathers, grandmothers, aunts, nephews, nieces, or anything else of
the sort. They all died either before or soon after I was born. My
only living relation is an uncle, who was my guardian. He is a
sea-captain, and a good man, but tough. I bear him no ill-will. I
would not speak disrespectfully of him; but he is tough, and, I incline
to think, no better than he should be. Infancy and boyhood with
squalling and schooling I pass over. My uncle ordered me to study for
the medical profession, and I obeyed. Wishing to see a little of the
world before finishing my course, I sailed in a vessel bound for
Australia. We touched at Table Bay in passing. Obtaining leave, I went
ashore at Capetown. The ship also went ashore--without leave--in
company with six other ships, during a terrific gale which sprang up in
the night. Our vessel became a total wreck. The crew were saved, but
my effects went with the cargo to the bottom. Fortunately, however, I
had carried ashore with me the little cash I possessed."
"I found the Capetown people very kind. One of them took me by the hand
and offered me employment, but I preferred to proceed into the interior
with a trader and work or shoot my way, in order to save my money. No
trader being about to start at that time, I was obliged to accept the
offer of a frontier farmer, who, for a small sum, agreed to allow me to
accompany his waggons, on condition that I should make myself generally
useful. I grudged the cash, but closed with the offer, and next day
started on our journey of six hundred miles--such being the distance we
had to go, according to my employer or comrade, Jan Smit."
"Who?" exclaimed Hans, with sudden energy.
"Jan Smit," repeated Considine. "Do you know him?"
"Ja--but go on," said Hans, with a nod and a smile.
"Well, I soon found that my Dutch comrade--"
"He's only half Dutch," interrupted Hans. "His mother was Dutch, but
his father is English."
"Well, Dutch or English, he is the most unmitigated scoundrel I ever
met."
"Ja," muttered Hans, "he is."
"And I soon found that my trip of pleasure became a trip of torment. It
is true we shot plenty of game--lions among the rest--but in camp the
man was so unbearable that disgust counterbalanced all the pleasure of
the trip. I tried hard to get the better of him by good-humour and
jollity, but he became so insolent at last that I could not stand it.
Three days ago when I asked him how far we were from his farm, he
growled that it wasn't far off now; whereupon I could not refrain from
saying that I was glad to hear it, as we should soon have the pleasure
of parting company. This put him in a rage. He kicked over the pot
containing part of our breakfast, and told me I might part company then
and there if I pleased. My temper does not easily go, but it went at
last. I jumped up, saddled my horse, mounted, and rode away. Of course
I lost myself immediately, and for two days have been trying to find
myself, without success, mourning over my fate and folly, and fasting
from necessity. But for my opportune meeting with you, Mr Marais, it
might have gone hard with me and my poor horse, for the want of water
had well-nigh floored us both."
"You'll never make your fortune by doctoring on the frontier," said
Hans, after a few minutes' silence. "Nobody gets ill in this splendid
climate--besides, we couldn't afford to waste time in that way. People
here usually live to a great age, and then go off without the assistance
of a doctor. What else can you turn your hand to?"
"Anything," replied Considine, with the overweening confidence of youth.
"Which means nothing, I suspect," said the Dutchman, "for
Jack-of-all-trades is proverbially master of none."
"It may be so," retorted the other, "nevertheless, without boasting, I
may venture to assert--because I can prove it--that I am able to make
tables, chairs, chests, and such-like things, besides knowing something
of the blacksmith's trade. In regard to doctoring, I am not entitled to
practise for fees, not yet being full-fledged--only a third-year
student--but I may do a little in that way for love, you know. If you
have a leg, for instance, that wants amputating, I can manage it for you
with a good carving-knife and a cross-cut saw. Or, should a grinder
give you annoyance, any sort of pincers, small enough to enter your
mouth, will enable me to relieve you."
At this Hans smiled and displayed a set of brilliant "grinders," which
did not appear likely to give him annoyance for some time to come.
"Can you shoot?" asked Hans, laying his hand on his companion's
double-barrelled gun, which lay on the ground between them, and which,
with its delicate proportions and percussion-locks, formed a striking
contrast to the battered, heavy, flint-lock weapon of the Dutchman.
"Ay, to some extent, as the lions' skins in Jan Smit's waggon can
testify.--By the way," added Considine quickly, "you said that you knew
Smit. Can you tell me where he lives? because I still owe him the half
of the money promised for permission to accompany him on this trip, and
should not like to remain his debtor."
"Ja, I know where he lives. He's a bad specimen of a Dutch farmer in
every respect, except as to size. He lives quite close to our farm--
more's the pity!--and is one of those men who do their best to keep up
bad feeling between the frontier-men and the Kafirs. The evil deeds of
men such as he are represented in England, by designing or foolish
persons, as being characteristic of the whole class of frontier farmers,
hence we are regarded as a savage set, while, in my humble opinion, we
are no worse than the people of other colonies placed in similar
circumstances--perhaps better than some of them. Do you know anything
of our past history?"
"Not much," replied Considine, throwing away the remnant of the stick he
had been whittling, and commencing on another piece. "Of course I know
that the Cape was first doubled by the Portuguese commander Bartholomew
Diaz in, I think, 1486, and after him by Vasco de Gama, and that the
Dutch formed the first settlement on it under Van Riebeek in 1652, but
beyond this my knowledge of Cape history and dates is hazy and confused.
I know, however, that your forefathers mismanaged the country for about
a century and a half, after which it finally came into possession of the
British in 1806."
"Humph!" ejaculated Hans, while a shade of displeasure flitted for a
moment across his broad visage. "'Tis a pity your reading had not
extended farther, for then you would have learned that from 1806 the
colony has been mismanaged by _your_ countrymen, and the last fruit of
their mismanagement has been a bloody war with the Kafirs, which has
only just been concluded. Peace has been made only this year, and the
frontier is now at rest. But who will rebuild the burned homesteads of
this desolated land? who will reimburse the ruined farmers? above all,
who will restore the lost lives?"
The young Dutchman's eyes kindled, and his stern face flushed as he
spoke, for although his own homestead had escaped the ruthless savage,
friends and kindred had suffered deeply in the irruption referred to,
which took place in 1819, and one or two of his intimate comrades had
found early graves in the wild karroo.
Considine, sympathising with his companion's feelings, said, "I doubt
not that you have much to complain of, for there is no colony under the
sun that escapes from the evil acts of occasional bad or incompetent
Governors. But pray do not extend your indignation to me or to my
countrymen at large, for few of us know the true merits of your case.
And tell me, what was the origin of the war which has just ended?"
The young farmer's anger had passed away as quickly as it came. Letting
his bulky frame sink back into the reclining position from which he had
partially risen, he replied--
"Just the old story--self-will and stupidity. That domineering fellow
Lord Charles Somerset, intending to check the plundering of the colony
by Kafirs, chose to enter into treaties with Gaika as paramount chief of
Kafirland, although Gaika himself told him plainly that he was not
paramount chief. Of course the other chiefs were indignant, and refused
to recognise such treaties. They did more: they made war on Gaika, and
beat him, whereupon Somerset, instead of leaving the niggers to fight
their own battles, must needs send a great commando of military and
burghers to `restore' Gaika to his so-called supremacy. This was done.
The chief T'slambi was driven from his villages, and no fewer than
11,000 head of cattle were handed over to Gaika. While this was going
on at the eastern frontier, the Kafirs invaded the colony at other
points, drove in the small military posts, ravaged the whole land, and
even attacked the military headquarters at Grahamstown, where, however,
they were defeated with great slaughter. After this a large force was
sent to drive them out of their great stronghold, the Fish River bush.
This was successfully accomplished, and then, at last, the right thing
was done. The Governor met the Kafir chiefs, when it was agreed that
they should evacuate the country between the Great Fish River and the
Keiskamma, and that the territory so evacuated should form _neutral
ground_. So matters stand at present, but I have no faith in Kafirs.
It is their pride to lie, their business to make war, and their delight
to plunder."
"But is it not the same with _all_ savages?" asked Considine.
"Doubtless it is, therefore _no_ savages ought to be trusted, as
civilised men are trusted, till they cease to be savages. We trust them
too much. Time will show.--By the way, I hear that a new move is about
to be attempted. Rumour says that your Government is going to send out
a strong party of emigrants to colonise the eastern frontier. Is this
true?"
"It is," replied Considine; "I wonder that you have not heard all about
it before now."
"Good reasons for that. For one thing, I have just returned from a long
trip into the north-western districts, and I have not been in the way of
hearing news for some time. Besides, we have no newspapers in the
colony. Everything comes to us by word of mouth, and that slowly. Tell
me about this matter."
"There is little to tell," returned Considine, replenishing the fire
with a thick branch, which sent up a magnificent display of sparks and
scared away a hyena and two jackals that had been prowling round the
camp-fence. "The fact is that there is a great deal of distress in
England just now, and a redundant population of idlers, owing to the
cessation of continental wars. This seems to have put it into the heads
of some people in power to encourage emigration to the eastern part of
this colony. In the House of Commons 50,000 pounds have been voted in
aid of the plan, and it seems that when the proposal was first made
public, no fewer than 90,000 would-be emigrants applied for leave to
come out here. Of these I believe 4000 have been selected, and
twenty-three vessels chartered to convey them out. This is all I could
learn before I left England, but I suppose we shall have more light on
the subject ere many months have gone by."
"A good plan," said the Dutchman, with a grim smile, "but I pity the
emigrants!"
As Considine's head drooped at this point, and his eyes winked with that
owlish look which indicates the approach of irresistible sleep, Hans
Marais rose, and, spreading a large kaross or blanket of leopard skin on
the ground, invited his companion to lie down thereon. The youth
willingly complied, stretched himself beside the Dutchman, and almost
instantly fell sound asleep. Hans spread a lighter covering over
himself and his comrade, and, with his head on his saddle, lay for a
long time gazing tranquilly at the stars, which shone with an intensity
of lustre peculiar to that region of the southern hemisphere, while the
yelling cries of jackals and the funereal moaning of spotted hyenas,
with an occasional distant roar from the king of beasts, formed an
appropriate lullaby.
CHAPTER TWO.
INTRODUCES A CAPE DUTCHMAN AND HIS FAMILY, AND SHOWS THE UNCERTAINTY OF
HUMAN PLANS.
The break of day found Charlie Considine and Hans Marais galloping
lightly over the karroo towards a range of mountains which, on the
previous evening, had appeared like a faint line of blue on the horizon.
The sun was just rising in a blaze of splendour, giving promise of an
oppressive day, when the horsemen topped a ridge beyond which lay the
primitive buildings of a frontier farm.
Considine uttered an exclamation of surprise, and looked inquiringly at
his companion.
"My father's farm," said Hans, drawing rein and advancing at a
foot-pace.
"A lovely spot," returned his companion, "but I cannot say much for the
buildings."
"They are well suited to their purpose nevertheless," said Hans;
"besides, would it be wise to build fine houses for Kafirs to burn?"
"Is being burnt by Kafirs the necessary end of all frontier farms?"
asked Considine, with a smile.
"Not the necessary, but the probable end. Many a one has been burnt in
times gone by, and many a one will be burnt again, if the Government and
people in England do not recognise and admit the two great facts, that
the interest as well as the main desire of the frontier settler is
_peace_, while the chief delight as well as business of the Kafir is
_war_. But I suppose that you, being an Englishman, will not believe
that until conviction is forced on you by experience.--Come, I will
introduce you to one of those colonists who are supposed to be such
discontented fire-eaters; I think he will receive you hospitably."
The young farmer put spurs to his horse as he spoke, and dashed away
over the plain, closely followed by his new friend, who was not sorry to
drop the conversation, being almost entirely ignorant of the merits of
the question raised.
The style of the group of buildings to which they drew near was not
entirely unfamiliar to Considine, for he had passed one or two similar
farms, belonging to Cape Dutchmen, on his trip from the sea-coast to the
interior. There were about this farm, however, a few prominent points
of difference. The cottages, being built of sun-dried bricks, were
little better than mud-huts, but there were more of them than Considine
had hitherto seen on such farms, and the chief dwelling, in particular,
displayed some touches of taste which betokened superior refinement in
the inhabitants. The group lay in a hollow on the margin of an
insignificant stream, whose course through the plain was marked by a
thick belt of beautiful mimosa-bushes. Close to the houses, these
mimosas, large enough to merit the title of trees, formed a green
setting in which the farm appeared to nestle as if desirous of escaping
the sunshine. A few cactus shrubs and aloes were scattered about in
rear of the principal dwelling, in the midst of which stood several
mud-huts resembling gigantic bee-hives. In these dwelt some of the
Hottentot and other servants of the farm, while, a little to the right
of them, on a high mound, were situated the kraals or enclosures for
cattle and sheep. About fifty yards farther off, a clump of tall trees
indicated the position of a garden, whose fruit-trees were laden with
the blossoms or beginnings of a rich crop of peaches, lemons, oranges,
apricots, figs, pears, plums, apples, pomegranates, and many other
fruits and vegetables. This bright and fruitful gem, in the midst of
the brown and apparently barren karroo, was chiefly due to the existence
of a large enclosure or dam which the thrifty farmer had constructed
about half a mile from the homestead, and the clear waters of which
shimmered in the centre of the picture, even when prolonged drought had
quite dried up the bed of its parent stream. The peaceful beauty of the
scene was completed by its grand background of blue mountains.
A tall, powerful, middle-aged man, in a coarse cloth jacket, leathern
trousers or "crackers," and a broad-brimmed home-made hat, issued from
the chief dwelling-house as the horsemen galloped up and drew rein. The
sons of the family and a number of barking dogs also greeted them. Hans
and Considine sprang to the ground, while two or three of the eleven
brothers, of various ages--also in leathern crackers, but without coats
or hats--came forward, kicked the dogs, and led the horses away.
"Let me introduce a stranger, father, whom I have found--lost in the
karroo," said Hans.
"Welcome to Eden! Come in, come in," said Mynheer Conrad Marais
heartily, as he shook his visitor by the hand.
Considine suitably acknowledged the hospitable greeting and followed his
host into the principal room of his residence.
There was no hall or passage to the house. The visitor walked straight
off the veldt, or plain, into the drawing-room--if we may so style it.
The house door was also the drawing-room door, and it was divided
transversely into two halves, whereby an open window could at any moment
be formed by shutting the lower half of the door. There was no ceiling
to the room. You could see the ridge-pole and rafters by looking up
between the beams, on one of which latter a swallow--taking advantage of
the ever open door and the general hospitality of the family--had built
its nest. The six-foot sons almost touched the said nest with their
heads; as to the smaller youths it was beyond the reach of most of them,
but had it been otherwise no one would have disturbed the lively little
intruder.
The floor of the apartment was made of hard earth, without carpet. The
whitewashed walls were graced with various garments, as well as
implements and trophies of the chase.
From the beams hung joints of meat, masses of dried flesh, and various
kinds of game, large whips--termed sjamboks (pronounced _shamboks_)--
made of rhinoceros or hippopotamus hide, leopard and lion skins, ostrich
eggs and feathers, dried fruit, strings of onions, and other
miscellaneous objects; on the floor stood a large deal table, and chairs
of the same description--all home-made,--two waggon chests, a giant
churn, a large iron pot, several wooden pitchers hooped with brass, and
a side-table on which were a large brass-clasped Dutch Bible, a set of
Dutch tea-cups, an urn, and a brass tea-kettle heated like a
chafing-dish. On the walls and in corners were several flint-lock guns,
and one or two of the short light javelins used by the Kafirs for
throwing in battle, named assagais.
Three small doors led into three inner rooms, in which the entire family
slept. There were no other apartments, the kitchen being an outhouse.
On the centre table was spread a substantial breakfast, from which the
various members of the family had risen on the arrival of the horsemen.
Considine was introduced to Mynheer Marais' vrouw, a good-looking, fat,
and motherly woman verging on forty,--and his daughter Bertha, a pretty
little girl of eight or nine.
"What is Mynheer's name?" was the matron's first question.
Mynheer replied that it was Charles Considine.
"Was Mynheer English?"
"Yes," Mynheer was proud to acknowledge the fact.
Mrs Marais followed up these questions with a host of others--such as,
the age and profession of Mynheer, the number of his relatives, and the
object of his visit to South Africa. Mynheer Marais himself, after
getting a brief outline of his son's meeting with the Englishman, backed
the attack of his pleasant-faced vrouw by putting a number of questions
as to the political state of Europe then existing, and the chances of
the British Government seriously taking into consideration the
unsatisfactory condition of the Cape frontier and its relations with the
Kafirs.
To all of these and a multitude of other questions Charlie Considine
replied with great readiness and good-humour, as far as his knowledge
enabled him, for he began quickly to appreciate the fact that these
isolated farmers, who almost never saw a newspaper were thirsting for
information as to the world in general as well as with regard to himself
in particular.
During this bombardment of queries the host and hostess were not
forgetful to supply their young guest with the viands under which the
substantial table groaned, while several of the younger members of the
family, including the pretty Bertha, stood behind the rest and waited on
them. With the exception of the host and hostess, none of the household
spoke during the meal, all being fully occupied in listening eagerly and
eating heartily.
When the Dutch fire began to slacken for want of ammunition, Considine
retaliated by opening a British battery, and soon learned that Marais
and his wife both claimed, and were not a little proud of, a few drops
of French blood. Their progenitors on the mother's side, they said,
were descended from one of the French Huguenot families which settled in
the colony after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
"You see," said Mynheer Marais, with a quiet smile of satisfaction, as
he applied a boiled cob of mealies or Indian corn to his powerful teeth,
"our family may be said to be about two-thirds Dutch and one-third
French. In fact, we have also a little English blood in our veins, for
my great-grandfather's mother was English on the father's side and Dutch
on the mother's. Perhaps this accounts to some extent for my tendency
to adopt some English and American ideas in the improvement of my farm,
which is not a characteristic of my Cape-Dutch brethren."
"So I have been told, and to some extent have seen," said Considine,
with a sly glance; "in fact they appear to be rather lazy than
otherwise."
"Not lazy, young sir," returned Marais with some emphasis. "They are
easy-going and easily satisfied, and not solicitous to add to their
material comforts beyond a certain point--in short, contented with
little, like Frenchmen, which is a praiseworthy condition of mind,
commended in Holy Writ, and not disposed to make haste to be rich, like
you English."
"Ah, I see," rejoined Considine, who observed a twinkle in the eyes of
some of Mynheer's stalwart sons.
"Yes," pursued the farmer, buttering another mealie-cob, and commencing
to eat it with infinite gusto, "you see, the Cape Dutchmen, although as
fine a set of men as ever lived, are just a _little_ too contented and
slow; on the other hand, young sir, you English are much too reckless
and fast--"
"Just so," interrupted Considine, bowing his thanks to the hostess for a
third venison-steak which she had put on his plate; "the Dutch too slow,
the English too fast, so that three parts Dutch, two parts French, and
one part English--like a dash of seasoning--is, it seems, the perfect
Marais mixture."
This remark produced a sudden and unintentional burst of laughter from
the young Maraises, not so much on account of the excess of humour
contained in it, as from the fact that never before had they heard a
jest of any kind fabricated at the expense of their father, of whom they
stood much in awe, and for whom they had a profound respect.
Conrad Marais, however, could take a joke, although not much given to
making one. He smiled blandly over the edge of his mealie-cob.
"You're right, sir,--right; the mixture is not a bad one. The Dutch
element gives steadiness, the English vigour, and the French spirit.--By
the way, Arend," he continued, turning to one of his stout
olive-branches, "talking of spirit reminds me that you will have to go
to work at that leak in the dam with more spirit than usual, for we
can't afford to lose water in this dry weather. It is not finished, I
think?"
