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 neighbourhood.  More than once the sentinels were
tempted to fire into a band of baboons, whom they not unnaturally
mistook for Bushmen!

Other parties were sent out to cut wood and reeds, which they had to
carry into camp, sometimes two or three miles, on their shoulders, while
some were despatched into the kloofs to hunt, provisions having by that
time grown scarce.  Not being a sportsman himself, and not feeling sure
of the power of his men, who were at that time unaccustomed to the gun,
Mr Pringle wisely sent two of the party to the nearest station--about
forty miles distant--to inquire about a supply of provisions and a few
horses, which were expected from the Government-farm of Somerset.

The first hunting party sent out was not a select one, the people
generally being too eager about examining and determining their
immediate locations to care about sport.  It consisted of young Rivers
and Jerry Goldboy.  The former was appointed, or rather allowed, to go,
more because of his sporting enthusiasm than because of any evidence he
had yet given of his powers, and the latter merely because he desired to
go.  For the same reason he was permitted to arm himself with his
blunderbuss.  Rivers carried a heavy double-barrelled fowling-piece.  He
was a stout active impulsive young fellow, with the look of a capable
Nimrod.

"You'd have been better with a fowling-piece, or even a Dutch roer,"
said Rivers, casting a doubtful look at the blunderbuss as they entered
the jungle and began to ascend one of the nearest subsidiary glens or
kloofs.

"Well now, sir," said Jerry respectfully, "I don't agree with you.  A
man who goes a-shootin' with a fowlin'-piece or a Dutch gun must 'ave
some sort o' capacity for shootin'--mustn't 'e, sir?"

"Well, I suppose he must."

"W'ereas," continued Jerry, "a man who goes a-shootin' with a
blunderbuss don't require no such qualification--that's w'ere it is,
sir."

"D'you mean to say that you can't shoot?" asked Rivers, with a look of
surprise.

"No more, sir," replied Jerry with emphasis, "than the weathercock of a
Dutch Reformed Church.  Of course I know 'ow to load--powder first, ball
or shot arterwards; it's usually gravel with me, that bein', so to
speak, 'andy and cheap.  An' I knows w'ich end o' the piece to putt to
my shoulder, likewise 'ow to pull the trigger, but of more than that I'm
hinnocent as the babe unborn.  Ah! you may laugh, sir, but after all I'm
a pretty sure shot.  Indeed I seldom miss, because I putt in such a
'eavy charge, and the 'buss scatters so fearfully that it's all but
impossible to miss--unless you fairly turn your back on the game and
fires in the opposite direction."

"You're a pleasant hunting companion!" said Rivers.  "Do you know the
importance of always keeping the muzzle of your gun _away_ from the
unfortunate fellow you chance to be shooting with?"

"Ho, yes, sir.  The dangerous natur' of my weapon is so great that I've
adopted the plan of always walking, as you see, with what the milingtary
call `shouldered arms,' which endangers nothin' but the sky--includin'
the planetory system--except w'en I 'appens to fall, w'en, of course,
it's every man lookout for hisself.  But there's one consolation for
you, sir,--my blunderbuss don't go off easy.  It takes two pulls of the
trigger, mostly, to bring fire out o' the flint, and as I often forget
to prime--there's a third safeguard in that, so to speak."

Further converse was interrupted by the sudden bursting of a duiker, or
large antelope, from a thicket close beside them.  Both sportsmen
levelled their pieces, but, the jungle there being dense, the animal
vanished before either could fire.  With the eager haste of tyros,
however, they ran stumbling after it until they came to an open stretch
of ground which led them to the edge of a small plain.  Here they
simultaneously discovered that no duiker was to be seen, though they
observed a troop of quaggas far out of range, and a hartebeest in the
distance.  The former, observing them, kicked up their heels, and dashed
away into the mountains.  The latter, a handsome creature, the size of
an average pony and fleet as a stag, bounded into the jungle.

"No use going after these," said Rivers, with a wistful gaze.

"No, sir,--none w'atever."

"Better keep to the jungle and be ready next time," said the young
sportsman.  "We mustn't talk, Jerry."

"No, sir; mum's the word.  But 'ow if we should meet with a lion?"

"Shoot it of course.  But there is no such luck in store for us."

After this the hunters proceeded with greater caution.  As they kept in
the thick bush, they frequently startled animals, which they heard
leaping up and bursting through the underwood, but seldom got a glimpse,
and never a shot.

"Tantalising, ain't it, sir?"

"Hush!"

They issued on another open space at this point, and, seeing a thick bed
of sedges near the margin of a stream, proceeded towards it, separating
from each other a few yards in order to cover the ground.

There was a sudden and violent shaking in the sedges on their approach,
as if some large animal had been aroused from sleep, but the tall reeds
prevented its being seen.

"Look out, Jerry, and keep more on the other side--there--Hallo!"

As he spoke, a creature called by the Dutch colonists a reit-vark, or
reed-swine, whose quick starts and sharp stoppages betrayed its
indecision, at length made up its mind and rushed out of the reeds in
wild alarm close to Rivers, who, although ready, was incapable of
restraining himself, and fired in haste.  The ball nevertheless slightly
grazed the animal's side.

With a shriek of intense agony, such as only a brute of the porcine
tribe can utter, the reit-vark swerved aside and ran straight, though
unintentionally, at Jerry Goldboy.

Self-control not being Jerry's forte, he uttered a great cry, presented
the blunderbuss with both hands, shut his eyes, and fired.  The butt of
his piece came back on his chest and floored him, and the half-pound of
gravel charge went into the forehead of the reit-vark, which dropped
with a final groan, whose clear import was--"no earthly use in
struggling after _that_!"  Recovering himself, Jerry was jubilant over
his success.  Rivers was almost envious.

They proceeded, but killed nothing more afterwards, though they saw
much.  Among other things, they saw a footprint in the sand which filled
them with interest and awe.

It was that of a lion!  During the journey up from the coast they had
seen much game, large and small, of every kind, except the Cape "tiger"
and the lion.  They had indeed, once or twice, _heard_ the peculiar
growl or _gurr_ of the former, but until this day none of the party had
seen even the footprint of the king of beasts.  Of course the interest
and excitement was proportional.  Of course, also, when the subject was
discussed round the camp-fires that night, there was a good deal of
"chaffing" among the younger men about the probability of a mistake as
to the nature of the footprints by such unaccustomed sportsmen; but
Rivers was so confident in his statements, and Jerry was so contemptuous
in his manner of demanding whether there was any difference between the
paw of a cat and a lion, except in size, and whether he was not
perfectly familiar with a cat's paw, that no room for scepticism
remained.

It had been a threatening day.  Muttered thunder had been heard at
intervals, and occasional showers,--the first that had assailed them
since their arrival in the glen.  The night became tempestuous, cold,
and very dark, so that soon all were glad to seek the shelter of the
tents or of the half-finished wattle-and-dab huts, except the sentinels.
Of these, two were appointed for every watch.  Masters and servants
shared this disagreeable duty equally.  Particularly disagreeable it was
that night, for the rain came down in such torrents that it was
difficult to keep the fires alight despite a good supply of firewood.

About midnight the sleeping camp was aroused by the roar of a lion close
to the tents.  It was so loud and so tremendous that some of the
sleepy-heads thought for a moment a thunderstorm had burst upon them.
Every one was up in a second--the men with guns, pistols, swords, and
knives.  There was no mistaking the _expression_ of the roar--the voice
of fury as well as of power.

"Whereaboots is the brute?" cried Sandy Black, who, roused to unwonted
excitement by the royal voice, issued from his tent in a red nightcap
and drawers, with a gun in one hand and a carving-knife in the other.

"Here!"  "There!"  "In this direction!"  "No, it isn't!"  "I say it is!"
and similar exclamations, burst from every one.  The uncertainty was
probably occasioned partly by the mode the animal has of sometimes
putting his mouth close to the ground when he roars, so that the voice
rolls along like a billow; partly also by the echo from a mountain-rock
which rose abruptly on the opposite bank of the river.  Finding it
impossible to decide the question of direction, the party fired volleys
and threw firebrands in all directions, and this they did with such
vigour that his kingship retired without uttering another sound.

It was a grand, a royal, almost a humorous mode of breaking a spell--the
spell of unbelief in lions,--which some of the party had been under up
to that moment.  They remained under it no longer!

As if to confirm and fix the impression thus made, this lion,--or
another,--gave some of the party a daylight interview.  George Rennie,
McTavish, Considine, Black, and others, had gone up the river to cut
reeds in the bed of the stream.  While they were busily engaged with
their sickles, up rose a majestic lion in their very midst!

"Preserve us a'!" exclaimed Black, who was nearest to him.

Jerry Goldboy turned to seize his blunderbuss.  The lion leaped upon the
bank of the river, turned round and gazed upon the men.

"Let go!" exclaimed Jerry in a hoarse whisper, endeavouring to shake off
the vice-like grip that Black had laid on his arm.

"Keep quiet, man," growled Black sternly.

The rest of the party were wise enough not to interfere with the lion.
They were at that time inexperienced.  To have wounded him would have
brought disaster, perhaps death, on some of them.  George Rennie (who
afterwards became a celebrated lion-hunter) was emphatic in advising
caution.  After gazing in quiet surprise on the intruders for a minute
or so, he turned and retired; first slowly, and then, after getting some
distance off, at a good round trot.

This was the first sight they had of the royal beast.  Afterwards,
during the winter and spring, they had frequent visits from lions, but
did not suffer actual damage from them.  They also, in course of time,
dared to "beard the lion in his den,"--but of that more anon.

The labour of the settlers at this time--before oxen and horses were
procured--was very severe.  Of course this had the effect of weeding the
little company of some of its chaff in the shape of lazy and
discontented men.  One said that he "had not been engaged to work by
day, and watch by night, as well as living in constant fear of being
scalped by savages or devoured by wild beasts."  The observation being
true and unanswerable, he was "graciously permitted to retire from the
service," and returned to Algoa Bay.  But on the whole there was little
murmuring, and no rebellion.  By degrees difficulties were smoothed
down.  A squatter on one of the forfeited farms, about eight miles off,
who with his family lived solely on flesh and milk, was engaged to lend
a hand with his waggon and oxen to "flit" the families to their various
locations.  He also sold the settlers a few sheep.  In time, more sheep
and oxen were purchased from the Dutch farmers on the Tarka, a river on
the other side of the mountains.  Hottentots came from Somerset with
flour.  Thatched huts replaced the tents.  A few horses were obtained.
Gardens were cleared and enclosed.  Trenches for irrigation were cut.
Trees were rooted out, and ploughs were set to work.  Ten armed
Hottentots were sent by the magistrates of the district to which they
belonged, to guard and relieve them of night-watches, and with these
came the news that ten of their friend Opperman's cattle, and seven
belonging to their neighbour the squatter, had been carried off by
Bushmen.

At this point Sandy Black aroused the admiration of the ten Hottentots
by setting to work one morning in September--the beginning of spring in
South Africa--with a Scotch plough, which was guided entirely by himself
and drawn by only two oxen.  His dark-skinned admirers had never seen
any other plough than the enormous unwieldy implement then in use among
the Dutch, which had only one handle, no coulter, was usually drawn by
ten or twelve oxen, and managed by three or four men and boys.

By degrees those of the party who were good linguists began to pick up
Dutch.  Mr Pringle, especially, soon became familiar enough with it to
be able to hold a Dutch service on Sundays, in addition to the English,
for the benefit of the Hottentot guards.  He also added a slight
knowledge of medicine to his other qualifications, and was thus enabled
to minister to the wants of body and soul, at a time when the people had
no regular physician or professional minister of the Gospel.

The arrival of horses gave the settlers opportunities of making more
extended and more thorough explorations of their own domain, and the
daily routine of life was varied and enlivened by an occasional visit
from the Tarka boers, whom they found good-natured and hospitable--also
very shrewd at a bargain!

Thus they took root and began to grow.

But before many of these things occurred Hans Marais came over the
mountains, according to promise, and "Professor" Considine was fain to
bid the Scotch settlers farewell, promising, however, to return and
visit them on some future day.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

GIVES SOME ACCOUNT OF A GREAT LION-HUNT.

Although the lion's roar had been frequently heard by the settlers of
Glen Lynden, some months elapsed before they came into actual conflict
with his majesty.  By that time the little colony had taken firm root.
It had also been strengthened by a few families of half-castes or
mulattos.

One morning it was discovered that a horse had been carried off by a
lion, and as his track was clearly traceable into a neighbouring kloof,
the boldest men of the settlement, as well as some Dutchmen who chanced
to be there at the time, were speedily assembled for a regular hunt
after the audacious thief.

It was a great occasion, and some of the men who became noted for
prowess in after years began their career on that day.  George Rennie,
who ultimately acquired the title of the Lion-hunter, came to the
rendezvous with a large elephant-gun on his shoulder; also his brother
John, fearless and daring as himself.  Then followed the brothers
Diederik and Christian Muller,--frank, free, generous-hearted Dutchmen,
who were already known as among the most intrepid lion-hunters of South
Africa; and Arend Coetzer of Eland's-drift; and Lucas Van Dyk, a tall
dark muscular man of about six feet two, with a bushy black beard, and
an eye like an eagle's, carrying a gun almost as long and unwieldy as
himself; and Slinger, Allie, and Dikkop, their sturdy Hottentot
servants, with Dugal, a half-tamed Bushman, the special charge of Mr
Pringle.  These and several others were all armed with gun and spear and
knife.

Soon our friend Sandy Black, who had been summoned from work in his
garden, joined them with a rusty old flint-lock gun.  He was followed by
young Rivers, with a double-barrelled percussion of large calibre, and
by Kenneth McTavish, accompanied by his wife and Jessie, both imploring
him earnestly, "not to be rash, and to keep well out of danger!"

"Oh!  Kenneth," entreated Mrs M, "_do_ be careful.  A lion is _such_ a
fearful thing!"

"My dear, it's _not_ a `thing', it's an _animal_," growled Kenneth,
trying to induce his wife to go home.

"Yes, but it _is_ so dangerous, and only think, if it should get hold of
you--and I _know_ your headstrong courage will make you do something
foolhardy--what is to become of me and Jessie?"

It was evident from the tone of McTavish's reply that he did not care
much what should become of either wife or daughter just then, for he saw
that his male friends were laughing at him, but he was fortunately
relieved by Jerry Goldboy coming up at the moment--with the blunderbuss
on his shoulder--and informing Mrs McTavish that her "pet," a lamb
which had been recently purchased from one of the Tarka boers, was at
large, with two or three hungry dogs looking earnestly at it!

The good lady at once forsook the old goat, and ran back with Jessie to
the rescue of the pet lamb.

"What have 'ee putt i' the 'buss?" asked Sandy Black of Jerry, with a
sly look, as the latter joined the group of hunters.

"Well, d'you know, I ain't quite sure," replied Jerry in some confusion;
"I--I was called out so suddenly that I 'ad scarce time to think."

"Think!" repeated Black; "it doesna tak' muckle time to think hoo to
load a gun, but to be sure _your_ gun is a pecooliar ane."

"Well, you see," returned Jerry, with the troubled look still on his
countenance, "it does require a little consideration, because it would
be useless to load with my ordinary charge of gravel for a lion.  Then I
feared to put in large stones, lest they should jam in the barrel an'
bu'st the hold thing.  So I collected a lot of hold buttons and a few
nails, besides two or three thimbles, but--"

"Weel," said Black, as his friend paused, "thae sort o' slugs wull at
least gie the lion a peppery sort o' feeling, if naethin' waur."

"Yes, but, d'you see," continued Jerry, "there was a silver tea-spoon on
the table when I made the collection of things, and after I had loaded I
I couldn't find the tea-spoon, and I fear--"

Just at that moment Groot Willem galloped upon the scene and was
received with a hearty cheer.

The Hottentots were now sent on in advance to trace out the "spoor"--in
other words, the track of the lion.

On the way one of the Dutchmen entertained those of the settlers who
were inexperienced with an account of the mode in which lion-hunts
should be conducted.  The right way to go to work, he said, was to set
the dogs into the cover and drive the lion into the open, when the whole
band of hunters should march forward together and fire either singly or
in volleys.  If he did not fall, but should grow furious and advance
upon his assailants, then they should stand close in a circle and turn
their horses with their heads from the foe, horses being usually much
frightened at the sight of a lion.  Some should hold the bridles, while
others should kneel and take careful aim at the approaching enemy, which
would crouch now and then as if to measure his distance and calculate
the power of his spring.  When he crouched, that was the time to shoot
him fair in the head.  If they should miss, which was not unlikely, or
only wound the lion, and the horses should get frantic with tenor at his
roars, and break loose, there was reason to fear that serious mischief
might follow.

No Red Indian of the backwoods ever followed the "trail" of beast or foe
more unerringly than these Hottentots and mulattos tracked that lion
through brushwood and brake, over grass and gravel, where in many
places, to an unskilled eye, there was no visible mark at all.  Their
perseverance was rewarded: they came upon the enemy sooner than had been
expected.  At the distance of about a mile from the spot where he had
killed the horse they found him in a straggling thicket.

From this point of vantage he would by no means come out.  The dogs were
sent in, and they barked furiously enough, but the lion would not
condescend to show fight.  After some hours spent in thus vainly heating
about the bush, George Rennie became impatient and resolved to "storm"
the stronghold!  In company with his brother John, and another man named
Ekron, he prepared to enter the thicket where the lion was concealed,
and persuaded three of the mulattos to follow in rear, and be ready to
fire if their assault should prove abortive.

It was of no use that Lucas, Van Dyk, and the Mullers, and other
experienced Dutchmen, tried to dissuade them from their enterprise by
assuring them that it was a ridiculous as well as reckless mode of
attack, and would be almost certainly attended with fatal consequences.
The brothers Rennie, as yet inexperienced, were obstinate.  They were
bent on attacking the lion in his den.

While this arrangement was being made the soul of Jerry Goldboy became
unfortunately inflated with a desire to distinguish himself.
Spiritually brave, though physically nervous, he made a sudden resolve
to shoot that lion or die in the attempt!  Without uttering a word he
cocked his blunderbuss, and, before any one could prevent him, made a
bold dash into the jungle at a point where the hounds were clamouring
loudest.

"Save us a', the body's gane gyte!" exclaimed Sandy Black, promptly
following.  "Come on, freen's, or he's a deed man."

Sandy's impulse was suddenly arrested by a roar from the lion so
tremendous that it appeared to shake the solid earth.  Next moment Jerry
beheld a large animal bound with a crash through the brake straight at
him.  His heart leaped into his mouth, but he retained sufficient
vitality to present and fire.  A wild yell followed, as the animal fell
dead at his feet, and Jerry found that he had lodged the whole
collection of buttons, nails, and miscellaneous articles, along with the
tea-spoon, in the head of the best hound, which had been scared by the
monarch's appalling roar!

It is difficult to say whether laughter or indignant growls were loudest
on the occurrence of this, but it is certain that the brothers Rennie
entered the thicket immediately after, despite the almost angry
remonstrances of the more knowing men, advanced to within about fifteen
paces of the spot where the lion lay crouched among the gnarled roots of
an evergreen bush with a small space of open ground on one side of it.

"Now then, boys," said George Rennie, casting a hasty glance over his
shoulder at the mulatto supports, "steady, and take good aim after we
fire."

He put the elephant gun to his shoulder as he spoke, his brother and
comrade did the same; a triple report followed, and the three heavy
balls, aimed with deadly precision, struck a great block of red stone
behind which the lion was lying.

With a furious growl he shot from his lair like the bolt from a
cross-bow.  The mulattos instinctively turned and fled without firing a
shot.  The three champions, with empty guns, tumbled over each other in
eager haste to escape the dreaded claws--but in vain, for with one
stroke he dashed John Rennie to the ground, put his paw on him, and
looked round with that dignified air of grandeur which has doubtless
earned for his race the royal title.  The scene was at once magnificent,
thrilling, and ludicrous.  It was impossible for the other hunters to
fire, because while one man was under the lion's paw the others were
scrambling towards them in such a way as to render an aim impossible.

After gazing at them steadily for a few seconds the lion turned as if in
sovereign contempt, scattered the hounds like a pack of rats, and, with
a majestic bound over bushes upwards of twelve feet high, re-entered the
jungle.  With a feeling of indignation at such contemptuous treatment,
George Rennie re-charged his gun in haste, vowing vengeance against the
whole feline race--a vow which he fully redeemed in after years.  His
brother John, who was injured to the extent of a scratch on the back and
a severe bruise on the ribs by the rough treatment he had received,
arose and slowly followed his example, and Groot Willem, growling in a
tone that would have done credit to the lion himself, and losing for the
moment the usual wisdom of his countrymen in such encounters, strode
savagely into the jungle, followed by Sandy Black and Jerry, the latter
of whom appeared to labour under a sort of frenzied courage which urged
him on to deeds of desperate valour.  At all events he had recharged his
piece of ordnance to the very muzzle with a miscellaneous compound of
sand, stones, and sticks--anything, in short, that would go down its
capacious throat,--and, pushing wildly past Groot Willem, took the lead.

It was perhaps well for these strangely-assorted hunters that the lion
had made up his mind to quit the jungle.  A few minutes later he was
seen retreating towards the mountains, and the chase was renewed, with
hounds and Hottentots in full cry.  They came up with him in a short
time at bay under a mimosa-tree by the side of a streamlet.  He lashed
his tail and growled fiercely as he glared at the dogs, which barked and
yelped round him, though they took good care to keep out of reach of his
claws.  While they stirred up his wrath to the boiling point, they at
the same time distracted his attention, so that a party of Hottentots,
getting between him and the mountain side, took up a position on a
precipice which overlooked the spot where he stood at bay.  Suddenly the
lion appeared to change his mind.  Turning as before, and clearing all
obstacles at a bound, he took refuge in a dense thicket, into which a
heavy fire was poured without any effect.  Again George Rennie lost
patience.  He descended from the height accompanied by a favourite
little dog, and threw two large stones into the thicket.  His challenge
was accepted on the spot.  The lion leaped out with a roar, and was on
the point of making another bound, which would certainly have been fatal
to the hunter, but the little dog ran boldly up and barked in his face.
The momentary interruption saved Rennie, who leaped backward, but the
dog was instantly killed with a flashing pat from the royal paw.  At the
same moment a volley was fired by the Hottentots from the heights.
Unfortunately the position of Rennie rendered it impossible for the
Mullers or any of the other expert shots to fire.

Whether the volley had taken effect was uncertain, but it at all events
turned the lion from his purpose.  He wheeled round, and, abandoning the
bush, took to a piece of open ground, across which the hunters and dogs
followed him up hotly.

The lion now took refuge in a small copse on a slight eminence.
Diederik and Christian Muller were in advance, Groot Willem on his
mighty charger came next.  Van Dyk was running neck and neck with Jerry
Goldboy, who flourished the blunderbuss over his head and yelled like a
very demon.  It was obvious that he was mad for the time being.  The
rest came up in a confused body, many of the men on foot having kept up
with the horsemen.

The Rennies, having by that time become wiser, gave up their reckless
proceedings, and allowed Christian Muller, who was tacitly acknowledged
the leader of the party, to direct.  He gave the signal to dismount when
within a short distance of the copse, and ordered the horses to be tied
together as the different riders came up.  This was quickly done, and of
course all possibility of retreat was thus cut off.  The plan was to
advance in a body up the slope, leaving the horses in charge of the
Hottentots.

The preparations did not take long, but before they were completed a
growl was heard, then a terrific roar, and the lion, who had made up his
mind to act on the offensive, burst from the thicket and bore down on
the party, his eyeballs glaring with rage.  Being thus taken by surprise
they were unprepared.  His motion was so rapid that no one could take
aim--except, indeed, Jerry, who discharged his piece at the sky, and,
losing his balance, fell back with a wild halloo.  Selecting one of the
horses, the lion darted furiously at it.  The affrighted animal sprang
forward, and, in so doing, wheeled all the other horses violently round.
The lion missed his aim, but faced about and crouched at a distance of
only ten yards for another spring.  It was a terrible moment!  While the
monster was meditating on which victim he should leap, Christian Muller
was taking quick but deadly aim.  If he should merely wound the brute,
certain death to some one of the party would have been the instantaneous
result.  Most of them knew this well.

Knowing also that Muller was cool and sure, they breathlessly awaited
the result.  Only three or four seconds were spent in aiming, but
instants become minutes in such a case.  Some of the men almost gasped
with anxiety.  Another moment, and Christian fired.  The under jaw of
the lion dropped, and blood gushed front his mouth.  He turned round
with a view to escape, but George Rennie shot him through the spine.
Turning again with a look of vengeance, he attempted to spring, but the
once powerful hind-legs were now paralysed.  At the same moment, Groot
Willem, Van Dyk, Sandy Black, and McTavish put balls into different
parts of his body, and a man named Stephanus put an end to his existence
by shooting him through the brain.

It was a furious combat while it lasted, and a noble enemy had been
subdued, for this lion, besides being magnificent of aspect even in
death, measured full twelve feet from the point of his nose to the tip
of his tail.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

ADVENTURE WITH AN OSTRICH.

Time passed rapidly, and the settlers, both highland and lowland, struck
their roots deeper and deeper into the soil of their adoption--watched
and criticised more or less amiably by their predecessors, the few
Dutch-African farmers who up to that time had struggled on the frontier
all alone.

One day Hans Marais was riding with Charlie Considine on the karroo, not
far from the farm-house.  They had been conversing on the condition and
prospects of the land, and the trials and difficulties of the British
settlers.  Suddenly they came on an ostrich sitting on its eggs under a
bush.  The bird rose and ran on seeing the horsemen.

"I daresay the cock-bird is not far off," observed Hans, riding up to
the nest, which was merely a slight hollow scraped in the sandy soil,
and contained a dozen eggs.  "He is a gallant bird; guards his wife most
faithfully, and shares her duties."

"I've sometimes thought," said Considine musingly, "that the ostrich
might be tamed and bred on your farms.  With such valuable feathers it
would be worth while to try."

"You are not the first who has suggested that, Charlie.  My own mother
has more than once spoken of it."

"Stay a minute," said Considine; "I shall take one of the eggs home to
her."

"Not fit to eat.  Probably half hatched," said Hans.

"No matter," returned the other, dismounting.

"Well, I'll ride to the ridge and see if the papa is within hail."

Hans did but bare justice to the cock ostrich when he said he was a
gallant bird.  It is within the mark to say that he is not only a
pattern husband, but a most exemplary father, for, besides guarding his
wife and her nest most jealously by day, he relieves her at night, and
sits himself on the nest, while his better-half takes food and
relaxation.

While Hans rode forward a few hundred yards, the cock, which chanced to
be out feeding on the plain, observed his wife running excitedly among
the bushes, and at the same moment caught a glimpse of the Dutchman.

Seven-league boots could not have aided that ostrich!  With mighty
strides and outstretched wings the giant bird rushed in furious rage to
defend its nest.  Hans saw it, and, instantly putting spurs to his
horse, also made for the nest, but the ostrich beat him.

"Look out, Charlie!" shouted Hans.

Charlie did look out, somewhat anxiously too, turning his head nervously
from side to side, for while the thunder of hoofs and the warning cry of
Hans assailed him on one side, a rushing and hissing sound was heard on
the other.  The suspense did not last long.  A few seconds later, and
the ostrich appeared, bearing down on him with railway speed.  He raised
his gun and fired, but in the haste of the moment missed.  The cap of
the second barrel snapped.  He clubbed his gun, but, before he could
raise it, the ferocious bird was on him.  Towering high over his head,
it must have been between eight and nine feet in height.  One kick of
its great two-toed foot sufficed.  The ostrich kicks forward, as a man
might when he wishes to burst in a door with his foot, and no
prize-fighter can hit out with greater celerity, no horse can kick with
greater force.  If the blow had taken full effect it would probably have
been fatal, but Considine leaped back.  It reached him, however--on the
chest,--and knocked him flat on the nest, where he lay stunned amid a
wreck of eggs.

The vicious bird was about to follow up its victory by dancing on its
prostrate foe, when Hans galloped up.  The bird turned on him at once,
with a hiss and a furious rush.  The terrified horse reared and wheeled
round with such force as almost to throw Hans, who dropped his gun in
trying to keep his seat.  Jumping into the air, and bringing its foot
down with a resounding smack, the bird sent its two formidable nails
deep into the steed's flank, from which blood flowed copiously.  The
horse took the bit in its teeth, and ran.

Hans Marais was very strong, but fear was stronger.  The horse fairly
ran off, and the ostrich pursued.  Being fleeter than the horse, it not
only kept up with ease, but managed ever and anon to give it another
kick on flank, sides, or limbs.  Hans vainly tried to grasp his
assailant by the neck.  If he succeeded in this he knew that he could
easily have choked it, for the ostrich's weak point is its long slender
neck--its strong point being its tremendous leg, the thigh of which,
blue-black, and destitute of feathers, resembles a leg of mutton in
shape and size.

At last Hans bethought him of his stirrup.  Unbuckling it, he swung it
by the leather round his head, and succeeded, after one or two attempts,
in hitting his enemy on the head with the iron.  The ostrich dropped at
once and never rose again.

Returning to the nest with his vanquished foe strapped to his saddle, he
found Considine sitting somewhat confused among the egg-debris, much of
which consisted of flattened young ones, for the eggs were in an
advanced state of incubation.

"Why, Charlie, are you going to try your hand at hatching?" cried Hans,
laughing in spite of himself.

Considine smiled rather ruefully.  "I believe my breast-bone is knocked
in.  Just help me to examine; but first catch my horse, like a good
fellow."

It was found on examination that no bones were broken, and that, beyond
a bruise, Considine was none the worse of his adventure.

One egg was found to have survived the general destruction.  This was
taken to the farm and handed to Mrs Marais, and that amiable lady
adopted and hatched it!  We do not mean to assert that she sat upon it,
but having discovered, from mysterious sounds inside, that the young
ostrich contained in it was still alive, and, being a woman of an
experimental tendency, she resolved to become a mother to it.  She
prepared a box, by lining it with a warm feather pillow, above which she
spread several skin karosses or blankets, and into this she put the egg.
Every morning and every evening she visited the nest, felt the egg to
ascertain its temperature, and added or removed a blanket according to
circumstances.  How the good woman knew the proper temperature is a
mystery which no one could explain, but certain it is that she
succeeded, for in a few days the little one became so lively in its
prison as to suggest the idea that it wanted out.  Mrs Marais then
listened attentively to the sounds, and, having come to a decision as to
which end of the egg contained the head of the bird, she cracked the
shell at that point and returned it to the nest.

Thus aided, the infant ostrich, whose head and feet lay in
juxtaposition, began life most appropriately with its strongest point--
put its best foot foremost; drove out the end of its prison with a kick,
and looked astonished.  One or two more kicks and it was out.  Next time
its foster-mother visited the nest she found the little one free,--but
subdued, as if it knew it had been naughty,--and with that "well--what--
next?" expression of countenance which is peculiar to very young birds
in general.

When born, this little creature was about the size of a small barn-door
hen, but it was exceeding weak as well as long in the legs, and its
first efforts at walking were a mere burlesque.

The feeding of this foundling was in keeping with its antecedents.  Mrs
Marais was a thoroughgoing but incomprehensible woman.  One would have
thought that boiled sheep's liver, chopped fine, and hens' eggs boiled
hard, were about the most violently opposed to probability in the way of
food for an ostrich, old or young.  Yet that is the food which she gave
this baby.  The manner of giving it, too, was in accordance with the
gift.

Sitting down on a low stool, she placed the patient--so to speak--on its
back, between her knees, and held it fast; then she rammed the liver and
egg down its throat with her fingers as far as they would reach, after
which she set it on its legs and left it for a few minutes to
contemplation.  Hitching it suddenly on its back again, she repeated the
operation until it had had enough.  In regard to quantity, she regulated
herself by feeling its stomach.  In the matter of drink she was more
pronounced than a teetotaler, for she gave it none at all.

Thus she continued perseveringly to act until the young ostrich was old
enough to go out in charge of a little Hottentot girl named Hreikie, who
became a very sister to it, and whose life thence-forward was spent
either in going to sleep under bushes, on the understanding that she was
taking care of baby, or in laughing at the singular way in which her
charge waltzed when in a facetious mood.

There is no doubt that this ostrich would have reached a healthy
maturity if its career had not been cut short by a hyena.