"No, father, but we hope to get it done this afternoon."
"That's well. How many of you are at it?"
"David and I, with six Totties. Old Sam is ill, and none of the others
can be spared to-day."
"Can't some of your brothers help?" asked the farmer. "Losing water is
as bad almost as losing gold."
"Joseph meant to come, but he started at six this morning to look after
the cattle. We hear that the Kafirs carried off some of Jan Smit's
sheep yesterday."
"The black scoundrels!" exclaimed Conrad Marais, with a growl and a
frown, "they are never at rest, either in times of peace or of war."
The frown passed as quickly as it came, and the genial smile habitual to
the farmer resumed its place on his countenance as he ran his fingers
through the thick masses of his iron-grey hair, and rose from the table.
"Come, Mr Considine," he said, putting on his hat, "are you disposed
for a ride? I take a look round the farm every morning to see that
things are going straight. Will you join me?"
Of course Considine gladly assented, and Hans said he would accompany
them, while the other sons--except of course the younger ones, and the
baby who was Bertha's special charge--went out to their various
avocations.
A few minutes later the three horsemen were cantering over the plain.
During the ride, Considine was again questioned closely as to his future
intentions and prospects, but without anything very satisfactory being
evolved. At last Conrad Marais pulled up, after a long pause in the
conversation, and while they advanced at a walk, said--"Well, I've been
_thinking_, and here is the outcome. You want work, Mr Considine, and
I want a workman. You've had a good education, which I count a
priceless advantage. Some of my sons have had a little, but since I
came here the young ones have had none at all worth mentioning. What
say you to become a schoolmaster? You stop with me and give the
youngsters as much as you think fit of whatever you know, and I'll give
you house-room and food, with a small salary and a hearty welcome. You
need not bind yourself. If you don't like it, you can leave it. If you
do like it, you are welcome to stay as long as you please, and you'll
thus have an opportunity of looking about and deciding on your future
plans. What say you?"
Considine received the opening sentences of this proposal with a smile,
but as the farmer went on he became grave, and at length seriously
entertained the idea. After having slept a night over it he finally
resolved to accept the offer, and next day was fairly installed as
dominie and a member of the farmer's family. School-books were ferreted
out from the bottom of family chests; a Hottentot's (or Tottie's)
mud-hut was converted into a schoolroom; six of the farmer's sons--
beginning almost at the foot of the scale--formed a class. Reading,
writing, and arithmetic were unfolded to youthful and not unwilling
minds, even Latin was broached by the eldest of the six, and, during a
separate hour in the evening, French was taught to Bertha. Everything,
in short, was put in train, and, as Considine expressed it, "the Marais
Academy was going full swing," when an event occurred which instantly
sent French and Latin to the right-about and scattered the three R's to
the four winds.
This was nothing less than an order from the Colonial Government to the
Field Cornets on the frontier to engage waggons and oxen from the
farmers, to be sent to Algoa Bay for the purpose of conveying the
British immigrants--expected in a few weeks--from the coast to the
various locations destined for their reception.
Among others, Conrad Marais was to send two waggons and spans of oxen,
each span consisting of eighteen animals. Hans Marais was to go in
charge, and Hans resolved to have Considine as a companion, for the
journey down to the coast was long--about 160 miles,--and the two youths
had formed so strong an attachment during their short acquaintance that
Considine was as anxious to go as his friend could desire.
Conrad Marais, having no objection to this arrangement, the oxen were
"inspanned," and the day following that on which the order was received
they set off towards the shores of the Indian Ocean.
Having to pass the residence of Jan Smit on the way, Considine seized
the opportunity to visit his former cross-grained companion and pay his
debt.
Jan Smit was in a more savage humour than usual when the young man
walked up to his dwelling. The farmer's back was towards him as he
approached. He stood nervously switching a sjambok in his right hand,
while he stormed in Dutch at three of his unfortunate people, or rather
slaves. One was a sturdy Hottentot named Ruyter, one a Malay named
Abdul Jemalee, both of whom had travelled with Considine on the up
journey. The third was the Bushman whom he had encountered when lost on
the karroo, and who, owing to his inveterate stupidity, had been named
Booby.
They had all been implicated in the recent loss of cattle suffered by
their savage master, who had already flogged the Bushman with the
sjambok and was furiously interrogating the Hottentot. At last he gave
him a tremendous cut across the shoulders, which immediately raised a
dark red bar thereon.
Ruyter's black eyes flashed. He did not wince, but drew himself quickly
up like a man about to retaliate. Jan Smit observing and resenting the
action, at once knocked him down.
Ruyter slowly rose and staggered away just as Considine came up. The
youth could not resist the inclination to exclaim "Shame!"
"Who dares--" cried Jan Smit, turning fiercely round. He paused in mute
surprise at sight of his former companion.
"_I_ dare!" said Considine sternly; "many a time the word has been on my
lips before, and now that it has passed them it may go. I came not
here, however, to bully, or be bullied, but to pay my debt to you."
He drew out a leathern purse as he spoke, and the Dutchman, whose spirit
was quelled both by the manner and the matter of his visitor's remark,
led the way to his domicile.
The house resembled that of Conrad Marais in form, but in nothing else.
Everything in and around it was dirty and more or less dilapidated.
There was no dam, no garden,--nothing, in short, but the miserable
dwelling and a few surrounding huts, with the cattle kraal.
Having paid his debt, Considine did not vouchsafe another word, but
returned at once to the waggons. On the way he overtook Ruyter.
"My poor fellow," he said, "have you no means of redress? Can you not
complain to some one--some magistrate?"
"Complain!" exclaimed the Hottentot fiercely, "what de use of complain?
No one care. Nobody listen--boh! no use complain."
The man had learnt a smattering of English. He was a short but very
powerful fellow, and with a more intellectual head and countenance than
is common to his race.
"Where are you going just now, Ruyter?" asked Considine, feeling that it
was best to change the subject just then.
"Go for inspan de waggin. Ordered down to Algoa Bay for bring up de
white men."
"Then we shall probably meet on the road," said Considine, "for I am
going to the same place." As he spoke, they came to a point where the
road forked. The Hottentot, with a sulky "Good-day," took that path
which led towards Jan Smit's cattle kraal, while Considine followed the
other and rejoined his waggons. The two friends mounted their horses,
the drivers set the ox-teams in motion, and the huge waggons lumbered
slowly over the karroo towards the rising sun.
CHAPTER THREE.
DESCRIBES THE SOMEWHAT CURIOUS BEGINNING OF SETTLER-LIFE IN SOUTH
AFRICA.
Leaping over time and space with that hilarious mental bound which is so
easy and enjoyable to writers and readers, let us fold our wings at
early morn in the month of May, and drop down on the heights in the
vicinity of Algoa Bay.
The general aspect of the bay is sandy and sterile. On its blue waters
many large vessels lie at anchor. Some of them are trim, with furled
sails and squared yards, as if they had been there for a considerable
time. Others have sails and spars loose and awry, as if they had just
arrived. From these latter many an emigrant eye is turned wistfully on
the shore. The rising ground on which we stand is crowned by a little
fortress, or fortified barrack, styled Fort Frederick, around which are
the marquees of the officers of the 72nd regiment. Below, on the range
of sandhills which fringe the beach, are pitched a multitude of canvas
tents, and among these upwards of a thousand men, women, and children
are in busy motion. There are only one or two small wooden houses
visible, and three thatched cottages. Down at the water's edge, and
deep in the surf, crowds of soldiers, civilians, and half-naked natives
are busy hauling on the ropes attached to the large surfboats, which are
covered to overflowing with human beings. Those in the boats, as well
as those in the surf and on the beach, are in a state of high
excitement, and more or less demonstrative, while the seamen from a
neighbouring sloop of war, who manage the boats, shout to the people at
the ropes. The replies of these are drowned, ever and anon, by the roar
of falling "rollers." These rollers, or great waves, calm though the
morning be, come in with giant force from the mighty sea. They are the
mere termination of the ocean-swell.
Reader, the scene before you marks an epoch of vast importance in South
African history. It is the "landing of the British Settlers" in the
year 1820. The spot is that on which now stands the flourishing
commercial town of Port Elizabeth, styled, not inappropriately, by its
inhabitants, the "Liverpool of South Africa."
Standing near the stern of one of the surf-boats, his strong right hand
grasping the gunwale, and his grave eyes fixed on the shore, one of the
exiles from Scotland lifted his voice that day and said--
"Hech, sirs! it's but a puir, ill-faur'd, outlandish sort o' country. I
wad fain hope the hieland hills of our location inland are mair
pleasant-lookin' than this."
"Keep up your spirits, Sandy Black," observed a sturdy Highlander who
stood at his side; "those who know the country best say that our
location is a splendid one--equal to Scotland itself, if not superior."
"It may be so, Mr McTavish," replied Sandy, in a doubtful tone of
voice, "it _may_ be so."
"Hallo!" suddenly and loudly exclaimed a dapper little man, whose voice
betokened him English.
"What is't, Jerry?" demanded Sandy Black, turning his eyes seaward, in
which direction Jerry was gazing.
The question needed no reply, for Sandy, and indeed all the various
people in the barge who stood high enough on its sides or lading to be
able to look over the gunwale, observed a mighty wave coming up behind
them like a green wall.
"Haul hard!" roared the seamen in charge.
"Ay, ay," shouted the soldiers on shore.
As they spoke the billow lifted the boat as if it had been a cork, fell
under it with a deafening roar and bore it shoreward in a tumult of
seething foam. Next moment the wave let it down with a crash and
retired, leaving it still, however, in two or three feet of water.
"Eh, man, but that _was_ a dunt!" exclaimed Sandy, tightening his hold
on the gunwale, while several of his less cautious or less powerful
neighbours were sent sprawling into the bottom of the boat among
terrified women and children.
All was now bustle and tenfold excitement, for the soldiers on the beach
hurried waist-deep into the sea for the purpose of carrying the future
settlers on shore.
Thomas Pringle, the leader of the Scotch party, and who afterwards
became known as the "South African poet" had previously landed in a gig.
He gave an opportune hint, in broad Scotch, to a tall corporal of the
72nd Highlanders to be careful of his countrymen.
"Scotch folk, are they?" exclaimed the corporal, with a look of surprise
at Pringle. "Never fear, sir, but we sal be carefu' o' _them_."
The corporal was as good as his word, for he and his comrades carried
nearly the whole party ashore in safety. But there were others there
who owned no allegiance to the corporal. One of these--a big sallow
Hottentot--chanced to get Jerry, surnamed Goldboy, on his shoulders,
and, either by mischance or design, stumbled and fell, pitching Jerry
over his head, just as another billow from the Indian Ocean was rushing
to the termination of its grand career. It caught Jerry up in a loving
embrace as he rose, and pitched him with a noisy welcome on the shore.
"Weel done, Jerry!" cried Sandy Black, who had just been overturned by
the same wave from the shoulders of a burly Englishman--a previously
landed settler--"you an' me's made an impressive landin'. Come, let's
git oot o' the bustle."
So saying the stout Lowlander seized his little English friend by the
arm and dragged him towards the town of canvas which had within a few
weeks sprung up like mushrooms among the sandhills.
Although wet from head to foot, each forgot his condition in the
interest awakened by the strange sights and sounds around him. Their
immediate neighbourhood on the beach was crowded with emigrants, as
party after party was carried ashore shoulder-high by the soldiers, who
seemed to regard the whole affair as a huge practical joke.
The noise was indescribable, because compound. There was the boisterous
hilarity of people who felt their feet once more on solid ground, after
a long and weary voyage; the shouting of sailors and bargemen in the
boats, and of soldiers and natives on the beach; the talking and
laughing of men and women who had struck up sudden friendships on
landing, as well as of those who had crossed the sea together; the
gambolling and the shrieking delight of children freed from the
restraints of shipboard; the shouts of indignant Government officials
who could not get their orders attended to; the querulous demands of
people whose luggage had gone astray in process of debarkation; the
bawling of colonial Dutch by gigantic Dutch-African farmers, in
broad-brimmed hats and leathern crackers, with big tobacco-pipes in
their mouths; the bellowing of oxen in reply to the pistol-shot cuts
applied to their flanks by half-naked Hottentots and Bushmen, whose
whips were bamboos of twenty feet or so in length, with lashes twice as
long; the creaking of Cape-waggons, the barking of dogs, and, as a
measured accompaniment to all, the solemn regular booming of the
restless sea.
Disengaging themselves from the crowded beach, Sandy Black and Jerry
Goldboy proceeded towards the town of tents among the sandhills. On
their way they passed several large tarpaulin-covered depots of
agricultural implements, carpenter's and blacksmith's tools, and
ironware of all descriptions, which had been provided by Government to
be sold to the settlers at prime cost--for this grand effort at
colonisation was originated and fostered by the British Government.
"Weel, weel, did ever 'ee see the like o' that, noo?" observed Sandy
Black, as he passed some sandhills covered with aloes and cactuses and
rare exotics, such as one might expect to find in English greenhouses.
"Well, yes," replied Jerry Goldboy, "them _are_ hodd lookin' wegitables.
I can't say that I've much knowledge of such-like myself, 'avin' bin
born an' bred in London, as I've often told you, but they do seem
pecooliar, even to me.--I say, look 'ere; I thought all the people 'ere
was settlers."
Sandy, who was a grave man of few words, though not without a touch of
sly humour, replied, "Weel, so they are--an' what than?"
"Why, w'at are them there?" demanded Jerry, pointing to several marquees
pitched apart among some evergreen bushes.
"H'm! 'ee may ask that," replied the Scot; but as he did not add more,
his companion was content to regard his words as a confession of
ignorance, and passed on with the remark, "haristocrats."
Jerry was so far right. The marquees referred to belonged to the higher
class of settlers, who had resolved to forsake their native land and
introduce refinement into the South African wilds. The position chosen
by them on which to pitch their tents, and the neatness of everything
around, evinced their taste, while one or two handsome carriages
standing close by betokened wealth. Some of the occupants, elegantly
dressed, were seated in camp-chairs, with books in their hands, while
others were rambling among the shrubbery on the little eminences and
looking down on the bustling beach and bay. The tents of these,
however, formed an insignificant proportion of the canvas town in which
Sandy Black and his friend soon found themselves involved.
"Settlers' Camp," as it was called, consisted of several hundred tents,
pitched in parallel rows or streets, and was occupied by the middle and
lower class of settlers--a motley crew, truly. There were jolly farmers
and pale-visaged tradesmen from various parts of England, watermen from
the Thames, fishermen from the seaports, artisans from town and country,
agricultural labourers from everywhere, and ne'er-do-weels from nowhere
in particular. England, Scotland, Ireland, were represented--in some
cases misrepresented,--and, as character was varied, the expression of
it produced infinite variety. Although the British Government had
professedly favoured a _select_ four thousand out of the luckless ninety
thousand who had offered themselves for emigration, it is to be feared
that either the selection had not been carefully made, or drunkenness
and riotous conduct had been surprisingly developed on the voyage out.
Charity, however, requires us to hope that much of the excitement
displayed was due to the prospect of being speedily planted in rural
felicity in the wilds of Africa. Conversation, at all events, ran
largely on this theme, as our wanderers could easily distinguish--for
people talked loudly, and all tent-doors were wide open.
After wandering for some time, Sandy Black paused, and looking down at
his little friend with what may be called a grave smile, gave it as his
opinion that they had got lost "in Settlers'-toon."
"I do believe we 'ave," assented Jerry. "What's to be done?"
"Gang to the best hotel," suggested Sandy.
"But where _is_ the best 'otel?"
"H'm! 'ee may ask that."
A burst of noisy laughter just behind them caused the lost ones to turn
abruptly, when they observed four tall young men of gentlemanly aspect
sitting in a small military tent, and much amused apparently at their
moist condition.
"Why, where did you two fellows come from?" asked one of the youths,
issuing from the tent.
"From England and Scotland," replied Jerry Goldboy promptly.
"From the sea, I should say," returned the youth, "to judge from your
wet garments."
"Ay, we've been drookit," said Sandy Black.
"Bring 'em in, Jack," shouted one of the other youths in the tent.
"Come inside," said he who was styled Jack, "and have a glass of whisky.
There's nothing like whisky to dry a wet skin, is there, Scotty?"
To this familiar appeal Sandy replied, "m-h'm," which word, we may add
for the information of foreigners, is the Scotch for "Yes."
"Sit down there on the blankets," said the hospitable Jack, "we haven't
got our arm-chairs or tables made yet. Allow me to introduce my two
brothers, James and Robert Skyd; my own name is the less common one of
John. This young man of six feet two, with no money and less brain, is
not a brother--only a chum--named Frank Dobson. Come, fill up and
drink, else you'll catch a cold, or a South African fever, if there is
such a thing. Whom shall I pledge?"
"My name is Jerry Goldboy," said the Englishman; "your health,
gentlemen."
"'Am Sandy Black," said the Scot; "here's t'ee."
"Well, Mr Black and Mr Coldboy"--Goldboy, interposed Jerry--"I speak
for my brothers and friend when I wish you all success in the new land."
"Do talk less, Jack," said Robert Skyd, the youngest brother, "and give
our friends a chance of speaking--Have you come ashore lately!"
"Just arrived," answered Jerry.
"I thought so. You belong to the Scotch party that goes to Baviaans
River, I suppose?" asked Frank Dobson.
This question led at length to a full and free account of the
circumstances and destination of each party, with which however we will
not trouble the reader in detail.
"D'ee ken onything aboot Baviaans River?" inquired Sandy Black, after a
variety of subjects had been discussed.
"Nothing whatever," answered John Skyd, "save that it is between one and
two hundred miles--more or less--inland among the mountains, and that
its name, which is Dutch, means the River of Baboons, its fastnesses
being filled with these gentry."
"Ay, I've heard as much mysel'," returned Sandy, "an' they say the
craters are gey fierce. Are there ony o' the big puggies in the Albany
district?"
"No, none. Albany is too level for them. It lies along the sea-coast,
and is said to be a splendid country, though uncomfortably near the
Kafirs."
"The Kawfirs. Ay. H'm!" said Sandy, leaving his hearers to form their
own judgment as to the meaning of his words.
"An' what may _your_ tred be, sir?" he added, looking at John Skyd.
The three brothers laughed, and John replied--
"Trade? we have no trade. Our _profession_ is that of clerks--knights
of the quill; at least such was our profession in the old country. In
this new land, my brother Bob's profession is fun, Jim's is jollity, and
mine is a compound of both, called joviality. As to our chum Dobson,
his profession may be styled remonstrance, for he is perpetually
checking our levity, as he calls it; always keeping us in order and
snubbing us, nevertheless we couldn't do without him. In fact, we may
be likened to a social clock, of which Jim is the mainspring, Bob the
weight, I the striking part of the works, and Dobson the pendulum. But
we are not particular, we are ready for anything."
"Ay, an' fit for nothin'," observed Sandy, with a peculiar smile and
shrug, meant to indicate that his jest was more than half earnest.
The three brothers laughed again at this, and their friend Dobson
smiled. Dobson's smile was peculiar. The corners of his mouth turned
down instead of up, thereby giving his grave countenance an unusually
arch expression.
"Why, what do you mean, you cynical Scot!" demanded John Skyd. "Our
shoulders are broad enough, are they not? nearly as broad as your own."
"Oo' ay, yer shoothers are weel aneugh, but I wadna gie much for yer
heeds or haunds."
Reply to this was interrupted by the appearance, in the opening of the
tent, of a man whose solemn but kindly face checked the flow of flippant
conversation.