Not until many years after this did "ostrich-farming" and
feather-exporting become, as it still continues, one of the most
important branches of commercial enterprise in the Cape Colony; but we
cannot avoid the conclusion, that, as Watt gave the first impulse to the
steam-engine when he sat and watched the boiling kettle, so Mrs Marais
opened the door to a great colonial industry when she held that infant
ostrich between her knees, and stuffed it with minced eggs and liver.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE BERGENAARS.

"So you like the study of French?" said Charlie Considine, as he sat one
morning beside Bertha Marais in the porch of her father's dwelling.

"Yes, very much," answered the girl.  She said no more, but she thought,
"Especially when I am taught it by such a kind, painstaking teacher as
you."

"And you like to live in the wild karroo?" asked the youth.

"Of course I do," was the reply, with a look of surprise.

"Of course.  It was a stupid question, Bertha; I did not think at the
moment that it is _home_ to you, and that you have known no other since
you were a little child.  But to my mind it would be a dull sort of life
to live here always."

"Do you find it so dull?" asked Bertha, with a sad look.

"No, not in the least," replied the youth, quickly.  "How _could_ I,
living as I do with such pleasant people, like one of their own kith and
kin, hunting with the sons and teaching the daughters--to say nothing of
scolding them and playing chess, and singing and riding.  Oh no!  I'm
anything but dull, but I was talking _generally_ of life in the karroo.
If I lived alone, for instance, like poor Horley, or with a disagreeable
family like that of Jan Smit--by the way, that reminds me that we have
heard news of the three runaways, Ruyter, Jemalee, and Booby."

"Oh!  I'm so glad," cried Bertha, her fair face brightening up with
pleasure, "for I am very fond of Ruyter.  He was so kind to me that time
he found me lying near Smit's house, when my pony ran away and threw me,
and I felt so miserable when I heard that his master was cruel and often
beat him with a sjambok.  Often and often since he ran away--and it must
be nearly a year now--I have prayed God that he might come back, and
that Jan Smit might become good to him--What have you heard?"

Considine's face wore a troubled look.  "I fear," he said, "the news
will distress you, for what I heard was that the three men, driven to
desperation by the harsh treatment received from their master, have
joined one of the fiercest of these gangs of robbers, called the
Bergenaars--the gang led, I believe, by Dragoener.  It was Lucas Van
Dyk, the hunter, who told me, and he is said to be generally correct in
his statements."

Bertha's nether lip quivered, and she hid her face in her hands for a
few moments in silence.

"Oh!  I'm so sorry--so sorry," she said at length, looking up.  "He was
so gentle, so kind.  I can't imagine Ruyter becoming one of those
dreadful Bergenaars, about whose ferocious cruelty we hear so much--his
nature was so different.  I can't believe it."

"I fear," rejoined Considine gently, "that it is true.  You know it is
said that oppression will drive even a wise man mad, and a man will take
to anything when he is mad."

"It could not drive a Christian to such a life," returned the girl
sadly.  "Oh!  I _wish_ he had become a Christian when Stephen Orpin
spoke to him, but he wouldn't."

"When did Orpin speak to him, and what did he say?" asked Considine,
whose own ideas as to Christianity were by no means fixed or clear.

"It was just after that time," rejoined Bertha, "when Jan Smit had had
him tied to a cart-wheel, and flogged so terribly that he could not walk
for some days.  Orpin happened to arrive at the time with his waggon--
you know he has taken to going about as a trader,--and he spoke a great
deal to Ruyter about his soul, and about Jesus coming to save men from
sin, and enabling them to forgive their enemies; but when Ruyter heard
about forgiving his enemies he wouldn't listen any more.  Pointing to
his wounds, he said, `Do you think I can forgive Jan Smit?'"

"I don't wonder," said Considine; "it is too much to expect a black
fellow smarting under the sjambok to forgive the man who applies it--
especially when it is applied unjustly, and with savage cruelty."

Bertha was not gifted with an argumentative spirit.  She looked
anxiously in the face of her companion, and murmured some broken
sentences about the Lord's Prayer and the Golden Rule, and wound up by
saying hesitatingly, "How can we ask forgiveness if we do not forgive?"

"You are right, Bertha," was Considine's rejoinder, uttered gravely;
"but, truly, a man must be more than a man to act on such principles.
Think, now of the state of things at the present time with regard to the
settlers.  The `rust,' as they call that strange disease which has
totally ruined the first year's crop of wheat, has thrown the most of
them into difficulties, and in the midst of this almost overwhelming
calamity down came the Kafirs on the Albany District, and the
Bergenaars, of whom we have just been speaking, not, like men, to fight
openly--that were endurable,--but like sly thieves in the dead of night,
to carry off sheep and cattle from many of the farms--in some cases even
killing the herdsmen.  Now, what think you must be the feelings of the
settlers towards these Kafirs and runaway robbers?--can _they_ forgive?"

Bertha didn't know.  She thought their feelings must be very harsh.
Diverging from the question, however, she returned to the first regret--
namely, that her friend Ruyter had joined the Bergenaars.

"Hallo!  Considine, hi! where are you?" came the sonorous voice of
Conrad Marais in the distance, interrupting the conversation.  Next
moment the hearty countenance of the farmer followed his voice round the
corner of the house.

"Come, get your gun, my boy!" he cried in some excitement.  "These
villains have been down last night and carried off two spans of my best
oxen, besides killing and devouring several sheep."

Considine started up at once.

"We shall be off in half an hour," continued the farmer; "Hans is away
gathering one or two neighbours, and the people are almost ready."

"Do you accompany them?" asked Considine.

"Of course I do.  Come along."

The youth required no urging.  In a few minutes he was armed and
mounted, galloping in company with a score of horsemen--black, brown,
and white--towards the cattle-kraals.  Here was already assembled by
Hans a troop of mounted men, among whom were Jan Smit and his three
sons, David, Jacob, and Hendrik, also the hunter Van Dyk.  After a brief
consultation, in which Van Dyk took a prominent part, they rode off at a
smart gallop.

We change the scene now to a large and dark cavern up among the wild
heights of the Winterberg mountains.

It was evening, but the sun had still a considerable distance to descend
before finding its bed on the western horizon.  A faint gleam of day
entered the cave, which was further illuminated by three fires, over
which a band of savage-looking dark-skinned men were roasting chops and
marrow-bones.  Abdul Jemalee the Malay slave and Booby the Bushman were
there, assisting at the feast.  At the inner end of the cave, seated
beside two men, was Ruyter the Hottentot.  He was a good deal changed
from the rough but careless and jolly fellow whom we first introduced to
the reader.  There was a stern severity on his countenance, coupled with
a touch of sadness when in repose, but when called into action, or even
when conversing, the softer feeling vanished, and nothing remained but
the lines indicative of a stern settled purpose.  Most of the robbers
around him had like himself fled from harsh masters, and become hardened
in a career of crime.  The expression of almost every countenance was
vindictive, sensual, coarse.  Ruyter's was not so.  Unyielding sternness
alone marked his features, which, we have elsewhere remarked, were
unusually good for a Hottentot.  Being a man of superior power he had
become the leader of this robber-band.  It was only one of many that
existed at that time among the almost inaccessible heights of the
mountain-ranges bordering on the colony.  His companions recognised the
difference between themselves and their captain, and did not love him
for it, though they feared him.  They also felt that he was irrevocably
one of themselves, having imbrued his hands in white man's blood more
than once, and already made his name terrible on that part of the
frontier.

"They should be here by this time," said Ruyter, in Dutch, to one of the
men at his side.  "Why did you send them off before I returned?"

He said this with a look of annoyance.  The man replied that he had
acted according to the best of his judgment and had been particular in
impressing the leader of the party that he was not to touch the flocks
of old Marais, but to devote himself entirely to those of Jan Smit.

To this Ruyter observed with a growl that it was not likely they would
attend to such orders if Marais' herds chanced to be handy, but the
robber to whom he spoke only replied with a sly smile, showing that he
was of the same opinion.

Just then a man rushed into the cave announcing the fact that their
comrades were returning with plenty cattle and sheep, but that they were
pursued.

Instantly the chops and marrow-bones were flung aside, and the robbers,
hastily arming, mounted their horses and descended to the rescue.

The band of which Ruyter had become leader had existed some time before
he joined.  It was a detachment from a larger band who acknowledged as
their chief a desperado named Dragoener.  This Bushman had been in the
service of Diederik Muller, but, on being severely flogged by a
hot-tempered kinsman of his master, had fled to the mountains, vowing
vengeance against all white men.  It is thus that one white scoundrel
can sometimes not only turn a whole tribe of savages into bitter foes of
the white men in general, but can bring discredit on his fellows in the
eyes of Christian people at a distance, who have not the means of
knowing the true state of the case.  Be this as it may, however,
Dragoener with his banditti soon took ample revenge on the colonists for
the sjamboking he had received.

Not long previous to the period of which we write he had been reinforced
by Ruyter, Jemalee, Booby, and several other runaway slaves, besides
some "wild Bushmen,"--men who had never been in service, and were so
called to distinguish them from men who had been caught, like our friend
Booby, and "tamed."  A few deserters from the Cape Corps, who possessed
fire-arms, had also joined him.

Thus reinforced, Dragoener and his lieutenant had become bolder than
ever in their depredations.  One of his bands had recently carried off a
large number of cattle and horses from the Tarka boers, who had called
out a commando and gone in pursuit.  Driven into a forest ravine, and
finding it impossible to retain possession of their booty, the robbers
had cut the throats of all the animals, and, scattering into the jungle,
made their escape.  Another band had frequently annoyed the Scotsmen at
Baviaans River.

When therefore the band under Ruyter heard of the approach of their
comrades with booty, and of the pursuit by colonists, they went to the
rescue, somewhat emboldened by recent successes.  On meeting their
comrades, who were driving the cattle and horses before them in frantic
haste, they were told that the pursuers were in strong force, and
numbered among them several of the boldest men and best shots on the
frontier.

There was no time for holding a council of war.  Ruyter at once divided
his men into two bands.  With the larger, well armed, and having two or
three deserters with muskets, he crept into the woods to lay an ambush
for the enemy.  The other band was ordered to continue driving the
cattle with utmost speed, and, in the event of being overtaken, to cut
the animals' throats and each man look out for himself.

If Ruyter's men had been as bold and cool as himself they might have
checked the pursuit, but when the hunter Van Dyk, who knew their ways,
advanced in front of his comrades by a path known to himself, discovered
their ambush and sent a bullet through the head of one of their number,
they awaited no further orders but rose _en masse_, fled through the
jungle, and made for the mountains.

Van Dyk, reloading in hot haste, followed swiftly, but he had not taken
three steps when Charlie Considine was at his heels.  He had dismounted
and followed Van Dyk.  The other pursuers made a detour on horseback to
cut off the robbers as they passed over some open ground in advance.  In
attempting this they came on a spot where the ground was strewn with the
dead or dying cattle.  With a yell of rage they pushed on, but utterly
failed, for the bandits had headed in another direction and gained the
cliffs, where pursuit on horseback was impossible.  Knowing that it
would have been equally fruitless to continue the chase on foot, they
returned to the point where Van Dyk and Considine had entered the
jungle, fully expecting to find them there, as it would have been
madness, they thought, for two unsupported men to follow up the flying
band.  To their surprise they found no one there.

"We must follow their spoor, boys," said Conrad Marais, with an anxious
look; "they cannot be far off, but we must not leave them unsupported in
the jungle with such a lot of black villains flying about."

Action was at once taken.  The most experienced men dismounted and
traced the spoor, with the unerring certainty of bloodhounds.  But they
shouted and searched in vain till night compelled them to desist.

Meanwhile Van Dyk and Considine had been captured by the Bergenaars.

When Charlie overtook the hunter, as already described, his ardent
spirit and strong supple limbs enabled him to outrun his more massive
though not less enthusiastic companion.  A short run soon convinced the
hunter that there was no chance of a clothed white man overtaking a more
than half-naked native in a thorny jungle.  Indeed, he was already well
convinced by former experience of this fact, and had intended to engage
in pursuit for only a short time, in order if possible to obtain a
flying shot at one or two of the robbers, but his young comrade's
resolute continuance of the chase forced him to hold on longer than he
desired.

"Stop! stop, young fellow," he shouted with stentorian voice; "stop, I
say!  You'll only waste your breath for no good," he shouted.

But Considine heard him not.  He had caught sight of one of the bandits
who seemed to be losing strength, and, being himself sound in wind and
limb, he recklessly determined to push on.

"I'll leave you to your fate," roared Van Dyk, "if you don't stop."

He might as well have roared to a mad buffalo.  Considine heeded or
heard not.

"It won't do," growled the hunter in a stern soliloquy as he stopped a
moment to tighten his belt.  "Well, well, I little thought, Van Dyk,
that you'd be brought to such a miserable fix as this, in such a stupid
way too.  But he mustn't be left to the Bushmen's tender mercies."

The hunter's swart countenance grew darker as he spoke, for he well knew
the extremity of danger into which the reckless youth was compelling him
to run, but he did not hesitate.  Instead, however, of following in the
steps of one who was fleeter of foot than himself, he made a detour to
the right.  In an hour he reached a cliff under which, he knew, from the
form of the valley up which the pursuit had been conducted, his young
companion must needs pass.  The route he had taken was a short cut.  He
had headed Considine and saw him, a few minutes later, in the gorge
below, in full pursuit of the robber.

"H'm!" grunted Van Dyk, as he sat down on a rock and examined the
priming of his great elephant-gun, "I thought as much!  The black
scoundrel is just playing with him--decoying the young idiot on till he
gets him surrounded by his comrades; but I'll spoil his game, though
it's like to be the last shot I'll ever fire."

A low quiet sigh escaped from the hunter as he watched the two men and
awaited the proper moment.

He was evidently right in his conjecture, for, as they drew near the
cliff, the black man looked over his shoulder once or twice and
slackened his pace.  The next moment he gave a shout which proved to be
a signal, for two of the robbers sprang out from the bushes and seized
Considine, almost before he had seen them.  Vigorously he struggled, and
would perhaps have thrown off both, had not the man he had been chasing
turned and run to aid the others.

Quickly but steadily Van Dyk raised his gun and covered this man.  Next
moment the muzzle was struck aside, the ball flew harmlessly into the
jungle, and the hunter was pinioned, overthrown, and rendered helpless
by four of the robbers, who had been watching his motions all the time.

Van Dyk was not taken much by surprise.  He knew that such danger was
probable, and had done his best to avoid it.  With that self-command
which a life of constant danger in the woods had taught him, he bowed to
the inevitable, and quietly submitted to be bound and led away.

Mean while Ruyter, for it was he who had been chased, came up in time to
assist in securing his victim.

"What, Ruyter, is it you?" exclaimed Considine in amazement.

When the robber-chief became aware who he had captured, an expression of
deep annoyance or regret crossed his face, but it quickly passed into
one of stern almost sulky determination, as he ordered the two men, in
Dutch, to make the bonds secure.  He deigned no reply to the prisoner's
question.  He did not even appear to recognise him, but strode on in
front, while the two robbers drove the youth up into the rocky
fastnesses of the mountains.

That night our hero found himself seated in the deepest recesses of a
cavern by the side of his comrade Van Dyk.  The arms of both were firmly
bound behind their backs, but their legs were free, their captors
knowing well that a scramble among such giddy and rugged heights without
the use of the hands was impossible.  In the centre of the cavern sat
the robbers round a small fire on which some of them were cooking a few
scraps of meat.

"A pretty mess you've led yourself and me into, young fellow!" said the
hunter sternly.

"Indeed I have," replied Considine, with a very penitent air, "and I
would give or do anything to undo the mischief."

"Ja--always the same with wild-caps like you," returned the
other,--"ready to give anything when you've got nothing, and to do
anything when you're helpless.  How much easier it would have been to
have given a little heed and shown a little common sense when you had
the chance!"

There was a touch of bitterness, almost fierceness, in the hunter's
tone, which, knowing the man's kindly nature, Considine could not quite
understand.

"Do you know what them reptiles there are saying?" continued Van Dyk
after a brief pause.

"No, their language is mere gibberish to me."

"They're discussin' the best method of puttin' us out of existence,"
said the hunter, with a grim smile.  "Some of 'em want to cut our
throats at once and have done with it; some would like to torture us
first; others are in favour of hangin', but all agree that we must be
killed to prevent our tellin' the whereabouts of their hiding-place up
here,--all except one, the one you gave chase to this afternoon.  He
advises 'em to let us go, but he don't seem very earnest about it."

"I think I know the reason of his favouring us," said Considine, with a
look of hope.

"Indeed?"

"Yes; he once journeyed with me from Capetown to the karroo, and
probably he feels a touch of regard for his old travelling companion."

"H'm!  I wouldn't give much for his regard," growled Van Dyk.  "The reed
is slender, but it's the only one we have to lean on now.  However,
we've got a reprieve, for I heard 'em say just now that they'll delay
executing us till to-morrow, after reaching one of their other and safer
retreats in the mountains."

The prisoners were put into a smaller cave, close to the large one, that
night.  Their bonds were made more secure, and, as an additional
precaution, their legs were tied.  Two men were also appointed to guard
the entrance of their prison.

About midnight the camp was perfectly still, and the only sounds that
broke the silence were the tinkling of a neighbouring rill and the
footfall of the sentinels.  Van Dyk and Considine were lying uneasily on
the bare ground, and thinking of the tragic fate that awaited them on
the morrow, when they observed the dim figure of a man approaching from
the innermost end of the cavern with a drawn knife in his right hand.
Both started up and leant on their elbows; more than this they could not
do.  They felt some alarm, it is true, but both came to the same
conclusion--that it is foolish to cry out before you are hurt.

The figure bent over Van Dyk, and whispered in his ear.  Next moment the
hunter stood on his feet with his limbs free.

"You were right, young sir," he said to Considine as he stooped over him
and cut his bonds; "there _is_ a touch of humanity in the rascally
Hottentot after all.  Come; he bids us follow him.  Knows a secret
passage out o' the cave, no doubt."

The black-bearded huntsman turned as he spoke, and followed the dim
figure, which melted into the depths of the cavern as if it had been a
spirit.  A few minutes' gliding through darkness tangible, and they
found themselves in the open air among thick bushes.  Though the night
was very dark there was sufficient light to enable Considine to see the
glittering of white teeth close to his face, as a voice whispered in
broken English--"You's better tink twice when you try for to chases
Tottie next time!  Go; Van Dyk, him's old hand in de bush, will guide
you safe."

Before morning Considine was back in Conrad Marais' parlour, relating
his adventures among the Bergenaars with a half-belief that the whole
affair was nothing more than a romantic dream.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

TREATS OF THE ZUURVELD AGAIN, AND ONE OR TWO SURPRISING INCIDENTS.

Seated one evening at the door of their dug-out hut or cavern on the
banks of the river, the three brothers Skyd discussed the affairs of the
colony and smoked their pipes.

"Never knew such a country," said John Skyd, "never!"

"Abominable!" observed James.

"Detestable!" remarked Robert.

"Why don't you Skyd-addle then?" cried Frank Dobson.  "If I thought it
as bad as you do, I'd leave it at once.  But you are unjust."

"Unjust!" echoed John Skyd; "that were impossible.  What could be worse?
Here have we been for three years, digging and ploughing, raking and
hoeing, carting and milking, churning and--and--and what the better are
we now?  Barely able to keep body and soul together, with the rust
ruining our wheat, and an occasional Kafir raid depriving us of our
cattle, while we live in a hole on the river's bank like rabbits; with
this disadvantage over these facetious creatures, that we have more
numerous wants and fewer supplies."

"That's so," said Bob; "if we could only content ourselves with a few
bulbous roots and grass all would be well, but, Frank, we sometimes want
a little tea and sugar; occasionally we run short of tobacco; now and
then we long for literature; coffee sometimes recurs to memory; at rare
intervals, especially when domestic affairs go wrong, the thought of
woman, as of a long-forgotten being of angelic mould, _will_ come over
us.  Ah!  Frank, it is all very well for you to smile, you who have been
away enjoying yourself for months past hunting elephants and other small
game in the interior, but you have no notion how severely our failures
are telling on our spirits.  Why, Jim there tried to make a joke the
other day, and it was so bad that Jack immediately went to bed with a
sick-headache."

"True," said Jack solemnly, "quite true, and I couldn't cure that
headache for a whole day, though I took a good deal of Cape-smoke before
it came on, as well as afterwards."

"But, my dear chums," remonstrated Dobson, "is it not--"

"Now don't ask, `Is it not your own fault?' with that wiseacre look of
yours," said John Skyd, testily tapping the bowl of his pipe on a stone
preparatory to refilling it.  "We are quite aware that we are not
faultless; that we once or twice have planted things upside down, or a
yard too deep, besides other little eccentricities of ignorance; but
such errors are things of the past, and though we now drive our drills
as straight as once, heigho! we ruled our account-books, things don't
and won't improve."

"If you had not interrupted me, Jack, you might have spared much breath
and feeling.  I was about to say, Is it not a fact that many of the
other settlers are beginning to overcome their difficulties though you
are not?  True, it has now been found that the wheat crops, on which we
at first expected almost entirely to depend, have for three seasons
proved an entire failure, and sheep do not thrive on our sour grass
pasturage, though they seem to have done admirably with the Scotch at
Baviaans River; but have not many of those around us been successful in
raising rye, barley, oats, and Indian corn? have they not many herds of
healthy cattle? are not pumpkins and potatoes thriving pretty well, and
gardens beginning to flourish?  Our roasted barley makes very fair
coffee, and honey is not a bad substitute for sugar."

"You have made a successful bag this trip, I see, by your taking such a
healthy view of our circumstances," said Bob.

"Yes, I've done very well," returned Dobson; "and I find the hunter's
life so congenial, and withal so profitable, that I'm really thinking of
adopting it as a profession.  And that brings me to the object of my
visit here to-night.  The fact is, my dear fellows, that men of your
genius are not fit for farmers.  It takes quiet-going men of sense to
cultivate the soil.  If you three were to live and dig to the age of
Methuselah you'd never make a living out of it."

"That's plain speaking," said John, with a nod, "and I agree with you
entirely."

"I mean to speak plainly," rejoined Dobson, "and now what I propose is,
that you should give it up and join me in the ivory business.  It will
pay, I assure you."

Here their friend entered into a minute and elaborate account of his
recent hunting expedition, and imparted to John Skyd some of his own
enthusiasm, but James and Robert shook their heads.  Leaving them to
think over his proposal, their friend went to make a call on the Brooks
of Mount Hope.

"Drat that boy! he's escaped again, and after mischief I'll be bound!"
was the first sound that saluted him as he walked towards the house.  It
was Mrs Scholtz's voice, on the other side of the hedge with which the
garden was surrounded.  The remark was immediately followed by a
piercing shriek from the nurse, who repeated it again and again.  Dobson
could see her through an opening in the branches, standing helpless,
with her hands clasped and eyeballs glaring.  Thoroughly alarmed, he
dashed towards the gate.  At the same moment the voice of a child was
heard:--

"Oh, look!--look 'ere, nuss, ain't I cotched a pritty ting--such a
pritty ting!"

Springing through the gate, Dobson beheld Master Junkie, staggering up
the track like a drunken man, with one hand clasped tight round the
throat of a snake whose body and tail were twining round the chubby arm
of its captor in a vain effort at freedom, while its forked tongue
darted out viciously.  It was at once recognised as one of the most
deadly snakes in the country.

"Ain't it a booty?" cried Junkie, confronting Dobson, and holding up his
prize like the infant Hercules, whom he very much resembled in all
respects.

Dobson, seizing the child's hand in his own left, compressed it still
tighter, drew his hunting-knife, and sliced off the reptile's head, just
as Edwin Brook with his wife and daughter, attracted by the nurse's
outcry, rushed from the cottage to the rescue.  Scholtz and George Dally
at the same time ran out respectively from stable and kitchen.

Mrs Scholtz had gone into a hysterical fit of persistent shrieking and
laughter, which she maintained until she saw that her darling was saved;
then, finishing off with a prolonged wail, she fell flat on the grass in
a dead faint.

Junkie at the same moment, as it were, took up the cry.  To be thus
robbed of his new-found pet would have tried a better temper than his.
Without a moment's hesitation he rushed at Frank Dobson and commenced
violently to kick his shins, while he soundly belaboured his knees with
the still wriggling tail of the poor snake.

"What a blessing!" exclaimed Mrs Brook, grasping Dobson gratefully by
the hand.

"What a mercy!" murmured Gertie, catching up the infant Hercules and
taking him off to the cottage.

"What a rumpus!" growled Dally, taking himself off to the kitchen.

Scholtz gave no immediate expression to his feelings, but, lifting his
better half from the grass, he tucked her under one of his great arms,
and, with the muttered commentary, "zhe shrieckz like von mad zow,"
carried her off to his own apartment, where he deluged her with cold
water and abuse till she recovered.

"Your arrival has created quite a sensation, Dobson," said Edwin Brook,
with a smile, as they walked up to the house.

"Say, rather, it was opportune," said Mrs Brook; "but for your prompt
way of using the knife our darling might have been bitten.  Oh!  I do
dread these snakes, they go about in such a sneaking way, and are so
very deadly.  I often wonder that accidents are not more frequent,
considering the numbers of them that are about."

"So do I, Mrs Brook," returned Dobson; "but I suppose it is owing to
the fact that snakes are always most anxious to keep out of man's way,
and few men are as bold as your Junkie.  I never heard of one being
collared before, though a friend of mine whom I met on my last visit to
the karroo used sometimes to catch hold of a snake by the tail, whirl it
round his head, and dash its brains out against a tree."

"You'll stay with us to-day, Dobson!" said Brook.

Frank, involuntarily casting a glance at the pretty face of Gertie--who
had by that time attained to the grace of early womanhood,--accepted the
invitation, and that day at dinner entertained the family with graphic
accounts of his experiences among the wild beasts of the Great Fish
River jungles, and dilated on his prospects of making a fortune by
trading in ivory.  "If that foolish law," he said, "had not been made by
our Governor, prohibiting traffic with the Kafirs, I could get
waggon-loads of elephants' tusks from them for an old song.  As it is, I
must knock over the elephants for myself--at least until the laws in
question are rescinded."

"The Governor seems to have a special aptitude," said Brook, with a
clouded brow, "not only for framing foolish laws, but for abrogating
good ones."

The Governor referred to was Lord Charles Somerset, who did more to
retard the progress of the new settlements on the frontiers of Kafirland
than any who have succeeded him.  Having complicated the relations of
the colonists and Kafirs, and confused as well as disgusted, not to say
astonished, the natives during his first term of office, he went to
England on leave of absence, leaving Sir Rufane Shaw Donkin to act as
Governor in his place.

Lord Charles seems to have been a resentful as well as an incapable man,
for immediately after his return to the colony in 1821 he overturned the
policy of the acting Governor, simply because he and Sir Rufane were at
personal enmity.  The colony at that time, and the Home Government
afterwards, approved of the wise measures of the latter.  He had
arranged the military forces on the frontier so as to afford the new
settlers the greatest possible amount of protection; the Cape corps men
had been partly placed at their disposal, both to assist and defend;
those who found their allotted farms too small, had them increased to
the extent of the farms of their Dutch neighbours; acceptable public
officers were appointed; provisions were supplied on credit, and
everything, in short, had been done to cheer and encourage the settlers
during the period of gloom which followed their first great calamity,
the failure of the wheat-crops.  All this was upset on the return of
Lord Charles Somerset.  With a degree of tyranny and want of judgment
worthy of a mere "Jack-in-office," he immediately removed from the
magistracy of the British Settlement of Albany a favourite and able man,
to make room for one of his own proteges and supporters.  He withdrew
troops from one of the most important frontier villages (in a strategic
point of view), and stopped the formation of a road to it, thus
compelling the settlers to desert it and leave their standing crops to
the surprised but pleased Kafirs, who were perplexed as well as
emboldened by the vacillating policy of white Governors!  In addition to
this he gave permission to the savage chief Macomo to occupy the land so
vacated, thus paving the way for future wars.  Instead of encouraging
traffic with the Kafirs he rendered it illegal.  He issued a
proclamation forbidding all public meetings for political purposes; he
thwarted the philanthropic and literary Pringle and Fairbairn in their
attempts to establish a newspaper, and drove the former from the colony.
But why proceed?  We cite these facts merely to account for the cloud
on Edwin Brook's brow, and for the fact that at this time many of the
British settlers, who would gallantly have faced the "rust" and other
troubles and difficulties sent to them by Providence, could not bear the
oppression which "driveth a wise man mad," but, throwing up all their
hopes and privileges as settlers, scattered themselves far and wide over
the colony.  This, as it happened, was much to the advantage of
themselves and the old Dutch settlers with whom they mingled.  Those of
them who remained behind, however, continued to fight the battle against
oppression and circumstances most manfully.

Long and patiently did Mrs Brook listen to her visitor and husband
while they indignantly discussed these subjects.

"But why," said she, at last giving vent to her feelings, "why does the
Government at home not remove such an incapable and wicked Governor and
give us a better?"

"Because, my dear," replied Edwin, with a smile, "the incapable and
wicked Governor happens to possess almost despotic _power_, and can gain
the ear of men in high places at home, so that they are deceived by him,
while all who venture to approach them, except through this Governor,
are regarded with suspicion, being described as malcontents.  And yet,"
continued Brook, growing warm at the thought of his wrongs, "we do not
complain of those at home, or of the natural disadvantages of the
country to which we have been sent.  We settlers are actuated by one
undivided feeling of respect and gratitude to the British Government,
which future reverses will never efface; but it is peculiarly hard to
have been sent to this remote and inaccessible corner of the globe, and
to be left to the control of one individual, who misrepresents us and
debars us the right to express our collective sentiments.  Why, we might
as well be living under the dominion of the Turk.  But a word in your
ear, Frank Dobson; meetings _have_ been held, private ones, while you
were away in the bush, and our case _has_ been properly represented at
last, and a Royal Commission of Inquiry is to be sent out to put things
right.  So there's hope for us yet!  The clouds which have been so long
lowering, are, I think, beginning to clear away."

While the sanguine settler was thus referring to the clouds of adversity
which had for more than two years hovered over the young settlement, the
natural clouds were accumulating overhead in an unusually threatening
manner.  Long periods of drought are frequently followed in South Africa
by terrible thunderstorms.  One of them seemed to be brewing just then.

"I fear Hans and Considine will get wet jackets before they arrive,"
said Frank Dobson, rising and going to the window.

"Hans and Considine!" exclaimed Gertie, with a flush; "are they here?"

"Ay, they came with me as far as Grahamstown on business of some sort.--
By the way, what a big place that is becoming, quite a town!  When we
saw it first, you remember, it was a mere hamlet, the headquarters of
the troops."

"It will be a city some day," prophesied Brook as he put on an old
overcoat that had hitherto survived the ravages of time; "you see all
our comrades who have discovered that farming is not their vocation are
hiving off into it, and many of them, being first-rate mechanics, they
have taken to their trades, while those with mercantile tendencies have
opened stores.  You shall see that things will shake into their proper
places, and right themselves in time, and this will become a flourishing
colony, for the most of us are young and full of British pluck, while
the climate, despite a few trifling disadvantages, is really splendid."

Edwin Brook spoke heartily, as he clapped his hat firmly on, preparatory
to going out to make things secure against the expected storm.

At the same moment the South African storm-fiend (an unusually large
though not frequently obtrusive one) laughed in a voice of thunder and
nearly dashed in the windows with a tempest of wind and rain!  As if his
voice had called up spirits from the "vasty deep," two horsemen suddenly
appeared approaching at full speed.  One of them was of unusual size.

"Here they come just in time!" exclaimed Gertie, clapping her hands in
excitement.

The _girl_ spoke and acted there.  Then she blushed for the _woman_
interfered!

Hans Marais reached the quince hedge first and sprang off his steed.
Charlie Considine came second.  With a wild whoop he caused his steed to
leap the garden gate and dismounted at the cottage door.

Then there was a hearty welcoming and inquiring, and shaking of bands,
while the travellers were congratulated on having just escaped the
storm.

While this was going on at Mount Hope, the Skyds were actively engaged
in gathering in their rattle and otherwise making their place secure.
They had more than once been warned that their position was one of
danger, but being young, athletic, and rollicking, they had not cared
hitherto to remove their humble dwelling.  It was time enough to do
that, they said, when "lovely woman" should come on the scene and render
improvement in domicile necessary.  Bob Skyd had more than once
attempted to induce a "lovely woman" to invade the land and enlighten
the cave, but somehow without success!

"We shall have it stiff," said John, as the three brothers approached
their burrow.

"And heavy," added Bob.