"You look serious, Orpin; has anything gone wrong?" asked Frank Dobson.
"Our friend is dying," replied the man, sadly. "He will soon meet his
opponent in the land where all is light and where all disputes shall be
ended in agreement."
Orpin referred to two of the settlers whose careers in South Africa were
destined to be cut short on the threshold. The two men had been
earnestly religious, but, like all the rest of Adam's fallen race, were
troubled with the effects of original sin. They had disputed hotly, and
had ultimately quarrelled, on religious subjects on the voyage out. One
of them died before he landed; the other was the man of whom Orpin now
spoke. The sudden change in the demeanour of the brothers Skyd
surprised as well as gratified Sandy Black. That sedate, and literally
as well as figuratively, long-headed Scot, had felt a growing distaste
to the flippant young Englishers, as he styled them, but when he saw
them throw off their light character, as one might throw off a garment,
and rise eagerly and sadly to question Orpin about the dying man, he
felt, as mankind is often forced to feel, that a first, and especially a
hasty, judgment is often incorrect.
Stephen Orpin was a mechanic and a Wesleyan, in virtue of which latter
connection, and a Christian spirit, he had been made a local preacher.
He was on his way to offer his services as a watcher by the bedside of
the dying man.
This man and his opponent were not the only emigrants who finished their
course thus abruptly. Dr Cotton, the "Head" of the "Nottingham party,"
Dr Caldecott and some others, merely came, as it were like Moses, in
sight of the promised land, and then ended their earthly career. Yet
some of these left a valuable contribution, in their children, to the
future colony.
While Black and his friend Jerry were observing Orpin, as he conversed
with the brothers Skyd, the tall burly Englishman from whose shoulders
the former had been hurled into the sea, chanced to pass, and quietly
grasped the Scot by the arm.
"Here you are at last! Why, man, I've been lookin' for you ever since
that unlucky accident, to offer you a change of clothes and a feed in my
tent--or I should say _our_ tent, for I belong to a `party,' like every
one else here. Come along."
"Thank 'ee kindly," answered Sandy, "but what between haverin' wi' thae
Englishers an' drinkin' their whusky, my freen' Jerry an' me's dry
aneugh already."
The Englishman, however, would not listen to any excuse. He was one of
those hearty men, with superabundant animal spirits--to say nothing of
physique--who are not easily persuaded to let others follow their own
inclinations, and who are so good-natured that it is difficult to feel
offended with their kindly roughness. He introduced himself by the name
of George Dally, and insisted on Black accompanying him to his tent.
Sandy being a sociable, although a quiet man, offered little resistance,
and Jerry, being a worshipper of Sandy, followed with gay nonchalance.
CHAPTER FOUR.
FURTHER PARTICULARS OF "SETTLERS' TOWN," AND A START MADE FOR THE
PROMISED LAND.
Threading his way among the streets of "Settlers' Town," and pushing
vigorously through the crowds of excited beings who peopled it, George
Dally led his new acquaintances to a tent in the outskirts of the camp--
a suburban tent, as it were.
Entering it, and ushering in his companions, he introduced them as the
gentlemen who had been capsized into the sea on landing, at which
operation he had had the honour to assist.
There were four individuals in the tent. A huge German labourer named
Scholtz, and his wife. Mrs Scholtz was a substantial woman of forty.
She was also a nurse, and, in soul, body, and spirit, was totally
absorbed in a baby boy, whose wild career had begun four months before
in a furious gale in the Bay of Biscay. As that infant "lay, on that
day, in the Bay of Biscay O!" the elemental strife outside appeared to
have found a lodgment in his soul, for he burst upon the astonished
passengers with a squall which lasted longer than the gale, and was
ultimately pronounced the worst that had visited the ship since she left
England. Born in a storm, the infant was baptised in a stiff breeze by
a Wesleyan minister, on and after which occasion he was understood to be
Jabez Brook; but one of the sailors happening to call him Junkie on the
second day of his existence, his nurse, Mrs Scholtz, leaped at the
endearing name like a hungry trout at a gay fly, and "Junkie" he
remained during the whole term of childhood.
Junkie's main characteristic was strength of lungs, and his chief
delight to make that fact known. Six passengers changed their berths
for the worse in order to avoid him. One who could not change became
nearly deranged towards the end of the voyage, and one, who was sea-sick
all the way out, seriously thought of suicide, but incapacity for any
physical effort whatever happily saved him. In short, Junkie was the
innocent cause of many dreadful thoughts and much improper language on
the unstable scene of his nativity.
Besides these three, there was in the tent a pretty, dark-eyed,
refined-looking girl of about twelve. She was Gertrude Brook, sister
and idolater of Junkie. Her father, Edwin Brook, and her mother, dwelt
in a tent close by. Brook was a gentleman of small means, but Mrs
Brook was a very rich lady--rich in the possession of a happy temper, a
loving disposition, a pretty face and figure, and a religious soul.
Thus Edwin Brook, though poor, may be described as a man of
inexhaustible wealth.
Gertrude had come into Dally's tent to fetch Junkie to her father when
Sandy Black and his friends entered, but Junkie had just touched the hot
teapot, with the contents of which Mrs Scholtz was regaling herself and
husband, and was not in an amiable humour. His outcries were deafening.
"Now _do_ hold its dear little tongue, and go to its popsy," said Mrs
Scholtz tenderly. (Mrs Scholtz was an Englishwoman.)
We need not say that Junkie declined obedience, neither would he listen
to the silvery blandishments of Gertie.
"Zee chile vas born shrieking, ant he vill die shrieking," growled
Scholtz, who disliked Junkie.
The entrance of the strangers, however, unexpectedly stopped the
shrieking, and before Junkie could recover his previous train of thought
Gertie bore him off in triumph, leaving the hospitable Dally and Mrs
Scholtz to entertain their visitors to small talk and tea.
While seated thus they became aware of a sudden increase of the din,
whip-cracking, and ox-bellowing with which the camp of the settlers
resounded.
"They seem fond o' noise here," observed Sandy Black, handing his cup to
Mrs Scholtz to be refilled.
"I never 'eard such an 'owling before," said Jerry Goldboy; "what is it
all about?"
"New arrivals from zee interior," answered Scholtz; "dere be always
vaggins comin' ant goin'."
"The camp is a changin' one," said Dally, sipping his tea with the air
of a connoisseur. "When you've been here as long as we have you'll
understand how it never increases much, for although ship after ship
arrives with new swarms of emigrants from the old country, waggon after
waggon comes from I don't know where--somewheres inland anyhow--and
every now an' then long trains of these are seen leaving camp, loaded
with goods and women and children, enough to sink a small schooner, and
followed by crowds of men tramping away to their new homes in the
wilderness--though what these same new homes or wilderness are like is
more than I can tell."
"Zee noise is great," growled Scholtz, as another burst of
whip-musketry, human roars, and bovine bellows broke on their ears, "ant
zee confusion is indesgraibable."
"The gentlemen whose business it is to keep order must have a hard time
of it," said Mrs Scholtz; "I can't ever understand how they does it,
what between landing parties and locating 'em, and feeding, supplying,
advising, and despatching of 'em, to say nothing of scolding and
snubbing, in the midst of all this Babel of bubbledom, quite surpasses
my understanding. Do _you_ understand it, Mr Black?"
"Ay," replied Sandy, clearing his throat and speaking somewhat
oracularly. "'Ee must know, Mrs Scholtz, that it's the result of
organisation and gineralship. A serjeant or corporal can kick or drive
a few men in ony direction that's wanted, but it takes a gineral to move
an army. If 'ee was to set a corporal to lead twunty thoosand men, he'd
gie them orders that wad thraw them into a deed lock, an' than naethin'
short o' a miracle could git them oot o't. Mony a battle's been lost by
brave men through bad gineralship, an' mony a battle's been won by puir
enough bodies o' men because of their leader's administrative abeelity,
Mrs Scholtz."
"Very true, Mr Black," replied Mrs Scholtz, with the assurance of one
who thoroughly understands what she hears.
"Noo," continued Sandy, with increased gravity, "if thae Kawfir bodies
we hear aboot only had chiefs wi' powers of organisation, an' was a'
united thegither, they wad drive the haul o' this colony into the sea
like chaff before the wind. But they'll niver do it; for, 'ee see, they
want mind--an' body withoot mind is but a puir thing after a', Mrs
Scholtz."
"I'm not so shure of zat," put in Scholtz, stretching his huge frame and
regarding it complacently; "it vould please me better to have body
vidout mint, zan mint vidout body."
"H'm! 'ee've reason to be pleased then," muttered Black, drily.
This compliment was either not appreciated by Scholtz, or he was
prevented from acknowledging it by an interruption from without; for
just at the moment a voice was heard asking a passer-by if he could tell
where the tents of the Scotch party were pitched. Those in the tent
rose at once, and Sandy Black, issuing out found that the questioner was
a handsome young Englishman, who would have appeared, what he really
was, both stout and tall, if he had not been dwarfed by his companion, a
Cape-Dutchman of unusually gigantic proportions.
"We are in search of the Scottish party," said the youth, turning to
Sandy with a polite bow; "can you direct us to its whereabouts?"
"I'm no' sure that I can, sir, though I'm wan o' the Scotch pairty
mysel', for me an' my freen hae lost oorsels, but doobtless Mister Dally
here can help us. May I ask what 'ee want wi' us?"
"Certainly," replied the Englishman, with a smile. "Mr Marais and I
have been commissioned to transport you to Baviaans river in
bullock-waggons, and we wish to see Mr Pringle, the head of your party,
to make arrangements.--Can you guide us, Mr Dally?"
"Have you been to the deputy-quartermaster-general's office?" asked
Dally.
"Yes, and they directed us to a spot said to be surrounded by evergreen
bushes near this quarter of the camp."
"_I_ know it--just outside the ridge between the camp and the Government
offices.--Come along, sir," said Dally; "I'll show you the way."
In a few minutes Dally led the party to a group of seven or eight tents
which were surrounded by Scotch ploughs, cart-wheels, harrows, cooking
utensils fire-arms, and various implements of husbandry and ironware.
"Here come the lost ones!" exclaimed Kenneth McTavish, who, with his
active wife and sprightly daughter Jessie, was busy arranging the
interior of his tent, "and bringing strangers with them too!"
While Sandy Black and his friend Jerry were explaining the cause of
their absence to some of the Scotch party, the young Englishman
introduced his friend and himself as Charles Considine and Hans Marais,
to the leader, Mr Pringle, a gentleman who, besides being a good poet,
afterwards took a prominent part in the first acts of that great drama--
the colonisation of the eastern frontier of South Africa.
It is unnecessary to trouble the reader with all that was said and done.
Suffice it to say that arrangements were soon made. The acting
Governor, Sir Rufane Donkin, arrived on the 6th of June from a visit to
Albany, the district near the sea on which a large number of the
settlers were afterwards located, and from him Mr Pringle learned that
the whole of the Scotch emigrants were to be located in the mountainous
country watered by some of the eastern branches of the Great Fish River,
close to the Kafir frontier. The upper part of the Baviaans, or
Baboons, River had been fixed for the reception of his particular
section. It was also intended by Government that a piece of unoccupied
territory still farther to the eastward should be settled by a party of
five hundred Highlanders, who, it was conjectured, would prove the most
effective buffer available to meet the first shock of invasion, should
the savages ever attempt another inroad.
Mr Pringle laid this proposed arrangement before a council of the heads
of families under his charge; it was heartily agreed to, and
preparations for an early start were actively begun.
On the day of his arrival Sir Rufane Donkin laid the foundation of the
first house of the now wealthy and flourishing, though not very
imposing, town of Port Elizabeth, so named after his deceased wife, to
whose memory an obelisk was subsequently erected on the adjacent
heights.
A week later, a train of seven waggons stood with the oxen "inspanned,"
or yoked, ready to leave the camp, from which many similar trains had
previously set out. The length of such a train may be conceived when it
is told that each waggon was drawn by twelve or sixteen oxen. These
were fastened in pairs to a single trace or "trektow" of twisted thongs
of bullock or buffalo hide, strong enough for a ship's cable. Each
waggon had a canvas cover or "till" to protect its goods and occupants
from the sun and rain, and each was driven by a tall Dutchman, who
carried a bamboo whip like a salmon fishing-rod with a lash of thirty
feet or more. A slave, Hottentot or Bushman, led the two front oxen of
each span.
Like pistol-shots the formidable whips went off; the oxen pulled, tossed
their unwieldy horns, and bellowed; the Dutchmen growled and shouted;
the half-naked "Totties" and Bushmen flung their arms and legs about,
glared and gasped like demons; the monstrous waggons moved; "Settlers'
Town" was slowly left behind, and our adventurers, heading for the
thorny jungles of the Zwartkops River, began their toilsome journey into
the land of hope and promise.
"It's a queer beginning!" remarked Sandy Black, as he trudged between
Hans Marais and Charlie Considine.
"I hope it will have a good ending," said Considine.
Whether that hope was fulfilled the reader shall find out in the sequel.
Meanwhile some of the English parties took their departure by the same
route, and journeyed in company till points of divergence were reached,
where many temporary friendships were brought to a close, though some
there were which, although very recently formed, withstood firmly the
damaging effects of time, trial, sorrow, and separation.
CHAPTER FIVE.
ADVENTURES AND INCIDENTS OF THE FIRST NIGHT IN THE "BUSH".
A Night-Bivouac under the mimosa-bushes of the Zwartkops River. The
Cape-waggons are drawn up in various comfortable nooks; the oxen are
turned loose to graze; camp-fires are kindled. Round these men and
women group themselves very much as they do in ordinary society.
Classes keep by themselves, not because one class wishes to exclude the
other, but because habits, sympathies, interests, and circumstances draw
like to like. The ruddy glare of the camp-fires contrasts pleasantly
with the cold light of the moon, which casts into deepest shadow the
wild recesses of bush and brake, inducing many a furtive glance from the
more timid of the settlers, who see an elephant, a buffalo, or a Cape
"tiger" in every bank and stump and stone. Their suspicions are not so
wild as one might suppose, for the neighbouring jungle, called the Addo
Bush, swarms with these and other wild animals.
The distance travelled on this first day was not great; the travellers
were not much fatigued, but were greatly excited by novelty, which
rendered them wakeful. If one had gone round to the numerous fires and
played eavesdropper, what eager discussion on the new land he would have
heard; what anxious speculations; what sanguine hopes; what noble plans;
what ridiculous ideas; what mad anticipations--for all were hopeful and
enthusiastic.
Round one of these fires was assembled the family and retainers of our
Highland farmer, Kenneth McTavish, among whom were Sandy Black and Jerry
Goldboy. They had been joined by Charlie Considine, who felt drawn
somewhat to Sandy. Quite close to these, round another fire, were
grouped the three bachelor brothers Skyd, with their friend Dobson. At
another, within earshot of these, were Edwin Brook and his wife, his
daughter Gertrude, Scholtz and his wife, Junkie, George Dally, and
Stephen Orpin, with bluff Hans Marais, who had somehow got acquainted
with the Brook family, and seemed to prefer their society to that of any
other.
Down in a hollow under a thick spreading mimosa bush was the noisiest
fire of all, for there were assembled some of the natives belonging to
the waggons of Hans and Jan Smit. These carried on an uproarious
discussion of some sort, appealing frequently to our friend Ruyter the
Hottentot, who appeared to be regarded by them as an umpire or an
oracle. The Hottentot race is a very inferior one, both mentally and
physically, but there are among them individuals who rise much above the
ordinary level. Ruyter was one of these. He had indeed the sallow
visage, high cheek-bones, and dots of curly wool scattered thinly over
his head, peculiar to his race, but his countenance was unusually
intelligent, his frame well made and very powerful, and his expression
good. He entered heartily into the fun of attempting to teach the
Hottentot klick to some of the younger men among the emigrants, who were
attracted to his fire by the shouts of laughter in which the swarthy
slaves and others indulged. Abdul Jemalee, the Malay slave, was there;
also Booby the Bushman--the former grave and silent, almost sad; the
latter conducting himself like a monkey--to which animal he seemed
closely related--and evoking shouts of laughter from a few youths, for
whose special benefit he kept in the background and mimicked every one
else.
"What a noisy set they are over there!" observed Edwin Brook, who had
for some time been quietly contemplating the energetic George Dally, as
he performed the duties of cook and waiter to his party.
"They are, sir," replied Dally, "like niggers in general, fond of
showing their white teeth."
"Come, Gertie, your mother can spare you now; let's go over and listen
to them."
Gertie complied with alacrity, and took her father's arm.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, with a little scream, as a thorn full five inches
long gave her a wicked probe on the left shoulder.
Hans Marais sprang up and gallantly raised the branch which had touched
her.
"It is only Kafirs who can run against mimosa thorns with impunity,"
said the handsome young Dutchman.
Gertie laughed, remarked that mimosa thorns, like South African
gentlemen, were unusually long and sharp, and passed on.
Hans sat down on the ground, filled his large pipe, and gazed dreamily
into the fire, with something of the sensation of a hunter when he makes
a bad shot.
"Now then, Goliath," said the ever busy George Dally; "move your long
legs out o' that. Don't you see the pot's about to bile over?"
Hans quietly obeyed.
"If I chanced to be alongside o' that Tottie over there just now,"
continued George, "I'd be inclined to stop his noise with a rap on his
spotted pate."
"You'd have to make it a heavy rap, then, to produce any effect," said
Hans, taking a long draw at his pipe, "for he belongs to a hard-headed
race."
The truth of the young farmer's words was verified just then in a way
that was alarming as well as unexpected.
One of the heavy waggons, which had been delayed behind the others by
some trifling accident, came lumbering up just as Hans spoke. There was
a softish sandy spot in advance of it, into which one of the front
wheels plunged. The tilt caught on part of the waggon to which Ruyter
belonged. To prevent damage the active Hottentot sprang forward. In
doing so he tripped and fell. At the same instant a tremendous crack of
the whip and a shout produced a wrench at the waggon, the hind wheel of
which went over Ruyter's head and crushed it into the ground!
A roar of consternation followed, and several eager hands carefully dug
out the poor man's head. To the surprise of all, the five-ton waggon
had _not_ flattened it! The sand was so soft that it had not been
squeezed at all--at least to any damaging extent,--a round stone having
opportunely taken much of the pressure on itself, so that the Hottentot
soon revived, and, beyond a headache, was little the worse of the
accident. He returned to his place at the fire, but did not resume his
part in the discussions, which were continued as noisily as before.
In strong contrast with the other groups were those of the Dutch-African
boers who had brought the waggons to the Bay. Most of them were men of
colossal stature. They sat apart, smoking their huge pipes in silent
complacency and comfort, amused a little at the scenes going on around
them, but apparently disinclined to trouble themselves about anything in
particular.
Supper produced a lull in the general hum of conversation, but when
pipes were lit the storm revived and continued far into the night. At
last symptoms of weariness appeared, and people began to make
arrangements for going to rest.
These arrangements were as varied as the characters of the emigrants.
Charlie Considine and Hans Marais, now become inseparable comrades,
cleared and levelled the ground under a mimosa-bush, and, spreading
their kaross thereon, lay down to sleep. George Dally, being an
adaptable man, looked at the old campaigners for a few minutes, and then
imitated their example. Little Jerry Goldboy, being naturally a nervous
creature, and having his imagination filled with snakes, scorpions,
tarantulas, etcetera, would fain have slept in one of the waggons above
the baggage--as did many of the women and children--if he had not been
laughed out of his desire by Dally, and induced to spread his couch
manfully on the bare ground.