James made no remark, but opened the door.  It was growing dark at the
time and inside their cavern only a dim light prevailed.

"Why--what's--hallo!  I say--"

Jim leaped back with a look of alarm.  The brothers gazed in and saw, in
the region of their bed (which held three easily), a pair of glaring
eyeballs.

The brothers, although not superstitious, were by no means free from
human weakness.  At the same time they were gifted with a large share of
animal courage.  With beating heart John struck a light, and held up a
flaming brimstone match.  This caused the eyes to glare with fearful
intensity, and revealed a distinct pair of horns.  At that moment the
match went out.  With anxious trepidation another light was struck, and
then it was discovered that a recently purchased goat had, under a wrong
impression, taken possession of the family bed.

Laughing at this, they lit a tallow candle, which was stuck into that
most convenient of candlesticks--an empty bottle.

The brothers, although not proficients, were mechanical in their way.
One had set up the household bed; another had constructed a table, which
had broken down only six times since their arrival; and the third had
contrived a sofa.  This last was Jim's work.  It was a masterpiece in
its way, of simplicity, and consisted of two rough planks laid on two
mounds of earth, the whole being covered with a piece of chintz which
fell in a curtain to the floor.  This curtain, like love, covered a
multitude of improprieties, in the shape of old boots, dirty linen,
miscellaneous articles, and a sea-chest.

Sitting down on the sofa, John Skyd laughed long and heartily at the
scene with the goat.  His laugh suddenly ceased, and was replaced by an
exclamation and a look of anxious surprise.  "Something" had moved under
the sofa!  Snakes occurred to their minds at once, and the deadly
character of South African snakes was well known.

"Look out, boys," cried John, leaping on the sofa, and seizing a sword
which hung on a peg just above it.--"Fetch the light."

Bob quickly obeyed and revealed the tail of a large cobra disappearing
among the improprieties.  Jim ran to a rude cupboard where pistols and
ammunition were kept, and began to load with small shot.

"This way I hold it closer to the wall," said John, in an earnest voice;
"I see one of his coils at the back of the sofa.  Now then, steady--
there!"

He made a deadly thrust as he spoke and pinned the snake to the ground,
but evidently by the wrong coil, for in a moment its angry head was seen
twining up towards the handle of the sword.

"Quick, Jim--the pistol!"

Jim was ready and Bob raised the curtain of the sofa, while John stood
in readiness to let go the sword and bolt if the reptile should prove to
be capable of reaching his hand.

"Fire, Jim, fire! look sharp!" cried John Skyd.

Jim took aim and fired.  The candle was put out by the concussion.

In the dark John could risk the danger no longer.  He let go the sword
and sprang with a shout upon the bed.  Bob and Jim made for the same
place of refuge, and, tumbling over each other, broke the pint bottle
and the candle.  Securing a fragment of the latter they proceeded once
more to strike a light, with quaking hearts, while a horrible hissing
and lashing was heard under the sofa.  At last light was again thrown on
the scene, and when the curtain was cautiously raised the cobra was seen
to be writhing in its death-agonies--riddled with shot, and still pinned
with the sword.

This scene closed most appropriately with a flash of lightning and a
tremendous clap of thunder,--followed, immediately, by cataracts of
rain.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

THE GREAT FLOODS OF 1823.

All that night and all next day rain came down on the land in continuous
floods.  The settlers had previously been visited with occasional
storms, which had roused some alarm among the timid and done a little
damage, but nothing like this had yet befallen them.  The water appeared
to descend in sheets, and not only did the great rivers wax alarmingly,
but every rill and watercourse became a brawling river.

The Skyds, and one or two others who, like themselves, had built too
near the edge of streams, were the first to suffer.

"This won't do," said John Skyd, on the evening of the second day, as he
and his brothers sat in front of their cavern gazing at the turbid
river, which, thick and yellow as pea-soup, was hurrying trees, bushes,
and wrack in formidable masses to the sea.  "We must shift our abode.
Come along."

Without a word more the brothers entered their cave, and began to carry
out their goods and chattels.  They were strong and active, but they had
miscalculated the rapidity of the flood.  Fortunately most of their
valuables were removed to higher ground in time, but before all was got
out a sudden increase in the rushing river sent a huge wave curling
round the entire piece of ground on which their farm lay.  It came on
with devastating force, bearing produce, fences, fruit-trees, piggeries,
and every movable thing on its foaming crest.  The brothers dropped
their loads and ran.  Next moment the cavern was hollowed out to twice
its former size, and the sofa, the rude cupboard, the sea-chest, and
family bed were seen, with all the miscellaneous improprieties,
careering madly down the yellow flood.

In their trousers and shirt-sleeves--for they had thrown off their
coats, as all active men do in an emergency--the brothers watched the
demolition of their possessions and hopes in solemn silence.

"I think," said John at length, with a sigh, "I've made up my mind to
join Frank Dobson now."

Bob and Jim smiled grimly, but said never a word.

Meanwhile the settlers of Mount Hope farm were not idle.  Although not
fully alive to the danger of the storm, they saw enough to induce a
course of rapid action.  Goods and cattle were removed from low-lying
buildings to higher ground, but the dwelling-house, being on the highest
point in the neighbourhood--with the exception of the hills themselves--
was deemed safe.

In these arrangements the family were ably assisted by the unexpected
accession of their friends.  Hans, Considine, and Dobson taxed their
activity and strength to the utmost, so that things were soon put in a
state of security.  Dobson did, indeed, think once or twice of his old
chums on the river, but a feeling of gallantry prevented his deserting
the ladies in the midst of danger, and besides, he argued, the Skyds are
well able to look after themselves.

Just as this thought passed through his mind the chums in question
appeared upon the scene, announcing the fact that their entire farm had
been swept away, and that _the water was still rising_.

"Well, it can't rise much higher now," said Edwin Brook, after condoling
with his young friends on their misfortunes, "and the moment it begins
to abate we shall go down to save all we can of your property.  You
know, my poor fellows, that I shall be only too glad to help you to the
utmost of my power in such a sad extremity as this."

The brothers thanked their neighbour, and meanwhile aided the others in
removing the farm-produce and implements to higher ground.

Night at length settled down on the scene, and the wearied party
returned to the cottage for food and rest.

"Do you think, Mr Marais," said Gertie, looking up timidly at the
handsome young Dutchman, "that the worst of it is over?"

Hans, who felt somewhat surprised and chilled by the "Mister," replied
that he hoped it was.

But Hans was wrong.  Late that night, after they had all lain down to
rest, Edwin Brook, feeling sleepless and uneasy, rose to look out at the
window.  All was comparatively still, and very dark.  There was
something grey on the ground, he thought, but judged it to be mist.  The
noise of the storm, with the exception of rushing streams, had gone
down, and though it still rained there was nothing very unusual to cause
alarm.  He lay down again and tried to sleep, but in vain.  Then he
thought he heard the sound of the river louder than before.  At the same
time there was a noise that resembled the lapping of water round the
frame of the house.

Jumping up, he ran to his door, opened it, discovered that the supposed
mist was water, and that his dwelling was an island in a great sea.

To shout and rouse the household was the work of an instant.  His guests
were men of promptitude.  They had merely thrown themselves down in
their clothes, and appeared in an instant.  Mrs Brook and Gertie were
also ready, but Mrs Scholtz, being fond of comfort, had partially
undressed, and was distracted between a wild effort to fasten certain
garments, and restrain Junkie, who, startled by the shout, was roaring
lustily.

"Not a moment to lose!" said Brook, running hastily into the room, where
all were now assembled.  "Everything is lost.  We must think only of
life.  Lend a helping hand to the women, friends--mind the boy.--Come,
wife."

Brook was sharp, cool, and decisive in his manner.  Seizing his wife
round the waist, he hurried her out into the dark night, stepping, as he
did so, above the ankles in rising water.

Dobson, Considine, and the three brothers turned with a mutual impulse
towards Gertie, but Hans Marais had already taken possession of her,
and, almost carrying her in his powerful arms, followed her father.

"Come, my howlin' toolip," said George Dally, "you're my special and
_precious_ charge.  Shut up, will you!"

He seized the child and bore him away with such violence that the
howling was abruptly checked; while Scholtz, quietly gathering his still
half-clad spouse under an arm, followed with heavy stride.

The others, each seizing the object that in his eyes appeared to be most
valuable--such as a desk or workbox,--sprang after the household and
left the house to its fate.  They first made for the cattle-kraals, but
these were already flooded and the cattle gone.  Then they tried a barn
which stood a little higher, but it was evidently no place of refuge,
for the stream just there was strong, and broke against it with
violence.

"To the hills," shouted Hans, lifting Gertie off the ground altogether,
as if she had been a little child.

There was no time for ceremony.  Edwin Brook lifted his wife in the same
manner, for the water was deepening at every step, and the current
strengthening.  The darkness, which had appeared dense at first, seemed
to lighten as they became accustomed to it, and soon a terrible state of
things became apparent.  Turbid water was surging among the trees and
bushes everywhere, and rushing like a mill-race in hollows.  One such
hollow had to be crossed before the safety of the hills could be gained.
The water reached Edwin's waist as he waded through.  To prevent
accident, John Skyd and Considine waded alongside and supported him.
James Skyd performed the same office for Hans, and Bob waded just below
Scholtz and his burden--which latter, in a paroxysm of alarm, still
tried frantically to complete her toilet.

The hills were reached at last, and the whole party was safe--as far, at
least, as the flood was concerned--but a terrible prospect lay before
them.  The farm of Mount Hope was by that time a sea of tumultuous
water, which seemed in the darkness of the night to be sweeping away and
tearing up trees, bushes, and houses.  Behind and around them were the
hills, whose every crevice and hollow was converted into a wild
watercourse.  Above was the black sky, pouring down torrents of rain
incessantly, so that the very ground seemed to be turning into mud, and
slipping away from beneath their feet.  Fortunately there was no wind.

"To spend the night here will be death to the women and child," said
Edwin Brook, as they gathered under a thick bush which formed only a
partial shelter; "yet I see no way of escape.  Soaked as they are, a
cavern, even if we can find one, will not be of much service, for our
matches are hopelessly wet."

"We must try to reach Widow Merton's farm," said John Skyd.  "It is only
three miles off and stands on highish ground."

"It's a bad enough road by daylight in fine weather," said George Dally,
on whose broad shoulder Junkie had fallen sound asleep, quite regardless
of damp or danger, "but in a dark night, with a universal flood, it
seems to me that it would be too much for the ladies.  I know a cave,
now, up on the hill-side, not far off, which is deep, an' like to be
dryish--"

"Never do," interrupted Hans Marais, to whose arm Gertie clung with a
feeling that it was her only hope; "they'd die of cold before morning.
We must keep moving."

"Yes, let us try to reach the widow's farm," said poor Mrs Brook
anxiously, "I feel stronger, I think; I can walk now."

"Zee vidow is our only chanze.--Hold up, mein vrow," said Scholtz,
taking a firmer grasp of his wife, who, having leisure to think and look
about her now, felt her heart begin to fail.  "I know zee road vell,"
continued Scholtz.  "It is bad, but I have zeen vurse.  Ve must carry
zee vimen.  Zey could not valk."

As the women made no objection, those who had carried them from the
house again raised them in their arms--Mrs Scholtz insisting, however,
on being treated a little less like a sack of old clothes--and the march
along the hill-side was begun.

George Dally, knowing the way best, was set in advance to take the
responsibility of guide as well as the risk of being swept away while
fording the torrents.  The brothers Skyd, being free from precious
burdens, marched next, to be ready to support the guide in case of
accident, and to watch as well as guard the passage of dangerous places
by those in rear.  Then followed in succession Mr Brook with his wife,
Charlie Considine, Hans with Gertie, and Scholtz with his vrow, the
procession closing with Frank Dobson and Junkie, the latter having been
transferred to Frank when Dally took the lead.

It was a slow as well as dangerous march on that dreary night, because
every step had to be taken with care, and the rivulets, white though
they were with foam, could scarcely be seen in the thick darkness.  Many
a fall did they get, too, and many a bruise, though fortunately no bones
were broken.  Once George Dally, miscalculating the depth of a savage
little stream, stepped boldly in and was swept away like a flash of
light.  Jack Skyd made a grasp at him, lost his balance and followed.
For a moment the others stopped in consternation, but they were
instantly relieved by hearing a laugh from George a few yards down the
stream as he assisted Skyd to land.  At another time Scholtz was not
careful enough to follow exactly in the footsteps of Hans, and, while
crossing a torrent, he put his foot in a deep hole and went down to the
armpits, thereby immersing his vrow up to her neck.  A wild shriek from
the lady was followed by "Zounds! hold me op!" from the man.

Hans turned short round, stretched out his long right arm--the left
being quite sufficient to support Gertie,--and, seizing the German's
shaggy hair with a mighty grip, held on till one of the Skyds returned
to the rescue.

It was also a melancholy march on that dismal night, for poor Edwin
Brook was well aware, and fully alive to the fact, that he was a ruined
man.  His labour for the previous three years was totally lost, and his
property swept entirely away.  Only life was spared,--but for that he
felt so thankful as to feel his losses slightly at the time.  The
brothers Skyd were also painfully alive to the fact that they were
ruined, and as they staggered and stumbled along, a sinking of heart
unusual to their gay and cheerful natures seemed to have the effect of
sinking their steps deeper in the soft mire through which they waded.

Only two of the party were in any degree cheerful.  Gertie, although
overwhelmed by the sudden calamity, which she had yet very imperfectly
realised, felt a degree of comfort--a sort of under-current of peace--at
being borne so safely along in such powerful arms; and Hans Marais, huge
and deep-chested though he was, felt a strange and mysterious sensation
that his heart had grown too large for his body that night.  It
perplexed him much at the time, and seemed quite unaccountable!

The storm had revelled furiously round the widow Merton's wattle-and-dab
cottage, and the water had risen to within a few feet of its
foundations, but the effect on her mind was as nothing compared with
that produced by the sudden storming of her stronghold by the Mount Hope
family in the dead of night, or rather in the small hours of morning.
The widow was hospitable.  She and her sons at once set about making the
unfortunates as comfortable as the extent of their habitation and the
state of their larder would admit.

But the widow Merton was not the only one of the Albany settlers who had
to offer hospitality during the continuance of that terrible catastrophe
of 1823, and Edwin Brook's was not the only family that was forced to
accept it.

All over the land the devastating flood passed like the besom of
destruction.  Hundreds of those who had struggled manfully against the
blight of the wheat crops, and Kafir thefts, and bandit raids, and
oppression on the part of those who ought to have afforded aid and
protection, were sunk to the zero of misfortune and despair by this
overwhelming calamity, for in many cases the ruin was total and
apparently irremediable.  Everywhere standing crops, implements of
husbandry, and even dwellings, were swept away, and whole families found
themselves suddenly in a state of utter destitution.  The evil was too
wide-spread to admit of the few who were fortunate enough to escape
rendering effectual assistance to the many sufferers, for it was obvious
that hundreds of pounds would not be sufficient to succour the infant
colony.

In this extremity God's opportunity was found.  The hearts of men and
women far away, at Capetown, in India, and in England, were touched by
the story of distress; generosity was awakened and purses were opened.
Men such as HE Rutherfoord of Capetown, the Reverend Doctor Philip, the
Reverend W Shaw, and others like-minded, entered heartily into the work
of charity, and eventually some ten thousand pounds were distributed
among those who had suffered.  To many this was as life from the dead.
Some who would never have recovered the blow took heart again, braced
their energies anew, and ere long the wattle-and-dab cottages were
rebuilt, the gardens replanted, and the lands cultivated as before.

The existence of the settlement was saved, but its prosperity was not
yet secured.  The battle had gone sorely against the valiant band of
immigrants, and very nearly had they been routed, but the reinforcements
had enabled them to rally and renew the fight.  Still, it _was_ a fight,
and much time had yet to come and go before they could sit down in the
sunshine of comparative peace and enjoy the fruits of their industry.

Meanwhile the oppressions and mismanagements of the Colonial Government
went on as before.  It were useless in a tale like this to inflict
details on our readers.  Suffice it to say that in the distribution of
lands, in treaties with the Kafirs, in the formation of laws for the
protection of Hottentots and slaves, in the treatment of the settlers, a
state of things was brought about which may be described as confusion
worse confounded, and the oppressed people at last demanded redress with
so loud a voice that it sounded in England, and produced the Royal
Commission of Investigation already referred to in a previous chapter.

The arrival of the gentlemen composing this Commission followed close on
the Floods of 1823.  The event, long looked for and anxiously desired,
was hailed with a degree of eager delight scarcely to be understood
except by those who had gone through the previous years of high-handed
oppression, of weary wrangling and appeal, and of that hope deferred
which maketh the heart sick.  Expectation was raised to the highest
pitch, and when it was heard that the Commissioners had reached Capetown
preparations were made in Grahamstown to give them a warm reception.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

TREATS OF HOPES, FEARS, AND PROSPECTS, BESIDES DESCRIBING A PECULIAR
BATTLE.

Mounted on a pair of sturdy ponies Hans Marais and Charlie Considine
galloped over the plains of the Zuurveld in the direction of
Grahamstown.  The brothers Skyd had preceded them, Edwin Brook was to
follow.

It was a glorious day, though this was nothing unusual in that sunny
clime, and the spirits of the young men were high.  Excitement has a
tendency to reproduce itself.  Hans and his friend did not feel
particularly or personally interested in the arrival of the Royal
Commissioners, but they were sympathetic, and could not resist
surrounding influences.  Everywhere they overtook or passed, or somehow
met with, cavaliers on the road--middle-aged and young--for old men were
not numerous there at that time--all hastening to the same goal, the
"city of the settlers," and all had the same tale to tell, the same
hopes to express.  "Things are going to be put right now.  The
Commissioners have full powers to inquire and to act.  We court
investigation.  The sky is brightening at last; the sun of prosperity
will rise in the `east' ere long!"

In Grahamstown itself the bustle and excitement culminated.  Friends
from the country were naturally stirred by meeting each other there,
besides being additionally affected by the object of the meeting.
Crowds gathered in the chief places of the fast rising town to discuss
grievances, and friends met in the houses of friends to do the same and
draw up petitions.

At last the Commissioners arrived and were welcomed by the people with
wild enthusiasm.

Abel Slingsby, an impulsive youth, and a friend of Hans Marais, who had
just been married to a pretty neighbour of Hans in the karroo, and was
in Grahamstown on his honeymoon, declared that he would, without a
moment's hesitation, throw up his farm and emigrate to Brazil, if things
were not put right without delay.

"No, you wouldn't," said his pretty bride, with an arch look; "you'd
take time to think well over it and consult with me first."

"Right, Lizzie, right; so I would," cried Slingsby, with a laugh.  "But
you must admit that we have had, and still have, great provocation.
Just think," he added, with returning indignation, "of free-born British
subjects being allowed no newspaper to read except one that is first
revised by a jealous, despotic Governor, and of our being obliged to
procure a `pass' to entitle us to go about the country, as if we were
Kafirs or Hottentots--to say nothing of the insolence of the
Jacks-in-office who grant such `passes,' or the ridiculous laws
regarding the natives--bah!  I have no patience to recount our wrongs--
Come, Hans, let's go out and see what's doing; and don't forget, Liz, to
have candles ready for the illumination, and tell the Tottie to clean my
gun.  I must be ready to do them honour, like other loyal subjects."

The young men sallied forth and found that the Commissioners had been
received by the authorities with sullen courtesy.

"A clear sign that the authorities know themselves to be in the wrong,"
said Considine, "for honest men always court open investigation."

"This attitude looks like rebellion against the British Government on
the part of the colonial authorities," said Hans.  "I shouldn't wonder
if we were to get a surprise from them while in such a mood."

Evening drew on apace, and crowds of people moved about to witness the
illumination and other evidences of rejoicing, while some of the more
enthusiastic sought to express their sentiments by firing a volley with
small arms.  According to an eye-witness, [see Note 1] the signal was
taken up at once, and, the example spreading like wildfire, the hills
soon resounded on all sides with a noise that might have been mistaken
for the storming of the town.  This was a demonstration the authorities
could not brook.  The necessary orders were given and soon the bugles of
the garrison sounded the assembly at Scott's Barracks, while the
trumpets of the Mounted Rifles at Fort England sent squadrons of horse
thundering up Bathurst Street to assist in the terrible emergency caused
by blank cartridges and joyous hurrahs!  Parties of infantry patrolled
the streets, making prisoners in all directions, and the people
assembled in Church Square to see the illuminations were surrounded by
troops.  The leading men there, foreseeing the advantage that would
result so their cause by such a style of repressing public opinion,
advised those around them to keep quiet and be true to their principles.

Hans Marais and his friends happened to be in Church Square at the time,
and at once fell in with and acted on the peaceful advice, though the
impulsive Slingsby found it difficult to restrain his British spirit.

"See," he said, pointing to a gentleman who approached, "there goes the
Reverend Mr Geary.  Do you know him, Hans?  He's a man of the true
sort.  Let me tell you in your ear that I heard he has got into bad
odour in high quarters for refusing to have anything to do with a
`proscription list' furnished by the Governor, which contains the names
of persons who are to be shunned and narrowly watched--some of these
persons being the best and most loyal in the colony."

As he spoke the clergyman referred to was stopped by a friend, and they
overheard him express much gratification at the arrival of the
Commissioners, and a hope that abuses would soon be reformed, at the
same time stating his determination not to be a party man.

Unfortunately for the clergyman there were minions of the Government
within earshot at the time.  His words were reported, and, shortly
afterwards, he was summarily removed.

Just then some of the Cape Corps men charged part of the crowd and
scattered it.  At the same time various persons were arrested.  Among
these was the indignant Slingsby.  Unable to restrain his ire he called
out "Shame!" and was instantly pounced upon by a serjeant and party of
infantry.  Immediately becoming sensible of his folly, after a momentary
struggle he suffered himself to be led quietly away, but looked over his
shoulder as he was marched off to the "tronk," and said hurriedly--

"Console Lizzie, Hans!"

With a look of sympathy, Hans assured his friend that he would do so,
without fail, and then, with Considine, proceeded to the house where
poor Lizzie had already lit up the windows and got the gun in readiness.

"They dare not keep him long," said Hans, in his vain attempts to
comfort the weeping bride, "and depend upon it that the conduct of the
authorities this evening will go a long way to damage their own cause
and advance that of the settlers."

Hans was right.  Slingsby was liberated the following morning.  The
Commissioners turned out to be able men, who were not to be hoodwinked.
True, a considerable period elapsed before the "report" afterwards made
by them took effect, and for some time the settlers continued to suffer;
but in the following year the fruits of the visit began to appear.
Among other improvements was the creation of a Council to advise and
assist the Governor--consisting of seven members, including himself,--
whereby a wholesome check was put upon his arbitrary power.  Trial by
jury was also introduced, and the power of magistrates was modified.
These and other more or less beneficial changes took place, so that
there was reason to believe a time of real prosperity had at length
dawned.

But the settlers were not yet out of the furnace.

Providence saw fit to send other troubles to try them besides unjust and
foolish men in power.  There was still another plague in store.

One day Charlie Considine rode towards the farm which had now for
several years been his home.

The young members of the Marais family had grown learned under his care,
and he was now regarded as a son by old Marais and his wife, while the
children looked on him as an elder brother.  Charlie had not intended to
stay so long, and sometimes his conscience reproved him for having given
up his profession of medicine, but the longer he stayed with those
sweet-tempered Dutch-African farmers with whom his lot had been cast the
more he liked them, and the more they liked him.  What more natural then
that he should stay on from day to day, until he became almost one of
themselves?  When people are happy they desire no change.

But it must not be supposed that the youth's office was a sinecure.  The
young Marais were numerous, and some of them were stupid,--though
amiable.  The trouble caused by these, however, was more than
compensated by the brightness of others, the friendship of Hans, and the
sunshine of Bertha.  The last by the way, had now, like Gertrude Brook,
sprung into a woman, and though neither so graceful nor so sprightly as
the pretty English girl, she was pre-eminently sweet and lovable.

Well, one day, as we have said, Charlie Considine rode towards the farm.
He had been out hunting alone, and a springbok tied across the horse
behind him showed that he had been successful.

Rousing himself from a reverie, he suddenly found himself in the midst
of a scene of surpassing beauty.  In front lay a quiet pond, whose
surface was so still that it might have been a sheet of clear glass.  On
his left the familiar mountain-range beyond the farm appeared bluer and
nearer than usual, owing to the intense heat.  To the right the
undulating karroo, covered with wild-flowers, and dotted with clumps of
mimosa-bush, terminated abruptly in a lake which stretched away, in some
places like a sea, to the horizon.  Islands innumerable studded the
smooth surface of this lake, and were reflected in its crystal depths.
Not a breath of air riffled its surface, and there was a warm sunny
brightness, a stillness, a deep quietude, about the whole scene which
were powerfully suggestive of heavenly peace and rest.

"Glorious!" exclaimed Considine, reining up to a walking pace.  "_How_
delicious while it lasts, and yet how evanescent!  Does it not resemble
my life here?  _That_ cannot last."

Charlie was not given to moralising, but somehow he could not help it
that day.  With an unusually profound sigh he shook the reins and
cantered towards the lake.  It was not the first time he had seen it,
and he knew full well that it would not bar his progress.  Even as he
gave vent to the sigh the glassy waters trembled, undulated, retreated,
and, under the influence of a puff of air, slowly melted away, leaving
the waterless karroo in its place.

Truly it is no wonder that thirsty travellers in African deserts have,
from time immemorial, rushed towards these phantom waters of the
well-known _mirage_, to meet with bitter disappointment!  The
resemblance is so perfect that any one might be deceived if unacquainted
with the phenomenon.  [See note 2.]

On coming within sight of the farm, Considine observed columns of thick
smoke rising from various parts of the homestead.  With a vague feeling
of alarm he put spurs to his horse.  Drawing quickly nearer he perceived
that the smoke arose from the garden, and that the people seemed to be
bustling about in a state of violent activity.  Stretching out at full
speed, he was soon at the garden gate, and found that all the bustle,
energising, and shouting went on at the end farthest from the gate.  As
he threw the reins over a post and sprang in he could see through the
trees that every one in the establishment was engaged in a wild frantic
fight, in which sticks and stones, bushes and blankets, were used
indiscriminately.  The smoke that rose around suggested fire on the
plains, and he ran in haste to render assistance.

It was a goodly garden that he passed through.  Fruit-trees of every
kind were so laden with golden treasures that many of the branches,
unable to bear the strain, had given way and the superabundance trailed
upon the earth.  Vegetables of all kinds covered the borders with
luscious-looking bulbs and delicious green leaves, while grapes,
currants, figs, etcetera, half smothered their respective bushes.
Through this rich display of plenty Considine dashed, and, on reaching
the wall at the further end, found Conrad Marais with his wife and
daughter, sons, servants, and slaves, engaged in furious conflict with--
locusts!

The enemy had come on them suddenly and in force.  The ground was alive
with them.  Armies, legions, were there--not full-grown flying locusts,
but young ones, styled foot-gangers, in other words, crawlers, walkers,
or hoppers,--and every soul in the establishment had turned out to
fight.

Even the modest Bertha was there, defending a breach in the garden wall
with a big shawl, dishevelled in dress and hair, flushed in face, bold
and resolute in aspect, laying about her with the vigour of an Amazon.
The usually phlegmatic Conrad defended another weak point, while his at
other times amiable spouse stood near him making fearful and frequent
raids upon the foe with the branch of of a thorn-tree.  Hans, like
Gulliver among the Lilliputs, guarded a gate in company with four of his
brothers, and they toiled and moiled like heroes, while perspiration
rolled in streams from their blazing faces.  Elsewhere men and women,
boys and girls--black, brown, and yellow--exerted themselves to the
uttermost.

Never was fortress more gallantly defended, never were ramparts more
courageously assailed.  Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, were
slain under that garden wall--hundreds of thousands, millions, hopped
over their comrades' backs and continued the assault with unconquerable
pluck.  The heroes of ancient Greece and Rome were nothing to them.
Horses, cattle, and sheep were driven in among them and made to prance
wildly, not in the hope of destroying the foe--as well might you have
attempted to blot out the milky way,--but for the purpose of stemming
the torrent and turning, if possible, the leading battalions aside from
the garden.  They would not turn aside.  "On, hoppers, on--straight on!"
was their watchword.  "Death or victory" must have been their motto!

At one spot was a hollow trench or dry ditch leading towards an outhouse
which intervened between the locusts and the garden.  No storming party
was detailed to carry the point.  Where the numbers were so vast as to
cover the whole country, that was needless.  They marched in columns,
and the columns that chanced to come up to the point voluntarily and
promptly undertook the duty.  They swarmed into the ditch.  Considine
and a small Hottentot boy observed the move, and with admirable skill
kept the advancing column in check until a fire was kindled in the
ditch.  It was roused to a pitch of fierce heat that would have
satisfied Nebuchadnezzar himself, and was then left, for other points of
danger in the walls claimed more vigorous attention.  Onward hopped and
crawled the enemy and stormed the fire.  The leading files were roasted
alive, those following tumbled over their dead bodies into the flames.
Had the rest wished to take warning by the fate of their comrades--which
they did not--they would have found it impossible to escape, for those
behind pushed them on.  The fire was filled with the dead, overwhelmed
by the dying, fairly put out by both, and the victorious army marched
over in triumph.  Then the outhouse met them, but they scorned to turn
aside, although there was a four foot wall, which one might have
supposed more practicable.  They walked straight up the outhouse and
over it, and were triumphantly descending the other side in myriads
before they were discovered and met, with shrieks of vengeance, by Mrs
Marais.

"It's of no use, lads," gasped old Marais, pausing for a moment to
recover breath; "the place is doomed."

"Don't say so, father," cried Hans.--"Come on, boys! we've nearly
stopped them at this gate."

Nearly,--but not quite!  A few minutes later and the strength of the
garrison began to fail.

"How long--has this--lasted?" asked Considine, pausing for a moment
beside Bertha, and panting violently.

"Since--breakfast," gasped the exhausted girl; "we--dis--covered them--
just after you--left us.--See! they come!"

"Hallo! this way, Hans! bring the flags!" shouted Considine, observing
the tremendous body of reserves which were following up the success of
the stormers of the fire.

It is a curious fact that the waving of flags had been found of more
avail on that occasion than most other means.  The beating of the enemy
with bushes and blankets was no doubt very effective, but it killed,
scattered, and confused them, so that they pressed, as it were blindly,
on their fate, whereas the flag-waving appeared to touch a cord of
intelligence.  They saw it, were obviously affected though not killed by
it, and showed a tendency to turn aside.  It was however only a
tendency; soon the advance was resumed in force.  The human giants were
beaten--fairly overwhelmed.  The wall was scaled and the garden finally
entered by countless myriads of this truly formidable though
individually contemptible enemy.

Thus are the strong at times confounded by things that are weak!

Had these been flying instead of pedestrian locusts they might, perhaps,
have been turned aside by fires, for this is sometimes done.  When a
farmer sees a cloud of them coming--a cloud, it may be, of three miles
in length by half a mile in breadth or more--he kindles fires round his
garden and fields, raises a dense smoke, and may sometimes, though not
often, succeed in preventing them from alighting.  But the younger or
jumping locusts, strong in the stupidity of youth, cannot be turned
aside thus.  Nothing, indeed, but a rushing stream will stop them; even
a mighty river, if not rapid, is insufficient.  Stagnant pools they
cross by drowning the leading multitudes, until a bridge--not "of
sighs," but--of death is formed, of size sufficient to carry them over.
They even cross the great Orange River thus in places where its flow is
calm.  In Africa they pass in such countless swarms, both winged and
wingless, that their approach is viewed with dismay, for where they rest
they devour every green thing, and flocks and herds are left utterly
destitute, so that starvation or change of ground is unavoidable.  They
usually begin their march, or flight, after sunrise, and encamp at
sunset--and woe betide the luckless farmer on whose lands they chance to
fix their temporary abode.

Locust-swarms are followed by a little bird--named _springkaan-vogel_ or
locust-bird--which comes in such dense flocks as almost to darken the
air.  These locust-birds are about the size of a swallow, with numerous
speckles like a starling.  They live exclusively on locusts--follow
them, build their nests, rear their young in the midst of them, and
devour them.  But this is by no means the locust's only enemy.  Every
animal, domestic and wild, destroys and eats him.  Cattle, sheep,
horses, fowls, dogs, antelopes--all may be seen devouring him with
greediness.  He even eats himself, the cannibal! for if any of his
comrades get hurt or meet with accidents in travelling, as they often
do, the nearest fellow-travellers fall on, kill and devour the
unfortunates without delay.