It must not be supposed, however, that Jerry, although timid, was
cowardly. On the contrary, he was bold as a lion. He could not control
his sensitively-strung nervous system, but instead of running away, like
the coward, he was prone to rush furiously at whatever startled him, and
grapple with it.
Some families pitched their tents, others, deeming curtains a needless
luxury in such magnificent weather, contented themselves with the
shelter of the bushes.
Meanwhile the Hottentot attendants replenished the fires, while the
boers unslung their huge guns and placed them so as to be handy; for,
although elephants and lions were not nearly so numerous as they once
had been in that particular locality, there was still sufficient
possibility of their presence, as well as of other nocturnal wanderers
in the African wilds, to render such precaution necessary. The whole
scene was most romantic, especially in the eyes of those who thus
bivouacked for the first time in the wilderness. To them the great
waggons; the gigantic Cape-oxen--which appeared to have been created
expressly to match the waggons as well as to carry their own ponderous
horns; the wild-looking Hottentots and Bushmen; the big phlegmatic
Dutchmen; the bristling thorns of the mimosas, cropping out of
comparative darkness; the varied groups of emigrants; the weird forms of
the clumps of cactus, aloes, euphorbias, and other strange plants, lit
up by the fitful glare of the camp-fires, and canopied by the
star-spangled depths of a southern sky--all seemed to them the
unbelievable creations of a wild vision.
Poor Jerry Goldboy, however, had sufficient faith in the reality of the
vision to increase his nervous condition considerably, and he resolved
to lie down with his "arms handy." These arms consisted of a flint-lock
blunderbuss, an heirloom in his father's family, and a bowie-knife,
which had been presented to him by an American cousin on his leaving
England. Twice during that day's march had the blunderbuss exploded
owing to its owner's inexperience in fire-arms. Fortunately no harm had
been done, the muzzle on each occasion having been pointed to the sky,
but the ire of the Dutch driver in front of Jerry had been aroused, and
he was forbidden to reload the piece. Now, however, observing the
preparations above referred to, he felt it to be his duty to prepare for
the worst, and quietly loaded his bell-mouthed weapon with a heavy
charge of buckshot.
"What's that you're after, boy?" asked George Dally, who was making some
final arrangements at the fire, before lying down for the night.
"Oh, nothing," replied Jerry, with a start, for he had thought himself
unobserved, "only seein' to my gun before turnin' in."
"That's right," said George. "Double-load it. Nothin' like bein' ready
for whatever may turn up in a wild country like this. Why, I once knew
a man named Snip who said he had been attacked one night in South
America by a sarpint full forty feet long, and who saved his life by
means of a blunderbuss, though he didn't fire at the reptile at all."
"Indeed, how was that?" asked Jerry.
"Why, just because his weapon was bell-mouthed an' loaded a'most to the
muzzle. You see, the poor fellow was awoke out of a deep sleep and
couldn't well see, so that instead o' firin' at the brute, he fired his
blunderbuss about ten yards to one side of it, but the shot scattered so
powerfully that one o' the outside bullets hit a stone, glanced off, and
caught the sarpint in the eye, and though it failed to kill the brute on
the spot, the wound gave it such pain that it stood up on its tail and
wriggled in agony for full five minutes, sending broken twigs and dry
leaves flying about like a whirlwind, so Snip he jumped up, dropped his
weapon, an' bolted. He never returned to the encampment, and never saw
the big snake or his blunderbuss again."
"What a pity! then he lost it?" said Jerry, looking with some anxiety at
a decayed branch, to which the flickering flame gave apparent motion.
"Yes, he lost the blunderbuss, but he saved his life," replied Dally, as
he lay down near his little friend and drew his blanket over him.
"You'd better put the gun between us, my boy, to be handy to both--an'
if _anything_ comes, the one of us that wakes first can lay hold of it
and fire."
There was, we need scarcely observe, a strong spice of wickedness in
George. If he had suggested a lion, or even an elephant, there would
have been something definite for poor Jerry's anxious mind to lay hold
of and try to reason down and defy, but that dreadful "_anything_" that
might come, gave him nothing to hold by. It threw the whole zoological
ferocities of South Africa open to his unanchored imagination, and for a
long time banished sleep from his eyes.
He allowed the blunderbuss to remain as his friend had placed it, and
hugged the naked bowie-knife to his breast. In addition to these
weapons he had provided himself with a heavy piece of wood, something
like the exaggerated truncheon of a policeman, for the purpose of
killing snakes, should any such venture near his couch.
The wild shrieks of laughter at the neighbouring Hottentot fire helped
to increase Jerry's wakefulness, and when this at last lulled, the
irritation was kept up by the squalling of Master Junkie, whose tent was
about three feet distant from Jerry's pillow, and who kept up a vicious
piping just in proportion to the earnestness of Mrs Scholtz's attempts
to calm him.
At last, however, the child's lamentations ceased, and there broke upon
the night air a sweet sound which stilled the merriment of the natives.
It was the mellow voice of Stephen Orpin singing a hymn of praise, with
a number of like-minded emigrants, before retiring to rest. Doubtless
some of those who had already retired, and lay, perchance, watching the
stars and thinking dreamily of home, were led naturally by the sweet
hymn to think of the home in the "better land," which might possibly be
nearer to some of them than the old home they had left for ever--ay,
even than the new "locations" to which they were bound.
But, whatever the thoughts suggested, the whole camp soon afterwards
sank into repose. Tent-doors were drawn and curtains of waggon-tilts
let down. The boers, sticking their big pipes in their hatbands,
wrapped themselves in greatcoats, and, regardless of snake or scorpion,
stretched their limbs on the bare ground, while Hottentots, negroes, and
Bushmen, rolling themselves in sheepskin karosses, lay coiled up like
balls with their feet to the fire. Only once was the camp a little
disturbed, during the early part of the night, by the mournful howl of a
distant hyena. It was the first that the newcomers had heard, and most
of those who were awake raised themselves on their elbows eagerly to
listen.
Jerry was just dropping into slumber at the time. He sat bolt upright
on hearing the cry, and when it was repeated he made a wild grasp at the
blunderbuss, but Dally was beforehand. He caught up the weapon, and
this probably saved an explosion.
"Come, lie down, you imp!" he said, somewhat sternly.
Jerry obeyed, and his nose soon told that he had reached the land of
dreams.
Dally then quietly drew the charge of shot, but left the powder and laid
the piece in its former position. Turning over with the sigh of one
whose active duties for the day have been completed, he then went to
sleep.
Gradually the fires burned low, and gave out such flickering uncertain
light, when an occasional flame leaped up ever and anon, that to
unaccustomed eyes it might have seemed as though snakes were crawling
everywhere, and Jerry Goldboy, had he been awake, would have beheld a
complete menagerie in imagination. But Jerry was now in blessed
oblivion.
When things were in this condition, that incomprehensible subtlety, the
brain of Junkie Brook--or something else--so acted as to cause the
urchin to give vent to a stentorian yell. Strong though it was, it did
not penetrate far through the canvas tent, but being, as we have said,
within a few feet of Jerry's ear, it sounded to that unhappy man like
the united, and as yet unknown, shriek of all the elephants and
buffaloes in Kafirland.
Starting up with a sharp cry he stretched out his hand towards the
blunderbuss, but drew it back with a thrill of horror. A huge black
snake lay in its place!
To seize his truncheon was the act of a moment. The next, down it came
with stunning violence on the snake. The reptile instantly exploded
with a bellowing roar of smoke and flame, which roused the whole camp.
"Blockhead! what d'you mean by _that_?" growled George Dally, turning
round sleepily, but without rising, for he was well aware of the cause
of the confusion.
Jerry shrank within himself like a guilty thing caught in the act, and
glanced uneasily round to ascertain how much of death and destruction
had been dealt out. Relieved somewhat to see no one writhing in blood,
he arose, and, in much confusion, replied to the numerous eager queries
as to what he had fired at. When the true state of affairs became
manifest, most of the Dutchmen, who had been active enough when aroused
by supposed danger, sauntered back to their couches with a good-natured
chuckle; the settlers who had "turned out" growled or chaffed, according
to temperament, as they followed suit, and the natives spent half an
hour in uproarious merriment over Booby's dramatic representation of the
whole incident, which he performed with graphic power and much
embellishment.
Thereafter the camp sank once more into repose, and rested in peace till
morning.
CHAPTER SIX.
SPREADING OVER THE LAND.
With the dawn next morning the emigrants were up and away. The interest
of the journey increased with every novel experience and each new
discovery, while preconceived notions and depressions were dissipated by
the improved appearance of the country.
About the same time that the Scotch "party" left the Bay, several of the
other parties set out, some large and some small, each under its
appointed leader, to colonise the undulating plains of the Zuurveld.
Soon the pilgrims became accustomed to the nightly serenade of hyena and
jackal--also to breakneck steeps, and crashing jolts, and ugly tumbles.
But they were all hopeful, and most of them were young, and all, or
nearly all, were disposed to make light of difficulties.
The country they were about to colonise had been recently overrun by
Kafir hordes. These had been cleared out, and driven across the Great
Fish River by British and Colonial troops, leaving the land a
wilderness, with none to dispute possession save the wild beasts. It
extended fifty miles along the coast from the Bushman's River to the
Great Fish River, and was backed by an irregular line of mountains at an
average distance of sixty miles from the sea.
Leaving the Zwartkops River, not only the Scottish party, but all the
other parties, filed successively away in long trains across the Sundays
River, over the Addo Hill and the Quagga Flats and the Bushman's River
heights, until the various points of divergence were reached, when the
column broke into divisions, which turned off to their several locations
and overspread the land.
There was "Baillie's party," which crossed Lower Albany to the mouth of
the Great Fish River, and on the way were charmed with the aspect of the
country, which was at that time enriched and rendered verdant by recent
rains, and enlivened by the presence of hartebeests, quaggas,
springboks, and an occasional ostrich. There was, however, a "wash" of
shadow laid on part of the pleasant picture, to counteract the idea that
the Elysian plains had been reached, in the shape of two or three
blackened and ruined farms of the old Dutch colonists--sad remains of
the recent Kafir war--solemn reminders of the uncertainties and
possibilities of the future.
Then there was the "Nottingham party." They took possession of a lovely
vale, which they named Clumber, in honour of the Duke of Newcastle,
their patron. "Sefton's party" settled on the Assegai Bush River and
founded the village of Salem, afterwards noted as the headquarters of
the Reverend William Shaw, a Wesleyan, and one of the most able and
useful of South Africa's missionary pioneers. Wilson's party settled
between the Waay-plaats and the Kowie Bush, across the path of the
elephants, which creatures some of the party, it is said, attempted to
shoot with fowling-pieces. Of the smaller parties, those of Cock,
Thornhill, Smith (what series of adventurous parties ever went forth
without a "Smith's party"?), Osler, and Richardson, located themselves
behind the thicket-clad sand hills of the Kowie and Green Fountain. But
space forbids us referring, even in brief detail, to the parties of
James and Hyman and Dyson, and Holder, Mouncey, Hayhurst, Bradshaw,
Southey; and of Scott, with the Irish party, and that of Mahony, which
at the "Clay Pits," had afterwards to meet the first shock of every
Kafir invasion of Lower Albany. Among these and other parties there
were men of power, who left a lasting mark on the colony, and many of
them left numerous descendants to perpetuate their names--such as
Dobson, Bowker, Campbell, Ayliffe, Phillips, Piggott, Greathead,
Roberts, Stanley, and others too numerous to mention.
But with all these we have nothing to do just now. Our present duty is
to follow those sections of the great immigrant band with the fortunes
of which our tale has more particularly to do.
At the points of separation, where the long column broke up, a halt was
made, while many farewells and good wishes were said.
"So you're gaun to settle thereawa'?" said Sandy Black to John Skyd and
his brothers as they stood on an eminence commanding a magnificent view
of the rich plains and woodlands of the Zuurveld.
"Even so, friend Black," replied John, "and sorry am I that our lot is
not to be cast together. However, let's hope that we may meet again ere
long somewhere or other in our new land."
"It is quite romantic," observed James Skyd, "to look over this vast
region and call it our own,--at least, with the right to pick and choose
where we feel inclined. Isn't it, Bob?"
To this Bob replied that it was, and that he felt quite like the
children of Israel when they first came in sight of the promised land.
"I hope we won't have to fight as hard for it as they did," remarked
Frank Dobson.
"It's my opeenion," said Sandy Black, "that if we haena to fight _for
it_, we'll hae to fight a bit to _keep_ it."
"Perhaps we may," returned John Skyd, "and if so, fighting will be more
to my taste than farming--not that I'm constitutionally pugnacious, but
I fear that my brothers and I shall turn out to be rather ignorant
cultivators of the soil."
Honest Sandy Black admitted that he held the same opinion.
"Well, we shall try our best," said the elder Skyd, with a laugh; "I've
a great belief in that word `_try_'.--Goodbye, Sandy." He held out his
hand.
The Scot shook it warmly, and the free-and-easy brothers, after bidding
adieu to the rest of the Scotch party, who overtook them there, diverged
to the right with their friend Frank Dobson, and walked smartly after
their waggons, which had gone on in advance.
"Stoot chields they are, an' pleesant," muttered Sandy, leaning both
hands on a thick cudgel which he had cut for himself out of the bush,
"but wofu' ignorant o' farmin'."
"They'll make their mark on the colony for all that," said a quiet voice
at Sandy's elbow.
Turning and looking up, as well as round, he encountered the hazel eyes
and open countenance of Hans Marais.
"Nae doot, nae doot, they'll mak' their mark, but it'll no' be wi' the
pleugh, or I'm sair mista'en. Wull mair o' the settlers be pairtin'
frae us here?"
Hans, although ignorant of the dialect in which he was addressed,
understood enough to make out its drift.
"Yes," he replied, "several parties leave us at this point, and here
comes one of them."
As he spoke, the cracking of whips announced the approach of a team. A
moment later, and a small Hottentot came, round a bend in the road,
followed by the leading pair of oxen. It was the train of Edwin Brook,
who soon appeared, riding a small horse. George Dally walked beside
him. Scholtz, the German, followed, conversing with the owner of the
waggon. In the waggon itself Mrs Brook, Mrs Scholtz, and Junkie found
a somewhat uneasy resting-place, for, being new to the style of travel,
they had not learned to accommodate themselves to jolts and crashes.
Gertie preferred to walk, the pace not being more than three miles an
hour.
"Oh, father!" said Gertie, running up to the side of her sire, with
girlish vivacity, "there is the tall Dutchman who was so polite to me
when I was pricked by the thorn bush."
"True, Gertie, and there also is the Scot who was so free and easy in
giving his opinion as to the farming powers of the brothers Skyd."
"Your road diverges here, sir," said Hans, as Brook rode up; "I fell
behind my party to bid you God-speed, and to express a hope that we may
meet again."
"Thanks, friend, thanks," said Brook, extending his hand. "I am obliged
for the aid you have rendered me, and the advice given, which latter I
shall no doubt find valuable.--You are bound for the highlands, of
course," he added, turning to Sandy Black. "We of the Albany lowlands
must have a friendly rivalry with you of the highlands, and see who
shall subdue the wilderness most quickly."
This remark sent the Scot into a rather learned disquisition as to the
merits and probable prospects of a hill as compared with a low-lying
region, during which Hans Marais turned to Gertie. Being so very tall,
he had to stoop as well as to look down at her pretty face, though
Gertie was by no means short for her age. Indeed, she was as tall as
average women, but, being only twelve, was slender and girlish.
"How _very_ tall you are, Mr Marais!" she exclaimed, with a laugh, as
she looked up.
"True, Gertie," said Hans, using the only name which he had yet heard
applied to the girl; "true, we Cape-Dutchmen are big fellows as a race,
and I happen to be somewhat longer than my fellows. I hope you don't
object to me on that account?"
"Object? oh no! But it _is_ so funny to have to look up so high. It's
like speaking to father when he's on horseback."
"Well, Gertie, extra height has its advantages and its inconveniences.
Doubtless it was given to me for some good end, just as a pretty little
face and figure were given to you."
"You are very impudent, Mr Hans."
"Am I? Then I must ask your pardon. But tell me, Gertie, what do you
think of the new life that is before you?"
"How stupid you are, Hans! If the new life were behind me I might be
able to answer, but how can I tell how I shall like what I don't know
anything about?"
"Nay, but you know something of the beginning of it," returned the young
Dutchman, with an amused smile, "and you have heard much of what is yet
to come. What do you think of the _prospect_ before you?"
"Think of the prospect?" repeated Gertie, knitting her brows and looking
down with a pretended air of profound thought; "let me see: the prospect
as I've heard father say to mother,--which was just a repetition of what
I had heard him previously say to these queer brothers Skyd--is a life
in the bush--by which I suppose he means the bushes--in which we shall
have to cut down the trees, plough up the new soil, build our cottages,
rear our sheep and cattle, milk our cows, make our butter, grow our
food, and sometimes hunt it, fashion our clothing, and protect our
homes. Is that right?"
"Well, that's just about it," was the answer; "how do you like that
prospect?"
"I delight in it," cried the girl, with a flash in her brilliant black
eyes, while she half laughed at her own sudden burst of enthusiasm.
"Only fancy! mother milking the cows, and me making butter, and Scholtz
ploughing, and Dally planting, and nurse tending Junkie and making all
sorts of garments, while father goes out with his gun to shoot food and
protect us from the Kafirs."
"'Tis a pleasant picture," returned Hans, with a bland smile, "and I
hope may be soon realised--I must bid you goodbye now, Gertie, we
separate here."
"Do you go far away?" asked the girl, with a touch of sadness, as she
put her little hand into that of the young giant.
"A goodish bit. Some six or eight days' journey from here,--according
to the weather."
"You'll come and see us some day, won't you, Hans?"
"Ja--I will," replied Hans, with emphasis.
The whips cracked again, the oxen strained, the lumbering waggons
groaned as they moved away, and while the Scotch band passed over the
Zuurbergen range and headed in the direction of the Winterberg
mountains, their English friends spread themselves over the fertile
plains of Albany.
A few days of slow but pleasant journeying and romantic
night-bivouacking brought the latter to their locations on the Kowie and
Great Fish River.
On the way, the party to which Edwin Brook belonged passed the ground
already occupied by the large band of settlers known as "Chapman's
party," which had left Algoa Bay a few weeks before them in an imposing
procession of ninety-six waggons. They had been accompanied to their
future home by a small detachment of the Cape Corps, the officer in
command of which gave them the suggestive advice, on bidding them
goodbye, never to leave their guns behind them when they went out to
plough! Although so short a time located, this party had produced a
marvellous change in the appearance of the wilderness, and gave the
settlers who passed farther eastward, an idea of what lay before
themselves. Fields had already been marked out; the virgin soil broken
up; timber cut, and bush cleared; while fragile cottages and huts were
springing up here and there to supplant the tents which had given the
first encampments a somewhat military aspect. Grotesque dwellings
these, many of them, with mats and rugs for doors, and white calico or
empty space for windows. It was interesting, in these first locations,
to mark the development of character among the settlers. Those who were
practical examined the "lie" of the land and the nature of the soil,
with a view to their future residence. Timid souls chose their sites
with reference to defence. Men of sentiment had regard to the
picturesque, and careless fellows "squatted" in the first convenient
spot that presented itself. Of course errors of judgment had to be
corrected afterwards on all hands, but the power to choose and change
was happily great at first, as well as easy.
As Brook's party advanced, portions of it dropped off or turned aside,
until at last Edwin found himself reduced to one family besides his own.