The only human beings who rejoice at sight of the terrible locusts are
the Bushmen.  These have neither herds, flocks nor crops to lose, and
though the wild animals on which they subsist are by these insects
driven away, the Bushmen care little, for they delight in fresh locusts,
follow them up, feed on them, and preserve quantities by drying them for
future use.

Before morning the splendid garden of Conrad Marais was a leafless,
fruitless wilderness.  Not a scrap of green or gold was left.  And his
case was by no means singular.  The whole colony was more or less
visited by this plague at that time, and thus the reviving spirits of
the settlers were once again knocked down by a crushing blow.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 1.  Reverend A.A. Dugmore, _the Reminiscences of an Albany
Settler_, page 23.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 2.  The author, having seen the mirage while riding on the karroo,
writes from personal experience.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

FAIRS, FIGHTS, FREE-TRADE, FACTIONS, AND OTHER MATTERS.

In the heart of the wild mountain scenery of the frontier a grim-looking
fort had been built to keep the Kafirs in check.  It was named Fort
Wilshire, and a truly warlike place it was, with its high walls and
cannon, its red troops of the line, green rifles, and blue artillery.
Lying remote from civilised men, it was a dreary enough place to the
troops stationed there, though, with that ready spirit of adaptation to
circumstances which characterises the British soldier, the garrison
dispelled some of its _ennui_ by hunting.

At one period of the year, however, the little frontier fortress
thoroughly changed its silent and solitary character.  The Government,
yielding at last to earnest entreaties and strong representations, had
agreed to permit, under certain restrictions, the opening of trade with
the Kafirs.  A periodical "fair" was established and appointed to be
held under the guns of Fort Wilshire.  The colonial traders, full of
energy and thirsting for opportunity, took advantage of the "fair," and
assembled in hundreds, while the Kafirs, in a species of unbelieving
surprise, met them in thousands to exchange wares.  It was a new idea to
many of these black sons and daughters of nudity, that the horns which
they used to throw away as useless were in reality valuable merchandise,
and that the gum, which was to be had for the gathering, could procure
for them beads and buttons, and brass-wire and cotton, with many other
desirable things that caused their red mouths to water.

On the day in which we introduce the scene to the reader some of the
colonial traders had already arrived at the fair.  These were not all of
the same calibre.  Some, of small means, had commenced modestly with a
shoulder-bundle and went through the new land, as peddlers and packmen
in older lands had done before them.  Others, with more means, had set
up the horse-pack, or the cart, and all aspired, while some had
attained, to the waggon.  These penetrated to every part of the
frontier, supplying the Dutch boers with luxuries hitherto undreamed of,
which, ere long, became necessities, obtaining from them sheep and
cattle in exchange, with a fair proportion of their hoarded
_rix-daalers_.  The traders then returned to the towns, sold their
stock, purchased fresh supplies, and went back to the interior.  Thus
was laid the foundation of a commerce which was destined in future years
to become of great importance not only to the colony but to the world.

The opening of trade with the Kafirs had added materially to the
prosperity of the traders, and those assembled at Fort Wilshire
represented all the different classes.

Among the crowds who encamped under the fort guns, Stephen Orpin, the
Wesleyan, represented those who stood on the first round of the
mercantile ladder.  Orpin was stout of limb, broad of shoulder, strong
of heart, and empty of pocket; he therefore carried a pack in which were
to be found not only gloves, neckerchiefs, and trinkets for the women,
as well as gaudy waistcoats, etcetera, for the men, but New Testaments,
tracts, and little books in the Dutch language wherewith Stephen hoped
to do good to the souls of his customers.  Orpin had come to the "fair"
with the double view of trading and holding intercourse on spiritual
things with the Kafirs.  He longed to preach Christ, the crucified
Saviour, to the heathen.  Of such men, thank God, there always have
been, and we believe always will be, many in the world--men in regard to
whom bigots are apt to say, "Lord, forbid him, for he followeth not with
us," but of whom the Lord said, "Forbid him not, for he that is not
against us is on our part."

Among those who had attained to the enviable ox-waggon were our friends
John Skyd and Frank Dobson.  Possessing a remnant of their means when
they gave up farming, two of the brothers, James and Robert, established
a small general store in Grahamstown, while John and Frank set up a
joint waggon and took to hunting and trading on a large scale.  Of
course they bought all their supplies of brass-wire, beads and buttons,
powder and shot etcetera, from the Skyd store, and sold their ivory,
etcetera, at the same place, with mutual benefit.

It was a strange and stirring sight to behold the long files of Kafir
women, straight and graceful as Venus in body, ugly almost as baboons in
visage, coming to the fair from all parts of the land with enormous
loads on their heads of ox-hides, horns, gum, and elephants' tusks.
Threading the narrow bush-paths in long single files, they came from
hillside and thicket towards the great centre of attraction.  Gradually
the crowd thickened.  Kafir chiefs with leopard-skins thrown over their
otherwise naked bodies stalked about with an assumption of quiet dignity
which they found it difficult to maintain amid the excitement and
temptations of the fair.  Swarthy groups found shelter among the trees
that fringed the Keiskamma below the post--the women resting after
having gladly laid down their burdens; their lords sitting on their
heels with knob-kerrie in hand, jealously guarding their property.  The
great chief himself was there, laying seignorial taxation on his people,
and even condescending to _beg_ for the white man's brandy.

"Come with me," said Orpin to a newly made Dutch friend; "I'm told you
understand Kafir, and I want you to interpret for me.  Will you?"

The Dutchman said "Ja," and went, for Orpin had a persuasive tongue and
pleasant manner which induced all sorts of men to aid him.  And so they
two went down into the bush among the dark-skinned crew, and Stephen
preached in their wondering ears the "old, old story" of the Cross--a
story which is never told entirely in vain, though many a time it does
seem as if the effect of it were woefully disproportioned to the efforts
of those who go forth bearing the precious seed.

Meanwhile Skyd and Dobson were driving lucrative bargains in another
part of the field, speaking wonderful Kafir in the midst of a Babel of
Dutch and English that was eminently suggestive of the ancient "tower"
itself.

Besides the difficulties of language there were troubles also in
reference to trade, for Kafirs, although savage, are fastidious.  The
men were as particular about their necklaces as any beau could be about
the cut of his coat and the women were at times very hard to please in
the matter of turban-covers and kaross back-stripes.  But after much
haggling the contending parties came to terms, to their mutual benefit
and satisfaction.

In another part of the market there seemed to be a tendency to riot.
Either bargaining was more hotly carried on there, or spirits of a
pugnacious tendency were congregated.  Among them was a tall powerful
Kafir, who had been evidently treated to a glass of something stronger
than water.  He was not tipsy, he was only elevated, but the elevation
roused his ire to such an extent that he began to boast loudly that he
could fight _any_ one, and flourished his sticks or kerries in a defiant
manner.  Kafirs always fight with two sticks, one to hit with, the other
to guard.

A trader from the Green Isle chanced to pass this man, and to be jostled
by him.  Every one knows of the world's opinion of the Irishman's love
for fighting.  Pat became nettled.

"Arrah!" says he, "yer mighty fond o' swagger, but I'll tache you
manners, you black baste!  Come on!"

The big Kafir came on at once, and made a blow at Pat's head with his
knob-kerrie that would have ended the fight at once if it had taken
effect, but the Irishman, well trained in the art, guarded it neatly,
and returned with a blow so swift and vigorous that it fell on the pate
of the savage like a flail.  As well might Pat have hit a rock.  If
there is a strong point about a black man, it is his head.  The Irish
man knew this, but had forgotten it in the first flush of combat.  He
became wiser.  Meanwhile a crowd of excited traders and Kafirs gathered
round the combatants and backed them.

The Kafir made another wild swoop at his enemy's skull, but the blow was
easily turned aside.  Pat returned with a feint at his foe's head, but
came down with terrible force on the inside of his right knee.  The
Kafir dropped his sticks, seized his knee with both hands, stood on one
leg, and howled in agony.

Scorning to strike a defenceless foe, Paddy gave him a dab on the end of
his already flat nose, by way of reminding him that he was off his
guard.  The Kafir took the hint, caught up his sticks and sprang at his
opponent with the yell of a hyena, whirling aloft both sticks at once.
The Irishman had to leap aside, and, as he did so, drew from the Kafir a
shriek of pain by hitting him sharply on the left shin, adding to the
effect immediately by a whack under the right eye that might have
finished an average ox.  The Kafir fell, more, however, because of the
pain of the double blow, than because of its force, for he rolled about
bellowing for a few seconds.  Then, jumping up, he renewed the fight.
There is no saying how long it might have lasted had not a party of
troops chanced to pass just then, who separated the combatants and
dispersed the crowd.

The "fair," however, was made use of not only as an occasion for
trading, preaching, and fighting, but for plotting.  Chiefs met there in
peace, who might otherwise have failed to meet except in battle, and
these, with chiefs of banditti from the mountains, and malcontents from
all quarters, concocted and hatched designs against the well-being of
individuals and of the public at large.

At this time the colonists, besides being troubled by savage thieves,
were threatened with disturbance from the inter-tribal feuds of the
savages themselves.  One tremendous Zulu monster of the name of Chaka--
who excelled Nero himself in cruelty--was driving other tribes of Kafirs
down into the colony, and designing chiefs were beginning to think or
hope that the opportunity had arrived for carrying out their favourite
idea of driving the white man into the sea.

In a dark forest glade, not far from the fort, and within hearing of its
bugle-calls, Stephen Orpin walked up and down with one of the
malcontents.

"I tell you, Ruyter, it is in vain to join with the Kafirs," said Orpin.
"If all the Hottentots in Africa were to unite with them, you would not
be strong enough to crush the white man."

"Why not?" demanded the Hottentot angrily, in his broken English; "we be
strong as you, and brave."

"But you are not so well armed," said Orpin.

"Fact," returned the freebooter, "but time vill make dat all squaar.
Smugglers bring guns to we, an' pooder.  Ver' soon be all right."

"Listen, Ruyter, you are like a child.  You know nothing.  The land from
which the white man comes will never suffer him to be driven out of
Africa.  England is rich in everything, and will send men to fill the
places of those who fall.  Besides, I think God is on the white man's
side, because the white man in the main intends and tries to do good.
Just think of the `fair.'  The black man wants beads and brass wire and
cotton, and many other things--the white man brings these things from
over the sea.  On the other hand the white man wants hides, horns,
ivory--the black man can supply these things.  They meet to exchange,
good is done by each to the other.  Why should they fight?"

"For revenge," said Ruyter darkly.

"No doubt revenge is sweet to you, but it is sinful," returned Orpin.
"Besides, the sweetness does not last long; and will it, let me ask,
make the black man happier or the white man more sorrowful in the
long-run?  You should think of others, not only of yourself, Ruyter."

"Does Jan Smit ever tink of oders--of anybody but hisself?"

"Perhaps not, but Conrad Marais does, and so do many other men of like
mind.  God, the Father of all men, is a God of peace, and does not
permit His children to gratify feelings of revenge.  Jesus, the Saviour
of lost man, is the Prince of peace; He will not deliver those who
wilfully give way to revenge."

"I no want deliverance," said the robber chief sternly.

"I know that," replied Orpin, "and it was to deliver you from that state
of mind that Jesus came.  Think, Ruyter, think--"

He was interrupted at this point by the sound of an approaching
ox-waggon.  Ruyter, being a well-known outlaw, did not dare to show
himself at the fair, although not a whit worse in any respect than most
of the Kafir chiefs who walked openly there unchallenged.  He shrank
back into the shelter of the jungle while the trader awaited the coming
up of the waggon.

"Aha, here you are, Orpin--not kept you waiting long, I hope?" said John
Skyd as he followed his waggon into the glade.

"Not long," answered the trader; "but we must make the most of our time
now, for the day is far spent."

"It is, but I could not manage to get away sooner.  We had to lay in a
supply of powder and lead for the hunt, besides many other things.
Dobson will be here with the other waggon immediately--he's not fifty
yards behind,--and then we shall start fair for the elephant-ground.
You're quite sure that you know the way, I suppose?"

"I would not undertake to guide you if I were not sure."

In a few minutes Dobson came up with the second waggon, and the whole
party set forth on a hunting expedition into the interior, under the
guidance of Stephen Orpin, who had already wandered so much about the
colony that he was beginning to be pretty well acquainted with a great
extent of the border line.

About the same time that Skyd and Dobson went off to the interior
another party of hunters and explorers set out on an expedition from the
Scottish settlement of Glen Lynden.  But before touching on this, we
will turn aside to relate an incident which affected the movements of
both parties, and has reference to a small though not unimportant
personage of our story.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

DESCRIBES A SERIES OF EARLY RISINGS.

One fine morning early, high up among the krantzes and dark jungles of a
kloot or mountain gorge, which branched off from Glen Lynden, a noble
specimen of an African savage awoke from his night's repose and
stretched himself.

He had spent the night among the lower branches of a mimosa-bush, the
opening into which was so small that it was a wonder how his large body
could have squeezed through it.  Indeed, it would have been quite
impossible for him to have gained the shelter of that dark retreat if he
had not possessed a lithe supple frame and four powerful legs furnished
with tremendous claws.

We should have mentioned, perhaps, that our noble savage was a
magnificent leopard--or Cape "tiger."

As he stretched himself he laid back his head, shut his eyes, and
yawned, by which act he displayed a tremendous collection of canines and
grinders, with a pink throat of great capacity.  The yawn ended in a
gasp, and then he raised his head and looked quietly about him, gently
patting the ground with his tail, as a man might pat his bedclothes
while considering what to do next.  Not unlike man, he lay down at full
length and tried to go to sleep again, but it would not do.  He had
evidently had his full allowance, and therefore got up and stretched
himself again in a standing position.  In this act, bending his deep
chest to the ground, he uttered a low _gurr_ of savage satisfaction,
sank his claws into the soil, and gently tore a number of tough roots
into shreds.  Sundry little creatures of various kinds in the
neighbourhood, hearing the _gurr_, presented their tails to the sky and
dived into their little holes with incredible rapidity.

The leopard now shook off dull sloth, and, lashing his sides in a
penitential manner with his tail, glided through the opening in the
mimosa-bush, bounded into the branches of a neighbouring tree, ran
nimbly out to the end of one of them, and leaping with a magnificent
spring over a gully, alighted softly on the turf at the other side.
Trotting calmly into an open space, he stopped to take a survey of
surrounding nature.

Breakfast now naturally suggested itself.  At least we may suppose so
from a certain eager look which suddenly kindled in the leopard's eye,
and a wrinkling of his nose as a bird flitted close over his head.  At
that moment a species of rabbit, or cony, chanced to hop round the
corner of a rock.  The lightning-flash is not quicker than the spring
with which the Cape-tiger traversed the twenty feet between himself and
his prey.

The result was very effectual as regarded the cony, but it was not much
to gurr about in the way of breakfast.  It was a mere whet to the
appetite, which increased the desire for more.

Advancing down the kloof with that stealthy gliding motion peculiar to
the feline race, the leopard soon came in sight of a fine bushbok, whose
sleek sides drew from him an irrepressible snicker of delight.  But the
bushbok was not within spring-range.  He was at the foot of a low
precipice.  Creeping to the top of this with great caution the leopard
looked over with a view to estimate distance.  It was yet too far for a
spring, so he turned at once to seek a better way of approach.  In doing
so he touched a small stone, which rolled over the krantz, bounded from
crag to cliff, and, carrying several other stones larger than itself
along with it, dashed itself at the very feet of the bushbok, which
wisely took to its heels and went off like the wind.

Sulky beyond all conception, the leopard continued to descend the kloof
until he reached a narrow pass from which were visible, not far off, the
abodes of men.  Here he paused and couched in quiet contemplation.

Now there was another early waking on that fine morning, though not
quite so early as the one just described.  Master Junkie Brook, lying in
a packing-box, which served as an extempore crib, in the cottage of
Kenneth McTavish, opened his large round eyes and rubbed them.  Getting
up, he observed that Mrs Scholtz was sound asleep, and quietly dressed
himself.  He was a precocious child, and had learned to dress without
assistance.  The lesson was more easily learned than beings living in
civilised lands might suppose, owing to the fact that he had only two
garments--a large leather jacket and a pair of leather trousers, one
huge button in front, and one behind, holding the latter securely to the
former.  A pair of veltschoen and a fur cap completed a costume which
had been manufactured by the joint efforts of his mother and sister and
Mrs Scholtz.  The husband of the last, on seeing it for the first time,
remarked that it "vas more like me garb of a man of dirty zan a boy of
dree."  The garb had been made of such tough material that it seemed
impossible to wear it out, and of such an extremely easy fit that
although the child had now lived in it upwards of two years there were
not more than six patches on it anywhere.

How Junkie got to the Baviaans River may perhaps perplex the reader.  It
is easily explained.  Hans had invited all or any of the Brook family to
visit his father's farm on the karroo.  Gertie catching a cold, or in
some other way becoming feeble, wanted a change of air.  Her father,
recalling the invitation, and happening to know that Hans was in
Grahamstown at the time, drove her over with Mrs Scholtz and Junkie to
make the thing proper, and offered a visit of all three.  You may be
sure Hans did not refuse to take them to his home in his new cart.
After spending some time there Mrs Scholtz took a fancy that she would
like to go with Hans on one of his frequent excursions to Glen Lynden,
but she would not leave Junkie behind.  Hans objected to Junkie at
first, but finally gave in, and thus the little hero found his way to
the River of Baboons.

When dressed--which was soon done, as he omitted washing--Junkie began
to consider what he had best do.  Mischief, of course, but of what sort?
That was the question.

His room was on the ground floor, and had a lattice window which opened
like a door into the back premises.  He pushed the window and found that
it opened.  What a chance!  Mrs Scholtz was still asleep, and snoring.
Absence without leave was his chief delight.  In two minutes he was deep
in the jungle, panting.  Knowing from long and bitter experience that he
would be pursued by the inveterate Mrs Scholtz, the urchin ran up the
kloof, bent on placing the greatest possible space between him and his
natural enemy in the shortest possible time.  In this way he was not
long of drawing near to the leopard's point of observation.

No doubt that keen-sighted animal would quickly have observed the child,
if its attention had not at the moment been attracted by other and
equally mischievous game.  A troop of baboons came down the kloof to
pilfer the white man's fruit and vegetables.  They had evidently risen
late for breakfast, and were in a hurry to reach their breakfast parlour
before the white man should awake.  There were a dozen or so of females,
several huge males, and quite a crowd of children of various ages,
besides one or two infants clinging to their mothers' waists.

It was pitiful to see the sad anxious faces of these infants.  Perhaps
they knew their parents' errand and disapproved of it.  More probably
they felt their own weakness of frame, and dreaded the shocks sustained
when their heedless mothers bounded from rock or stump like balls of
india-rubber.  They were extremely careless mothers.  Even Junkie, as he
stood paralysed with terror and surprise, could not avoid seeing that.
The troop was led by a great blue-faced old-man baboon with a remarkably
saturnine expression.  On reaching the top of the rock which the leopard
had just vacated, the old man called a halt.  The others came tumbling
awkwardly towards him on all-fours, with the exception of several of the
youngsters, who loitered behind to play.  One of these, a very small bad
little boy-baboon, deliberately turned aside to explore on his own
account.  He came down near to the foot of the rock where the leopard
had concealed himself.  Catching sight of his glaring enemy, the bad boy
uttered a terrified squawk.  Instantly all the males, headed by the old
man, rushed to the rescue.  Powerful though he was, the leopard was
cowardly at heart.  A large troop of baboons had some time ago made
mince-meat of his own grandmother.  Remembering this, he sloped under a
bank, glided round a corner of the cliff, bounded over a bush, and
sought refuge in a thicket.

It was at this moment, while in the act of bounding, that he caught
sight of Junkie, but being confused at the moment, and ashamed of having
been twice foiled, he slunk away with his tail between his legs and
concealed himself among the branches of an old gnarled and favourite
tree.

The bad boy-baboon was the only one who had seen the leopard; the old
males therefore had to content themselves with a few fierce looks round
in all directions, and several defiant roars.  Born and bred in the
midst of alarms, however, they were soon composed enough to resume their
descent on the white man's stores--to the great relief of the petrified
Junkie, of whom in their alarm they took no notice, regarding him,
possibly, as a badly executed statue of a baboon.

Junkie quickly recovered himself, and, seeing the baboons descend the
kloof, thought it safer, as well as more in accord with his original
plans, to ascend.

Gladly, hopefully, did the leopard observe his decision and watch his
progress.  To him the tide of fortune seemed to have taken a favourable
turn, for Junkie, in the innocence of his heart, made straight for the
gnarled tree.

But one of the many slips so often quoted with reference to cups and
lips was at this time impending over the unfortunate leopard.

There was yet one other early riser that morning--namely Booby the
Bushman.  In pursuance of his calling, that ill-used and misguided son
of the soil arose about daybreak with much of his native soil sticking
to his person, and, with a few other desperadoes like himself, made a
descent on Glen Lynden--not, by any means, the first that his fraternity
had made.  Not so bloodthirsty as the leopard, quite as mischievous as
Junkie, and much more cunning than the baboons, Booby chanced to arrive
at the gorge already mentioned just at the time when Junkie was
approaching it.  There was, if you will, somewhat of a coincidence here
in regard to time, but there was no coincidence in the fact of such
characters selecting the same route, because whoever passed up or down
that kloof must needs go by the gorge.

Slowly Junkie picked his way up the ragged path towards the gnarled
tree.  The leopard, scarcely believing in his good luck, licked his
lips.  Rapidly the Bushman and his men descended the same path.

They rode on horses--stolen horses, of course.  The leopard heard the
clatter of hoofs and looked back.  Junkie drew nearer to the gnarled
tree; the leopard looked forward.  Never was savage beast more
thoroughly perplexed.  Anxiety glared in his eyes; exasperation grinned
in his teeth; indecision quivered in the muscles of his tail.  Just at
that moment Booby caught sight of his spotted skin.  Had the leopard
been less perturbed he would have been too wise to allow his carcass to
appear.  A poisoned arrow instantly quivered in his flank.  It acted
like a spur; with an angry growl and a clear bound of no one knows how
many feet, he re-entered the jungle and fled to the mountains.

Petrified again, Junkie remained motionless till the Bushmen robbers
rode up.  Booby knew that his leopard was safe, for a poisoned arrow is
sure to kill in time, so he did not care to hasten after it just then,
but preferred to continue his approach to the white man's habitations.
Great, then, was his amazement when he all but rode over Junkie.

Amazement was quickly succeeded by alarm.  His knowledge of the white
man's ways and habits told him at once the state of affairs.  The
appearance of Junkie in the company of "tigers" and baboons, was, he
knew well, a mere juvenile indiscretion.  He also knew that parental
instincts among white men were keen, and thence concluded that discovery
and pursuit would be immediate.  His own plans were therefore not only
defeated, but his own safety much endangered, as his presence was sure
to be discovered by his tracks.  "Let's be off instanter," was the
substance of Booby's communication to his brethren.  The brethren
agreed, but Booby had lived among white men, and although his own
particular master was a scoundrel, there were those of his household--
especially among the females--who had taught him something of Christian
pity.  He could not leave the child to the tender mercies of wild
beasts.  He did not dare to convey him back to the cottage of Kenneth
McTavish.  What was he to do?  Delay might be death!  In these
circumstances he seized the horrified Junkie by the arm, swung him on
the pommel of his saddle, and galloped away up the kloof and over the
mountains into the deepest recesses of Kafirland.

When Mrs Scholtz awoke that morning, rubbed her eyes, looked up and
discovered that Junkie's crib was empty, she sprang from her bed,
perceived the open lattice, and gave vent to an awful scream.  In
barbarous times and regions a shriek is never uttered in vain.  The
McTavish household was instantly in the room, some of them in
deshabille--some armed--all alarmed.

"Oh my!--oh me!" cried Mrs Scholtz, leaping back into bed with
unfeminine haste, "he's gone!"

"Who's gone?" asked McTavish.

"Junkie!"

"What! where? when? how? why?" said Mrs McTavish, Jessie, and others.

Mrs Scholtz gasped and pointed to the lattice; at the same time she
grasped her garments as a broad hint to the men.  They took it hastily.

"Come, boys, search about, and one of you saddle up.  Go, call Groot
Willem," was the master's prompt order as he turned and left the room.

Six Hottentots, a Bushman, and a Bechuana boy obeyed, but those who
searched sought in vain.  Yet not altogether in vain--they found
Junkie's "spoor," and traced it into the jungle.  While two followed it,
the others returned and "saddled up" the horses.  Groot Willem chanced
to be on a visit to the Highlanders at the time.

"What a pity," he said, coming out of his room and stretching himself
(it was quite an impressive sight to see such a giant stretch himself!)
"that the hunters are off.  They might have helped us."

The giant spoke with good-humoured sarcasm, believing that the urchin
would assuredly be found somewhere about the premises, and he referred
to the departure of an exploring and hunting party under George Rennie,
which had left Glen Lynden the previous day for the interior.

But when Groot Willem with his companions had ridden a considerable way
up the kloof, and found Junkie's spoor mingling with that of baboons, he
became earnest.  When he came to the gnarled tree and discovered that it
was joined by that of horses and Cape tigers, he became alarmed.

A diligent examination was made.  Drops of blood were found on the
ground.  The leopard itself was ultimately discovered stone dead in a
thicket with the poisoned arrow in its side, the horse-spoor was
followed up a long way, and then it was pretty clearly seen that the
child had been carried off by marauders of some sort.

Of course a thorough search was made and pursuit was immediately
instituted.  Groot Willem and McTavish pushed on promptly to follow the
spoor, while men were sent back to the glen for a supply of ammunition,
etcetera, in case of a prolonged search becoming necessary.

The search was ably planned and vigorously carried out; but all in vain.
Junkie had departed _that_ life as thoroughly as if he had never been,
and Mrs Scholtz remained at Glen Lynden the very personification of
despair.

We shall now turn to the exploring party which had left the Baviaans
River on the previous day.

About this time the rumours of war among the natives of the vast and
almost unknown interior of the land had become unusually alarming.  A
wandering and warlike horde named the Fetcani had been, for some time
past, driving all the other tribes before them, and were said at last to
be approaching the Winterberg frontier of the colony.  In order to
ascertain what foundation there was for these reports, as well as to
explore the land, the party under Rennie was sent out.  Among those who
formed this party were Charlie Considine, Hans Marais, Sandy Black and
his satellite Jerry Goldboy, Andrew Rivers, Diederik and Christian
Muller, and the tall black-bearded hunter Lucas Van Dyk, besides
Slinger, Dikkop, and other Hottentots and Bushmen.

"This is what I call real enjoyment," said Considine, as he rode with
Hans, somewhat in advance of the cavalcade;--"splendid weather,
magnificent scenery, lots of game big and little, good health and
freedom.  What more could a man wish?"

"Ja," said Hans quietly; "you have reason to be thankful--yet there is
more to wish for."

"What more?" asked Considine.

"That the whole world were as happy as yourself," said Hans, looking
full at his friend with a bland smile.

"And so I do wish that," returned Considine with enthusiasm.

"Do you?" asked Hans, with a look of surprise.

"Of course I do; why do you doubt it?" asked his friend, with a
perplexed look.

Hans did not reply, but continued to gaze at the mountain-range towards
which the party was riding.

And, truly, it was a prospect which might well absorb the attention and
admiration of men less capable of being affected by the beauties of
nature than Hans Marais.

They were passing through a verdant glen at the foot of the mountains,
the air of which was perfumed with wild flowers, and filled with the
garrulous music of paroquets and monkeys.  In front lay the grand range
of the Winterberg, with its coronet of rocks, its frowning steeps, its
grassy slopes, and its skirts feathered over with straggling forest,--
all bathed in the rich warm glow of an African sunset.

"You have not answered me, Hans," said Considine, after a pause.  "Why
do you think I am indifferent to the world's happiness?"

"Because," replied the other, with an expression unusually serious on
his countenance, "I do not see that you make any effort--beyond being
good-natured and amiable, which you cannot help--to make the world
better."

Considine looked at his friend with surprise, and replied, with a
laugh--"Why, Hans, you are displaying a new phase of character.  Your
remark is undoubtedly true--so true indeed that, although I object to
that commonplace retort,--`You're another,'--I cannot help pointing out
that it applies equally to yourself."

"It is just because it applies equably to myself that I make it,"
rejoined Hans, with unaltered gravity.  "You and I profess to be
Christians, we both think that we are guided by Christian principles--
and doubtless, to some extent, we are, but what have we done for the
cause that we call `good,' that is good?  I speak for myself at all
events--I have hitherto done nothing, absolutely nothing."

"My dear fellow," said Considine, with a sudden burst of candour, "I
believe you are right, and I plead guilty; but then what can we do?  We
are not clergymen."

"Stephen Orpin is not a clergyman, yet see what _he_ does.  It was
seeing what that man does, and how he lives, that first set me
a-thinking on this subject.  He attends to his ordinary calling quite as
well as any man of my acquaintance, and, I'll be bound, makes a good
thing of it, but any man with half an eye can see that he makes it
subservient to the great work of serving the Saviour, whom you and I
profess to love.  I have seen him suffer loss rather than work on the
Lord's day.  More than once I've seen him gain discredit for his
so-called fanaticism.  He is an earnest man, eagerly seeking an end
which is _outside_ himself, therefore he is a happy man.  To be eager in
pursuit, is to be in a great degree happy, even when the pursuit is a
trifling one; if it be a great and good one, the result must be greater
happiness; if the pursuit has reference to things beyond this life, and
ultimate success is hoped for in the next, it seems to me that _lasting_
as well as _highest_ happiness may thus be attained.  Love of self,
Charlie, is _not_ a bad motive, as some folk would falsely teach us.
The Almighty put love of self within us.  It is only when love of self
is a superlative affection that it is sinful, because idolatrous.  When
it is said that `love is the fulfilling of the law,' it is not love to
God merely that is meant, I think, but love to Him supremely, and to all
created things as well, self included, because if you can conceive of
this passion being our motive power, and fairly balanced in our
breasts--God and all created beings and things occupying their right
relative positions,--self, although dethroned, would not be ignored.
Depend on it, Charlie, there is something wrong _here_."

The young Dutchman smote himself heavily on his broad chest, and looked
at his friend for a reply.

What that reply was we need not pause to say.  These two young men ever
since their first acquaintance had regarded each other with feelings
akin to those of David and Jonathan, but they had not up to this time
opened to each other those inner chambers of the soul, where the secret
springs of life keep working continually in the dark, whether we regard
them or not--working oftentimes harshly for want of the oil of human
intercourse and sympathy.  The floodgates were now opened, and the two
friends began to discourse on things pertaining to the soul and the
Saviour and the world to come, whereby they found that their
appreciation and enjoyment of the good things even of this life was
increased considerably.  Subsequently they discovered the explanation of
this increased power of enjoyment, in that Word which throws light on
all things, where it is written that "godliness is profitable for the
life that now is, as well as that which is to come."



CHAPTER TWENTY.

TREATS OF THE DELIGHTS, DANGERS, AND DISTRESSES OF THE WILDERNESS.

"Afar in the desert,"--far beyond the frontier settlements of the
colony, far from the influences of civilisation, in the home of the wild
beast and the savage, the explorers now ride under the blaze of the
noontide sun.

They had passed over mountain and dale into the burning plains of the
karroo, and for many hours had travelled without water or shelter from
the scorching heat.  Lucas Van Dyk, who guided them, said he knew where
water was to be got, but there was no possibility of reaching it before
evening.  This announcement was received in silence, for not a drop of
the life-giving fluid had passed the lips of man or beast since an early
hour on the previous day, and their powers of endurance were being tried
severely.  The insupportable heat not only increased the thirst, but
rendered the hunters less able to bear it.  All round them the air
quivered with the radiation from the glaring sand, and occasionally the
_mirage_ appeared with its delicious prospects of relief, but as the
Dutchmen knew the ground well, none were deceived by it, though all were
tantalised.  Compressing their lips, and urging their wearied cattle to
the utmost, they pushed steadily on, no sound breaking the stillness of
the desert save the creak of a waggon-wheel or the groan of an exhausted
animal.

At last Charlie Considine sought to relieve his feelings by
conversation.

"This is one of the unpleasant experiences of African travel."

Hans Marais, to whom the remark was made, replied "Ja," but as he added
nothing more, and looked stern, Charlie relapsed into silence.