Even this he parted from on a ridge of land which overlooked his own
"location," and about noon of the same day his waggons came to a halt on
a grassy mound, which was just sufficiently elevated to command a
magnificent view of the surrounding country.
"Your location," said his Dutch waggon-driver, with a curious smile, as
though he should say, "I wonder what you'll do with yourselves."
But the Dutchman made no further remark. He was one of the taciturn
specimens of his class, and began at once to unload the waggon. With
the able assistance of Brook and his men, and the feeble aid of the
"Tottie," or Hottentot leader of the "span" of oxen, the boxes, ploughs,
barrels, bags, cases, etcetera, which constituted the worldly wealth of
the settlers, were soon placed on the green sward. Then the Dutchman
said "goeden-dag," or farewell, shook hands all round, cracked his long
whip, and went off into the unknown wilderness, leaving the Brook family
to its reflections.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
THE "LOCATION."
In the midst of the confused heap of their property, Edwin Brook sat
down on a large chest beside his wife and daughter, and gazed for some
time in silence on his new estate and home.
To say truth, it was in many respects a pleasant prospect. A bright
blue sky overhead, a verdant earth around. Grassy hills and undulations
of rich pasture-land swept away from their feet like a green sea, until
stopped in the far distance by the great blue sea itself. These were
dotted everywhere with copses of the yellow-flowered mimosa-bush,
through openings in which the glitter of a stream could be seen, while
to the left and behind lay the dark masses of a dense jungle filled with
arboreous and succulent plants, acacias and evergreens, wild-looking
aloes, tall euphorbias, quaint cactuses, and a great variety of
flowering shrubs--filled also, as was very soon discovered, with
antelopes, snakes, jackals, hyenas, leopards, and other wild creatures.
The only familiar objects which broke the wild beauty of the scene were
the distant white specks which they knew to be the tents just put up by
those settlers who chanced to be their "next neighbours."
"May God protect and bless us in our new home!" said Edwin Brook,
breaking the silence, and reverently taking off his cap.
A heartfelt "Amen" was murmured by Mrs Brook and Gertie, but a strange,
though not unpleasant, feeling of loneliness had crept over their
spirits, inducing them to relapse into silence, for they could not avoid
realising strongly that at last they were fairly left alone to fight the
great battle of life. Edwin Brook in particular, on seeing the long
team of the Dutch driver disappear over a distant ridge, was for the
first time deeply impressed with, as it were, the forsaken condition of
himself and his family. It was plain that he must take root there and
grow--or die. There was no neighbouring town or village from which help
could be obtained in any case of emergency; no cart or other means of
conveyance to remove their goods from the spot on which they had been
left; no doctor in case of sickness; no minister in cases either of joy
or sorrow--except indeed (and it was a blessed exception) Him who came
to our world "not to be ministered unto, but to minister."
Strong in the comfort that this assurance gave, Edwin Brook shook off
the lethargy that had been stealing over him, and set about the duties
of the present hour. The tent had to be pitched, the trunks and boxes
conveyed into it, a fire kindled, the kettle boiled, the goods and
chattels piled and secured from the weather, firewood cut to prepare for
the night-bivouac, etcetera.
Much of this work was already in progress, for George Dally,--with that
ready resource and quiet capacity of adaptation to circumstances which
he had displayed on the voyage out and on the journey to the location,--
had already kindled a fire, sent Scholtz to cut firewood, and was busy
erecting the tent when Brook joined him.
"That's right, George," he said, seizing a tent-peg and mallet; "we have
plenty to do here, and no time to waste."
"Very true, sir," replied George, touching his cap, for George was an
innately respectful man--respectful to _all_, though with a strong
tendency to humorous impudence; "very true, sir; that's just what I
thought when I see you a-meditatin', so I went to work at once without
wastin' any time."
"Is zat enough?" asked Scholtz, staggering up at the moment with a heavy
load of firewood, which he threw on the ground.
The question was put to George, for whom the big German had a special
regard, and whose orders he consequently obeyed with unquestioning
alacrity, although George had no special right to command.
"Enough!" exclaimed George, with a look of surprise, "why, _zat_ is not
enough to scare a weasel with, much less a elephant or a--a
platzicumroggijoo."
George was ignorant of South African zoology, and possessed inventive
powers.
"Bring ten times as much," he added; "we shall have to keep a blazin'
bonfire agoin' all night."
Scholtz re-shouldered his axe, and went off to the jungle with a broad
grin on his broader countenance.
He was a man who did not spare himself, yet of a temperament that kicked
at useless labour, and of a size that forbade the idea of compulsion,
but George Dally could have led him with a packthread to do anything.
Before he had reached the jungle, and while the smile was yet on his
visage, his blood was curdled and his face elongated by a most appalling
yell! It was not exactly a war-whoop, nor was it a cry of pain, though
it partook of both, and filled the entire family with horror as they
rushed to the tent on the mound from which the cry had issued.
The yell had been given by Junkie, who had been bitten or stung by
something, and who, under the combined influence of surprise, agony, and
wrath, had out-Junkied himself in the fervour and ferocity of his
indignant protest.
The poor child was not only horrified, but inconsolable. He wriggled
like an eel, and delivered a prolonged howl with intermittent bursts for
full half an hour, while his distracted nurse and mother almost tore the
garments off his back in their haste to discover the bite or the brute
that had done it.
"It _must_ have bin a serpent!" cried the nurse, agonising over a
knotted string.
"Perhaps a tarantula," suggested Gertie, who only clasped her hands and
looked horrified.
"Quick!" exclaimed Mrs Brook, breaking the unmanageable tape.
"Ze chile is growing black and vill bust!" murmured Scholtz in real
alarm.
It did seem as if there were some likelihood of such a catastrophe, for
Junkie's passion and struggles had rendered him blue in the face; but it
wes found that the bite or sting, whichever it was, had done little
apparent damage, and as the child cried himself out and sobbed himself
to sleep in half an hour without either blackening or bursting, the
various members of the family were relieved, and resumed their suspended
labours.
The shades of evening had fallen, and, among other orbs of night, the
stars of that much too highly complimented constellation, the "Southern
Cross," had for some time illumined the sky before these labours were
completed, and the wearied Brook family and household retired to rest,
with weapons ready at hand and fires blazing. Wild beasts--to whose
cries they were by that time accustomed--soon began their nightly
serenade and carried it on till morning, but they were not wild enough
to disturb the newcomers with anything more formidable than sound.
Next morning early, George Dally was the first to bestir himself. On
taking a general view of surrounding nature he observed a thin column of
smoke rising above the tree-tops in the direction of the stream or river
to which reference has already been made.
"Perhaps it's Kafirs," thought George.
Following up that thought he returned to what we may style his lair--the
place where he had spent the night--under a mimosa-bush, and there
girded himself with a belt containing a long knife. He further armed
himself with a fowling-piece. Thus accoutred he sallied forth with the
nonchalant air of a sportsman taking his pleasure. Going down to the
stream, and following its course upwards, he quickly came in sight of
the camp-fire whose smoke had attracted his attention. A tall man in
dishabille was bending over it, coaxing the flame to kindle some rather
green wood over which a large iron pot hung from a tripod. The fire was
in front of a large, but not deep, cavern, in the recesses of which
three slumbering figures were visible.
Drawing cautiously nearer, George discovered that the man at the fire
was John Skyd, and of course jumped to the conclusion that the three
slumbering figures were his brothers and friend. These enterprising
knights of the quill, having found what they deemed a suitable spot, had
selected a cave for their residence, as being at once ready and
economical.
Now, George Dally, being gifted with a reckless as well as humorous
disposition, suddenly conceived the idea of perpetrating a practical
joke. Perhaps Junkie's performances on the previous evening suggested
it. Flinging his cap on the ground, he ran his fingers through his
thick hair until it stood up in wild confusion, and then, deliberately
uttering a hideous and quite original war-whoop, he rushed furiously
towards the cave.
The brothers Skyd and company proved themselves equal to the occasion,
for they received him at the cavern mouth with the muzzles of four
double-barrelled guns, and a stern order to halt!
Next moment the muzzles were thrown up as they exclaimed in surprise--
"Why, Dally, is it you?"
"Didn't you hear it?" gasped George, supporting himself on the side of
the cavern.
"Hear what?"
"The war-whoop!"
"Of course we did--at least we heard a most unearthly yell. What was
it?"
"We'd best go out and see," cried George, cocking his gun; "if it was
Kafirs the sooner we follow them up the better."
"Not so, friend George," said Frank Dobson, in a slightly sarcastic
tone. "If it was Kafirs they are far beyond our reach by this time, and
if they mean us harm we are safer in our fortress here. My opinion is
that we should have our breakfast without delay, and then we shall be in
a fit state to face our foes--whether they be men or beasts."
Acting on this suggestion, with a laugh, the brothers leaned their guns
against the wall of the cavern and set about the preparation of
breakfast in good earnest.
Meanwhile George gravely assented to the wisdom of their decision, and
sat down to his morning pipe, while he questioned the brothers as to
their intentions.
They pointed out to him the spot where they thought of commencing
agricultural operations and the site of their future dwelling--close,
they said, to the cave, because that would be conveniently near the
river, which would be handy for both washing, drinking, and boiling
purposes.
"That's true--wery true," said George, "but it seems to me you run a
risk of bein' washed away, house and all, if you fix the site so low
down, for I've heard say there are floods in these parts now and again."
"Oh, no fear of that!" said Robert Skyd, who was the quietest of the
three brothers; "don't you see the foundation of our future house is at
least ten feet above the highest point to which the river seems to have
risen in times past?"
"Ah, just so," responded George, with the air of a man not convinced.
"Besides," added John Skyd, lifting the iron pot off the fire and
setting it down, "I suppose that floods are not frequent, so we don't
need to trouble ourselves about 'em.--Come, Dally, you'll join us?"
"No, thank 'ee. Much obleeged all the same, but I've got to prepare
breakfast for our own party.--Goin' to begin plantin' soon?"
"As soon as ever we can get the soil broken up," replied Dobson.
"Studied farmin'?" inquired George.
"Not much, but we flatter ourselves that what we do know will be of some
service to us," said John.
Dally made no reply, but he greatly doubted in his own mind the capacity
of the brothers for the line of life they had chosen.
His judgment in this respect was proved correct a week later, when he
and Edwin Brook had occasion to visit the brothers, whom they found hard
at work ploughing and sowing.
"Come, this looks business-like!" exclaimed Brook heartily, as he shook
hands with the brothers; "you've evidently not been idle. I have just
come to ask a favour of you, gentlemen."
"We shall grant it with pleasure, if within our powers," said Robert
Skyd, who leaned on a spade with which he had been filling in a trench
of about two feet deep.
"It is, that you will do me and Mrs Brook the pleasure of coming over
to our location this afternoon to dinner. It is our Gertie's birthday.
She is thirteen to-day. In a rash moment we promised her a treat or
surprise of some sort, but really the only surprise I can think of in
such an out-of-the-way place is to have a dinner-party in her honour.
Will you come?"
The brothers at once agreed to do so, remarking, however, that they must
complete the sowing of their carrot-seed before dinner if possible.
"What did you say you were sowing?" asked Brook, with a peculiar smile.
"Carrot-seed," answered Robert Skyd.
"If your carrot-seed is sown _there_," said George Dally, pointing with
a broad grin to the trench, "it's very likely to come up in England
about the time it does here,--by sendin' its roots right through the
world!"
"How? what do you mean?"
"The truth is, my dear sir," said Brook good-humouredly, "that you've
made a slight mistake in this matter. Carrot-seed is usually sown in
trenches less than an inch deep. You'd better leave off work just now
and come over to my place at once. I'll give you some useful hints as
we walk along."
The knights of the quill laughed at their mistake, and at once threw
down their implements of husbandry. But on going over their farm, Brook
found it necessary to correct a few more mistakes, for he discovered
that the active brothers had already planted a large quantity of Indian
corn, or "mealies," entire, without knocking it off the cobs, and, in
another spot of ground, a lot of young onions were planted with the
roots upwards!
"You see, Miss Gertie," said John Skyd, when commenting modestly on
these mistakes at dinnertime, "my brothers and I have all our lives had
more to do with the planting of `houses' and the growth of commercial
enterprise than with agricultural products, but we are sanguine that,
with experience and perseverance, we shall overcome all our
difficulties. Have _you_ found many difficulties to overcome!"
Gertie was not sure; she thought she had found a few, but none worth
mentioning. Being somewhat put out by the question, she picked up a
pebble--for the dinner was a species of picnic, served on the turf in
front of Mr Brook's tent--and examined it with almost geological care.
"My daughter does not like to admit the existence of difficulties," said
Mrs Brook, coming to the rescue, "and to say truth is seldom overcome
by anything."
"Oh, ma, how can you?" said Gertie, blushing deeply.
"That's not true," cried Mr Brook; "excuse me, my dear, for so flat a
contradiction, but I have seen Gertie frequently overcome by things,--by
Junkie's obstinacy for instance, which I verily believe to be an
insurmountable difficulty, and I've seen her thoroughly overcome, night
after night, by sleep.--Isn't that true, lass?"
"I suppose it is, father, since you say so, but of course I cannot
tell."
"Sleep!" continued Brook, with a laugh, "why, would you believe it, Mr
Skyd, I went into what we call the nursery-tent one morning last week,
to try to stop the howling of my little boy, and I found him lying with
his open mouth close to Gertie's cheek, pouring the flood of his wrath
straight into her ear, and she sound asleep all the time! My nurse,
Mrs Scholtz, told me she had been as sound as that all night, despite
several heavy squalls, and notwithstanding a chorus of hyenas and
jackals outside that might almost have awakened the dead.--By the way,
that reminds me: just as I was talking with nurse that morning we heard
a most unearthly shriek at some distance off. It was not the least like
the cry of any wild animal I have yet heard, and for the first time
since our arrival the idea of Kafirs flashed into my mind. Did any of
you gentlemen happen to hear it?"
The brothers looked at each other, and at their friend Dobson, and then
unitedly turned their eyes on George Dally, who--performing the combined
duties of cook and waiter, at a fire on the ground, not fifteen feet to
leeward of the dinner-party--could hear every word of the conversation.
"Why, yes," said John Skyd, "we did hear it, and so did your man Dally.
We had thought--"
"The truth is, sir," said George, advancing with a miniature pitchfork
or "tormentor" in his hand; "pardon my interrupting you, sir,--I did
hear the screech, but as I couldn't say exactly for certain, you know,
that it was a Kafir, not havin' seen one, I thought it best not to alarm
you, sir, an' so said nothing about it."
"You looked as if you had seen one," observed Frank Dobson, drawing down
the corners of his mouth with his peculiar smile.
"Did I, sir!" said George, with a simple look; "very likely I did, for
I'm timersome by nature an' easily frightened."
"You did not act with your wonted wisdom, George, in concealing this,"
said Edwin Brook gravely.
"I'm afraid I didn't sir," returned George meekly.
"In future, be sure to let me know every symptom of danger you may
discover, no matter how trifling," said Brook.
"Yes, sir."
"It was a very tremendous yell, wasn't it, Dally?" asked John Skyd
slily, as the waiter-cook was turning to resume his duties at the fire.
"Wery, sir."
"And alarmed us all dreadfully, didn't it?"
"Oh! dreadfully, sir--'specially me; though I must in dooty say that you
four gentleman was as bold as brass. It quite relieved me when I saw
your tall figurs standin' at the mouth o' your cavern, an' the muzzles
o' your four double-guns--that's eight shots--with your glaring eyes an'
pale cheeks behind them!"
"Ha!" exclaimed John Skyd, with a grim smile--"but after all it might
only have been the shriek of a baboon."
"I think not, sir," replied George, with a smile of intelligence.
"Perhaps then it was the cry of a zebra or quagga," returned John Skyd,
"or a South African ass of some sort."
"Wery likely, sir," retorted George. "I shouldn't wonder if it was--
which is wery consolin' to my feelin's, for I'd sooner be terrified out
o' my wits by asses of any kind than fall in with these long-legged
savages that dwell in caves."
With an appearance of great humility George returned to his work at the
fire.
It was either owing to a sort of righteous retribution, or a touch of
that fortune which favours the brave, that George Dally was in reality
the first, of this particular party of settlers, to encounter the black
and naked inhabitant of South Africa in his native jungle. It was on
this wise.
George was fond of sport, when not detained at home by the claims of
duty. But these claims were so constant that he found it impossible to
indulge his taste, save, as he was wont to say, "in the early morn and
late at eve."
One morning about daybreak, shouldering his gun and buckling on his
hunting-knife, he marched into the jungle in quest of an antelope.
Experience had taught him that the best plan was to seat himself at a
certain opening or pass which lay on the route to a pool of water, and
there bide his time.
Seating himself on a moss-covered stone, he put his gun in position on
his knee, with the forefinger on the trigger, and remained for some time
so motionless that a North American Indian might have envied his powers
of self-restraint. Suddenly a twig was heard to snap in the thicket
before him. Next moment the striped black and yellow skin of a leopard,
or Cape tiger, appeared in the opening where he had expected to behold a
deer. Dally's gun flew to his shoulder. At the same instant the
leopard skin was thrown back, and the right arm of a tall athletic Kafir
was bared. The hand grasped a light assagai, or darting spear. Both
men were taken by surprise, and for one instant they glared at each
other. The instance between them was so short that death to each seemed
imminent, for the white man's weapon was a deadly one, and the cast of
the lithe savage would doubtless have been swift and sure.
In that instant of uncertainty the white man's innate spirit of
forbearance acted almost involuntarily. Dally had hitherto been a man
of peace. The thought of shedding human blood was intensely repulsive
to him. He lowered the butt of his gun, and held up his right hand in
token of amity.
The savage possessed apparently some of the good qualities of the white
man, for he also at once let the butt of his assegai drop to the ground,
although he knew, what Dally was not aware of, that considering the
nature of their weapons, he placed himself at a tremendous disadvantage
in doing so--the act of throwing forward and discharging the deadly
fire-arm being much quicker than that of poising and hurling an assagai.
Without a moment's hesitation George Dally advanced and held out his
right hand with a bland smile.
Although unfamiliar with Kafir customs, he had heard enough from the
Dutch farmers who drove the ox-teams to know that only chiefs were
entitled to wear the leopard skin as a robe. The tall form and
dignified bearing of the savage also convinced him that he had
encountered no ordinary savage. He also knew that the exhibition of a
trustful spirit goes a long way to create good-will. That his judgment
was correct appeared from the fact of the Kafir holding out his hand and
allowing George to grasp and shake it.
But what to do next was a question that puzzled the white man sorely,
although he maintained on his good-natured countenance an expression of
easy nonchalance.
Of course he made a vain attempt at conversation in English, to which
the Kafir chief replied, with dignified condescension, by a brief
sentence in his own tongue.
As George Dally looked in his black face, thoughts flashed through his
brain with the speed of light. Should he kill him outright? That would
be simple murder, in the circumstances, and George objected to murder,
on principle. Should he suddenly seize and throw him down? He felt
quite strong enough to do so, but after such a display of friendship it
would be mean. Should he quietly bid him good morning and walk away?
This, he felt, would be ridiculous. At that moment tobacco occurred to
his mind. He quietly rested his gun against a tree, and drew forth a
small roll of tobacco, from which he cut at least a foot and handed it
to the chief. The dignity of the savage at once gave way before the
beloved weed. He smiled--that is, he grinned in a ghastly way, for his
face, besides being black, was streaked with lines of red ochre--and
graciously accepted the gift. Then George made an elaborate speech in
dumb-show with hands, fingers, arms, and eyes, to the effect that he
desired the Kafir to accompany him to his location, but the chief
gravely shook his head, pointed in another direction and to the sun, as
though to say that time was on the wing; then, throwing his leopard-skin
robe over his right shoulder with the air of a Spanish grandee, he
turned aside and strode into the jungle.
George, glad to be thus easily rid of him, also turned and hurried home.
This time he was not slow to let his employer know that he had met with
a native.
"It behoves us to keep a sharp look-out, George," said Brook. "I heard
yesterday from young Merton that some of the settlers not far from his
place have had a visit from the black fellows, who came in the night,
and while they slept carried off some of the sheep they had recently
purchased from an up-country county Dutchman. We will watch for a few
nights while rumours of this kind are afloat. When all seems quiet we
can take it easy. Let Scholtz take the first watch. You will succeed
him, and I will mount guard from the small hours onward."
For some days this precaution was continued, but as nothing more was
heard of black marauders the Brook family gradually ceased to feel
anxious, and the nightly watch was given up.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
SHOWS THE PLEASURES, PAINS, AND PENALTIES OF HOUSEKEEPING IN THE BUSH.
"Don't you think this a charming life?" asked Mrs Brook of Mrs Merton,
who had been her guest for a week.
Mrs Merton was about thirty years of age, and opinionated, if not
strong-minded, also rather pretty. She had married young, and her
eldest son, a lad of twelve, had brought her from her husband's farm,
some three miles distant from that of Edwin Brook.
"No, Mrs Brook, I don't like it at all," was Mrs Merton's emphatic
reply.
"Indeed!" said Mrs Brook, in some surprise.
She said nothing more after this for some time, but continued to ply her
needle busily, while Mrs Scholtz, who by some piece of unusual good
fortune had got Junkie to sleep, plied her scissors in cutting out and
shaping raw material.
The two dames, with the nurse and Gertie, had agreed to unite their
powers that day in a resolute effort to overtake the household repairs.
They were in a cottage now, of the style familiarly known as "wattle and
dab," which was rather picturesque than permanent, and suggestive of
simplicity. They sat on rude chairs, made by Scholtz, round a rough
table by the same artist. Mrs Brook was busy with the rends in a blue
pilot-cloth jacket, a dilapidated remnant of the "old England" wardrobe.
The nurse was forming a sheep skin into a pair of those unmentionables
which were known among the Cape-colonists of that period by the name of
"crackers." Mrs Merton was busy with a pair of the same, the knees of
which had passed into a state of nonentity, while other parts were
approaching the same condition. Gertie was engaged on a pair of socks,
whose original formation was overlaid by and nearly lost in subsequent
deposits.
"Why do you like this sort of life, Mrs Brook?" asked Mrs Merton
suddenly.
"Because it is so new, so busy, so healthy, so thoroughly practical.
Such a constant necessity for doing something useful, and a constant
supply of something useful to do, and then such a pleasant feeling of
rest when at last you do get your head on a pillow."
"Oh! it's delightful!" interpolated Gertie in a low voice.
"Well, now, that is strange. Everything depends on how one looks at
things.--What do _you_ think, Mrs Scholtz?" asked Mrs Merton.
"I've got no time to think, ma'am," replied the nurse, giving the embryo
crackers a slice that bespoke the bold fearless touch of a thorough
artist. "When Junkie's not asleep he keeps body and brain fully
employed, and when he is asleep I'm glad to let body and brain alone."
"What is your objection to this life, Mrs Merton?" asked Mrs Brook,
with a smile.
"Oh! I've no special objection, only I hate it altogether. How is it
possible to like living in a wilderness, with no conveniences around
one, no society to chat with, no books to read, and, above all, no shops
to go to, where one is obliged to drudge at menial work from morning
till night, and one's boys and girls get into rags and tatters, and
one's husband becomes little better than a navvy, to say nothing of
snakes and scorpions in one's bed and boots, and the howling of wild
beasts all night? I declare, one might as well live in a menagerie."
"But you must remember that things are in a transition state just now,"
rejoined Mrs Brook. "As we spread and multiply over the land, things
will fall more into shape. We shall have tailors and dressmakers to
take the heavy part of our work in this way, and the wild beasts will
retire before the rifle and the plough of civilised man; no doubt, also,
shops will come in due course."
"And what of the Kafirs?" cried Mrs Merton sternly. "Do you flatter
yourself that either the plough or the rifle will stop their thievish
propensities? Have we not learned, when too late--for here we are, and
here we must bide,--that the black wretches have been at loggerheads
with the white men ever since this was a colony, and is it not clear
that gentle treatment and harsh have alike failed to improve them?"
"Wise treatment has yet to be tried," said Mrs Brook.
"Fiddlesticks!" returned Mrs Merton impatiently. "What do you call
wise treatment?"
"Gospel treatment," replied Mrs Brook.
"Oh! come now, you know that _that_ has also been tried, and has
signally failed. Have we not heard how many hundreds of so-called black
converts in this and in other colonies are arrant hypocrites, or at all
events give way before the simplest temptations?"
"I have also heard," returned Mrs Brook, "of many hundreds of so-called
white Christians, whose lives prove them to be the enemies of our
Saviour, and who do not even condescend to hypocrisy, for they will
plainly tell you that they `make no pretence to be religious,' though
they call themselves Christians. But that does not prove gospel
treatment among the English to have been a failure. You have heard, I
daresay, of the Hottentot robber Africaner, who was long the terror and
scourge of the district where he lived, but who, under the teaching of
our missionary Mr Moffat, or rather, I should say, under the influence
of God's Holy Spirit, has led a righteous, peaceful, Christian life for
many years. He is alive still to prove the truth of what I say."
"I'll believe it when I see it," returned Mrs Merton, with a decisive
compression of her lips.
"Well, many people have testified to the truth of this, and some of
these people have seen Africaner and have believed."
"Humph!" returned Mrs Merton.
This being an unanswerable argument, Mrs Brook smiled by way of reply,
and turned a sleeve inside out, the better to get at its dilapidations.
Changing the subject, she desired Gertie to go and prepare dinner, as it
was approaching noon.
"What shall I prepare, mother?" asked Gertie, laying down her work.
"You'd better make a hash of the remains of yesterday's leg of mutton,
dear; it will be more quickly done than the roasting of another leg, and
we can't spare time on cookery to-day. I daresay Mrs Merton will
excuse--"
"Mrs Brook," interrupted Mrs Merton, with that Spartan-like
self-denial to which she frequently laid claim, without, however, the
slightest shadow of a title, "I can eat anything on a emergency. Have
the hash by all means."
"And I'm afraid, Mrs Merton," continued Mrs Brook, in an apologetic
tone, "that we shall have to dine without bread to-day--we have run
short of flour. My husband having heard that the Thomases have recently
got a large supply, has gone to their farm to procure some, but their
place is twelve miles off, so he can't be back till night. You won't
mind, I trust?"
Mrs Merton vowed that she didn't mind, became more and more Spartanic
in her expression and sentiments, and plied her needle with increased
decision.
Just then Gertie re-entered the cottage with a face expressive of
concern.
"Mother, there's no meat in the larder."
"No meat, child? You must be mistaken. We ate only a small part of
yesterday's leg."
"Oh! ma'am," exclaimed the nurse, dropping the scissors suddenly, and
looking somewhat guilty, "I quite forgot, ma'am, to say that master,
before he left this morning, and while you was asleep, ma'am, ordered me
to give all the meat we had in the house to Scholtz, as he was to be
away four or five days, and would require it all, so I gave him the leg
that was hanging up in the larder, and master himself took the remains
of yesterday's leg, bidding me be sure to tell George to kill a sheep
and have meat ready for dinner."
"Oh, well, it doesn't matter," said Mrs Brook; "we shall just have to
wait a little longer."
Nurse looked strangely remorseful.
"But, ma'am--" she said, and paused.
"Well, nurse!"
"I forgot, ma'am--indeed I did--to tell George to kill a sheep."
Mrs Brook's hands and work fell on her lap, and she looked from Mrs
Scholtz to her visitor, and from her to the anxious Gertie, without
speaking.
"Why, what's the matter?" asked Mrs Merton.
"My dear," replied Mrs Brook, with a touch of solemnity, "George Dally,
our man, asked me this morning if he might go into the bush to cut
rafters for the new kitchen, and I gave him leave, knowing nothing of
what arrangements had been made before--and--and--in short, there's not
a man on the place, and--there's nothing to eat."
The four females looked at each other in blank silence for a few
seconds, as the full significance of their circumstances became quite
clear to them.
Mrs Merton was the first to recover.
"Now," said she, while the Spartanic elements of her nature became
intensified, "we must rise to this occasion like true women; we must
prove ourselves to be not altogether dependent on man; we must face the
difficulty, sink the natural tenderness of our sex, and--and--kill a
sheep!"
She laid down the crackers on the table with an air of resolution, and
rose to put her fell intent in execution.
But the carrying out of her plan was not so easy as the good lady had,
at the first blush of the thing, imagined it would be. In the first
place, like other heroes and heroines, she experienced the enervating
effects of opposition and vacillating purpose in others.
"You must all help me," she said, with the air of a commander-in-chief.
"Help you to kill a sheep, ma'am?" said Mrs Scholtz, with a shudder,
"I'll die first! I couldn't do it, and I wouldn't, for my weight in
gold."
Notwithstanding the vehemence of her protestation, the nurse stood by
and listened while the other conspirators talked in subdued tones, and
with horrified looks, of the details of the contemplated murder.
"I never even saw the dreadful deed done," said Mrs Brook, becoming
pale as she thought of it.
"Oh, mamma! much better go without meat; we could dine on cakes,"
suggested Gertie.
"But my love, there is not a cake or an ounce of flour in the house."
"Women!" exclaimed Mrs Merton severely, "we must rise to the occasion.
I am hungry _now_, and it is not yet noon; what will be our condition if
we wait till night for our dinner?"
This was a home-thrust. The conspirators shuddered and agreed to do the
deed. Gertie, in virtue of her youth, was exempted from taking any
active part, but an unaccountable fascination constrained her to follow
and be a witness--in short, an accomplice.
"Do you know where--where--the _knife_ is kept?" asked Mrs Merton.
Mrs Scholtz knew, and brought it from the kitchen.
It was a keen serviceable knife, with a viciously sharp point. Mrs
Merton received it, coughed, and hurried out to the sheep-fold, followed
by her accomplices.
To catch a sheep was not difficult, for the animals were all more or
less tame and accustomed to gentle treatment by the females, but to hold
it was quite another thing. Mrs Merton secured it by the head, Mrs
Scholtz laid hold of the tail, and Mrs Brook fastened her fingers in
the wool of its back. Each female individually was incapable of holding
the animal, though a very small one had been purposely selected, but
collectively they were more than a match for it. After a short struggle
it was laid on its side, and its feet were somewhat imperfectly secured
with a pocket-handkerchief.
"Now, ma'am," cried Mrs Scholtz, holding tight to the tail and shutting
her eyes, "do be quick."
Mrs Merton, also shutting her eyes, struck feebly with the knife. The
others, having likewise shut their eyes, waited a few seconds in a state
of indescribable horror, and then opened them to find that the Spartan
lady had missed her mark, and planted her weapon in the ground! So
feeble, however, had been the stroke that it had barely penetrated an
inch of the soil.
"Oh, Mrs Merton!" exclaimed Mrs Brook remonstratively.
Mrs Merton tried again more carefully, and hit the mark, but still
without success.
"It _won't_ go in!" she gasped, as, on opening her eyes a second time,
she found only a few drops of blood trickling from a mere scratch in the
sheep's neck; "I--I _can't_ do it!"
At that moment the unfortunate animal suddenly freed its head from the
Spartan matron's grasp. A sharp wriggle freed its tail and feet, and in
another moment it burst away from its captors and made for a shallow
pond formed by Edwin Brook for a colony of household ducks.
Roused to excessive indignation by the weakness and boastfulness of Mrs
Merton, Mrs Scholtz sprang to her feet and gave chase. The others
joined. Hunger, shame, determination, disappointment, combined to give
them energy of purpose. The sheep rushed into the pond. Mrs Scholtz
recklessly followed--up to the knees--caught it by the horns, and
dragged it forth.
"Give me the knife!" she shouted.
Mrs Merton hurriedly obeyed, and the nurse, shutting her eyes, plunged
it downwards with a wild hysterical shriek.
There was no mistake this time. Letting the animal go, she fled,
red-handed, into the innermost recess of the cottage, followed by her
horrified friends.
"Oh! what _have_ I done?" groaned Mrs Scholtz; burying her face in her
hands.
Mrs Brook and the others--all shuddering--sought to soothe her, and in
a short time they regained sufficient composure to permit of their
returning to the victim, which they found lying dead upon the ground.
Having thus got over the terrible first step, the ladies hardened
themselves to the subsequent processes, and these they also found more
difficult than they had anticipated. The skinning of a sheep they did
not understand. Of the cutting up they were equally ignorant, and a
terrible mess they made of the poor carcass in their varied efforts. In
despair Mrs Brook suggested to Mrs Scholtz, who was now the chief and
acknowledged operator, that they had better cut it up without skinning,
and singe off the wool and skin together; but on attempting this Mrs
Scholtz found that she could not find the joints, and, being possessed
of no saw, could not cut the bones; whereupon Mrs Merton suggested that
she should cut out four slices from any part that would admit of being
penetrated by a knife, and leave the rest of the operation to be
performed by Dally on his return. This proposal was acted on. Four fat
slices were cut from the flanks and carried by Gertie to the kitchen,
where they were duly cooked, and afterwards eaten with more relish than
might have been expected, considering the preliminaries to the feast.
This was one of those difficulties that did not occur to them again. It
was a preventable difficulty, to be avoided in future by the exercise of
forethought; but there were difficulties and troubles in store against
which forethought was of little avail.
While they were yet in the enjoyment of the chops which had caused them
so much mental and physical pain, they were alarmed by a sudden cry from
Junkie. Looking round they saw that urchin on his knees holding on to
the side of his home-made crib, and gazing in blank amazement at the
hole in the wall which served for a window. And well might he gaze, for
he saw the painted face of a black savage looking in at that window!
On beholding him Mrs Merton uttered a scream and Mrs Brook an
exclamation. Mrs Scholtz and Gertie seemed bereft of power to move or
cry.
Perhaps the Kafir took this for the British mode of welcoming a
stranger. At all events, he left the window and entered by the door.
Being quite naked, with the exception of the partial covering afforded
by a leopard-skin robe, his appearance was naturally alarming to females
who had never before seen a native of South Africa in his war-paint.
They remained perfectly still, however, and quite silent, while he went
through the cottage appropriating whatever things took his fancy. He
was the native whom we have already introduced as having been met by
George Dally, though of course the Brook household were not aware of
this.
A few other savages entered the cottage soon after, and were about to
follow the example of their chief and help themselves, but he sternly
ordered them to quit, and they submissively obeyed.
When he had gone out, without having condescended to notice any of the
household, Master Junkie gave vent to a long-suspended howl, and claimed
the undivided attention of Mrs Scholtz, whose touching blandishments
utterly failed in quieting him. The good nurse was unexpectedly aided,
however, by the savage chief, who on repassing the window, looked in and
made his black face supernaturally hideous by glaring at the refractory
child. Junkie was petrified on the spot, and remained "good" till
forgetfulness and sleep overpowered him.
Meanwhile Mrs Merton swooned into a chair--or appeared to do so--and
Mrs Brook, recovering from her first alarm, went out with Gertie to see
what the black marauders were about.
They were just in time to see the last tail of their small flock of
sheep, and their still smaller herd of cattle, disappear into the
jungle, driven by apparently a score of black, lithe, and naked devils,
so ugly and unearthly did the Kafirs seem on this their first visit to
the unfortunate settlers.
It was a peculiarly bitter trial to the Brooks, for the herd and flock
just referred to had been acquired, after much bargaining, from a Dutch
farmer only a few days before, and Edwin Brook was rather proud of his
acquisition, seeing that few if any of the settlers had at that time
become possessors of live stock to any great extent. It was, however, a
salutary lesson, and the master of Mount Hope--so he had named his
location--never again left his wife and family unguarded for a single
hour during these first years of the infant colony.
CHAPTER NINE.
OFF TO THE HIGHLANDS AND BLACK SNAKES IN THE BUSH.
While the settlers of this section were thus scattering far and wide, in
more or less numerous groups, over the fertile plains of Lower Albany,
the Scotch party was slowly, laboriously, toiling on over hill and dale,
jungle and plain, towards the highlands of the interior.
The country through which the long line of waggons passed was as varied
as can well be imagined, being one of the wildest and least inhabited
tracts of the frontier districts. The features of the landscape changed
continually from dark jungle to rich park-like scenery, embellished with
graceful clumps of evergreens, and from that again to the sterility of
savage mountains or parched and desert plains. Sometimes they plodded
wearily over the karroo for twenty miles or more at a stretch without
seeing a drop of water. At other times they came to a wretched mud
hovel, the farm-house of a boer, near a permanent spring of water.
Again, they were entangled among the rugged, roadless gorges and
precipices of a mountain range, through which no vehicle of European
construction could have passed without absolute demolition, and up parts
of which the Cape-waggons were sometimes compelled to go by means of two
teams,--that is, from twenty to thirty or more oxen,--being attached to
each. At other times they had to descend and re-ascend the precipitous
banks of rivers whose beds were sometimes quite dry and paved with
mighty boulders.
"It's an unco' rough country," observed Sandy Black to Charlie
Considine, as they stood watching the efforts of a double team to haul
one of their waggons up a slope so rugged and steep that the mere
attempt appeared absolute madness in their eyes.
Considine assented, but was too much interested in the process to
indulge in further remark.
"Gin the rope brek," continued Sandy, "I wadna gie muckle for the
waggon. It'll come rowin' an' stottin' doon the hill like a bairn's
ba'."
"No fear of the rope," said Hans Marais, as he passed at the moment to
render assistance to Ruyter, Jemalee, Booby, and some others, who were
shouting at the pitch of their voices, and plying the long waggon-whips,
or the short sjamboks, with unmerciful vigour.
Hans was right. The powerful "trektow" stood the enormous strain, and
the equally powerful waggon groaned and jolted up the stony steep until
it had nearly gained the top, when an unfortunate drop of the right
front wheel into a deep hollow, combined with an unlucky and
simultaneous elevation of the left back wheel by a stone, turned the
vehicle completely over on its side. The hoops of the tilt were broken,
and much of the lading was deposited in a hollow beside the waggon, but
a few of the lighter and smaller articles went hopping, or, according to
Sandy Black, "stottin'" down the slope, and were smashed to atoms at the
bottom.
Ruyter, Booby, and Jemalee turned towards Hans Marais with a shrinking
action, as if they expected to feel the sjambok on their shoulders, for
their own cruel master was wont on occasions of mischance such as this
to visit his men with summary punishment; but Hans was a good specimen
of another, and, we believe, much more numerous class of Cape-Dutchmen.
After the first short frown of annoyance had passed, he went actively to
work, to set the example of unloading the waggon and repairing the
damage, administering at the same time, however, a pretty sharp rebuke
to the drivers for their carelessness in not taking better note of the
form of the ground.
That night in talking over the incident with Ruyter, Considine ventured
again to comment on the wrongs which the former endured, and the
possibility of redress being obtained from the proper authorities.
"For I am told," he said, "that the laws of the colony do not now permit
masters to lash and maltreat their slaves as they once did."
Ruyter, though by nature a good-humoured, easy-going fellow, was
possessed of an unusually high spirit for one of his race, and could
never listen to any reference to the wrongs of the Hottentots without a
dark frown of indignation. In general he avoided the subject, but on
the night in question either his wonted reticence had fled, or he felt
disposed to confide in the kindly youth, from whom on the previous
journey from Capetown he had experienced many marks of sympathy and
good-will.