Ere long one of the weaker oxen fell.  The party halted a few minutes,
while the Hottentot drivers plied their cruel whips unmercifully, but in
vain.  One more merciful than the drivers was there--death came to
release the poor animal.  Immediately, as if by magic, vultures appeared
in the burning sky.  From the far-off horizon they came sailing by twos
and threes, as if some invisible messenger, like death himself, had gone
with lightning-speed to tell that a banquet awaited them.

No time was wasted; a brief word from the leader sufficed.  The dying ox
was released from the yoke that had galled it so long, and the party
proceeded.  Before they were a mile off the ox was dead, its eyes were
out, its carcass torn open, and the obscene birds were gorging
themselves.  Before night it was an empty skeleton covered with a dried
hide!  Not many hours would suffice to remove the hide and leave only
the bleaching bones.  Such remains are familiar objects on South African
roadsides.

That evening, according to their leader's prophecy, water was reached.
It was a thick muddy pool, but it sufficed to relieve them all, and a
night of comparative comfort followed a day of suffering.

Next morning, just after breakfast, a herd of springboks was observed,
and several of the more eager of the party dashed off in pursuit.  Among
these was Considine, Hans, Andrew Rivers, and Jerry Goldboy.  The two
last were always first in the mad pursuit of game, and caused their
placid Dutch friends no little anxiety by the scrapes they frequently
ran themselves into.

"Follow them, they'll get lost," said Van Dyk to a group of Hottentots.

Two of these, Slinger and Dikkop, obeyed the order.

The antelopes were on a distant sandhill in the plain.  There were two
groups of them.  Riven and Jerry made for one of these.  Becoming
suddenly imbued with an idea worthy of a hunter, Jerry diverged to the
right, intending to allow his companion to start the game, while he
should lie in wait for it under the shelter of a bush.  Unfortunately
the game took the opposite direction when started, so that Jerry was
thrown entirely out.  As it chanced, however, this did not matter much,
for Jerry's horse, becoming unmanageable, took to its heels and dashed
away wildly over the plain, followed by Dikkop the Hottentot.

"Mind the ant-bear holes!" shouted Dikkop, but as he shouted in Dutch
Jerry did not understand him, and devoted himself to vain endeavours to
restrain the horse.  At first the animal looked after itself and avoided
the holes referred to, but as Jerry kept tugging furiously at the reins
it became reckless, and finally put a fore-leg into a hole.  Instantly
it rolled over, and the hunter flew off its back, turning a complete
somersault in the air.

A low shrub grows in the karroo, called the ill-tempered thorn.  It
resembles a mass of miniature porcupine quills, an inch or two in
length, planted as thickly as possible together, with the needle-points
up and bristling.  On one of these shrubs poor Jerry alighted!

"Oh! 'eavens, this is hagony!" he groaned, jumping up and stamping,
while Dikkop almost fell off his horse with laughing.

To hide his mirth he bolted off in pursuit of Jerry's charger, which he
soon caught and brought back, looking supernaturally grave.

"We will rejoin the 'unters, Dikkop," said Jerry, in the tone of a man
who endeavours to conceal his sufferings.

"Ja, Mynheer," said Dikkop.

Whatever Jerry Goldboy might have said, that Hottentot would have
replied "Ja, Mynheer," for he understood not a word of English.

Jerry mounted with an ill-suppressed groan and rode back to the party,
leaning very much forward in the saddle, while Dikkop followed, showing
the white teeth in his dirty black visage from ear to ear.

Rivers soon afterwards returned with a springbok behind him, but there
was no appearance of Considine or Hans.  As, however, the latter was
known to be an experienced traveller, no anxiety was felt for them, and
the main party proceeded on its way.  When night came they found that a
well, on which they had counted, was dried up, and were therefore
obliged to lie down without water.  Several shots were fired after dark
to guide the absent ones, but no reply was made.  Still, those in camp
felt no anxiety, knowing that Hans was quite able to take care of
himself.

And so he was, truly, but he could not take care of a hot-headed youth
who was as eager as Jerry in the chase, and much more daring.

At first he and Considine ran together after the springboks; then Hans
got near enough, dismounted, and shot one.  While he was busy fastening
the carcass on his horse, Considine continued to pursue the others;
going at full speed, he was soon far away on the horizon.  Still Hans
would have been able to see him if he had not got among some scattered
groups of mimosa-bushes, which were sufficiently large to conceal him.
When he remounted and looked around, his friend was not to be seen.  He
saw a few springboks, however, racing on the horizon in the direction in
which Considine had galloped, and concluded somewhat hastily that they
were pursued by his friend.  Away he went, therefore, but soon
discovered that he was mistaken.  He turned then, and rode quickly back,
blaming himself for not having followed the footprints of his friend's
horse.  This he now did, and at last came up with him, but at so late an
hour, and at such a distance from the line of march, that a bivouac in
the plain was inevitable.

"Oh, Hans," he said, "I'm so glad you've found me!  I had no idea that
one could get so easily lost in an open plain."

"You've had enough experience too, one would think, to have remembered
the vastness of the karroo," said Hans, dismounting and making the
fastenings of the springbok more secure, "A man soon dwindles to the
size of a crow in plains like this, when you gallop away from him.  Men
not accustomed to them misjudge distances and sizes in a wonderful way.
I remember once being out hunting with a fellow who mistook a waggon for
a springbok!--But come, mount; we must ride on to a better camping-place
than this, and be content to sleep without blankets to-night."

"I hope the camping-place is not far off, for I'm parched with thirst,"
said Considine, mounting and following at a smart gallop.

"I'm sorry for you," returned Hans, "for you'll see no water this night.
To-morrow we'll start early and get to the waggons by breakfast-time."

This was depressing news to Considine, for the heat of the day and
exertions of the chase had, as he expressed it, almost dried him up.
There was nothing for it, however, but patience.

About sunset they came to a place where were some old deserted huts.  In
one of these they resolved to pass the night, though, from certain holes
in the side, it was evidently used at times as an abode by beasts of
prey.  Having flint and steel, they made a fire, and while thus engaged
were serenaded by the distant and dolorous howls of a hyena and the
inharmonious jabberings of a jackal.

"Pleasant company!" observed Considine as he roasted a steak over the
fire.

"Ja," replied Hans, who, being a more expert cook, was already busy with
a rib.

The melancholy hoot of an owl seemed to indicate that the animal kingdom
agreed with the sentiment, and the young men laughed.  They were not,
however, disposed to talk much.  After a silent supper they lay down and
slept soundly, quite oblivious of the prowlers of the night, who came,
more than once, near to the door of the hut.

It was late next day when they awoke.  Hans likewise missed his way, and
though he afterwards discovered his mistake, they found it impossible to
regain the track of their companions before sunset.  All that day they
were compelled to travel without tasting a drop of water, and their poor
horses became so fatigued as to be scarcely equal to more than a walking
pace.  As Hans knew that water was not far off, he pushed on after
sunset, so as to have the shorter distance to travel to it in the
morning.

"It is very tantalising," he said, drawing rein when the darkness of the
night rendered travelling almost impossible, "to know that our friends
cannot be far off, and yet be unable to reach them."

"Hadn't we better fire a shot?" asked Considine.

"Not of much use, I fear, but there can be no harm in trying."

The shot was fired and was instantly replied to by a tremendous roar
from a lion, apparently close to where they stood.  No wood was near
them to make a fire, nothing but tufts of grass; they therefore pushed
on towards a range of dark mountains as fast as their jaded steeds would
go.

"Halt a moment," said Hans in a low voice.

They stopped and listened.  The approach of the lion in rear was
distinctly heard.

"We cannot escape from him, Charlie," said Hans, as they again urged
their horses onward, "and in the dark we cannot take aim at him.  Our
only chance is to reach yonder pass or glen that looms like a black
cleft in the hills, and clamber up some precipice, whence we can pelt
him with stones."

He spoke in quick, earnest tones.  They soon entered the gorge and were
greeted by the grunt of a baboon and the squalling of its young ones,
which helped to increase the savage aspect of the towering cliffs on
either side.  They had not proceeded far when the lion gave another
tremendous roar, which, echoing from cliff to cliff, gave the luckless
hunters the feeling of having got into the very heart of a lion's den.
No suitable place to scramble up being found, they pushed madly on over
a track of sand and bushes, expecting every instant to see the monster
bound upon them.  But the defile was shorter than Hans had supposed.  On
issuing from it they were cheered by the moon rising bright in the east,
and found that their enemy had ceased to follow them at that point.
Still, though weary, and with their tongues cleaving to the roofs of
their mouths, they continued their march for several hours, and lying
down at last, they scarcely knew how or there, they went to sleep with a
prayer for protection and deliverance on their parched lips.

The weary wanderers passed that night in a very paradise, bathing in
cool streams and slaking their thirst nearly, but never _quite_, to the
full.  There was always a peculiar desire to drink again, and, even
then, to wish for more!  Heavenly music, too, sounded in their ears, and
the sweet shade of green trees sheltered them.

It was daybreak when they were roused from these delights by a hyena's
howl, and awoke to find that they were speechless with thirst, their
eyes inflamed, and their whole frames burning.

Saddling the horses at once, they rode forward, and in a couple of hours
reached a hill near the top of which there was a projecting rock.

"Don't let me raise your hopes too high," said Hans, pointing to the
rock, "but it is just possible that we may find water _there_."

"God grant it!" said Considine.

"Your horse is fresher than mine," said Hans, "and you are lighter than
I am--go first.  If there is water, hail me--if not, I will wait your
return."

With a nod of assent the youth pushed forward, gained the rock, and
found the place where water had once been, a dry hole!

For a few minutes he stood gazing languidly on the plain beyond the
ridge.  Despair had almost taken possession of his breast, when his eye
suddenly brightened.  He observed objects moving far away on the plain.
With bated breath he stooped and shaded his eyes with his hand.  Yes,
there could be no doubt about it--a party of horsemen and
bullock-waggons!  He tried to cheer, but his dry throat refused to act.
Turning quickly, he began to descend the hillside, and chanced to cough
as he went along.  Instantly he was surrounded by almost a hundred
baboons, some of gigantic size, which came fearlessly towards him.  They
grunted, grinned, and sprang from stone to stone, protruding their
mouths and drawing back the skin of their foreheads, threatening an
instant attack.  Considine's gun was loaded, but he had lived long
enough in those regions to be fully aware of the danger of wounding one
of these creatures in such circumstances.  Had he done so he would
probably have been torn to pieces in five minutes.  He therefore kept
them off with the muzzle of his gun as he continued the descent.  Some
of them came so near as to touch his hat while passing projecting rocks.
At last he reached the plain, where the baboons stopped and appeared to
hold a noisy council as to whether they should make a great assault or
not.  He turned and levelled his gun.

"Come," thought he at that moment, "don't do it, Charlie.  You have
escaped.  Be thankful, and leave the poor brutes alone."

Obeying the orders of his conscience, he re-shouldered his gun and
returned to his friend, whom he found reclining under a low bush, and
informed him of what he had seen.  The young Dutchman jumped up at once,
and, mounting, rode round a spur of the hill and out upon the plain.  In
an hour they had overtaken their comrades, but great was their dismay on
finding that they had long ago consumed every drop of water, and that
they were suffering from thirst quite as much as themselves.

"Never mind," said Lucas Van Dyk; "let me comfort you with the assurance
that we shall certainly reach water in a few hours."

The hunter was right.  Some hours before sunset the oxen and horses
quickened their pace of their own accord--sure sign that they had
scented water from afar.  Shortly after, they came in sight of a stream.
The excitement of all increased as they pushed forward.  They broke
into a wild run on nearing the stream; and then followed a scene which
is almost indescribable.  The oxen were cast loose, the riders leaped to
the ground, and the whole party, men, oxen, and horses, ran in a
promiscuous heap into the water.

"Wow, man, Jerry, hae a care; ee'll be squizzen atween the beasts," said
Sandy Black, as the active Jerry passed him in the race.

The Scot's warning was not without reason, for next moment Jerry was up
to the knees in the stream between two oxen, who, closing on each other,
almost burst him.  Easing off, they let him drop on hands and knees, and
he remained in that position drinking thankfully.  The whole place was
quickly stirred up into a muddy compound like pea-soup, but neither man
nor beast was particular.  They struggled forward and fell on their
knees--not inappropriately--to drink.  One man was pushed down by an ox,
but seemed pleased with the refreshing coolness of his position, and
remained where he was drinking.  Another in his haste tumbled over the
edge of the bank and rolled down, preceded by an impatient horse, which
had tripped over him.  Both gathered themselves up, somehow, with their
lips in the water,--and drank!  Young Rivers, happening to gain the
stream at a point where oxen and horses were wedged together tightly,
tried to force in between them, but, failing in this, he stooped to
crawl in below them.  At that moment Slinger the "Tottie" gave a yell in
Dutch, and said that a horse was trampling on him; whom Dikkop consoled
by saying that _he_ was fast in the mud--and so he was, but not too fast
to prevent drinking.  Meanwhile the Dutchmen and the knowing ones of the
party restrained themselves, and sought for better positions where the
water was clearer.  There they, likewise, bent their tall heads and
suggested--though they did not sing--the couplet:

  "Oh that a Dutchman's draught might be
  As deep as the ro-o-olling Zuyder-Zee!"

The limit of drinking was capacity.  Each man and beast drank as much as
he, or it, could hold, and then unwillingly left the stream, covered
with mud and dripping wet!  Oh, it was a delicious refreshment, which
some thought fully repaid them for the toil and suffering they had
previously undergone.  The aspect of the whole band may be described in
the language of Sandy Black, who, beholding his friends after the fray,
remarked that they were all "dirty and drookit."



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

TREATS OF MATTERS TOO NUMEROUS AND STIRRING TO BE BRIEFLY REFERRED TO.

Soon after this the explorers passed beyond the level country, and their
sufferings were for the time relieved.  The region through which they
then passed was varied--hilly, wooded, and beautiful, and, to crown all,
water was plentiful.  Large game was also abundant, and one day the
footprints of elephants were discovered.

To some of the party that day was one of deepest interest and
excitement.

Charlie Considine, who was, as we have said, an adept with the pencil,
longed to sit down and sketch the lordly elephant in his native haunts.
Andrew Rivers and Jerry Goldboy wanted to shoot him, so did George
Rennie and the Mullers and Lucas Van Dyk.  More moderate souls, like
Sandy Black, said they would be satisfied merely to _see_ him, while
Slinger and Dikkop, with their brethren, declared that they wanted to
_eat_ him.

At last they came in sight of him!  It was a little after mid-day.  They
were traversing at the time a jungle so dense that it would have been
impassable but for a Kafir-path which had been kept open by wild
animals.  The hunters had already seen herds of quaggas, and buffaloes,
and some of the larger sorts of antelopes, also one rhinoceros, but not
yet elephants.  Now, to their joy, the giant tracks of these monsters
were discovered.  Near the river, in swampy places, it was evident that
some of them had been rolling luxuriously in the ooze and mud.  But it
was in the forests and jungles that they had left the most striking
marks of their habits and mighty power, for there thorny brakes of the
most impenetrable character had been trodden flat by them, and trees had
been overturned.  In traversing such places the great bull-elephant
always marches in the van, bursting through everything by sheer force
and weight, breaking off huge limbs of the larger trees with his
proboscis when these obstruct his path, and overturning the smaller ones
bodily, while the females and younger members of the family follow in
his wake.

A little further on they came to a piece of open ground where the
elephants had torn up a number of mimosa-trees and inverted them so that
they might the more easily browse on the juicy roots.  It was evident
from appearances that the animals had used their tusks as crowbars,
inserting them under the roots to loosen their hold of the earth, and it
was equally clear that, like other and higher creatures, they sometimes
attempted what was beyond their strength, for some of the larger trees
had resisted their utmost efforts.

As these signs multiplied the hunters proceeded with increased vigilance
and caution, each exhibiting the peculiarity of his character, more or
less, by his look and actions.  The Mullers, Van Dyk, Rennie, Hans, and
other experienced men, rode along, calmly watchful, yet not so much
absorbed as to prevent a humorous glance and a smile at the conduct of
their less experienced comrades.  Considine and Rivers showed that their
spirits were deeply stirred, by the flash of their ever-roving eyes, the
tight compression of their lips, the flush on their brows, and the
position of readiness in which they carried their guns--elephant-guns,
by the way, lent them by their Dutch friends for the occasion.  Sandy
Black rode with a cool, sober, sedate air, looking interested and
attentive, but with that peculiar twinkle of the eyes and slightly
sarcastic droop at the corners of the mouth which is often
characteristic of the sceptical Scotsman.  On the other hand, Jerry
Goldboy went along blazing with excitement, while every now and then he
uttered a suppressed exclamation, and clapped the blunderbuss to his
shoulder when anything moved, or seemed to move, in the jungle.

Jerry had flatly refused to exchange his artillery for any other weapon,
and having learned that small shot was useless against elephants, he had
charged it with five or six large pebbles--such as David might have used
in the slaying of Goliath.  Mixed with these was a sprinkling of large
nails, and one or two odd buttons.  He was a source of constant and
justifiable alarm to his friends, who usually compelled him either to
ride in front, with the blunderbuss pointing forward, or in the rear,
with its muzzle pointing backward.

"There go your friends at last, Jerry," said Van Dyk, curling his black
moustache, with a smile, as the party emerged from a woody defile into a
wide valley.

"What? where? eh! in which direction? point 'em out quick!" cried Jerry,
cocking the blunderbuss violently and wheeling his steed round with such
force that his haunch hit Sandy Black's leg pretty severely.

"Hoot, ye loupin' eedyit!" growled the Scot, somewhat nettled.

Jerry subdued himself with a violent effort, while the experienced
hunters pointed out the elephants, and consulted as to the best plan of
procedure.

There were fifty at least of the magnificent animals scattered in groups
over the bottom and sides of a valley about three miles in extent; some
were browsing on the succulent spekboom, of which they are very fond.
Others were digging up and feeding among the young mimosa-thorns and
evergreens.  The place where the hunters stood was not suitable for an
attack.  It was therefore resolved to move round to a better position.
As they advanced some of the groups of elephants came more distinctly
into view, but they seemed either not to observe, or to disregard, the
intruders.

"Why not go at 'em at once?" asked young Rivers in an impatient whisper.

"Because we don't want to be killed," was the laconic reply from
Diederik Muller.

"Don't you see," explained Van Dyk, with one of his quiet smiles, "that
the ground where the nearest fellows stand is not suitable for
horsemen?"

"Well, I don't see exactly, but I'll take your word for it."

While they were speaking, and riding through a meadow thickly studded
over with clumps of tall evergreens, Considine observed something moving
over the top of a bush close ahead of him.

"Look out there!" he exclaimed, but those in advance had already turned
the corner of a bush, and found themselves within a hundred paces of a
huge male elephant.

Jerry at once pointed the blunderbuss and shut his eyes, and would
infallibly have pulled the trigger, if Sandy Black, who had in some
measure become his keeper, had not seized his wrist and wrenched the
weapon from his grasp.

"Man, ye'll be the death o' somebody yet," he said in a low stern tone.

Jerry at once became penitent and on giving a solemn promise that he
would not fire till he obtained permission, received his weapon back.

"Een groot gruwzaam karl," whispered one of the Hottentots, in broken
Dutch.

"My certie, but he _is_ a great gruesome carl!" said Black, echoing in
Scotch the Dutchman's expression as he gazed in admiration.

"He's fourteen feet high if he's an inch," observed George Rennie.

The scent and hearing of the elephant are both keen, but his sight is
not very good.  As the wind chanced to blow from him to the hunters he
had not perceived them.  This was fortunate, for it would have been
highly dangerous to have attacked him in such ground.  They wheeled
round therefore and galloped away towards some scattered rocks, whence
they could better approach him on foot.  Dismounting, the leaders formed
a hasty plan of operations, and immediately proceeded to put it in
execution.

It may have been that their explanation of the plan was not lucid, or
that Jerry Goldboy's head was not clear, but certain it is that after
having been carefully told what to do, he dashed into the jungle after
Sandy Black and did what seemed right in his own eyes.

Black kept close to the heels of Hans Marais, and so did Considine, but
Jerry soon began to pant with excitement; then he stumbled and fell.
Before recovering himself from a "wait-a-bit" thorn he had been left out
of sight behind.  He pushed valiantly on however and came to a small
open plain, where he looked anxiously round, but his comrades were
nowhere to be seen.  Just then a shot was fired, it was followed quickly
by another, and then was heard, above the shouting of excited
Hottentots, the shrill screaming of wounded and enraged elephants.
Jerry heard the tremendous sounds for the first time, and quaked in his
spinal marrow.

Observing the smoke of a shot on the opposite side of the little plain,
he proceeded to cross over hastily, but had barely gained the middle of
the open space when the shrill screams were repeated with redoubled
fury.  At the same time Jerry heard cries of warning, coupled with his
own name.  He looked right and left in alarm, not knowing where the
threatened danger was likely to come from.  He was not kept long in
suspense.  Behind him he heard the crackling and crashing of branches
caused by elephants bursting through the wood.  Then a large female with
three young, but by no means small, ones issued from the edge of the
jungle and made straight at the unfortunate man.  Jerry turned and ran,
but he had no chance; the elephants gained on him so fast that he felt,
with an awful sickening of the heart, it was not possible to reach the
rocky ground beyond the meadow, where he might have been safe.  With the
courage of despair he faced about and fired straight in the face of the
old female, which ran him down with a shriek of indignation.  She had
only one tusk, but with that she made a prod at Jerry that would have
quickly ended his days if it had not missed the mark and gone deep into
the ground.  She then caught him by the middle with her trunk, threw him
between her fore-feet, and attempted to tread him to death.  This she
certainly would have accomplished, but that Jerry was remarkably agile
and very small; the ground being soft and muddy was also in his favour.
Once she set her foot on his chest, and he felt the bones bending.  Of
course had the creature's full weight pressed it, Jerry would have been
cracked like a walnut, but the monster's foot was rounded and wet, and,
the poor man making a desperate wrench, it slipped into the mud; then
she trod on his arm, and squeezed it into the ground without snapping
the bone.  Thus stamping and wriggling for a few seconds, the two fought
on for vengeance and for life, while George Rennie, Hans, and the two
Mullers ran to the rescue and fired a volley.  This caused the animal to
wince and look up.  Jerry, taking advantage of the pause, jumped up and
dived out from below her between her hind-legs--alighting on his head
and turning a complete somersault.  He regained his feet just as she
turned round again to seize him.  At that critical moment Lucas Van Dyk
put a ball in her head, and Considine sent another into the root of her
trunk, which induced her to turn and join her screaming offspring in the
bushes.

The hunters pursued, while Jerry, covered with mud and bruises, and
scarcely able to run, made off in the opposite direction.  He had
scarcely reached the shelter of some broken ground, when the enormous
male elephant which had been previously encountered, came running past,
either to the rescue of its mate, or flying in alarm at the firing.  It
caught one of the Hottentots who had loitered in rear of the attacking
party, carried him some distance in its trunk, and then, throwing him on
the ground, brought its four feet together and trod and stamped on him
for a considerable time.  The unfortunate man was killed instantly.  It
left the corpse for a little, and then returned to it, as if to make
quite sure of its deadly work, and, kneeling down, crushed and kneaded
the body with its fore-legs.  Then seizing it again with its trunk, it
carried it off and threw it into the jungle.

This delay on the elephant's part gave the hunters time to return from
the destruction of the female, and with several successful shots to kill
the male.

"'Tis a heavy price to pay for our sport," said Considine sadly, as he
stood with his companions gazing on the body of the Hottentot, which was
trodden into a shapeless mass.

"Hunters don't go out for _mere sport_," said Lucas Van Dyk, "they do it
in the way of business--for ivory and hides.  Of course they must take
the chances of a risky trade."

This sad incident naturally cast a gloom over the party, and they
remained there only long enough to cut out the tusks of the male
elephant and stow them away with choice parts of the meat in their
waggon.

After quitting the valley they fell in with the party under John Skyd
and Frank Dobson, and led by Stephen Orpin.  They were much surprised to
find with these their friends Kenneth McTavish and Groot Willem, who
soon accounted for their unexpected appearance.  They had been steadily
tracing the spoor of poor Junkie, had lost and re-found it several times
and, during their pursuit, had crossed the waggon-tracks of Skyd and his
party, whom they followed up, in the faint hope that they might have
heard or seen something to guide them in their search.  In this they
were disappointed.

After a brief council of war it was resolved to join their forces and
continue the search after Junkie.

Proceeding on their way, they fell in with a wounded Kafir.  He lay
dying under a bush, and made no attempt to escape, although he evidently
regarded the white men as enemies.  Having been reassured on this point,
and comforted with a piece of tobacco, he told them that his village had
been attacked by the Fetcani and completely destroyed, with all the
women and children--only a few of the wounded warriors like himself
having escaped, to perish in the jungle.  The Fetcani he described as
the most ferocious warriors ever seen.  They did not use the ordinary
assagai or throwing spear, but a short stabbing one, and invariably
closed at once with their foes with irresistible impetuosity.

On being questioned about prisoners, and reference being made to white
men's children, he said that he had heard of a white boy who was brought
to a village a day's march or more from where they then were, but added
that the Fetcani hordes had gone off to destroy that village just after
destroying his own, and that he had no doubt it was by that time reduced
to ashes and all its inhabitants slain.

On hearing this, and learning the direction of the village in question,
the hunters went off at full gallop, leaving the waggons to follow their
spoor.

It was nearly sunset when they came to an eminence beyond which lay the
Kafir town of which they were in search.  The first glance showed that
something unusual was going on in it--at the same time it relieved their
fears to observe that it was not yet destroyed.  The mud hovels, like
huge beehives, in which the Kafirs dwelt, were not yet burnt, and the
only smoke visible was that which rose from cooking fires.  But it was
quite plain that the people, who in the distance seemed to swarm in and
about the place like black ants, were in wild excitement.

"No doubt they've heard that the Fetcani are coming," said Groot Willem,
riding to the highest point of the ridge on which they stood.  "The
place seems pretty strong.  I think we might do worse than go lend the
niggers a helping hand till we've made inquiries about the lad."

Lucas Van Dyk echoed this sentiment, and so did Stephen Orpin, but there
were others who thought it best to let the niggers fight their own
battles.

"Well, friends," said Kenneth McTavish, "you may hold what opinion you
like on that point, but my business just now is to go into that town and
see if I can find Junkie Brook.  The sooner I do so the better, so let
those who choose follow me."

He rode off at a brisk trot, and was followed by the whole party.  On
reaching the town they halted, and the principal chief, Eno, came out to
meet them.  One of the Hottentots being called to interpret, the hunters
were informed that the Fetcani had threatened to attack the town, and
that the inhabitants were busy putting themselves in a state of defence.
They were glad, said the chief, to see the white men, and hoped they
would stay to assist him.

To this Stephen Orpin replied through the interpreter.  Stephen somehow
fell naturally into the position of spokesman and chief of the party in
positions where tact and eloquence or diplomacy were wanted, though in
the hunting-field he held a very subordinate place.

He told Eno that the white men had come to seek for a white boy who had
been stolen from one of the frontier settlements, and that he had heard
the boy was in his, Eno's, town.  That he was glad to hear it, though of
course he did not suppose Eno had stolen the boy, seeing that none of
his people had been yet near the colony.  That he and his friends now
came to claim the boy, and would be glad to aid them in defending the
town, if attacked while they were in it.

In reply the chief said he knew nothing about a white boy being in his
town, but would make inquires.

While this conference was going on, a man was seen to approach, running
at full speed.  He fell from exhaustion on arriving, and for some
moments could not speak.  Recovering, he told that he had just escaped
from a band of two hundred Fetcani warriors, who were even then on their
way to attack the town.

Instantly all was uproar and confusion.  The warriors, seizing their
shields and spears, sallied forth under their chief to meet the enemy--a
few of the youngest being left behind to guard the women and children.
A party of the Hottentots under Kenneth McTavish also remained to guard
the town, while the rest set off to aid the Kafirs.  They were
compelled, however, to ride back a short distance to meet the waggons,
and obtain a supply of ammunition.  Thus a little time was lost, and
before they could reach the scene of action the Kafirs had met with the
Fetcani warriors, been thoroughly beaten, and put to flight.

On the appearance, however, of the horsemen the pursuers halted.

"Now, lads," cried Groot Willem, "a steady volley and a charge home will
send them to the right about."

"Better fire over their heads," said Orpin earnestly.  "We are not at
war with these men.  Let us not kill if we can help it."

"I agree with that heartily," cried Charlie Considine.

"So do I," said Hans.  "Depend on't the sound will suffice for men who
perhaps never saw fire-arms before."

"Quite right, Maister Marais," said Sandy Black, with grave approval,
"an' if oor charge is only heeded by Groot Willem an' Jerry Goldboy,
tak' my word for't thae Fit-canny craters'll flee like chaff before the
wund."

"Very good," said Groot Willem, with a grin.--"Come along, Jerry."

The dauntless little man answered the summons with delight, and the
whole party approached the wondering Fetcani at a trot.  Halting when
within about eighty yards, they fired a volley from horseback over the
heads of the enemy.  Then, through the smoke, they charged at full speed
like thunderbolts, Groot Willem roaring like a mad buffalo-bull, Jerry
Goldboy shrieking like a wounded elephant, and energising fearfully with
legs, arms, reins, and blunderbuss, while the others shouted or laughed
in wild excitement.

The Fetcani, as Sandy Black had prophesied, could not stand it.  Turning
their backs to the foe, they fled as only panic-stricken and naked
niggers _can_ fly, and were soon scattered and lost in the jungle.

While this was going on far out on the plain, Kenneth McTavish had much
ado to keep the people quiet in the town--so great was their dread of
falling into the hands of the ferocious Fetcani.  But when the wounded
warriors began to come in, breathless, gashed, and bleeding, with the
report of their disaster, he found it impossible to restrain the people.
The young warriors ignominiously left the place and fled, while the
women followed, carrying their children and such of their worldly goods
as they were loath to leave behind.  For some time McTavish managed to
restrain the latter, but when at last the hunters came thundering back
after their bloodless victory, the poor women, fancying they were the
enemy, flung down goods, and even babies, and ran.

The horsemen called out to assure them they were friends, but their
terror was too great to permit of their comprehending, and they
continued to fly.

"Come, Charlie, we must head these poor creatures, and drive them back,"
said Hans, as he rode over ground which was strewn with utensils,
mantles, and victuals, among which many little black and naked children
were seen running, stumbling, tottering, or creeping, according to age
and courage.

Followed by the other horsemen, they rode ahead of the flying multitude,
and, cracking their whips menacingly in front, with an occasional
charge, they succeeded in staying the flight and turning the poor women
back.  No sooner did these comprehend how matters stood than they
turned, and caught up their little ones with as much affection and
thankfulness as if they had just shown a readiness to die for, rather
than forsake, them.

Among these children was one who, although as black as the ace of spades
in body and face, had light curly flaxen hair.  He ran about in a wild
unaccountable manner, darting hither and thither, from side to side.

McTavish and the others, who had by that time dismounted, and were
standing at their horses' heads amused spectators of the scene, looked
at this urchin in surprise, until they observed that he was endeavouring
to escape from a stout young woman who did her best to catch him.  She
had nearly succeeded, when he suddenly doubled like a hare and bore
straight down on the horsemen.  Seeing this, the woman gave in, and,
turning, fled to the town, while the little fellow ran and clasped the
Highlander by the knees.

"Oh!  Miss'r Tavish!" he cried, and looked up.

"Ah! why--it's Junkie!" cried the Highlander, catching the child up in
his arms and hugging him, by which means he left a dark imprint of him
on his own breast and face.

It was indeed Junkie--naked as on the day of his birth, greased from
head to foot, and charcoaled as black as the King of Ashantee!

Although an object of the deepest interest to the white men, poor Junkie
was not at that moment personally attractive.  He was, however,
unspeakably happy at seeing white and familiar faces once more.  He was
also very much subdued, and had obviously profited by the rude teaching
he had undergone in Kafirland, for his obedience to orders was prompt
and unquestioning.

The first important matter was to clean Junkie.  This was only partially
effected, and with difficulty.  The next was to clothe him.  This was
done, on the spur of the moment, with pocket-handkerchiefs, each hunter
contributing one till the costume was complete.  A large red cotton one
formed a sort of plaid; a blue one with a hole in the middle, through
which his head was thrust, served as a pretty good poncho or tippet; a
green one with white spots, tied round the loins, did duty as a tunic or
kilt; and one of crimson silk round the head formed a gorgeous turban.