"There be no way to make tings better," he replied fiercely. "I knows
noting 'bout your laws. Only knows dey don't work somehow. Allers de
same wid _me_ anyhow, kick and cuff and lash w'en I's wrong--sometimes
w'en I's right--and nebber git tanks for noting."
"But that is because your master is an unusually bad fellow," replied
Considine. "Few Cape farmers are so bad as he. You have yourself had
experience of Hans Marais, now, who is kind to every one."
"Ja, he is good master--an' so's him's fadder, an' all him's peepil--but
what good dat doos to me!" returned the Hottentot gloomily. "It is true
your laws do not allow us to be bought and sold like de slaves, but dat
very ting makes de masters hate us and hurt us more dan de slaves."
This was to some extent true. At the time we write of, slavery, being
still permitted in the British colonies, the Dutch, and other Cape
colonists, possessed great numbers of negro slaves, whom it was their
interest to treat well, as being valuable "property," and whom most of
them probably did treat well, as a man will treat a useful horse or ox,
though of course there were--as there always must be in the
circumstances--many instances of cruelty, by passionate and brutal
owners. But the Hottentots, or original natives of the South African
soil, having been declared unsaleable, and therefore not "property,"
were in many cases treated with greater degradation by their masters
than the slaves, were made to work like them, but not cared for or fed
like them, because not so valuable. At the same time, although not
absolute slaves, the Hottentots were practically in a state of
servitude, in which the freedom accorded to them by Government had, by
one subterfuge or another, been rendered inoperative. Not long before
this period the colonists possessed absolute power over the Hottentots,
and although recent efforts had been made to legislate in their favour,
their wrongs had only been mitigated,--by no means redressed. Masters
were, it is true, held accountable by the law for the treatment of their
Hottentots, but were rarely called to account; and the Hottentots knew
too well, from sad experience, that to make a complaint would be in many
cases worse than useless, as it would only rouse the ire of their
masters and make them doubly severe.
"You say de Hottentots are not slaves, but you treat us all de same as
slaves--anyhow, Jan Smit does."
"That is the sin of Jan Smit, not of the British law," replied
Considine.
Ruyter's face grew darker as he rejoined fiercely, "What de use of your
laws if dey won't work? Besides, what right hab de white scoundril to
make slave at all--whether you call him slave or no call him slave.
Look at Jemalee!"
The Hottentot pointed with violent action to the Malay, who, with a calm
and sad but dignified mien, stood listening to the small-talk of Booby,
while the light of the camp-fire played fitfully on their swarthy
features.
"Well, what of Jemalee!" asked Considine.
"You know dat him's a slave--a _real_ slave?"
"Yes, I know that, poor fellow."
"You never hear how him was brought up here?"
"No, never--tell me about it."
Hereupon the Hottentot related the following brief story.
Abdul Jemalee, a year or two before, had lived in Capetown, where his
owner was a man of some substance. Jemalee had a wife and several
children, who were also the property of his owner. Being an expert
waggon-driver, the Malay was a valuable piece of human goods. On one
occasion Jan Smit happened to be in Capetown, and, hearing of the
Malay's qualities, offered his master a high price for him. The offer
was accepted, but in order to avoid a scene, the bargain was kept secret
from the piece of property, and he was given to understand that he was
going up country on his old master's business. When poor Jemalee bade
his pretty wife and little ones goodbye, he comforted them with the
assurance that he should be back in a few months. On arriving at Smit's
place, however, the truth was told, and he found that he had been
separated for ever from those he most loved on earth. For some time
Abdul Jemalee gave way to sullen despair, and took every sort of abuse
and cruel treatment with apparent indifference, but, as time went on, a
change came over him. He became more like his former self, and did his
work so well, that even the savage Jan Smit seldom had any excuse for
finding fault. On his last journey to the Cape, Smit took the Malay
with him only part of the way. He left him in charge of a friend, who
agreed to look well after him until his return.
Even this crushing of Jemalee's hope that he might meet his wife and
children once more did not appear to oppress him much, and when his
master returned from Capetown he resumed charge of one of the waggons,
and went quietly back to his home in the karroo.
"And can you tell what brought about this change?" asked Considine.
"Oh ja, I knows," replied Ruyter, with a decided nod and a deep chuckle;
"Jemalee him's got a powerful glitter in him's eye now and den--bery
powerful an' strange!"
"And what may that have to do with it?" asked Considine.
Ruyter's visage changed from a look of deep cunning to one of childlike
simplicity as he replied--"Can't go for to say what de glitter of him's
eye got to do wid it. Snakes' eyes glitter sometimes--s'pose 'cause he
can't help it, or he's wicked p'raps."
Considine smiled, but, seeing that the Hottentot did not choose to be
communicative on the point, he forbore further question.
"What a funny man Jerry Goldboy is!" said Jessie McTavish, as she sat
that same evening sipping a pannikin of tea in her father's tent.
From the opening of the tent the fire was visible.
Jerry was busy preparing his supper, while he kept up an incessant run
of small-chat with Booby and Jemalee. The latter replied to him chiefly
with grave smiles, the former with shouts of appreciative laughter.
"He _is_ funny," asserted Mrs McTavish, "and uncommonly noisy. I doubt
if there is much good in him."
"More than you think, Mopsy," said Kenneth (by this irreverent name did
the Highlander call his better-half); "Jerry Goldboy is a small package,
but he's made of good stuff, depend upon it. No doubt he's a little
nervous, but I've observed that his nerves are tried more by the
suddenness with which he may be surprised than by the actual danger he
may chance to encounter. On our first night out, when he roused the
camp and smashed the stock of his blunderbuss, no doubt I as well as
others thought he showed the white feather, but there was no lack of
courage in him when he went last week straight under the tree where the
tiger was growling, and shot it so dead that when it fell it was not far
from his feet."
"I heard some of the men, papa," observed Jessie, "say that it was Dutch
courage that made him do that. What did they mean by Dutch courage?"
Jessie, being little more than eight, was ignorant of much of the
world's slang.
"Cape-smoke, my dear," answered her father, with a laugh.
"Cape-smoke?" exclaimed Jessie, "what is that?"
"Brandy, child, peach-brandy, much loved by some of the boers, I'm told,
and still more so by the Hottentots; but there was no more Cape-smoke in
Jerry that day than in you. It was true English pluck. No doubt he
could hardly fail to make a dead shot at so close a range, with such an
awful weapon, loaded, as it usually is, with handfuls of slugs,
buckshot, and gravel; but it was none the less plucky for all that. The
old flint-lock might have missed fire, or he mightn't have killed the
brute outright, and in either case he knew well enough it would have
been all up with Jerry Goldboy."
"Who's that taking my name in vain?" said Jerry himself, passing the
tent at the moment, in company with Sandy Black.
"We were only praising you, Jerry," cried Jessie, with a laugh, "for the
way in which you shot that tiger the other day."
"It wasn't a teeger, Miss Jessie," interposed Sandy Black, "it was only
a leopard--ane o' thae wee spottit beasts that they're sae prood o' in
this country as to _ca'_ them teegers."
"Come, Sandy," cried Jerry Goldboy, "don't rob me of the honour that is
my due. The hanimal was big enough to 'ave torn you limb from limb if
'e'd got 'old of you."
"It may be sae, but he wasna a teeger for a' that," retorted
Black.--"D'ee know, sir," he continued, turning to McTavish, "that Mr
Pringle's been askin' for 'ee?"
"No, Sandy, but now that you've told me I'll go to his tent."
So saying the Highlander rose and went out, to attend a council of
"heads of families."
Hitherto we have directed the reader's attention chiefly to one or two
individuals of the Scotch party, but there were in that party a number
of families who had appointed Mr Pringle their "head" and
representative. In this capacity of chief-head, or leader, Mr Pringle
was in the habit of convening a meeting of subordinate "heads" when
matters of importance had to be discussed.
While the elders of the party were thus engaged in conclave at the door
of their leader's tent, and while the rest were busy round their several
fires, a man with a body much blacker than the _night_ was secretly
gliding about the camp like a huge snake, now crouching as he passed
quickly, but without noise, in rear of the thick bushes; now creeping on
hands and knees among the waggons and oxen, and anon gliding almost flat
on his breast up to the very verge of the light thrown by the
camp-fires. At one and another of the fires he remained motionless like
the blackened trunk of a dead tree, with his glittering eyes fixed on
the settlers, as if listening intently to their conversation.
Whatever might be the ultimate designs of the Kafir--for such he was--
his intentions at the time being were evidently peaceful, for he carried
neither weapon nor shield. He touched nothing belonging to the white
men, though guns and blankets and other tempting objects were more than
once within reach of his hand. Neither did he attempt to steal that
which to the Kafir is the most coveted prize of all--a fat ox.
Gradually he melted away into the darkness from which he had emerged.
No eye in all the emigrant band saw him come or go in his snake-like
glidings, yet his presence was known to one of the party--to Ruyter the
Hottentot.
Soon after the Kafir had taken his departure, Ruyter left his camp-fire
and sauntered into the bush as if to meditate before lying down for the
night. As soon as he was beyond observation he quickened his pace and
walked in a straight line, like one who has a definite end in view.
The Hottentot fancied that he had got away unperceived, but in this he
was mistaken. Hans Marais, having heard Considine's account of his talk
with Ruyter about Jemalee, had been troubled with suspicions about the
former, which led to his paying more than usual attention to him. These
suspicions were increased when he observed that the Hottentot went
frequently and uneasily into the bushes, and looked altogether like a
man expecting something which does not happen or appear. When,
therefore, he noticed that after supper, Ruyter's anxious look
disappeared, and that, after looking carefully round at his comrades, he
sauntered into the bush with an overdone air of nonchalance, he quietly
took up his heavy gun and followed him.
The youth had been trained to _observe_ from earliest childhood, and,
having been born and bred on the karroo, he was as well skilled in
tracking the footprints of animals and men as any red savage of the
North American wilderness. He took care to keep the Hottentot in sight,
however, the night being too dark to see footprints. Lithe and agile as
a panther, he found no difficulty in doing so.
In a few minutes he reached an open space, in which he observed that the
Hottentot had met with a Kafir, and was engaged with him in earnest
conversation. Much however of what they said was lost by Hans, as he
found it difficult to get within ear-shot unobserved.
"And why?" he at length heard the savage demand, "why should I spare
them for an hour?"
He spoke in the Kafir tongue, in which the Hottentot replied, and with
which young Marais was partially acquainted.
"Because, Hintza," said Ruyter, naming the paramount chief of Kafirland,
"the time has not yet come. One whose opinion you value bade me tell
you so."
"What if I choose to pay no regard to the opinion of any one?" demanded
the chief haughtily.
Ruyter quietly told the savage that he would then have to take the
consequences, and urged, in addition, that it was folly to suppose the
Kafirs were in a condition to make war on the white men just then. It
was barely a year since they had been totally routed and driven across
the Great Fish River with great slaughter. No warrior of common sense
would think of renewing hostilities at such a time--their young men
slain, their resources exhausted. Hintza had better bide his time. In
the meanwhile he could gratify his revenge without much risk to himself
or his young braves, by stealing in a quiet systematic way from the
white men as their herds and flocks increased. Besides this, Ruyter,
assuming a bold look and tone which was unusual in one of his degraded
race, told Hintza firmly that he had reasons of his own for not wishing
the Scotch emigrants to be attacked at that time, and that if he
persisted in his designs he would warn them of their danger, in which
case they would certainly prove themselves men enough to beat any number
of warriors Hintza could bring against them.
Lying flat on the ground, with head raised and motionless, Hans Marais
listened to these sentiments with much surprise, for he had up to that
time regarded the Hottentot as a meek and long-suffering man, but now,
though his long-suffering in the past could not be questioned, his
meekness appeared to have totally departed.
The Kafir chief would probably have treated the latter part of Ruyter's
speech with scorn, had not his remarks about sly and systematic plunder
chimed in with his own sentiments, for Hintza was pre-eminently
false-hearted, even among a race with whom successful lying is deemed a
virtue, though, when found out, it is considered a sin. He pondered the
Hottentot's advice, and apparently assented to it. After a few moments'
consideration, he turned on his heel, and re-entered the thick jungle.
Well was it for Hans Marais that he had concealed himself among tall
grass, for Hintza chanced to pass within two yards of the spot where he
lay. The kafir chief had resumed the weapons which, for convenience, he
had left behind in the bush while prowling round the white man's camp,
and now stalked along in all the panoply of a savage warrior-chief; with
ox-hide shield, bundle of short sharp assagais, leopard-skin robe, and
feathers. For one instant the Dutchman, supposing it impossible to
escape detection, was on the point of springing on the savage, but on
second thoughts he resolved to take his chance. Even if Hintza did
discover him, he felt sure of being able to leap up in time to ward off
his first stab.
Fortunately the Kafir was too much engrossed with his thoughts. He
passed his white enemy, and disappeared in the jungle.
Meanwhile the Hottentot returned to the camp--assuming an easy-going
saunter as he approached its fires--and, soon after, Hans Marais
re-entered it from an opposite direction. Resolving to keep his own
counsel in the meantime, he mentioned the incident to no one, but after
carefully inspecting the surrounding bushes, and stirring up the
watch-fires, he sat down in front of his leader's tent with the
intention of keeping guard during the first part of the night.
CHAPTER TEN.
THE LOCATION ON THE RIVER OF BABOONS.
The Scotch immigrants at last found themselves in the wild
mountain-regions of the interior, after a weary but deeply interesting
march of nearly two hundred miles.
They had now arrived at the mouth of the Baboons or Baviaans river, one
of the affluents of the Great Fish River, and had already seen many of
the wild inhabitants of its rugged glen.
Their particular location was a beautiful well-watered region among the
mountains which had been forfeited by some of the frontier boers at the
time of their insurrection against the English Government some years
before. They had now crossed the Great Fish River, and, though still
within the old boundary of the colony, were upon its utmost eastern
verge. The country beyond, as we are told by Pringle, in his graphic
account of the expedition, [see Note 1] "for a distance of seventy
miles, to the new frontier at the Chumi and Keisi rivers, had been, the
preceding year, forcibly depeopled of its native inhabitants, the Kafirs
and Ghonaquas, and now lay waste and void, `a howling wilderness,'
occupied only by wild beasts, and haunted occasionally by wandering
banditti of the Bushman race (Bosjesmen), who were represented as being
even more wild and savage than the beasts of prey with whom they shared
the dominion of the desert."
Just before their arrival at this point, the old waggons, with the
drivers who had accompanied them from Algoa Bay, were exchanged for
fresh teams and men, and here Ruyter, Jemalee, and Booby left them, to
proceed over a spur of one of the mountain ranges to Jan Smit's farm on
the karroo. But Hans Marais, having taken a fancy to some of the Scotch
men, determined to proceed with them until he had seen them fairly
established in their new homes. Of course Charlie Considine accompanied
Hans.
In a wild spot among the mountains they were hospitably received at the
solitary abode of a field-cornet named Opperman, who said that he had
orders to assist them with an escort of armed boers over the remaining
portion of their journey, and to place them in safety on their allotted
ground. This remaining portion, he told them, was up the Baviaans River
glen, and, although little more than twenty-five miles, would prove to
be harder than any part of the journey they had yet encountered.
Remembering some of the breakneck gorges of the Zuurberg, Jerry Goldboy
said that he didn't believe it possible for any route to be worse than
that over which they had already passed, to which Sandy Black replied
with a "humph!" and an opinion that "the field-cornet o' the distric'
was likely to know what he was speakin' aboot." But Jerry never had
been, and of course never could be, convinced by reason. "Nothing," he
candidly admitted, "but hard facts had the least weight with him."
"'Ee've got hard fac's noo, Jerry," said Sandy, about noon of the
following day, as he threw down the axe with which he had been hewing
the jungle, and pulled off his hat, from the crown of which he took a
red cotton handkerchief wherewith to wipe his thickly-beaded brow.
Jerry could not deny the truth of this, for he also had been engaged
since early morning with a South African axe nearly as large as himself,
in assisting to out a passage up the glen.
Not only was there no road up this mountain gorge, but in some parts it
was scarcely possible to make one, so rugged was the ground, so dense
the jungle. But the preliminary difficulties were as nothing compared
to those which met them further up; yet it was observable that the Dutch
waggoners faced them with the quiet resolution of men accustomed to the
overcoming of obstacles.
"You'd go up a precipice, Hans, I do believe, if there was no way round
it," said Considine, as he gazed in admiring wonder at his tall friend
driving his oxen up an acclivity that threatened destruction to waggon,
beasts, and men.
"At ony rate he'd try," remarked Sandy Black, with one of his grave
smiles.
Hans was too busy to heed these remarks, if he heard them, for the oxen,
being restive, claimed his undivided attention, and the wielding of the
twenty-foot whip taxed both his arms, muscular though they were.
When the long line of emigrants had slowly defiled through the _poort_,
or narrow gorge, of the mountains from which Baviaans River issues into
the more open valley where it joins the Great Fish River, they came
suddenly upon a very singular scene, and a still more singular man. In
the middle of the poort they found a small farm, where tremendous
precipices of naked rock towered all round, so as to leave barely
sufficient space on the bank of the river for the houses and
cattle-folds, with a well-stocked garden and orchard. There was also a
small plot of corn-land on the margin of the stream.
"'Tis a little paradise!" exclaimed Kenneth McTavish, as he and
Considine joined a knot of men on a knoll, whence they had a good view
of the little farm.
"It's an unco' rocky paradise," observed Sandy Black, "an' the angelic
appendages o' wings wadna be unsuitable to its inhabitants, for it seems
easier to flee oot o't ower the precipices than to scramble intil't ower
the rocks an' rooten trees. I wonder wha it belangs to."
Hans Marais, who came up at the moment, explained that it belonged to a
Dutch boer named Prinsolo, who had been a leader some years before in a
rebellion, but had been pardoned and allowed to retain his lands.
"You've sometimes said you thought me a big fellow, Considine," remarked
Hans, "and I can't gainsay you, but you shall see a much bigger fellow
if Prinsolo is at home, for he's a giant even among Cape Dutchmen. We
call him Groot Willem (Big William), for he is burly and broad as well
as tall--perhaps he is taking his noon nap," added Hans, moving forward.
"He seldom lets even a single waggon come so near without--ah! I
thought so."
As he spoke a peculiarly deep bass yawn was heard inside the principal
house of the farm to which the party now drew near. Next moment a heavy
thump sounded, as if on the floor, and immediately after there issued
from the open door a veritable giant in his shirt-sleeves. Groot Willem
was rough, shaggy, and rugged, as a giant ought to be. He was also
sluggish in his motions, good-humoured, and beaming, as many of the
Dutch giants are. Appropriately enough, on beholding the settlers, he
uttered a deep bass halloo, which was echoed solemnly by the mighty
cliffs at his back. It was neither a shout of alarm nor surprise, for
he had long been aware that this visit was pending, but a hasty summons
to his household to turn out and witness the stirring and unwonted
sight.
It might have been supposed that a giant, whose kindred had been
deprived of their lands by the British Government, and some of whom had
been executed for high treason, would have regarded the British
immigrants with no favourable eye, but Groot Willem appeared to have a
large heart in his huge body, for he received the advance-guard of the
party with genuine hospitality. Perhaps he was of an unusually
forgiving spirit; or it may be that his innate sense of justice led him
to recognise the demerit of himself and his kindred; or perchance he was
touched by the leniency extended to himself; but, whatever the cause, he
shook the newcomers heartily by the hand, said he regarded them as next
door-neighbours, started the echoes of the precipices--which he styled
Krantzes--and horrified the nearest baboons with shouts of bass laughter
at every word from himself or others which bore the remotest semblance
to a joke, and insisted on as many of the strangers as could be got into
his house, drinking to their better acquaintance in home-made brandy.
The same deadly beverage was liberally distributed to the men outside,
and Groot Willem wound up his hospitalities by loading the party with
vegetables, pomegranates, lemons, and other fruits from his garden as he
sent them on their way rejoicing. Soon afterwards he followed them, to
aid in forcing a passage up the valley.
In return, as a slight acknowledgment of gratitude, Hans supplied the
giant with a little powder and lead, and Mr Pringle gave his family a
few Dutch tracts and hymn-books.
"Wonders'll niver cease in this land!" said Sandy Black to Jerry Goldboy
as they left the farm.
"That's true, Sandy; it's a houtrageous country."
"To think," continued the Scot, "that we should foregather wi' Goliath
amang the heeland hills o' Afriky; an' him fond o' his dram tae--Hech,
man! look there--at the puggies."
He pointed as he spoke to a part of the precipice where a group of
baboons were collected, gazing indignantly and chattering furiously at
the intruders on their domain.
The ursine baboon is not naturally pugnacious, but neither is he timid
or destitute of the means of defence. On the contrary, he is armed with
canine teeth nearly an inch long, and when driven to extremities will
defend himself against the fiercest wolf-hound. He usually grapples his
enemy by the throat with his fore and hind paws--takes a firm bite with
his formidable tusks, and tears and tugs till he sometimes pulls away
the mouthful. Many a stout baboon has in this manner killed several
dogs before being overpowered. It is said that even the leopard is
sometimes attacked and worried by baboons, but it is only collectively
and in large bands that they can oppose this powerful enemy, and baboons
are never the aggressors. It is only in defence of their young that
they will assail him.
The strong attachment of these creatures to their young is a fine trait
in their character. This quality has been shown on many occasions,
especially when the creatures have been engaged in orchard-robbing,--for
they are excessively fond of fruit and remarkably destitute of
conscience. On such occasions, when hunted back to the mountains with
dogs, the females, when separated accidentally from their young, have
been seen to return to search for them through the very midst of their
pursuers, being utterly regardless of their own safety.
The group to which Black now directed attention consisted of several
females with a number of young ones. They were all huddled in a cleft
of the precipice, looking down in apparent surprise at the strangers.
On a neighbouring height sat a big old satyr-like male, who had been
placed there as a sentinel. Baboons are wise creatures, and invariably
place sentinels on points of vantage when the females and their young
are feeding on the nutritious bulbs and roots that grow in the valleys.
The old gentleman in question had done his duty on the first appearance
of the human intruders. He had given a roar of warning; the forty or
fifty baboons that were down near the river had scampered off
precipitately, dashed through the stream, or leaped over it where
narrow, hobbled awkwardly on all-fours over the little bit of level
ground, and clambered with marvellous agility up the cliffs, till they
had gained the ledge from which they now gazed and chattered, feeling
confident in the safety of their position.
"Did iver 'ee see the like? They're almost human!" said Sandy.
"Just look at that big grandmother with the blue face and the little
baby on 'er back!" exclaimed Jerry.
"How d'you know she's a grandmother?" asked Considine.
"W'y, because she's much fonder of the baby than its own mother could
be."
As he spoke, one of the party below them fired, and the echoes sprang in
conflict from the surrounding heights, as a bullet whizzed over their
heads and hit the rocks, sending a shower of harmless chips and dust
among the baboons.
With a shriek of consternation they scattered and fled up the heights at
racing speed.
A burst of laughter from the settlers,--all the more hearty that no
damage had been done,--increased the terror inspired by the shot, and
seemed to invest the animals with invisible wings.
"Tally-ho!" shouted Considine in excitement.
"The black ane for ever!" cried Sandy.
"I'll back the grey one with the short tail," said Kenneth McTavish,
coming up at the moment, "although she has two little ones clinging to
her."
"Ten to one," cried Jerry, bending eagerly forward, "on the blue-nosed
grandmother wi' the baby on her back!"
It did indeed seem as if Jerry's favourite was going to reach the top of
the crags before any of the other horrified creatures, for she was
powerful as well as large, and her burden was particularly small. The
infant required no assistance, but clung to its dam with its two little
hands like a limpet, so that she could use her limbs freely. But an
unusually long and vigorous bound chanced to loosen the little one's
grasp. It fell off with a pitiful shriek, and, with an imploring upward
look on its miserable countenance, clasped its little hands in mute
despair.
Granny or mamma,--we know not which,--with the quick intuition of a
great general, took in the whole position like a flash of light. She
turned on the ledge she had gained and dropped her tail. Baby seized it
and clambered up. Then away she went like a rocket, and before the
little one had well regained its former position she had topped the
ridge full two yards ahead of the whole troop!
"Well done!" cried McTavish.
"Huzza!" shouted Jerry.
"Brute!" exclaimed Considine, striking up the muzzle of a gun which was
pointed at the grandmother and child by a panting young idiot who rushed
up at the moment, "would you commit murder?"
The gun exploded and sent its ball straight to the new moon, which,
early though it was, had begun to display the washed-out horns of its
first quarter in the sky.
"Confound you!" cried the so-called Brute, who was by no means a coward,
throwing down his gun and hitting Considine a heavy blow on the chest.
Charlie "returned" on the forehead and sent the Brute head over heels on
the turf, but he sprang up instantly, and there would certainly have
been a battle-royal if Groot Willem, who opportunely appeared, had not
seized Considine by the arm, while Hans Marais grasped the Brute by the
neck, and rendered further action impossible. A moment sufficed to cool
the youths, for the "Brute" was young, and they both shook hands with a
laugh and a mutual apology.
Soon after leaving the giant's farm the travellers reached a point where
the main stream was joined by a subsidiary rivulet. Its corresponding
valley branched off to the right, about eight miles in length,
containing fine pasturage and rich alluvial soil. It extended eastward
behind the back of the Kahaberg, where the settlers observed the skirts
of the magnificent timber forests which cover the southern fronts of
that range, stretching over the summits of the hills at the head of the
glen. To this valley, and the wooded hills which bound it, was given
the name of Ettrick Forest, while the main valley itself was named Glen
Lynden.
Not far from this point the apology for a waggon track ended altogether,
and thenceforth the settlers found the route difficult and dangerous to
a degree far exceeding their previous experiences or their wildest
conceptions. Jerry Goldboy had now "facts" enough to overturn all his
unbelief. The axe, crowbar, pick, and sledge-hammer were incessantly at
work. They had literally to _hew_ their path through jungles and
gullies, and beds of torrents and rocky acclivities, which formed a
series of obstructions that tested the power of the whole party,--Groot
Willem and the allies included,--to the uttermost.
Of course the difficulties varied with the scenery. Here the vale was
narrow and gorge-like, with just sufficient room for the stream to pass,
while precipices of naked rock rose abruptly like rampart walls to a
height of many hundred feet. These in some places seemed actually to
overhang the savage-looking pass, or "poort," through which the waggons
had to struggle in the very bed of the stream. Elsewhere it widened out
sufficiently to leave space along the river-bank for fertile meadows,
which were picturesquely sprinkled with mimosa trees and evergreen
shrubs, and clothed with luxuriant pasturage up to the girths of the
horses. Everywhere the mountains rose around, steep and grand, the
lower declivities covered with good pasturage, the cliffs above, of
freestone and trap, frowning in wild forms like embattled ramparts whose
picturesque sides were sprinkled with various species of succulent
plants and flowering aloes.
For five days did they struggle up this short glen; two of these days
being occupied in traversing only three miles of a rugged defile, to
which they gave the name of Eildon Cleugh. But "nothing is denied to
well-directed labour." They smashed two waggons, damaged all the
others, half-killed their oxen, skinned all their knuckles,
black-and-blued all their shins, and nearly broke all their hearts, till
at length they passed through the last poort of the glen and gained the
summit of an elevated ridge which commanded a magnificent view to the
extremity of the vale.
"And now, Mynheer," said the field-cornet in charge of their escort,
"there lies your country."
"At last!--thank God," said the leader of the band, looking round on
their beautiful though savage home with feelings of deep gratitude for
the happy termination of their long and weary travels.
The toil of journeying was now succeeded by the bustle and excitement of
settling down.
Their new home was a lovely vale of about six or seven miles in length,
and varying from one to two in breadth, like a vast basin surrounded on
all sides by steep and sterile mountains, which rose in sharp wedge-like
ridges, with snow-clad summits that towered to an estimated height of
five thousand feet above the level of the sea. The contrast between the
warm peaceful valley and the rugged amphitheatre of mountains was very
great. The latter, dark and forbidding--yet home-like and gladdening to
the eyes of Scotsmen--suggested toil and trouble, while the former, with
its meandering river, verdant meadows, groves of sweet-scented
mimosa-trees, and herds of antelopes, quaggas, and other animals
pasturing in undisturbed quietude, filled the mind with visions of peace
and plenty. Perchance God spoke to them in suggestive prophecy, for the
contrast was typical of their future chequered career in these almost
unknown wilds of South Africa.
Left by their escort on the following day--as their English brethren had
been left in the Zuurveld of Lower Albany--to take root and grow there
or perish, the heads of families assembled, and their leader addressed
them.
"Here, at last," said he, "our weary travels by sea and land have come
to an end. Exactly six months ago, to a day, we left the shores of
bonny Scotland. Since then we have been wanderers, without any other
home than the crowded cabin at sea and the narrow tent on shore. Now we
have, through God's great goodness and mercy, reached the `Promised
Land' which is to be our future home, our place of rest. We have
pitched our tents among the mimosa-trees on the river's margin, and our
kind Dutch friends with the armed escort have left us. We are finally
left to our own resources; it behoves us therefore, kindred and
comrades, to proceed systematically to examine our domain, and fix our
several locations. For this purpose I propose that an armed party
should sally forth to explore, while the rest shall remain to take care
of the women and children, and guard the camp."
Acting on this advice, an exploration party was at once organised, and
set forth on foot, as they had at that time no horses or live stock of
any kind--save one dog, which had been purchased by the "Brute" (whose
proper name, by the way, was Andrew Rivers) from Groot Willem on the way
up.
They found the region most desirable in all respects. Open grassy
pastures were interspersed everywhere with clumps and groves of
mimosa-trees, while the river, a gurgling mountain-brook, meandered
musically through the meadows. From grove and thicket sprang the
hartebeest and duiker. From their lairs among the reeds and sedges of
the river rushed the reitbok and wild hog; while troops of quaggas
appeared trotting on the lower declivities of the hills.
"A magnificent region truly!" remarked Kenneth McTavish as they returned
home at night.
"'Eaven upon earth!" said Jerry Goldboy, with quiet enthusiasm.
"What splendid scenery!" exclaimed Charlie Considine,--who was addicted
to the pencil.
"What glorious sport!" cried his former antagonist, Rivers,--who was
fond of the rod and gun.
"And what aboot the Kawfirs and Bushmen?" asked Sandy Black, who, to use
his own language, "could aye objec'."
"Time enough to think of them when they appear," said Rivers.
"I don't believe they're half so bad as people say," cried Goldboy
stoutly.
"Maybe no," rejoined Black. "The place is paradise to-day, as you
sagaciously remarked, Jerry, but if the Kawfirs come it'll be
pandemonium to-morry. It's my opinion that we should get oursel's into
a defensible camp as soon as we can, an' than gae aboot our wark wi'
easy minds. Ye mind what Goliath and Hans Marais said before they left
us, aboot keepin' a sharp look-oot."
As no one replied to this, the Scot changed the subject by asking
Considine when he meant to leave.
"Not till Hans Marais comes over the hills to fetch me," was the reply.
"He has taken upon himself to give me extended leave of absence. You
know, Sandy, that I fill the office of Professor in his father's house,
and of course the Marais sprouts are languishing for want of water while
the schoolmaster is abroad, so I could not take it on myself to remain
longer away, if Hans had not promised to take the blame on his own
shoulders. Besides, rain in Africa is so infrequent, that the sprouts
won't suffer much from a week, more or less, of drought. Your leader
wishes me to stay for a few days, and I am anxious to see how you get
on. I'll be able to help a bit, and take part in the night-watches,
which I heard Mr Pringle say he intends to institute immediately."
On the day following a site was fixed for the commencement of the infant
colony, and the tents, etcetera, were removed to it. The day after
being Sunday, it was unanimously agreed to "rest" from labour, and to
"keep it holy."
It was an interesting and noteworthy occasion, the assembling of the
Scotch emigrants on that Sabbath day to worship God for the first time
in Glen Lynden. Their church was under the shade of a venerable
acacia-tree, close to the margin of the stream, which murmured round the
camp. On one side sat the patriarch of the party with silvery locks,
the Bible on his knee, and his family seated round him,--the type of a
grave Scottish husbandman. Near to him sat a widow, who had "seen
better days," with four stalwart sons to work for and guard her. Beside
these were delicate females of gentle blood, near to whom sat the
younger brother of a Scotch laird, who wisely preferred independence in
the southern wilds of Africa to dependence "at home." Besides these
there were youths and maidens, of rougher though not less honest mould--
some grave, others gay, but all at that time orderly and attentive,
while their leader gave forth the beautiful hymn which begins:
"O God of Bethel! by whose hand
Thy people still are fed,"
and followed it with a selection of prayers from the English Liturgy,
and a discourse from a volume of sermons.
While they were singing the last Psalm a beautiful antelope, which had
wandered down the valley,--all ignorant of the mighty change that had
taken place in the prospects of its mountain home,--came suddenly in
sight of the party, and stood on the opposite side of the river gazing
at them in blank amazement.
Andrew Rivers, who sat meekly singing a fine bass, chanced to raise his
head at the time. Immediately his eyes opened to their full extent, and
the fine bass stopped short, though the mouth did not close. With the
irresistible impulse of a true sportsman he half rose, but Sandy Black,
who sat near, caught him by the coat-tails and forced him firmly though
softly down.
"Whist, man; keep a calm sough!"
The young man, becoming instantly aware of the impropriety of his
action, resigned himself to fate and Sandy, and recovered
self-possession in time to close the interrupted line with two or three
of the deepest notes in the bass clef.
The innocent antelope continued to listen and gaze its fill, and was
finally permitted to retire unmolested into its native jungle.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. See _Narrative of a Residence in South Africa_, by Thomas
Pringle, late Secretary to the Anti-Slavery Society.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
EXPLORATIONS AND HUNTING EXPERIENCES.
Oh, they were happy times, these first days of the infant colony, when
every man felt himself to be a real Robinson Crusoe,--with the trifling
difference of being cast on heights of the mainland, instead of an islet
of the sea, and with the pleasant addition of kindred company!
So rich and lovely was their domain that some of the facetious spirits,
in looking about for sites for future dwellings, affected a rollicking
indifference to situations that would have been prized by any nobleman
in making choice of a spot for a shooting-box.
"Come now, McTavish," said Considine, on one of their exploring
expeditions, "you are too particular. Yonder is a spot that seems to
have been made on purpose for you--a green meadow for the cattle and
sheep, when you get 'em; stones scattered here and there, of a shape
that will suit admirably for building purposes without quarrying or
dressing; a clump of mimosa-trees to shelter your cottage from winds
that may blow down the valley, and a gentle green slope to break those
that blow up; a superb acacia standing by itself on a ready-made lawn
where your front door will be, under which you may have a rustic seat
and table to retire to at eventide with Mrs McTavish and lovely young
Jessie, to smoke your pipe and sip your tea."
"Or toddy," suggested Sandy Black.
"Or toddy," assented Considine.
"Besides all this, you have the river making a graceful bend in front of
your future drawing-room windows, and a vista of the valley away to the
left, with a rocky eminence on the right, whence baboons can descend to
rob your future orchard at night, and sit chuckling at you in safety
during the day, with a grand background of wooded gorges,--or corries,
as you Scotch have it, or kloofs, according to the boers--and a noble
range of snow-clad mountains to complete the picture!"
"Not a bad description for so young a man," said McTavish, surveying the
spot with a critical eye; "quite in our poetical leader's style. You
should go over it again in his hearing, and ask him to throw it into
verse."
"No; I cannot afford to give away the valuable produce of my brain. I
will keep and sell it some day in England. But our leader has already
forestalled me, I fear. He read to me something last night which he has
just composed, and which bears some resemblance to it. Listen:--
"`Now we raise the eye to range
O'er prospect wild, grotesque, and strange;
Sterile mountains, rough and steep,
That bound abrupt the valley deep,
Heaving to the clear blue sky
Their ribs of granite bare and dry.
And ridges, by the torrents worn,
Thinly streaked with scraggy thorn,
Which fringes Nature's savage dress,
Yet scarce relieves her nakedness.
But where the Vale winds deep
below,
The landscape hath a warmer glow
There the spekboom spreads its bowers
Of light green leaves and lilac flowers;
And the aloe rears her crimson crest,
Like stately queen for gala drest
And the bright-blossomed bean-tree shakes
Its coral tufts above the brakes,
Brilliant as the glancing plumes
Of sugar-birds among its blooms,
With the deep-green verdure blending
In the stream of light descending.'
"Something or other follows, I forget what, and then:--
"`With shattered rocks besprinkled o'er,
Behind ascends the mountain hoar,
Where the grin satyr-faced baboon
Sits gibbering to the rising moon,
Or chides with hoarse or angry cry
Th'intruder as he wanders by.'
"There--I can't remember the rest of it," said Considine, "and I'm not
even sure that what I've quoted is correct, but you see Mr Pringle's
mind has jumped before mine,--and higher."
"Man, it's no' that bad," observed Black, with emphasis. "Depend on't--
though I mak' nae pretence to the gift o' prophecy--he'll come oot as a
bard yet--the bard o' Glen Lynden maybe, or Sooth Afriky.--Hech, sirs!"
added Sandy, pointing with a look of surprise to a tree, many of the
pendent branches of which had peculiar round-shaped birds'-nests
attached to them, "what's goin' on there, think 'ee?"
The tree to which the Scot directed attention overhung the stream, and
down one of its branches a snake was seen twining itself with caution.
It evidently meant to rob one of the nests, for the little owner, with
some of its companions, was shrieking and fluttering round the would-be
robber. This kind of bird has been gifted with special wisdom to guard
its home from snakes. It forms the entrance to its pendent nest at the
bottom instead of the top, and hangs the nest itself at the extreme
point of the finest twigs, so that the snake is compelled to wriggle
downwards perpendicularly, and at last has to extend part of its body
past the nest, in order to be able to turn its head upwards into the
hole. Great, unquestionably, is a snake's capacity to hold on by its
tail, but this holding on as it were to next-to-nothing is usually too
much for it. While the explorers were watching, the snake turned its
head upwards for the final dive into the nest, but its coils slipped,
and it fell into the water amid triumphant shrieks from the little
birds. Nothing daunted, however, the snake swam ashore and made another
attempt--with the same result. Again it made the trial; a third time it
failed, and then, in evident disgust, went off to attack some easier
prey.
While Considine and his companions were thus out in search of good
localities on which to plant future homesteads, the greater part of the
settlers were engaged, at a spot which they had named Clifton, in
erecting temporary huts of the wattle-and-dab order. Mr Pringle
himself, with a bold fellow named Rennie, remained to guard the camp, as
they had reason to fear a surprise from Bushmen marauders, known at that
time to be roaming the ne
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