Returning to the village, the hunters found Eno the chief, and, after
expressing much satisfaction at having arrived in time to lend him
effectual aid at so critical a period, they presented him with gifts of
brass wire and cotton cloth, from the stores in Skyd and Dobson's
waggons.

The chief expressed his gratitude in glowing terms, and begged the
hunters to stay with him for some time.  But this they would not do, as
it was important to return to the colony, and report what they had seen
without delay.  Notwithstanding their professions of gratitude, however,
these rascals stole as many small articles front the waggons as they
could lay hands on, and would doubtless have taken all that the hunters
possessed, if they had not been impressed by their valour, and by the
dreadful firearms which they carried.

This accidental skirmish was the first meeting of the colonists with the
Fetcani.  It was not till two years later that the Government felt
constrained to take active measures against these savages.

The Fetcani, or Mantatee hordes, having been driven from their own
country by the bloodthirsty Zulu chief Chaka, had been preying upon
other tribes for many years, and at last, in 1827, they precipitated
themselves on the Tambookies, and afterwards on the Galekas, threatening
to extirpate these Kafirs altogether, or to drive them into the colony
as suppliants and beggars.  In this extremity the Kafir chief Hintza
urgently craved assistance.

It was granted.  A body of the colonists sent out by Government, under
Major Dundas of the Royal Artillery, defeated the warlike Fetcani, who
were afterwards utterly routed and scattered, and their dreaded power
finally annihilated, near the sources of the Umtata river, by a body of
troops under Colonel Somerset.  Hintza's warriors were present at that
affair, to the number of about twenty thousand, and they hovered about
during the engagement admiringly, though without rendering assistance.
But when the enemy were routed and in confused retreat, they fell upon
them, and, despite the remonstrances of the white men, committed the
most appalling atrocities, mutilating the dead, and cutting off the arms
and legs of the living, in order the more easily to obtain their brass
rings and ornaments.

This warlike episode did not, however, affect the general condition of
the frontier.  The settlers, having overcome the misfortunes of the
first years, began to prosper and multiply, troubled a good deal, no
doubt, by the thievish propensities of their ungrateful black
neighbours, but on the whole enjoying the fruit of their labours in
comparative peace for several years.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

TELLS OF DARK AND THREATENING CLOUDS, AND WAR.

The exigencies of our somewhat acrobatic tale require, at this point,
that we should make a considerable bound.  We shall beg the obliging
reader to leap with us into the year 1834.

Hans Marais, moustached, bearded, bronzed, and in the prime of life,
sits at the door of a cottage recently built close to that of his
father.  Beside him sits his wife--formerly Miss Gertrude Brook, and now
as sweet and pretty a young woman as you would find in a month's ride
through a country where sweet pretty women were, and still are, very
numerous in proportion to the population.

Whether it was that Hans was timid, or Gertie shy, we cannot tell, but
somehow it is only three months since they began their united career,
and Hans considers himself to have married rather "late in life."
Gertie, being now twenty-six, begins to think herself quite an old
woman.  It is evident, however, that this ancient couple wear well, and
are sufficiently happy--if we may presume to judge from appearances.

"Gertie," said Hans, patting the fingers which handed him his big Dutch
pipe, "I fear that my father is determined to go."

"Do you think so?" said Gertie, while a sad expression chased the
sunshine from her face.

"Yes, he says he cannot stand the treatment we Cape-Dutchmen receive
from the British Government, and that he means to give up his farm, take
his waggons and goods, and treck away to the north, with the friends who
are already preparing to go, in search of free lands in the wilderness
where the Union Jack does not fly."

"I must be very stupid, Hans," returned his wife, with a deprecating
smile, "for although I've heard your father discussing these matters a
good deal of late, I cannot quite understand them.  Of course I see
_well_ enough that those men who approve of slavery must feel very much
aggrieved by the abolition, but your father, like yourself and many
others, is not one of these--what then does he complain of?"

"Of a great deal, Gertie," replied Hans, with an amused glance at her
perplexed face, "and not only in connection with slavery, but other
things.  It would take hours of talk to tell you all."

"But can't you give me some sort of idea of these things in a few
words?"

"Yes; at least I'll try," said Hans.  "I need scarcely tell you that
there has been a sort of ill-will in the Cape-Dutch mind against the
British Government--more's the pity--ever since the colony passed into
the possession of England, owing partly to their not understanding each
other, partly to incompetent and tyrannical Governors pursuing unwise
policy, partly to unprincipled or stupid men misrepresenting the truth
in England, and partly to the people of England being too ready to
swallow whatever they are told."

"What! is all the fault on the side of the English?" interrupted Gertie,
with a laugh.

"Hear me out, wife," returned Hans--"partly owing to _foolish_ Dutchmen
rebelling against authority, and taking the law into their own hands,
and partly to _rascally_ Dutchmen doing deeds worthy of execration.
Evil deeds are saddled on wrong shoulders, motives are misunderstood,
actions are exaggerated, judges both here and in England are sometimes
incompetent, prejudice and ignorance prevent veils from being removed,
and six thousand miles of ocean, to say nothing of six hundred miles of
land, intervene to complicate the confusion surrounding right or wrong."

"Dear me! what an incomprehensible state of things!" said Gertie,
opening her blue eyes very wide.

"Rather," returned Hans, with a smile; "and yet there are sensible
Englishmen and sensible Cape-Dutchmen who are pretty well agreed as to
the true merits of the questions that trouble us.  There is the
abolition of slavery, for instance: many on both sides are convinced as
to the propriety of that, but nearly all are agreed in condemning the
way in which it is being gone about, believing that the consequences to
many of the slaveholders will be ruinous.  But it is useless to go into
such matters now, Gertie.  Right or wrong, many of the Dutch farmers are
talking seriously of going out of the colony, and my father, I grieve to
say, is among the number."

"And you, Hans?"

"I will remain on the old homestead--at least for a time.  If things
improve we may induce father to return; if not, I will follow him into
the wilderness."

"And what of Considine?" asked Gertie.

"He remains to help me to manage the farm.  There is no chance for him
in the present exasperated state of my father's mind.  He unhappily
extends his indignation against England to Englishmen, and vows that my
sister Bertha shall never wed Charlie Considine."

"Is he likely to continue in that mind?"

"I think so."

"Then there is indeed no chance for poor Charlie," was the rejoinder,
"for Bertha Marais will never marry in direct opposition to her father's
wishes.  Heigho!  'Tis the old story about the course of true love."

"He may change--he _will_ change his mind, I think," said Hans, "but in
the meantime he will go off into the wilderness, carrying Bertha along
with him.  I would have gone with him myself without hesitation, had it
not been that I cannot bear to think of tearing you away just yet from
the old people, and I may perhaps do some good here in the way of saving
the old home."

Hans looked round with a somewhat mournful gaze at the home of his
childhood, which bore evidences of the preparations that were being made
by Conrad Marais to leave it.

That evening a large party of disaffected boers arrived at the homestead
of Conrad Marais, with waggons, wives, children, goods, and arms, on
their way to the far north.  Some of these men were sterling fellows,
good husbands and fathers and masters, but with fiery independent
spirits, which could not brook the restraints laid on them by a
Government that had too frequently aroused their contempt or
indignation.  Others were cruel, selfish savages who scorned the idea
that a man might not "wallop his own nigger," and were more than half
pleased that the abolition of slavery and its consequences gave them a
sort of reason for throwing off allegiance to the British Crown, and
forsaking their homes in disgust; and some there were who would have
been willing to remain and suffer, but could not bear the idea of being
left behind by their kindred.

Next morning Conrad completed the loading of his waggons, placed his
wife and children--there was still a baby!--in them, mounted his horse
with the sons who yet remained with him, and bade farewell to the old
home on the karroo.  He was followed by a long train of his compatriots'
waggons.  They all crossed the frontier into Kafirland and thenceforth
deemed themselves free!

This was the first droppings of a shower--the first leak of a torrent--
the first outbreak of that great exodus of the Dutch-African boers which
was destined in the future to work a mighty change in the South African
colony.

Hans and Gertie accompanied the party for several hours on their
journey, and then, bidding them God-speed, returned to their deserted
home.

But now a cloud was lowering over the land which had been imperceptibly,
though surely, gathering on the horizon for years past.

We have said that hitherto the colony, despite many provocations,
thefts, and occasional murders, had lived in a state of peace with the
Kafirs--the only time that they took up arms for a brief space being in
their defence, at Hintza's request, against the Fetcani.

Latterly, we have also observed, the British settlers had toiled hard
and prospered.  The comforts of life they had in abundance.  Trade began
to be developed, and missions were established in Kafirland.  Among
other things, the freedom of the press had been granted them after a
hard struggle!  The first Cape newspaper, the _South African Commercial
Advertiser_, edited by Pringle the poet and Fairbairn, was published in
1824, and the _Grahamstown Journal_, the first Eastern Province
newspaper, was issued by Mr Godlonton in 1831.  Schools were also
established.  Wool-growing began to assume an importance which was a
premonition of the future staple of the Eastern Provinces.
Savings-banks were established, and, in short, everything gave promise
of the colony--both east and west--becoming a vigorous, as it was
obviously a healthy, chip of the old block.

But amongst all this wheat there had been springing up tares.  With the
growing prosperity there were growing evils.  A generous and well-meant
effort on the part of Christians and philanthropists to give full
freedom and rights to the Hottentots resulted to a large extent in
vagabondism, with its concomitant robbery.  The Kafirs, emboldened by
the weak, and exasperated by the incomprehensible, policy of the
Colonial Government at that time, not only crossed the border to aid the
Hottentot thieves in their work, and carry off sheep and cattle by the
hundred, but secretly prepared for war.  Behind the scenes were the
paramount chief Hintza, the chief Macomo, and others.  The first,
forgetting the deliverance wrought for him by the settlers and British
troops in 1828, secretly stirred up the Kafirs, whilst the second,
brooding over supposed wrongs, fanned the flame of discontent raised
among the Hottentots by the proposal of a Vagrancy Act.

When all is ready for war it takes but a spark to kindle the torch.  The
Kafirs were ready; the British, however, were not.  The settlers had
been peacefully following their vocations, many of the troops, which
ought to have been there to guard them, had been unwisely withdrawn, and
only a few hundred men remained in scattered groups along the frontier.
The armed Hottentots of the Kat River--sent there as a defence--became a
point of weakness, and required the presence of a small force to overawe
them and prevent their joining the Kafirs.  At last the electric spark
went forth.  A farmer (Nell) was robbed of seven horses, which were
traced to the kraal of a chief on the neutral territory.  Restoration
was refused.  A military patrol was sent to enforce restitution.
Opposition was offered, and the officer in command wounded with an
assagai.  Hintza began to retreat and plunder British traders who were
residing in his territory under his pledged protection, and at length a
trader named Purcell was murdered near the chief's kraal and his store
robbed.  Then Macomo began hostilities by robbing and murdering some
farmers on the lower part of the Kat River, and two days afterwards the
Kafir hordes, variously estimated at from eight to fifteen thousand men,
burst across the whole frontier, wrapped the eastern colony in the smoke
and flames of burning homesteads, scattered the unprepared settlers,
demolished the works of fourteen years' labour, penetrated to within
twenty miles of Algoa Bay, and drove thousands of sheep and cattle back
in triumph to Kafirland.



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

WAR.

It was at this juncture--the Christmas-tide of 1834, and the summer-time
in South Africa--that a merry party was assembled under the shade of
umbrageous trees that crowned a little knoll from which could be seen
the blue smoke curling from a prosperous-looking homestead in the vale
below.  It was a party of settlers enjoying their Christmas festivities
in the open air.  Hans Marais and Charlie Considine were among them,
but, feeling less inclined than was their wont to join in the hilarity
of the young folks, they had sauntered into the shrubbery and conversed
sadly about the departure of Conrad Marais and his family, and of the
unsettled state of the frontier at that time.

While they talked, an armed band of savages had crept past them
unperceived, and advanced stealthily towards the party of revellers on
the knoll.  Coming suddenly across the tracks of these savages, Hans
cast an anxious look at his companion, and said quickly--

"Look here, Charlie--the spoor of Kafirs!  Let's go--"

The sentence was cut short by a wild war-cry, which was immediately
followed by shouts of men and screams of women.

Turning without another word, the two friends ran back to the knoll at
full speed, drawing their hunting-knives, which were the only weapons
they happened to carry at the time.

On reaching the knoll a fearful scene presented itself.  The Kafirs had
already killed every man of the party--having come on them unawares and
thrown their assagais with fatal precision from the bushes.  They were
completing the work of death with shouts and yells of fierce delight.
Not a woman was to be seen.  They had either been dragged into the
bushes and slain, or had sought refuge in flight.

With a mighty shout of rage Hans and Considine dashed into the midst of
the murderers, and two instantly fell, stabbed to the heart.  Seizing
the assagais of these, they rushed through the midst of their foes, and,
as if animated by one mind, made for the homestead below.  To reach the
stables and get possession of their horses and rifles was their object.

The savages, of whom there were about thirty, were so taken aback by the
suddenness and success of this onset that for a few seconds they did not
pursue.  Then, probably guessing the object of the fugitives, they
uttered a furious yell and followed them down the hill.  But Hans and
Considine were active as well as strong.  They kept well ahead, gained
the principal house, and secured their rifles.  Then, instead of
barricading the doors and defending themselves, they ran out again and
shot the two Kafirs who first came up.

Well did the savages know the deadly nature of the white man's rifle,
although at that time they had not themselves become possessed of it.
When their comrades fell, and the two white men were seen to kneel and
take deliberate aim at those who followed, the whole party scattered
right and left and took refuge in the bush.

But the friends did not fire.  These were not the days of
breech-loaders.  Prudently reserving their fire, they made a rush
towards the stables, "saddled up" in a few seconds, and, mounting, rode
forth at a gallop straight back to the blood-stained hillock.  To
rescue, if possible, some of the females was their object.  Regardless
of several assagais that whizzed close to them, they galloped hither and
thither among the bushes, but without success.

"Let's try yonder hollow," cried Considine, pointing as he spoke.

The words had scarce left his lips when a host of some hundreds of
Kafirs, with the shields, assagais and feathers of savage warriors,
burst out of the hollow referred to.  They had probably been attracted
by the two shots, and instantly rushed towards the white men.

Hans Marais dismounted, kneeled to take steadier aim, fired, and shot
the foremost warrior.  Then, springing on his steed at a bound, he
galloped away, loading as he went, and closely followed by his friend.
Having reloaded, Hans pulled up and again leapt to the ground.  This
time Considine, appreciating his plan, followed his example, and both
were about to kneel and fire when they perceived by a burst of smoke and
flame that the farm-buildings had been set on fire.

In a straight line beyond, two other columns of dense smoke indicated
the position of two neighbouring farms, and a third column, away to the
right, and further removed from the line of the frontier, suddenly
conveyed to the mind of Hans the fact that a general rising of the
Kafirs had taken place.  Instead of firing, he rose and remounted,
exclaiming--

"Home, Charlie--home!"

At the moment a shout was heard in another direction.  Turning round,
they observed a body of a dozen or so of mounted Kafirs making straight
towards them.  To have killed two or four of these would have been easy
enough to first-rate shots armed with double-barrels, but they knew that
those unhurt would continue the chase.  They therefore turned and fled
in the direction of their own home.  Their steeds were good and fresh,
but their pursuers were evidently well mounted, for they did not seem to
lose ground.

In the kitchen of Conrad Marais's homestead Gertie stood that day,
busily employed in the construction of a plum-pudding, with which she
meant to regale Hans and Charlie on their return.  And very pretty and
happy did Gertie look, with her white apron and her dark hair looped up
in careless braids, and her face flushed with exertion, and her pretty
round arms bared to the dimpled elbows and scarcely capable of being
rendered whiter by the flour with which they were covered.

A young Hottentot Venus of indescribable ugliness assisted in retarding
her.

"The master will be here soon," said Gertie, wiping the flour and pieces
of dough off her hands; "we must be quick.  Is the pot ready?"

Venus responded with a "Ja," and a grin which displayed a splendid
casket of pearls.

Just then the clatter of hoofs was heard.

"Why, here they come already, and in _such_ a hurry too!" said Gertie in
surprise, untying her apron hastily.

Before the apron was untied, however, Hans had pulled up at the door and
shouted "Gertie!" in a voice so tremendous that his wife turned pale and
came quickly to the door.

"Oh, Hans! what--"

"Come, darling, quick!"

There was no time for more.  Hans held out his hand.  Gertie took it
mechanically.

"Your foot on my toe.  Quick!"

Gertie did as she was bid, and felt herself swung to the saddle in front
of her husband, who held her in his strong right arm, while in the grasp
of his huge left hand he held the reins and an assagai.

Poor Gertie had time, in that brief moment, to note that Charlie
Considine sat motionless on his panting horse, gazing sternly towards
the karroo, and that a cloud of dust was sweeping over the plain towards
them.  She guessed too surely what it was, but said not a word, while
her husband leaped his horse through a gap in the garden wall in order
to reach the road by a short cut.  Double-weighted thus, the horse did
not run so well as before.  Considine was frequently obliged to check
his pace and look back.

The stern frown on the Dutchman's brow had now mingled with it a
slightly troubled look.

"Go on.  I'll follow immediately," said Considine as he reined in.

"Don't be foolhardy," cried Hans, with an anxious look as he shot past.

Without replying, Considine dismounted, knelt on a slight eminence on
the plain, and deliberately prepared to fire.

The pursuing savages observed the act, and when within about six or
seven hundred yards began to draw rein.

Charlie Considine knew his rifle well; although not sighted for such a
range, it was capable of carrying the distance when sufficiently
elevated, and practice had accustomed him to long-range shots.  He aimed
a little above the head of the foremost rider, fired, and killed his
horse.  With the second barrel he wounded one of the Kafirs.  At the
same moment he observed that his late home was wrapped in flames, and
that the cattle and sheep of Conrad Marais, which had been left in
charge of Hans, were being driven off by the savages towards the
mountains.

This was enough.  Remounting, Charlie followed his friend, and was
rejoiced to find on looking back that the Kafirs had ceased their
pursuit.

"Strange," he said on overtaking Hans, "that they should have given in
so easily."

"It is not fear that influences them," returned his friend, with deeply
knitted brows; "the reptiles know there is a pass before us, and they
will surely try to cut us off.  They know all the short cuts better than
I do.  Push on!"

Urging their horses to their utmost speed, the fugitives soon approached
a more broken country, and skirted the mountain range, through which the
pass referred to by Hans led into level ground beyond.  It was a narrow
track through jungle, which was dense in some places, open in others.
They were soon in it, riding furiously.  At one of the open spaces they
caught a glimpse of a mounted Kafir making towards a part of the pass in
advance of them.  Hans pulled up at once, and looked eagerly, anxiously
round, while he pressed the light form of Gertie tighter to his breast.

"We must fight here, Charlie," he said, as he made for a little mound
which was crowned with a few bushes.  "If you and I were alone we might
risk forcing a passage, but--come; they observe our intention."

A few bounds placed them on the top of the mound, where they took
shelter among the bushes.  These were scarcely thick enough to cover the
horses, but among them was found a hole or crevice into which Hans told
his wife to creep.  She had barely found refuge in this place, when
several assagais whizzed over their heads.  Sheltering themselves behind
stones, Hans and Considine looked eagerly in the direction whence the
assagais had been thrown, and the former observed the ears of a horse
just appearing over a bush.  He fired at the spot where he conjectured
the rider must be, and a yell told that he had not missed his mark.  At
the same moment his companion observed part of a Kafir's form opposite
to him, and, firing, brought him to the ground.

Seeing this the other savages made a rush at the mound, supposing
probably that both guns were empty.  They had either forgotten about or
were ignorant of double-barrelled weapons.  Two more shots killed the
two leading Kafirs, and the rest turned to fly, but a gigantic fellow
shouted to them fiercely to come on, and at the same moment leaped on
Charlie Considine with such force that, although the latter struck him
heavily with the butt of his rifle, he was borne to the ground.  The
triumph however was momentary.  Next instant Hans Marais seized him,
stabbed him in the throat, and hurled him back among his comrades, a
lifeless corpse.  Charlie, recovering himself, pointed his unloaded gun
at the savages, who recoiled, turned, and fled back to the cover of the
opposite bush.

"Now is our time," said Hans, dragging his wife from the place of
shelter.  "Mount and make a dash before they recover."

While speaking Hans was acting.  In another moment Gertie was in her old
place, Considine in the saddle, and the two men made a bold push for
life.

It turned out as the Dutchman had conjectured.  The Kafirs had left all
parts of the surrounding jungle to join in the assault on the mound, and
when the fugitives made a dash through them, only a few had presence of
mind to throw their assagais, and these missed their mark.  A few bounds
carried Hans and Charlie once more in advance of their enemies, but the
clatter of hoofs immediately afterwards told that they were hotly
pursued.

There is no saying how the chase might have ended, if they had not met
with a piece of good fortune immediately afterwards.  On emerging from
the other end of the pass, they almost ran into a small patrol of Cape
Mounted Rifles, who, attracted by the shots and cries in the pass, were
galloping to the rescue.

They did not halt to ask questions, but, with a hearty cheer and a
friendly wave of the hand from the officer in command, dashed into the
pass and met the pursuing savages in the very teeth.

Of course the latter turned and fled, leaving, however, several of their
comrades dead on the ground.

During this early period of the war the whole defending force of the
frontier consisted of only between seven and eight hundred men, composed
of Cape Mounted Rifles and the 75th regiment, with a few of the
Artillery and Engineers, and these had to be broken up into numerous
small companies, who were sent here and there where succour was most
needed.

With this little patrol, Hans, Gertie, and Considine bivouacked that
night, and, travelling with them, soon afterwards reached Grahamstown.

The sight of the country as they approached was a sad one.  From all
quarters, men, women, children, vehicles, horses, cattle, and sheep,
were crowding into the town as a place of refuge.  At first the settlers
nearest the eastern frontier, taken by surprise, fled to temporary
rallying-points.  These, however, had to be abandoned for stronger
places of refuge.  On entering the town they found that the greatest
confusion and excitement prevailed.  The church had been set apart as an
asylum for the women and children, who had to put up, however, with the
undesirable accompaniments of fire-arms and gunpowder.  Public meetings
were being held; picquets of armed citizens were being despatched to
watch the main roads.  All the houses were thronged to suffocation with
refugees--white, brown, and black.  The streets, squares, yards,
gardens, and other vacant places were crowded by night, and the
surrounding hills by day, with the flocks and herds that had been saved
from the invaders, while the lowing and bleating of these were mingled
with the sobs and wails of the widow and fatherless.

"What misery!" exclaimed Gertie, as she rode slowly through the crowds
by the side of her husband, mounted on a horse lent her by one of the
patrol, "Oh, how I dread to hear the news from home!"

Gertie referred to her father's home, about the condition of which she
knew nothing at the time.

"Where shall we go to seek for news?" she asked anxiously.

"To the barracks," replied Hans.

"You need not be anxious, I think," said Considine; "if anything very
serious had happened, it is likely the patrol who rescued us would have
heard some account of it before leaving Grahamstown.

"Don't you think?" he added, turning to Hans, "that we had better
inquire first at Dobson's place?"

At that moment they were passing a large store, over the door of which
was a blue board with the words "Dobson, Skyd, and Company" emblazoned
in large white letters thereon.

The store itself presented in its windows and interior an assortment of
dry goods, so extensive and miscellaneous as to suggest the idea of one
being able to procure anything in it--from a silk dress to a grindstone.
It was an extremely full, prosperous-looking store, and in the midst of
it were to be seen, sitting on the counters, James and Robert Skyd, both
looking bluffer and stronger than when we last met them, though scarcely
a day older.  James and Robert were the managing partners of this
prosperous firm; Dobson and John Skyd were what the latter styled the
hunting partners.  Robert Skyd had recently married a pretty Grahamstown
girl, and her little boy--then about one year old--was, so said his
father, the sleeping partner of the firm, who had been vaguely hinted at
by the "Company" long before he was born.  Indeed, the "Company" had
been prudently inserted with special reference to what might "turn up"
in after years.  At the time the firm was formed, it had been suggested
that it should be styled Dobson, Skyd, and Sons, but as it was possible
nothing but daughters might fall to the lot of any of them, "Company"
was substituted as being conveniently indefinite.  Dobson took
precedence in the title in virtue of his having brought most capital
into the firm.  He had invested his all in it--amounting to three pounds
four and nine-pence halfpenny.  John Skyd had contributed half-a-crown,
which happened to be a bad one.  James brought nothing at all, and
Robert entered it a little in debt for tobacco.

The great waggon of the hunting partners, loaded with hides, horns, and
ivory, stood at the door of the store, as Gertie and her protectors
passed, having just arrived from a successful trip into Kafirland, and
fortunately escaped the outbreak of the war.

Fastening their bridles to one of its wheels, Hans, Gertie, and
Considine entered.  The first face they saw was that of Edwin Brook,
into whose arms Gertie ran with a wild cry of joy.

"Why, Hans Marais!" cried James Skyd, jumping off the counter and
grasping his big friend by the hand, while Robert seized that of
Considine, "where have you dropped from?--But I need scarcely ask, for
all the world seems to be crowding into the town.  Not hurt, I hope?" he
added, observing the blood which stained his friend's dress.

"Not in person," answered Hans, with a smile, returning his cordial
grasp.

"And what of property!" asked Edwin Brook, looking round.

"All gone," returned Hans sadly.  "I rose this morning a reasonably
wealthy man--now, I am a beggar.  But tell me, what of your family, Mr
Brook?"

"All saved, thank God," was the reply.  "Junkie, dear boy, who is the
most active young fellow in the land, managed to--Ah! here he comes, and
will speak for himself."

As he spoke a tall strapping youth of about fifteen entered, opened wide
his laughing blue eyes on seeing Hans, and, after a hearty greeting,
told with some hesitation that he had chanced to be out hunting on foot
in the jungles of the Great Fish River when the Kafirs crossed the
frontier, and had managed, being a pretty good runner, to give his
father warning, so that the family had time to escape.  He did _not_
tell, however, that he had, in a narrow pass, kept above sixty Kafirs in
check with his own hand and gun until George Dally could run to the
house for his weapons and ammunition, and that then the two held a
hundred of them in play long enough to permit of the whole family
escaping under the care of Scholtz.

"But," said Edwin Brook, who related all this with evident satisfaction,
"I am like yourself, Hans, in regard to property.  Mount Hope is a
blackened ruin, the farm is laid waste, and the cattle are over the
borders."

"And where is Mrs Brook?" asked Considine.

"In this house.  Up-stairs.  Come, Gertie is getting impatient.  Let us
go to see her."

"Now, friends," said Considine to the brothers Skyd, who had by that
time been joined by the hunting partners, "there is a matter on which we
must consult and act without delay."

Here he told of Conrad Marais's departure with the boers across the
frontier, and added that if the party was to be saved at all it must be
gone about instantly.

"You can't go about it to-day, Charlie," said John Skyd, "so don't give
way to impatience.  For such a long trip into the enemy's country we
must go well armed and supplied."

"I will brook no delay," said Considine, with flushing countenance.  "If
it had not been for the necessity of bringing Gertie here in safety,
Hans and I would have set out at once and alone on their spoor.  Is it
not so?"

Hans nodded assent.

"No, friends," he said, turning to the brothers with decision, "we must
be off at once."

"What! without your suppers?" exclaimed Bob Skyd; "but to be serious, it
won't be possible to get things ready before to-morrow.  Surely that
will do, if we start at daybreak.  Besides, the party with your father,
Hans, is a strong one, well able to hold out against a vastly superior
force of savages.  Moreover, if you wait we shall get up a small body of
volunteers."

Hans and Charlie were thus constrained unwillingly to delay.  At grey
dawn, however, they rode out of Grahamstown at the head of a small
party, consisting of the entire firm of Dobson and Skyd, inclusive of
Junkie, whose father granted him permission to go.  His mother silently
acquiesced.  Mrs Scholtz violently protested; and when she found that
her protests were useless, she changed them into pathetic entreaties
that Junkie would on no account whatever go to sleep in camp with wet
feet.

As soon as the invasion took place, an express had been sent to
Capetown, and the able Governor, Sir Benjamin D'Urban, took instant and
energetic measures to undo, as far as possible, the mischief done by his
predecessors.  Colonel (afterwards Sir Harry) Smith was despatched to
the frontier, and rode the distance--six hundred miles--in six days.

Arriving in Grahamstown, he took command with a firm hand, organised the
whole male population into a warlike garrison, built barricades across
the streets, planted cannon in commanding positions, cleared the town of
flocks and herds, which were breeding a nuisance, sent them to the open
country with a cattle guard, and prepared not only to defend the
capital, but to carry war into the enemy's country.  In short, he
breathed into the people much of his own energy, and soon brought order
out of confusion.

The state of affairs in the colony had indeed reached a terrible pass.
From all sides news came in of murder and pillage.  The unfortunate
traders in Kafirland fared ill at that time.  One of these, Rodgers, was
murdered in the presence of his three children.  A man named Cramer was
savagely butchered while driving a few cattle along the road.  Another,
named Mahony, with his wife and son-in-law, were intercepted while
trying to escape to the military post of Kafir Drift, and Mahony was
stretched a corpse at his wife's feet, then the son-in-law was murdered,
but Mrs Mahony escaped into the bush with two of her children and a
Hottentot female servant, and, after many hardships, reached
Grahamstown.  A mounted patrol scouring the country fell in with a
farm-house where three Dutchmen, in a thick clump of bushes, were
defending themselves against three hundred Kafirs.  Of course the latter
were put to flight, and the three heroes--two of them badly wounded--
were rescued.  Nearly everywhere the settlers, outnumbered, had to fly,
and many were slain while defending their homes, but at the little
village of Salem they held their ground gallantly.  The Wesleyan chapel,
mission-house, and schoolhouse, were filled with refugees, and although
the Kafirs swooped down on it at night in large numbers and carried off
the cattle, they failed to overcome the stout defenders.  Theopolis also
held out successfully against them--and so did the Scottish party at
Baviaans River, although attacked and harassed continually.

During an attack near the latter place a Scottish gentleman of the
Pringle race had a narrow escape.  Sandy Black was with him at the time.
Three or four Kafirs suddenly attacked them.  Mr Pringle shot one,
Sandy wounded another.  A third ran forward while Pringle was loading
and threw an assagai at him.  It struck him with great force on the
leathern bullet-pouch which hung at his belt.  Sandy Black took aim at
the savage with a pistol.

"Aim low, Sandy," said Pringle, continuing to load.

Sandy obeyed and shot the Kafir dead, then, turning round, said
anxiously--

"Are 'ee stickit, sir?"

"I'm not sure, Sandy," replied Pringle, putting his hand in at the waist
of his trousers, "there's blood, I see."

On examination it was found that the assagai had been arrested by the
strong pouch and belt, and had only given him a trifling scratch, so
that the gallant and amiable Mr Dods Pringle lived to fight in future
Kafir wars.  [See Note 1.]

In another place, near the Kat River, thirty men were attacked by a
hundred and fifty Kafirs.  The latter came on with fury, but five of the
farmers brought down seven of the enemy at the first discharge, and
thereafter poured into them so rapid and destructive a fire that they
were seized with panic, and fled, leaving seventy-five of their number
dead.

Instances of individual heroism might be endlessly multiplied, but we
think this is enough to show the desperate nature of the struggle which
had begun.

In the course of one fortnight the labours of fourteen years were
annihilated.  Forty-four persons were murdered, 369 dwellings consumed,
261 pillaged, and 172,000 head of live-stock carried off into Kafirland
and irretrievably lost; and what aggravated the wickedness of the
invasion was the fact that during a great part of the year the Governor
had been engaged in special negotiations for a new--and to the Kafirs
most advantageous--system of relations, with which all the chiefs except
one had expressed themselves satisfied.

Writing on the condition of the country Colonel Smith said: "Already are
seven thousand persons dependent on Government for the necessaries of
life.  The land is filled with the lamentations of the widow and the
fatherless.  The indelible impressions already made upon myself by the
horrors of an irruption of savages upon a scattered population, almost
exclusively engaged in the peaceful occupations of husbandry, are such
as to make me look on those I have witnessed in a service of thirty
years, ten of which in the most eventful period of war, as trifles to
what I have now witnessed, and compel me to bring under consideration,
as forcibly as I am able, the heartrending position in which a very
large portion of the inhabitants of this frontier are at present placed,
as well as their intense anxiety respecting their future condition."

Sir Benjamin D'Urban, arriving soon afterwards, constituted a Board of
Relief to meet the necessities of the distressed; and relief committees
were established in Capetown, Stellenbosch, Graaff-Reinet, and other
principal towns, while subscriptions were collected in Mauritius, Saint
Helena, and India.

Soon after the arrival of Colonel Smith, burgher forces were collected;
troops arrived with the Governor on the scene of action, and the work of
expelling the invader was begun in earnest.  Skirmishes by small bodies
of farmers and detachments of troops took place all over the land, in
which the Dutch-African colonists and English settlers with their
descendants vied with each other, and with the regulars, in heroic
daring.  Justice requires it to be added that they had a bold enemy to
deal with, for the Kafirs were physically splendid men; full of courage
and daring, although armed only with light spears.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 1.  The author had the pleasure of spending a night last year
(1876) under the hospitable roof of Mr Pringle, shortly before his
death, and saw the identical assagai, which was bent by the force with
which it had been hurled against him on that occasion.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

SHOWS WHAT BEFELL A TRADER AND AN EMIGRANT BAND.

Stephen Orpin, with the goods of earth in his waggon and the treasures
of heaven in his hand, chanced to be passing over a branch of the
Amatola Mountains when the torch of war was kindled and sent its horrid
glare along the frontier.  Vague news of the outbreak had reached him,
and he was hastening back to the village of Salem, in which was his
bachelor home.

Stephen, we may remark in passing, was not a bachelor from choice.
Twice had he essayed to win the affections of Jessie McTavish, and twice
had he failed.  Not being a man of extreme selfishness, he refused to
die of a broken heart.  He mourned indeed, deeply and silently, but he
bowed his head, and continued, as far as in him lay, to fulfil the end
for which he seemed to have been created.  He travelled with goods far
and wide throughout the eastern districts of the colony, became a
walking newspaper to the farmers of the frontier, and a guide to the
Better Land to whoever would grant him a hearing.

But Stephen's mercantile course, like that of his affections, did not
run smooth.  At the present time it became even more rugged than the
mountain road which almost dislocated his waggon and nearly maddened his
Hottentot drivers, for, when involved in the intricacies of a pass, he
was suddenly attacked by a band of "wild" Bushman marauders.  The spot
chanced to be so far advantageous that a high precipice at his back
rendered it impossible to attack him except in front, where the ground
was pretty open.

Orpin was by no means a milksop, and, although a Christian man, did not
understand Christianity to teach the absolute giving up of all one's
possessions to the first scoundrel who shall demand them.  The moment,
therefore, that the robbers showed themselves, he stopped the waggon at
the foot of the precipice, drew his ever-ready double-barrelled
large-bore gun from under the tilt, and ran out in front, calling on his
men to support him.  Kneeling down, he prepared to take a steady aim at
the Bushman in advance, a wild-looking savage in a sheepskin kaross and
armed with an assagai.  The robbers were evidently aware of the nature
of a gun, for they halted on seeing the decided action of the trader.

"Come on!" shouted Orpin to his men, looking back over his shoulder; but
his men were nowhere to be seen: they had deserted him at the first
sight of the robbers, and scrambled away into the jungle like monkeys.

To resist some dozens of savages single-handed Stephen knew would be
useless, and to shed blood unnecessarily was against his principles.  He
therefore made up his mind at once how to act.  Rising and turning
round, he discharged his gun at the precipice, to prevent the Bushmen
from accidentally doing mischief with it; then, sitting down on a piece
of fallen rock, he quietly took out his pipe and began to light it.

This was not meant as a piece of bravado, but Stephen was eccentric, and
it occurred to him that there was a "touch of nature" in a pipe which
might possibly induce the Bushmen to be less rude to him personally than
if he were to stand by and look aggrieved while his waggons were being
pillaged.

In this conjecture he was right.  The robbers rushed towards the waggon
without doing him any harm.  One of them, however, picked up the gun in
passing.  Then the leader seized the long whip and drove the waggon
away, leaving its late owner to his meditations.

Stephen would have been more than human if he could have stood the loss
of all his earthly goods with perfect equanimity.  He groaned when the
oxen began to move, and then, feeling a desperate desire to relieve his
feelings, and a strong tendency to fight, he suddenly shut his eyes, and
began to pray that the robbers might be forgiven, and himself enabled to
bear his trials in a becoming manner.  Opening his eyes again, he beheld
a sturdy Bushman gazing at him in open-mouthed surprise, with an
uplifted assagai in his hand.  Stephen judged that this was the chief of
the band, who had remained behind to kill him.  At all events, when he
ceased to pray, and opened his eyes, the Bushman shut his mouth, and
poised his assagai in a threatening manner.

Unarmed as he was, Stephen knew that he was at the man's mercy.  In this
dilemma, and knowing nothing of the Bushman language, he put powerful
constraint on himself, and looked placidly at his wallet, in which he
searched earnestly for something, quite regardless, to all appearances,
of the deadly spear, whose point was within ten feet of his breast.

The Bushman's curiosity was awakened.  He waited until Stephen had drawn
a lump of tobacco from his pouch--which latter he took care to turn
inside out to show there was nothing else in it.  Rising quietly, the
trader advanced with a peaceful air, holding the tobacco out to the
Bushman, who looked suspicious--and distrustfully shook his assagai; but
Stephen took no heed.  Stopping within a couple of yards of him, he held
out the tobacco at the full length of his arm.  The Bushman hesitated,
but finally lowered his assegai and accepted the gift.  Stephen
immediately resumed his pipe, and smiled pleasantly at his foe.

The Bushman appeared to be unable to resist this.  He grinned hideously;
then, turning about, made off in the direction of his comrades as fast
as his naked legs could carry him.

It was Booby, the follower of Ruyter the Hottentot, who had thus robbed
the unfortunate trader, and, not two hours afterwards, Ruyter himself
fell in with Stephen, wending his way slowly and sadly down the glen.

Desiring his men to proceed in advance, the robber chief asked Orpin to
sit down on a fallen tree beside him, and relate what had happened.
When he had done so, Ruyter shook his head and said in his broken
English--

"You's bin my friend, Orpin, but I cannot help you dis time.  Booby not
under me now, an' we's bof b'long to Dragoener's band.  I's sorry, but
not can help you."

"Never mind, Ruyter, I daresay you'd help me if you could," said
Stephen, with a sigh; then, with an earnest look in the Hottentot's
face, he continued, "I'm not, however, much distressed about the goods.
The Lord who gave them has taken them away, and can give them back again
if He has a mind to; but tell me, Ruyter, why will you not think of the
things we once spoke of--that time when you were so roughly handled by
Jan Smit--about your soul and the Saviour?"

"How you knows I not tink?" demanded the Hottentot sharply.

"Because any man can know a tree by its fruit," returned Orpin.  "If you
had become a Christian, I should not now have found you the leader of a
band of thieves."

"No, I not a Christian, but I _do_ tink," returned Ruyter, "only I no'
can onderstan'.  De black heathen--so you calls him--live in de land.
White Christian--so you calls _him_--come and take de land; make slabe
ob black man, and kick 'im about like pair ob ole boots--I _not_
onderstan' nohow."

"Come, I will try to make you understand," returned Orpin, pulling out
the New Testament which he always carried in his pocket.  "_Some_ white
men who call themselves Christians are heathens, and _some_ black men
are Christians.  We are all,--black and white,--born bad, and God has
sent us a Saviour, and a message, so that all who will, black or white,
may become good."  Orpin here commenced to expound the Word, and to tell
the story of the Cross, while the Hottentot listened with rapt
attention, or asked questions which showed that he had indeed been
thinking of these things since his last meeting with the trader, many
years before.  He was not very communicative, however, and when the two
parted he declined to make any more satisfactory promise than that he
would continue to "tink."

Stephen Orpin spent the night alone in a tree, up which he had climbed
to be more secure from wild beasts.  Sitting there, he meditated much,
and came to the conclusion that he ought in future to devote himself
entirely to missionary labours.  In pursuance of that idea, he made his
way to one of the Wesleyan mission stations in Kafirland.

On the road thither he came to a Kafir kraal, where the men seemed to be
engaged in the performance of a war-dance.

On being questioned by these Kafirs as to who he was, and where he came
from, Orpin replied, in his best Kafir, that he was a trader and a
missionary.

The chief looked surprised, but, on hearing the whole of Orpin's story,
a cunning look twinkled in his eyes, and he professed great friendship
for the missionaries, stating at the same time that he was going to one
of the Wesleyan stations, and would be glad to escort Orpin thither.
Thereafter he gave orders that the white man should be taken to one of
his huts and supplied with a "basket" of milk.

The white man gratefully acknowledged the kind offer, and, asking the
name of the friendly chief, was informed that it was Hintza.  Just then
a court fool or jester stepped forward, and cried aloud his
announcements of the events of the day, mixed with highly complimentary
praises of his master.  Stephen did not understand all he said, but he
gathered thus much,--that the warriors had been out to battle and had
returned victorious; that Hintza was the greatest man and most
courageous warrior who had ever appeared among the Kafirs, to gladden
their hearts and enrich their bands; and that there was great work yet
for the warriors to do in the way of driving certain barbarians into the
sea--to which desirable deed the heroic, the valiant, the wise, the
unapproachable Hintza would lead them.

Orpin feared that he understood the meaning of the last words too well,
but, being aware that Hintza was regarded by the colonists as one of the
friendliest of the Kafir chiefs, he hoped that he might be mistaken.

Hintza was as good as his word, and set out next day with a band of
warriors, giving the white man a good horse that he might ride beside
him.  On the way they came on a sight which filled Orpin with sadness
and anxiety.  It was the ruins of a village, which from the appearance
of the remains had evidently been occupied in part by white men.  He
observed that a gleam of satisfaction lit up Hintza's swarthy visage for
a moment as he passed the place.

Dismounting, the party proceeded to examine the ruins, but found
nothing.  The Kafirs were very taciturn, but the chief said, on being
pressed, that he believed it had been a mission station which wicked men
of other tribes had burned.

On the outbreak of this war some of the missionaries remained by their
people, others were compelled to leave them.

The station just passed had been deserted.  At the one to which Hintza
was now leading Orpin the missionaries had remained at their post.
There he found them still holding out, but in deep dejection, for nearly
all their people had forsaken them, and gone to the war.  Even while he
was talking with them, crowds of the bloodstained savages were returning
from the colony, laden with the spoils of the white man, and driving
thousands of his sheep and cattle before them.  In these circumstances,
Stephen resolved to make the best of his way back to Salem.  On telling
this to Hintza, that chief from some cause that he could not understand,
again offered to escort him.  He would not accompany him personally, he
said, but he would send with him a band of his warriors, and he trusted
that on his arrival in the colony he would tell to the great white chief
(the Governor) that he, Hintza, did not aid the other Kafir tribes in
this war.

Stephen's eyes were opened by the last speech, and from that moment he
suspected Hintza of treachery.

He had no choice, however, but to accept the escort.  On the very day
after they had started, they came to a spot where a terrible fight had
obviously taken place.  The ground was strewn with the mangled corpses
of a party of white men, while the remains of waggons and other signs
showed that they had formed one of the bands of Dutch emigrants which
had already begun to quit the colony.  The savages made ineffectual
attempts to conceal their delight at what they saw, and Orpin now felt
that he was in the power of enemies who merely spared his life in the
hope that he might afterwards be useful to them.

The band which escorted him consisted of several hundred warriors, a few
of whom were mounted on splendid horses stolen from the settlers.  He
himself was also mounted on a good steed, but felt that it would be
madness to attempt to fly from them.  On the second day they were
joined--whether by arrangement or not Orpin had no means of judging--by
a band of over a thousand warriors belonging to a different tribe from
his escort.  As the trader rode along in a dejected state of mind, one
of the advance-guard or scouts came back with excited looks, saying that
a large band of Dutch farmers was encamped down in a hollow just beyond
the rise in front of them.  The chief of the Kafirs ordered the scout
sternly to be silent, at the same time glancing at Orpin.  Then he
whispered to two men, who quietly took their assagais and stationed
themselves one on either side of their white prisoner--for such he
really was.

Orpin now felt certain that the group of principal men who drew together
a little apart were concerting the best mode of attacking the emigrant
farmers, and his heart burned within him as he thought of them resting
there in fancied security, while these black scoundrels were plotting
their destruction.  But what could he do--alone and totally unarmed?  He
thought of making a dash and giving the alarm, but the watchful savages
at his side seemed to divine his intentions, for they grasped their
assagais with significant action.

"A desperate disease," thought Orpin, "requires a desperate remedy.  I
will try it, and may succeed--God helping me."  A thought occurred just
then.  Disengaging his right foot from the stirrup, he made as if he
were shortening it a little, but instead, he detached it from the
saddle, and taking one turn of the leather round his hand, leaped his
horse at the savage nearest him and struck him full on the forehead with
the stirrup-iron.  Dashing on at full speed, he bent low, and, as he had
hoped, the spear of the other savage whizzed close over his back.  The
act was so sudden that he had almost gained the ridge before the other
mounted Kafirs could pursue.  He heard a loud voice, however, command
them to stop, and, looking back, saw that only one Kafir--the leader--
gave chase, but that leader was a powerful man, armed, and on a fleeter
horse than his own.  A glance showed him the camp of the emigrant
farmers in a hollow about a mile or so distant.  He made straight for
it.  The action of the next few seconds was short, sharp, and decisive.

The Dutchmen, having had a previous alarm from a small Kafir band, were
prepared.  They had drawn their waggons into a compact circle, closing
the apertures between and beneath them with thorn-bushes, which they
lashed firmly with leather thongs to the wheels and dissel-booms or
waggon-poles.  Within this circle was a smaller one for the protection
of the women and children.

Great was the surprise of the farmers when they heard a loud shout, and
beheld a white man flying for his life from a solitary savage.  With the
promptitude of men born and bred in the midst of alarms, they seized
their guns and issued from their fortified enclosure to the rescue, but
the Kafir was already close to Orpin, and in the act of raising his
assagai to stab him.

Seeing the urgency of the case, Conrad Marais, who was considered a
pretty good shot among his fellows, took steady aim, and, at the risk of
hitting the white man, fired.  The right arm of the savage dropped by
his side and the assagai fell to the ground, but, plucking another from
his bundle with his left hand, he made a furious thrust.  Stephen Orpin,
swaying aside, was only grazed by it.  At the same time he whirled the
stirrup once round his head, and, bringing the iron down with tremendous
force on the skull of his pursuer, hurled him to the ground.

"Stephen Orpin!" exclaimed Conrad Marais in amazement, as the trader
galloped up.

"You've got more pluck than I gave you credit for," growled Jan Smit.

"You'll need all your own pluck presently," retorted Orpin, who
thereupon told them that hundreds of Kafirs were on the other side of
the ridge, and would be down on them in a few minutes.  Indeed, he had
not finished speaking when the ridge in question was crossed by the
black host, who came yelling on to the attack,--the few mounted men
leading.

"Come, boys, let's meet them as far as possible from the waggons," cried
Conrad.

The whole band of farmers, each mounted and carrying his gun, dashed
forward.  When quite close to the foe they halted, and, every man
dismounting, knelt and fired.  Nearly all the horsemen among the enemy
fell to the ground at the discharge, and the riderless steeds galloped
over the plain, while numbers of the footmen were also killed and
wounded.  But most of those savages belonged to a fierce and warlike
tribe.  Though checked for a moment, they soon returned to the attack
more furiously than before.  The Dutch farmers, remounting, galloped
back a short distance, loading as they went; halting again, they
dismounted and fired as before, with deadly effect.

There is no question that the white men, if sufficiently supplied with
ammunition, could have thus easily overcome any number of the savages,
but the waggons stopped them.  On reaching these, they were obliged to
stand at bay, and, being greatly outnumbered, took shelter inside of
their enclosure.  Of course their flocks and herds, being most of them
outside, were at once driven away by a small party of the assailants,
while the larger proportion, with savage yells and war-cries, made a
furious attack on their position.

Closing round the circle, they endeavoured again and again to break
through the line or to clamber over the waggon-tilts, and never did
savage warriors earn a better title to the name of braves than on that
occasion.  Even the bristling four and six-inch thorns of the
mimosa-bushes would not have been able to turn back their impetuous
onset if behind these the stout Dutchmen, fighting for wives and
children, had not stood manfully loading and firing volleys of slugs and
buckshot at arm's-length from them.  The crowded ranks of the Kafirs
were ploughed as if by cannon, while hundreds of assagais were hurled
into the enclosure, but happily with little effect, though a few of the
defenders--exposing themselves recklessly--were wounded.

While Conrad Marais was standing close to the hind-wheels of one of the
waggons, watching for a good shot at a Kafir outside, who was dodging
about for the double purpose of baulking Conrad's intention and
thrusting an assagai into him, another active Kafir had clambered
unobserved on the tilt of the waggon and was in the very act of leaning
over to thrust his spear into the back of the Dutchman's neck when he
was observed by Stephen Orpin, who chanced to be reloading his gun at
the moment.

With a loud roar, very unlike his usual gentle tones, Orpin sprang
forward, seized a thick piece of wood like a four-foot rolling-pin, and
therewith felled the savage, who tumbled headlong into the enclosure.

"Oh, father!" exclaimed a terrified voice at that moment, while a light
touch was laid on Conrad's shoulder.

"What brings you here, Bertha?" said Conrad, with an impatient gesture.
"Don't you know--"

"Come, quick, to mother!" cried the girl, interrupting.

No more was needed.  In a moment Conrad was in the central enclosure,
where, crowded under a rude erection of planks and boxes, were the women
and children.  An assagai had penetrated an unguarded crevice, and,
passing under the arm of poor Mrs Marais, had pinned her to the family
trunk, against which she leaned.

"Bertha could not pull it out," said Mrs Marais, with a faint smile on
her pale face, "but I don't think I'm much hurt."

In a moment her husband had pulled out the spear, found that it had
penetrated her clothing, and only grazed her breast, took time merely to
make sure of this, and then, leaving her in Bertha's hands, returned to
the scene of combat.

He was not an instant too soon.  A yell was uttered by the savages as
they rushed at a weak point, where the thorn-bush defences had been
broken down.  The point appeared to be undefended.  They were about to
leap through in a dense mass when ten Dutchmen, who had reserved their
fire, discharged a volley simultaneously into the midst of them.  It was
a ruse of the defenders to draw the savages to that point.  Whilst the
Kafirs tumbled back over heaps of dead and dying, several other farmers
thrust masses of impenetrable mimosa bush into the gap and refilled it.
This discomfiture checked the assailants for a little; they drew off and
retired behind the ridge to concert plans for a renewed and more
systematic attack.



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

TREATS OF VARIOUS STRANGE INCIDENTS, SOME INTERESTING MATTERS, AND A
RESCUE.

While the emigrant farmers were thus gallantly defending themselves, the
party under Hans Marais and Charlie Considine was hastening on their
spoor to the rescue.

Their numbers had been increased by several volunteers, among whom were
George Dally and Scholtz, also David, Jacob, and Hendrik, the sons of
Jan Smit, who had made up their minds not to follow the fortunes of
their savage-tempered sire, but who were at once ready to fly to his
rescue on learning that he was in danger.  While passing through the
country they were further reinforced by a band of stout burghers, and by
four brothers named Bowker.  There were originally seven brothers of
this family, who afterwards played a prominent part in the affairs of
the colony.  One of these Bowkers was noted for wearing a very tall
white hat, in which, being of a literary turn of mind, he delighted to
carry old letters and newspapers.  From this circumstance his hat became
known as "the post-office."

Although small, this was about as heroic a band of warriors as ever took
the field--nearly every man being strong, active, a dead shot well
trained to fight with wild beasts, and acquainted with the tactics of
wilder men.

Proceeding by forced marches, they soon drew near to that part of the
country where the beleaguered farmers lay.

One evening, having encamped a little earlier than usual, owing to the
circumstance of their having reached a fountain of clear good water,
some of the more energetic among them went off to search for game.
Among these were the brothers Bowker.

"There's very likely a buffalo or something in that bush over there,"
said Septimus Bowker, who was the owner of the "post-office" hat.
"Come, Mr Considine, you wanted to--Where's Considine?"

Every one looked round, but Considine and Hans were not there.  One of
the Skyds, however, remembered that they had fallen behind half an hour
before, with the intention of procuring something fresh for supper.

"Well, we must go without him.  He wanted to shoot a buffalo.  Will no
one else go?"

No one else felt inclined to go except Junkie Brook, so he and the four
Bowkers went off, Septimus pressing the "post-office" tightly on his
brows as they galloped away.

They had not far to go, game of all kinds being abundant in that region,
but instead of finding a buffalo or gnu, they discovered a lioness in a
bed of rushes.  The party had several dogs with them, and these went
yelping into the rushes, while the brothers stationed themselves on a
mound, standing in a row, one behind another.

The brother with the tall white hat stood in front.  Being the eldest,
he claimed the post of honour.  They were all fearless men and crack
shots.  Junkie was ordered to stand back, and complied with a bad grace,
being an ardent sportsman.

"Look out!" exclaimed the brother in front to the brothers in rear.

"Ready!" was the quiet response.

Next moment out came the lioness with a savage growl, and went straight
at Septimus, who cocked his gun as coolly as if he were about to slay a
sparrow.

While the enraged animal was in the act of bounding, Septimus fired
straight down its throat and suddenly stooped.  By so doing he saved his
head.  Perhaps we should say the tall white hat saved it, for the
crushing slap which the lioness meant to give him on the side of the
head took effect on the post-office, and scattered its contents far and
wide.  Spurning Septimus on the shoulders with her hind-legs as she flew
past, the lioness made at the brothers.  Firm as the Horatii stood the
other three.  Deliberate and cool was their action as they took aim.
Junkie followed suit, and the whole fired a volley, which laid the
lioness dead at their feet.

Gathering himself up, Septimus looked with some concern at the white hat
before putting it on.  Remarking that it was tough, he proceeded to pick
up its literary contents, while his brothers skinned the lioness.
Shortly afterwards they all returned to camp.

Passing that way an hour or so later, Hans Marais and Charlie Considine
came upon the spoor of the lioness.

"I say, Charlie," called out Hans, "there must be a lion in the vley
there.  I've got the spoor.  Come here."

"It's not in the vley now," replied Charlie; "come here yourself; I've
found blood, and, hallo! here's a newspaper!  Why, it must be a literary
lion!  Look, Hans, can you make out the name?--Howker, Dowker, or
something o' that sort.  Do lions ever go by that name?"

"Bowker," exclaimed Hans, with a laugh.  "Ah! my boy, there's no lion in
the vley if the Bowkers have been here; and see, it's all plain as a
pikestaff.  They shot it here and skinned it there, and have dragged the
carcass towards that bush; yes, here it is--a lioness.  They're back to
camp by this time.  Come, let's follow them."

As they rode along, Hans, who had been glancing at the newspaper, turned
suddenly to his companion.

"I say, Charlie, here's a strange coincidence.  It's not every day that
a man finds a _Times_ newspaper in the wilds of Southern Africa with a
message in it to himself."

"What do you mean, Hans?"

"Tell me, Charlie, about that uncle of whom you once spoke to me--long
ago--in rather disrespectful tones, if not terms.  Was he rich?"

"I believe so, but was never quite certain as to that."

"Did he like you?"

"I rather think not."

"Had you a male cousin or relative of the same name with yourself whom
he _did_ like?"

"Then allow me to congratulate you on your good fortune, and read that,"
said Hans, giving him the newspaper.

Charlie read.

"If this should meet the eye of Charles Considine, formerly of Golden
Square, Hotchester, he is requested to return without delay to England,
or to communicate with Aggard, Ale, and Ixley, Solicitors, 23a
Fitzbustaway Square, London."

"Most amazing!" exclaimed Considine, after a pause, "and there can be no
doubt it refers to me, for these were my uncle's solicitors--most
agreeable men--who gave me the needful to fit me out, and it was their
chief clerk--a Roman-nosed jovial sort of fellow, named Rundle something
or other--who accompanied me to the ship when I left, and wished me a
pleasant voyage, with a tear, or a drop of rain, I'm not sure which,
rolling down his Roman nose.  Well, but, as I said before, isn't it an
astonishing coincidence?"

"It wasn't you who said that before, it was I," returned Hans, "but we
must make allowance for your state of mind.  And now, as we're nearing
the camp, what is it to be--silence?"

"Silence, of course," said Charlie.  "There's no fear of Bowker reading
the advertisements through, he has far too much literary taste for that,
and even if he did, he's not likely to stumble on this one.  So let's be
silent."

There was anything but silence in the camp, however, when the friends
reached it and reported their want of luck; for the warriors were then
in the first fervour of appealing their powerful appetites.

Next morning they started at sunrise.

Early in the day they came on the mangled remains of the emigrant
farmers before referred to.  At first it was supposed this must be the
remnant of the band they were in search of, but a very brief examination
convinced them, experienced as they were in men and signs, that it was
another band.  Soon after, they came in sight of the party for which
they were searching, just as the Kafirs were making a renewed attack.
Already a few volleys had been fired by the Dutchmen, the smoke of which
hung like a white shroud over the camp, and swarms of savages were
yelling round it.

"The cattle and flocks have been swept away," growled Frank Dobson.

"But the women and children must be safe as yet," said Considine, with a
sigh of relief.

"Now, boys," cried Hans, who had been elected captain, "we must act
together.  When I give the word, halt and fire like one man, and then
charge where I lead you.  Don't scatter.  Don't give way to impetuous
feelings.  Be under command, if you would save our friends."

He spoke with quick, abrupt vigour, and waited for no reply or remark,
but, putting himself where he fancied a leader should be, in front of
the centre of his little line, set off in the direction of the
emigrants' camp at a smart gallop.  As the horsemen drew near they
increased their pace, and then a yell from the savages, and a cheer from
their friends, told that they had been observed by the combatants on
both sides.  The Kafirs were seen running back to the ridge on the other
side of the camp, and assembling themselves hurriedly in a dense mass.

On swept the line of stalwart burghers, over the plain and down into the
hollow in dead silence.  The force of their leader's character seemed to
have infused military discipline into them.  Most of them kept boot to
boot like dragoons.  Even Dally and Scholtz kept well in line, and none
lagged or shot ahead.  As they passed close to the camp without drawing
rein, the Dutchmen gave them an enthusiastic cheer, but no reply was
made, save by Junkie, who could not repress a cry of fierce delight.
Down deeper into the hollow they went, and up the opposite slope,--the
thunder of their tread alone breaking the stillness.

"Halt!" cried the leader in a deep loud voice.

They drew up together almost as well as they had run.  Next moment every
man was on the ground and down on one knee; then followed the roar of
their pieces, and a yell of wild fury told that none had missed his
mark.  Before the smoke had risen a yard they were again in the saddle.
No further order was given.  Hans charged; the rest followed like a wall
at racing speed, with guns and bridles grasped in their left hands and
sabres drawn in their right.

The savages did not await the onset.  They turned, scattered, and fled.
Many were overtaken and cut down.  The Dutchmen sallied from the camp
and joined in the pursuit.  The Kafirs were routed completely, and all
the cattle and flocks were recovered.

That same day there was a hot discussion over the camp-fires as to
whether the emigrant farmers should return at once to the colony or wait
until they should gather together some of the other parties of emigrants
which were known to have crossed the frontier.  At last it was resolved
to adopt the latter course, but the wives and families were to be sent
back to Fort Wilshire under the escort of their deliverers, there to
remain till better times should dawn.

"Charlie," said Conrad Marais, as he walked up and down with his friend,
"I must stick by my party, but I can trust you and Hans.  You'll be
careful of the women and little ones."

"You may depend on us," replied Considine, with emphasis.

"And you needn't be afraid to speak to Bertha by the way," said Conrad,
with a peculiar side glance.

Charlie looked up quickly with a flush.

"Do you mean, sir, that--that--"

"Of course I do," cried the stout farmer, grasping his friend by the
hand; "I forgive your being an Englishman, Charlie, and as I can't make
you a Dutchman, the next best I can do for you is to give you a Dutch
wife, who is in my opinion better and prettier than any English girl
that ever lived."

"Hold!" cried Considine, returning the grasp, "I will not join you in
making invidious comparisons between Dutch and English; but I'll go
farther than you, and say that Bertha is in my opinion the best and
prettiest girl in the whole world."

"That'll do, lad, that'll do.  So, now, we'll go see what the Totties
have managed to toss us up for breakfast."

Before the sun set that night the emigrant farmers, united with another
large band, were entrenched in a temporary stronghold, and the women and
children, with the rescue party--strengthened by a company of hunters
and traders who had been in the interior when the war broke out, were
far on their way back to Fort Wilshire.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

RELATES INCIDENTS OF THE WAR AND A GREAT DELIVERANCE.

On reaching the frontier fort it was found to be in a state of
excitement bustle, and preparation.

News had just been received that the treacherous chief Hintza, although
professedly at peace with the colony, was secretly in league with the
invading chiefs, and the Governor was convinced of the necessity of
taking vigorous measures against him.  The savages, flushed with
success, and retiring for a time to their own land with the cattle they
had carried off, found in Hintza one ready to aid them in every way.  It
transpired that he had not only allowed the stolen cattle to be secreted
in his territory, but many of his own people were "out" with the
confederate chiefs fighting against the colonists, while traders under
his protection had by his orders been seized and plundered.  A message
had therefore been sent to Hintza requiring him at once and decidedly to
declare his intentions.  To this, instead of a reply, the savage chief
sent one of his braves, whose speech and conduct showed that his wily
master only wished to gain time by trifling diplomacy.  The brave was
therefore sent back with another message, to the effect that if he,
Hintza, should afford any of the other chiefs shelter or protection, and
did not restore the booty concealed in his territory, he would be
treated as an enemy.  It was also proposed that himself should come and
have an interview with the Governor, but this invitation he declined.
Sir Benjamin D'Urban, therefore, resolved to menace the truculent chief
in his own dominions, and when Hans Marais with his band entered the
square of the little fort, he found the troops on the point of setting
out.

The force consisted of a body of regulars and a burgher band collected
from all parts of the colony.  Among them were hardy Englishmen from the
Zuurveld, tough with the training of fourteen years in the wilderness,
and massive Dutchmen from the karroo, splendid horsemen and deadly
shots.

While the bustle was at its height a party of horsemen galloped up to
the gate, headed by a giant.  It turned out to be a contingent from Glen
Lynden, under Groot Willem of Baviaans River, with Andrew Rivers, Jerry
Goldboy, and several of the Dutch farmers of the Tarka in his train.

"Ho! here you are," cried Groot Willem in his hearty bass roar, as he
leaped to the ground and seized Hans Marais by the hand.  "All well at
Eden--eh?"

"Burnt out," said Hans quietly.

The giant looked aghast for a moment.  Then his friend ran hurriedly
over the main points of his story.  But there was no time for talk.
While salutations were being exchanged by the members of the various
parties thus assembled, Sir Benjamin appeared, mounted his horse, gave
orders to several of his officers, and spoke a few words to Groot Willem
and Hans.  In a few minutes the troops were marched out of the fort, and
next day reached the right bank of the Kei River.

This was the western boundary of Hintza's particular territory.  On
arriving, the Governor issued general orders to the effect that Hintza
was not "to be treated as an enemy."  No kraals were to be burnt, no
gardens or fields pillaged, and no natives meddled with, unless
hostilities were first begun by them, and that no act of violence should
be committed until due notice of the commencement of hostilities had
been given.  "You see," said Sir Benjamin in a private conversation with
one of his staff, "I am resolved to take every possible precaution to
avoid giving cause of complaint to the great chief, and to endeavour by
mild forbearance to maintain peace.  At the same time, it is essential
that I should act with vigour because undue forbearance is always
misinterpreted by savages to mean cowardice, and only precipitates the
evils we seek to avoid."

On arriving at a spot where a trader named Purcell had been plundered
and murdered, the troops were met by several "councillors" from Hintza
and from the chief Booko, who were still a day's journey distant.  To
these the Governor said:--

"Go, tell the Great Chief that I request an interview with himself,
because I desire that peace should be between us, and that justice
should be done.  I will not cease to advance until such interview is
obtained, and it will depend on his own conduct whether Hintza is
treated by the British Government as a friend or a foe."

But the Great Chief was doggedly bent on meeting his fate.  He returned
no answer to the message, and the troops moved on.  Arriving at the
mission station of Butterworth, they found it destroyed, and here they
were met by a large body of Fingoes--native slaves--who eagerly offered
their services to fight against their cruel masters the Kafirs.  These
Fingoes--destined in after years to make a deep impression on the
colony--were the remains of eight powerful nations, who, broken up and
scattered by the ferocious Chaka and his Zulu hordes, had taken refuge
with Hintza, by whom they were enslaved and treated in the most brutal
manner.  He gave them generally the name of Fingo, which means dog.
Their eager offer to serve under the British Chief was therefore most
natural, but Sir Benjamin declined their services at the time, as war
had not yet been declared.

Soon after, a detachment of thirty men was sent back to the colony with
despatches, in charge of an ensign named Armstrong, who was waylaid and
murdered by some of Hintza's Kafirs.  The Governor, finding that his
overtures were treated with studied neglect, and that hostilities were
thus begun, called to him a Kafir councillor and warrior, and said--

"Your master has treated all my messages with contempt.  He is in secret
alliance with the chiefs who have invaded our colony.  He has received
and concealed cattle stolen from the white men.  A British trader has
been deliberately murdered in his territory, near his own residence, and
under his protection, and no steps have been taken to punish the
murderers.  Violence and outrage have been committed by him on British
traders, and missionaries living under his safeguard have been forced to
flee to the Tambookie chief to save their lives.  I will no longer treat
with him.  Since Hintza is resolved on war, he shall have it.  I will
now take the Fingoes under my special protection, make them subjects of
the king of England, and severely punish any who commit violence upon
them.  I will also carry off all the cattle I can find.--Go, tell your
master his blood shall be on his own head."

This message, which was followed up by prompt action, the capture of
considerable numbers of cattle, and a successful attack on one of his
principal kraals, brought the great chief to his senses--apparently, but
not really, as the sequel will show.  He sent in four messengers with
proposals, but the Governor refused to treat with any one except Hintza
himself.  Terrified at last into submission, he entered the camp with a
retinue of fifty followers, and was courteously received by the
commander-in-chief.

During the course of these proceedings detached parties were frequently
sent hither and thither to surprise a kraal or to capture cattle, and
the two parties under Groot Willem and Hans Marais, having arrived at
Fort Wilshire at the same time, were allowed to act pretty much in
concert.

One night they found themselves encamped in a dark mountain gorge during
a thunderstorm.

"Well, well," said Jerry Goldboy to Junkie, who with Scholtz had taken
refuge under the very imperfect shelter of a bush, "it's 'orrible 'ard
work this campaigning; specially in bad weather, with the point of one's
nose a'most cut off."

Jerry referred to a wound which an assagai aimed at his heart had that
day inflicted on his nose.  The wound was not severe, but it was
painful, and the sticking-plaster which held the point of his
unfortunate member in its place gave his countenance an unusually
comical appearance.

"Is it very zore, boy?" asked Scholtz.

"Zore!  I wish you 'ad it, an' you wouldn't 'ave to ask," returned
Jerry.

"How did you come by it?" asked Junkie, looking grave with difficulty.

"Well, it ain't easy to say exactly.  You see it was getting dark at the
time, and I was doin' my best to drive a thief of a _h_ox down a place
in the kloof where it had to stand upright, a'most, on its front-legs,
with its tail whirlin' in the _h_air.  An' I 'adn't much time to waste
neither, for I knew there was Kafirs all about, an' the troops was
gettin' a'ead of me, an' my 'oss was tied to a yellow-wood tree at the
foot o' the kloof, an' I began to feel sort o' skeery with the gloomy
thickets all around, an' rugged precipices lookin' as if they'd tumble
on me, an' the great mountains goin' up to 'eaven--oh!  I can tell you
it was--it was--"

"In short, the most horrible sight you ever saw," said Junkie, drawing
his blanket tighter round his shoulders, and crouching nearer to the
bulky form of Scholtz for protection from the wind which was rising.

"Yes, Junkie, it was--the most 'orrible sight I ever saw, for wild
savageness, so I drew my sword and gave the _h_ox a prog that sent 'im
'ead over 'eels down the kloof w'ere 'e broke 'is back.  Just at that
werry moment--would you mind takin' your toe out o' my neck, Junkie? it
ain't comfortable: thank you.--Well, as I was sayin', at that very
moment I spied a black fellow stealin' away in the direction of my 'oss.
He saw me too, but thought I didn't see _'im_.  Up I jumps, an' run for
the 'oss.  Up 'e jumps an' run likewise.  But I was nearer than 'im, an'
a deal faster--though I don't mean to boast--"

"An' a deal frighteneder," suggested Junkie.

"P'raps, 'owever I got to the 'oss first.  I didn't take time to mount,
but went leap-frog over 'is tail slap into the saddle, which gave the
hold 'oss such a skeer that 'e bolted!  The Kafir 'e gave a yell an'
sent 'is assagai after me, an' by bad luck I looks round just as it went
past an' all but took off the point of my nose.  Wasn't it unlucky?"

"Unlucky! you ungrateful man," growled Scholtz.  "You should be ver'
glad de assagai did not stick you in de neck like von zow.--Is zat rain
vich I feels in ze back of mine head?"

"Like enough.  There's plenty of it, anyhow," said Junkie, trying to
peer through the gloom in the direction of the tents occupied by a small
body of regular troops which accompanied them.

As he did so a sudden squall struck the tents, levelling two with the
ground, and entirely whisking off one, which, after making a wild circle
in the air, was launched over a precipice into thick darkness, and never
more seen!

Lying under another bush, not far distant, Considine and Hans lay
crouched together for the purpose at once of keeping each other warm and
presenting the smallest possible amount of surface to the weather.  They
did not sleep at first, and being within earshot of the bush under which
the brothers Skyd had sheltered themselves, found sufficient
entertainment in listening to their conversation.

"We scarce counted on this sort of thing," said John Skyd, "when,
fifteen years ago, we left the shores of old England for `Afric's
southern wilds.'"

"That's true, Jack," was Bob Skyd's reply, "and I sometimes think it
would have been better if we had remained at home."

"Craven heart! what do you mean?" demanded James.

"Ay, what do you mean?" repeated Dobson; "will nothing convince you?  It
is true we made a poor job of the farming, owing to our ignorance, but
since we took to merchandise have we not made a good thing of it--ain't
it improving every day, and won't we rise to the very pinnacle of
prosperity when this miserable war is over."

"Supposing that we are not killed in the mean-time," said Stephen Orpin,
who formed one of the group.

"That is a mere truism, and quite irrelevant," retorted Dobson.

"Talking of irrelevant matters, does any one know why Sandy Black and
McTavish did not come with Groot Willem?" asked Orpin.

To this John Skyd replied that he had heard some one say a party of the
Glen Lynden men had gone off to root out a nest of freebooters under
that scoundrel Ruyter, who, taking advantage of the times, had become
more ferocious and daring than ever.

"Yet some say," observed Dobson, "that the Hottentot robber is becoming
religious or craven-hearted, I don't know which."

"Perhaps broken-hearted," suggested Orpin.

"Perhaps.  Anyhow it is said his followers are dissatisfied with him for
some reason or other.  He does not lead them so well as he was wont to."

While the white men were thus variously engaged in jesting over their
discomforts, or holding more serious converse, their sable enemies were
preparing for them a warm reception in the neighbouring pass.  But both
parties were checked and startled by the storm which presently burst
over them.  At first the thunder-claps were distant, but by degrees they
came nearer, and burst with deafening crash, seemingly close overhead,
while lightning ran along the earth like momentary rivulets of fire.  At
the same time the windows of heaven were opened, and rain fell in
waterspouts, drenching every one to the skin.

The storm passed as suddenly as it came, and at daybreak was entirely
gone, leaving a calm clear sky.

Sleepy, wet, covered with mud, and utterly miserable, the party turned
out of their comfortless bivouac, and, after a hasty meal of cold
provisions, resumed their march up the kloof.

At the narrowest part of it, some of the troops were sent in advance as
skirmishers, and the ambush was discovered.  Even then they were in an
awkward position, and there can be no question that if the natives had
been possessed of fire-arms they would have been cut off to a man.  As
it was, the savages came at them with dauntless courage, throwing their
assagais when near enough, and hurling stones down from the almost
perpendicular cliffs on either side.  But nothing could resist the
steady fire of men who were, most of them, expert shots.  Few of the
white men were wounded, but heaps of the Kafirs lay dead on each other
ere they gave way and retreated before a dashing charge with the
bayonet.

Oh! it was a sad sight,--sad to see men in the vigorous health of early
youth and the strong powers of manhood's prime cast lifeless on the
ground and left to rot there for the mistaken idea on the Kafirs' part
that white men were their natural enemies, when, in truth, they brought
to their land the comforts of civilised life; sad to think that they had
died for the mistaken notion that their country was being taken from
them, when in truth they had much more country than they knew what to do
with--more than was sufficient to support themselves and all the white
men who have ever gone there, and all that are likely to go for many
years to come; sad to think of the stern necessity that compelled the
white men to lay them low; sadder still to think of the wives and
mothers, sisters and little ones, who were left to wail unavailingly for
fathers and brothers lost to them for ever; and saddest of all to
remember that it is not merely the naked savage in his untutored
ignorance, but the civilised white man in his learned wisdom, who
indulges in this silly, costly, murderous, brutal, and accursed game of
war!

Returning from the fight next day with a large herd of captured cattle,
the contingent found that Hintza had agreed unconditionally to all the
proposals made to him by the Governor; among others that he should
restore to the colonists 50,000 head of cattle and 1000 horses,--one
half to be given up at once, the remainder in the course of a year.

The deceitful chief was thus ready in his acquiescence, simply because
he had no intention whatever of fulfilling his engagements.  To blind
his white enemies the more effectually, he himself offered to remain in
the camp as a hostage, with his followers.  Two other chiefs, Kreli and
Booko, also joined him.  This seemingly gracious conduct won for Hintza
so much confidence that orders were immediately given to evacuate his
territory.  He became the guest of Colonel Smith, and the Governor
presented him with numerous conciliatory gifts.  Thereafter the camp was
broken up and the Governor took his departure.

No sooner was his back turned than Hintza's people commenced a general
massacre of the Fingoes.  About thirty were murdered in cold blood near
to Colonel Somerset's camp.

Full of indignation, when he heard this, the Governor summoned Hintza to
his presence and related what had occurred.

"Well, and what then?" was the Kafir's cool reply, "are they not my
dogs?"

Sir Benjamin met this by giving orders that Hintza and all the people
with him should be put under guard, and held as hostages for the safety
of the Fingoes.  He instantly despatched messengers to stop the carnage,
and said that if it continued after three hours he would shoot two of
Hintza's suite for every Fingo killed.  He added, moreover, that if he
found there was any subterfuge in the message they sent--as he had
discovered to have been the case in former messages--he would hang
Hintza, Kreli, and Booko on the tree under which they were sitting.

In less than ten minutes the messengers of the chiefs were scampering
off at full speed in different directions with orders!  So potent was
the power of this vigorous treatment that within the short time
specified the massacre was stopped.

But the Governor knew well the character of the men with whom he had to
deal.  To have left the Fingoes in their hands after this would have
been tantamount to condemning them to suffer the revengeful wrath of
their cruel masters, who would no doubt have resumed the massacre the
instant the troops were withdrawn.  Sir Benjamin therefore collected
them together, along with the few missionaries and other British
subjects who had found temporary refuge at the station of Clarkeburg.
He placed them under the care of the Reverend Mr Ayliffe, for whom the
Fingoes expressed sincere regard, and transported the whole body in
safety across the Kei.

"An amazing sight," observed Charlie Considine to a knot of his
comrades, as they reined up on the top of a knoll, and watched the long
line of Fingoes defiling before him like an antediluvian black snake
trailing its sinuous course over the land, with a little knot of
red-coats in front, looking like its fiery head, and sundry groups of
burghers, and other troops, here and there along its body, like
parti-coloured legs and claws.  The length of this mighty snake may be
estimated when it is said that of the Fingo nation not fewer than 2000
men, 5600 women, and 9200 children, with 22,000 cattle, were led across
the Kei into the colony at that time.

The whole scene, with its multitudinous details, was a commingling of
the ludicrous, the touching, and the sublime.  It was mirth-provoking to
observe the wild energy of the coal-black men, as they sprang from side
to side, with shield and assagai, driving in refractory cattle; the
curious nature of the bundles borne by many of the women; the frolicking
of the larger children and the tottering of the smaller ones, whose
little black legs seemed quite unequal to the support of their rotund
bodies.  It was touching to see, here and there, a stalwart man pick up
a tired goat and lay it on his shoulders, or relieve a weary woman of
her burden--or catch up a stumbling little one that had lost its mother,
and carry it along in his arms.  And it was a sublime thought that this
great army was being led, like the Israelites of old, out of worse than
Egyptian bondage, into a Christian colony, as the adopted sons and
daughters of a civilised Government.

It was, in one sense, a "nation born in a day," for the Fingoes were
destined, in after years, to become the faithful allies of their white
deliverers, and the creators of much additional wealth in the colony,--a
raw native material which at that time gladdened, and still rejoices,
the hearts of those missionaries who look to the Fingoes with reasonable
hope, as likely to become, in time, the bearers of the Gospel to their
kindred in the wilds of Central Africa.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

THE FATE OF THE PARAMOUNT CHIEF OF KAFIRLAND.

Meanwhile Hintza, not having shown sufficient readiness and alacrity in
redeeming his promises, was held as a hostage in the hands of the white
man.  He was, however, treated with the utmost consideration, and when
he proposed to accompany a division of the troops, in order to exercise
to the utmost his personal influence in recovering from his people the
cattle and horses due, and to apprehend the murderers, according to
treaty, he was allowed to do so, not only quite free in person, but even
with his weapons in his hands.

Colonel Smith, however, who commanded the force, distinctly told the
chief through an interpreter, that if he attempted to escape he would
instantly be shot.

The force consisted of detachments of the Cape Mounted Rifles, the 72nd
regiment, and the corps of Guides--350 men in all.

Towards the afternoon of the day on which they marched, a circumstance
occurred which justified Colonel Smith's suspicions as to Hintza's
sincerity.  They had reached a streamlet and encamped, when one of the
guides reported to him that two Kafirs, with five head of cattle, were
near the camp, and that Hintza, on the plea that they would be afraid to
approach, had sent one of his people to bring them in.

On being questioned, the chief declined to give any explanation on the
subject, and the Kafirs not only did not come in, as they were ordered,
but made off, and carried the horse of Hintza's messenger along with
them!  The suspicion excited by this circumstance was increased by the
evasive answers given to the Colonel's repeated inquiries as to the
point on which Hintza wished the troops to march.

"We are going right," was the only answer that could be elicited from
the taciturn savage.

After crossing the range of the Guadan Hills, the troops bivouacked on
the Guanga, and here Hintza became more communicative, said that he
wished them to march towards the mouth of the Bashee, by a route which
he would point out, and that they must move at midnight.  This was done,
and they continued to move forward till eight o'clock in the morning,
observing as they went the spoor of numerous herds of cattle that had
been driven in that direction quite recently.

The men, being tired, were then halted for refreshment.

At this point Hintza became particularly uneasy at the vigilance with
which he was watched.

"What have the cattle done," he said testily, "that you should want
them? and why should my subjects be deprived of them?"

"Why do you ask such questions, Hintza?" replied Colonel Smith; "you
know well the many outrages committed on the colonists by your people,
and the thousands of cattle that have been stolen.  It is in redress of
these wrongs that we demand them."

The chief looked stern, but made no rejoinder.  He appeared to recover
himself, however, after breakfast, and was in high spirits while on the
march.  He rode a remarkably strong horse that day, which he appeared
very anxious to spare from fatigue--dismounting and leading him up every
ascent.

As the party advanced, the tracks of numerous cattle were still found
leading onward, but the animals themselves were nowhere to be seen.

"You see," remarked the chief, with a touch of sarcasm in his tone as he
rode beside the Colonel, "you see how my subjects treat me: they drive
their cattle from me in spite of me."

"I do not want your _subjects'_ cattle, Hintza," was the Colonel's
pointed reply; "I want, and will have, the _colonial_ cattle which they
have stolen."

"Then," returned the chief, "allow me to send forward my councillor
Umtini to tell my people I am here, that they must not drive away their
cattle, and that the cattle of your nation will be alone selected."

Although it was quite evident that the chief meditated mischief it was
thought best to agree to this proposal.  Accordingly, the councillor,
after being enjoined to return that night, which he promised to do,
mounted and left the camp at full speed, accompanied by an attendant.

There was ground for uneasiness and much caution in all this, for those
who knew Hintza best were wont to say that he possessed in a high degree
all the vices of the savage--ingratitude, avarice, cunning, and cruelty,
and his treatment of the traders and missionaries under his protection,
as well as his secret encouragement of the border chiefs, fully bore out
their opinion.

"Now!" exclaimed the chief in high spirits when Umtini had left, "you
need not go on to the Bashee, you will have more cattle than you can
drive on the Xabecca."

The path the troops were passing was a mere cattle-track leading up
hill, from the bed of the Xabecca river, among tangled brushwood, and
occasionally passing through a cleft in the rocks.  Colonel Smith was
the only member of the party who rode up the hill; Hintza and the others
led their homes.  On drawing near to the summit, the chief and his
attendants mounted and rode silently but quickly past the Colonel into
the bushes.

One of the guides observing the action called to the Colonel, who
immediately shouted, "Hintza, stop!"

The savage had no intention of stopping, but, finding himself entangled
in the thicket, was compelled to return to the track.  He did so with
such coolness and with such an ingenuous smile, that the Colonel, who
had drawn a pistol, felt half ashamed of his suspicions, and allowed the
chief to ride forward as before.

At the top of the steep ascent the country was quite open.  The Xabecca
river was seen in front with a few Kafir huts on its banks.  Here the
chief set off at full speed in the direction of the huts.

Colonel Smith and three of the guides pursued.  The latter were quickly
left behind, but the Colonel, being well mounted, kept up with the
fugitive.  Spurring on with violence, he soon overtook him.

"Stop, Hintza!" he shouted.

But Hintza was playing his last card.  He urged his horse to greater
exertion, and kept stabbing at his pursuer with an assagai.

The Colonel drew a pistol, but it snapped.  A second was used with like
ill success.  He then spurred close up, struck the chief with the butt
end of the pistol, and, in so doing, dropped it.  Hintza looked round
with a smile of derision, and the Colonel, hurling the other pistol at
him, struck him on the back of the head.  The blow was ineffectual.
Hintza rode on; the troops followed as they best could.  They were now
nearing the huts.  At length, making a desperate effort, the Colonel
dashed close up to the chief.  Having now no weapon, he seized him by
the collar of his kaross, or cloak, and, with a violent effort, hurled
him to the ground.  Both horses were going at racing speed.  The
Colonel, unable to check his, passed on, but before he was beyond reach
the agile savage had leaped to his feet, drawn another assagai from the
bundle which he carried, and hurled it after his enemy.  So good was the
aim that the weapon passed within a few inches of the Colonel's body.

The act afforded time to those behind to come up.  Although Hintza
turned aside instantly and ran down the steep bank of the Xabecca, the
foremost of the guides--named Southey--got within gun-shot and shouted
in the Kafir tongue to the chief to stop.  No attention being paid to
the order, he fired, and Hintza fell, wounded in the left leg.  Leaping
up in a moment, he resumed his flight, when Southey fired again, and
once more the chief was hit and pitched forward, but rose instantly and
gained the cover of the thicket which lined the bank of the river.
Southey leaped off his horse and gave chase, closely followed by
Lieutenant Balfour of the 72nd regiment.  The former kept up, and the
latter down, the stream.

They had proceeded thus in opposite directions some distance when
Southey was startled by an assagai striking the cliff on which he was
climbing.  Turning sharply, he saw Hintza's head and his uplifted arm
among the bushes within a few feet of him.  The savage was in the act of
hurling another assagai.  Quick as thought the guide levelled his gun
and fired.  The shot completely shattered the upper part of Hintza's
skull, and next instant a mangled corpse was all that remained of the
paramount chief of Kafirland.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE RESULTS OF WAR.

"Peace at last!" said Edwin Brook to George Dally, on arriving at his
ravaged and herdless farm in the Zuurveld, whither George had preceded
him.

"Peace is it, sir?  Ah, that's well.  It's about time too, for we've got
a deal to do--haven't we, sir?"

George spoke quite cheerily, under the impression that his master
required comforting.

"You see, sir, we've got to go back pretty well to where we was in 1820,
and begin it all over again.  It _is_ somewhat aggrawatin'!  Might have
been avoided, too, if they'd kep' a few more troops on the frontier."

"Well, Jack, the treaty is signed at last," said Robert Skyd to his
brother, as he sat on his counter in Grahamstown, drumming with his
heels.

"Not too soon," replied John Skyd, taking a seat on the same convenient
lounge.  "It has cost us something: houses burnt all over the
settlement, from end to end; crops destroyed; cattle carried off, and,
worst of all, trade almost ruined--except in the case of lucky fellows
like you, Bob, who sell to the troops."

"War would not have broken out at all," returned Bob, "if the Kafirs had
only been managed with a touch of ordinary common sense in times past.
Our losses are tremendous.  Just look at the Kafir trade, which last
year I believe amounted to above 40,000 pounds,--_that's_ crushed out
altogether in the meantime, and won't be easily revived.  Kafirs in
hundreds were beginning to discard their dirty karosses, and to buy
blankets, handkerchiefs, flannels, baize, cotton, knives, axes, and what
not, while the traders had set up their stores everywhere in Kafirland--
to say nothing of your own business, Jack, in the gum, ivory, and
shooting way, and our profits thereon.  We were beginning to flourish so
well, too, as a colony.  I believe that we've been absorbing annually
somewhere about 150,000 pounds worth of British manufactured articles--
not to mention other things, and now--Oh, Jack, mankind is a monstrous
idiot!"

"Peace comes too late for us, Gertie," said Hans Marais to his wife, on
their return to the old homestead on the karroo, which presented nothing
but a blackened heap of dry mud, bricks, and charred timbers; herds and
flocks gone--dreary silence in possession--the very picture of
desolation.

"Better late than never," remarked Charlie Considine sadly.  "We must
just set to work, re-stock and re-build.  Not so difficult to do so as
it might have been, however, owing to that considerate uncle of mine.
We're better off than some of our poor neighbours who have nothing to
fall back upon.  They say that more than 3000 persons have been reduced
to destitution; 500 farm-houses have been burnt and pillaged; 900
horses, 55,000 sheep and goats, and above 30,000 head of cattle carried
off, only a few of which were recovered by Colonel Smith on that
expedition when Hintza was killed.  However, we'll keep up heart and go
to work with a will--shan't we, my little wife!"

Bertha--now Bertha Considine--who leaned on Charlie's arm, spoke not
with her lips, but she lifted her bright blue eyes, and with these orbs
of light declared her thorough belief in the wisdom of what ever Charlie
might say or do.

"They say it's all settled!" cried Jerry Goldboy, hastily entering
Kenneth McTavish's stable.

"What's all settled?" demanded Sandy Black.

"Peace with the Kafirs," said Jerry.

"Peace wi' the Kawfirs!" echoed Sandy, in a slightly contemptuous tone.
"H'm! they should never hae had war wi' them, Jerry, my man."

"But 'aving 'ad it, ain't it well that it's hover?" returned Jerry.

"It's cost us a bonnie penny," rejoined Black.

"Nae doot Glen Lynden has come off better than ither places, for we've
managed to haud oor ain no' that ill, but wae's me for the puir folk o'
the low country!  An' I'll be bound the Imperial Treasury'll smart
for't.  [See Note 1.] But it's an ill wind that blaws nae gude.  We've
taken a gude slice o' land frae the thievin' craters, for it's said Sir
Benjamin D'Urban has annexed all the country between the Kei and the
Keiskamma to the colony.  A most needfu' addition, for the jungles o'
the Great Fish River or the Buffalo were jist fortresses where the
Kawfirs played hide-an'-seek wi' the settlers, an' it's as plain as the
nose on my face that peace wi' them is not possible till they're driven
across the Kei--that bein' a defensible boundary."

"So, they say that peace is proclaimed," said Stephen Orpin to a pretty
young woman who had recently put it out of his power to talk of his
"bachelor home at Salem."  Jessie McTavish had taken pity on him at
last!

"Indeed!" replied Jessie, with a half-disappointed look; "then I suppose
you'll be going off again on your long journeys into the interior, and
leaving me to pine here in solitude?"

"That depends," returned Orpin, "on how you treat me!  Perhaps I may
manage to find my work nearer home than I did in days gone by.  At all
events I'll not go into Kafirland just now, for it's likely to remain in
an unsettled state for many a day.  It has been a sad and useless war,
and has cost us a heavy price.  Think, Jessie, of the lives lost--
forty-four of our people murdered during the invasion, and eighty-four
killed and thirty wounded during the war.  People will say that is
nothing to speak of, compared with losses in other wars; but I don't
care for comparisons, I think only of the numbers of our people, and of
the hundreds of wretched Kafirs, who have been cut off in their prime
and sent to meet their Judge.  But there has been one trophy of the war
at which I look with rejoicing; 15,000 Fingoes rescued from slavery is
something to be thankful for.  God can bring good out of evil.  It may
be that He will give me employment in that direction ere long."

These various remarks, good reader, were uttered some months after the
events recorded in the last chapter, for the death of the great chief of
Kafirland did not immediately terminate the war.  On the contrary, the
treaty of peace entered into with Kreli, Hintza's son and successor, was
scouted by the confederate chiefs, Tyali, Macomo, etcetera, who remained
still unsubdued in the annexed territory, and both there, and within the
old frontier, continued to commit murders and wide-spread depredations.

It was not until the Kafirs had been hunted by our troops into the most
impregnable of their woody fortresses, and fairly brought to bay, that
the chiefs sent messengers to solicit peace.  It was granted.  A treaty
of peace was entered into, by which the Kafirs gave up all right to the
country conquered, and consented to hold their lands under tenure from
the British Sovereign.  It was signed at Fort Wilshire in September.

Thereafter Sir Benjamin D'Urban laid down with great wisdom and ability
plans for the occupation and defence of the annexed territory, so as to
form a real obstruction to future raids by the lawless natives--plans
which, if carried out, would no doubt have prevented future wars, and on
_the strength of which_ the farmers began to return to their desolated
farms, and commence re-building and re-stocking with indomitable
resolution.  Others accepted offers of land in the new territory, and a
few of the Dutch farmers, hoping for better times, and still trusting to
British wisdom for protection, were prevailed on to remain in the colony
at a time when many of their kindred were moving off in despair of being
either protected, understood, or fairly represented.

Among these still trusting ones was Conrad Marais.  Strongly urged by
Hans and Considine, he consented to begin life anew in the old home, and
went vigorously to work with his stout sons.

But he had barely begun to get the place into something like order when
a shell was sent into the colony, which created almost as much dismay as
if it had been the precursor of another Kafir invasion.

Conrad was seated in a friend's house in Somerset when the said shell
exploded.  It came in the form of a newspaper paragraph.  He looked
surprised on reading the first line or two; then a dark frown settled on
his face, which, as he read on, became pale, while his compressed lips
twitched with suppressed passion.

Finishing the paragraph, he crushed the newspaper up in his hand, and,
thrusting it into his pocket, hastened to the stable, where he saddled
his horse.  Leaping on its back as if he had been a youth of twenty, he
drove the spur into its flanks and galloped away at full speed--away
over the dusty road leading from Somerset to the hills: away over the
ridge that separates it from the level country beyond; and away over the
brown karroo, until at last, covered with dust and flecked with foam, he
drew up at his own door and burst in upon the family.  They were
concluding their evening meal.

"Read that!" he cried, flinging down the paper, throwing himself into a
chair, and bringing his fist down on the table with a crash that set
cups and glasses dancing.

"There!" he added, pointing to the paragraph, as Hans took up the
paper--"that despatch from Lord Glenelg--the British Colonial
Secretary--at the top of the column.  Read it aloud, boy."

Hans read as follows:--

"`In the conduct which was pursued towards the Kafir nation by the
colonists and the public authorities of the colony, through a long
series of years, the Kafirs had ample justification of the late war;
they had to resent, and endeavour justly, though impotently, to avenge a
series of encroachments; they had a perfect right to hazard the
experiment, however hopeless, of extorting by force that redress which
they could not expect otherwise to obtain, and the claim of sovereignty
over the new province must be renounced.  It rests upon a conquest
resulting from a war in which, as far as I am at present enabled to
judge, the original justice is on the side of the conquered, not of the
victorious party.'"

"Mark that!" cried Conrad, starting to his feet when Hans had finished,
and speaking loud, as if he were addressing the assembled colony instead
of the amazed members of his own family,--"mark that: `_the claim of
sovereignty over the new province must be renounced_.'  So it seems that
the Kafirs are not only to be patted on the back for having acted the
part of cattle-lifters for years, but are to be invited back to their
old haunts to begin the work over again and necessitate another war."

He stopped abruptly, as if to check words that ought not to be uttered.
There was a momentary silence in the group as they looked at each other.
It was broken by Conrad saying to his youngest son, in a voice of
forced calmness--

"Go, lad, get me a fresh horse.  I will rouse the Dutch-African farmers
all over the colony.  The land is too hot to hold us.  We cannot hope to
find rest under the Union Jack!"

We can sympathise strongly with the violent indignation of the honest
Dutchman, for, in good truth, not only he and his kindred, but all the
people of the colony, were most unjustly blamed and unfairly treated by
the Government of that day.  Nevertheless Conrad was wrong about the
Union Jack.  The wisest of plans are open to the insidious entrance of
error.  The fairest flag may be stained, by unworthy bearers, with
occasional prostitution.  A Secretary of State is not the British
nation, nor is he even, at all times, a true representative of British
feeling.  Many a deed of folly, and sometimes of darkness, has unhappily
been perpetrated under the protection of the Union Jack, but that does
not alter the great historical fact, that truth, justice, fair-play, and
freedom have flourished longer and better under its ample folds than
under any other flag that flies on the face of the whole earth.

But Conrad Marais was not in a position to consider this just then.  The
boy who is writhing under the lash of a temporarily insane father, is
not in a position to reflect that, in the main, his father is, or means
to be, just, kind, loving, and true.  Conrad bolted a hasty supper,
mounted the fresh steed, and galloped away to rouse his kindred.  And he
proved nearly as good as his word.  He roused many of them to join him
in his intended expatriation, and many more did not need rousing.  Some
had brooded over their wrongs until they began to smoulder, and when
they were told that the _unprovoked_ raid of the Kafir thieves was
deemed justifiable by the Government which _ought_ to have protected
their frontier, but had left them to _protect themselves_, the fire
burst into a flame, and the great exodus began in earnest.  Thus, a
second time, did Conrad and his family, with many others, take to the
wilderness.  On this occasion the party included Hans and Charlie
Considine, with their families.

There was still wanting, however, that last straw which renders a burden
intolerable.  It was laid on at the time when slavery was abolished.

The Abolition Act was carried into effect on the 1st December 1834, at
which time the accursed system of slavery was virtually brought to an
end in the colony, though the slaves were not finally freed from all
control till 1838.  But the glory of this noble work was sullied not a
little by the unjust manner in which, during these four years, the
details relative to the payment of compensation to slave-owners were
carried out.  We cannot afford space here to go into these details.
Suffice it to say that, as one of the consequences, many families in the
colony were ruined, and a powerful impulse was given to the exodus,
which had already begun.  The leading Dutch-African families in
Oliphant's Hock, Gamtoos River, along the Fish River, and Somerset, sold
their farms--in many cases at heavy loss, or for merely nominal sums--
crossed the border, and bade a final adieu to the land of their fathers.
These were followed by other bands, among whom were men of wealth and
education, from Graaff-Reinet, Uitenhage, and Albany, until a mighty
host had hived off into the far north.  Through many a month of toil and
trouble did this host pass while traversing the land of the savage in
scattered bands.  Many a sad reverse befell them.  Some were attacked
and cut off; some defended themselves with heroism and passed on,
defying the Kafirs to arrest their progress, until at last they reached
the distant lands on which their hearts were set--and there they settled
down to plough and sow, to reap and hunt and build, but always with arms
at hand, for the savage was ever on the watch to take them at a
disadvantage or unawares.

Thus were laid the foundations of the colony of Natal, the Orange Free
State, and the Transvaal Republic.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 1.  The war of 1884-6 cost the Treasury 800,000 pounds, and the
colonists lost in houses, stock, etcetera, 288,625 pounds.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THE LAST.

With peace came prosperity.  This was not indeed very obvious at first,
for it took a long time to reconcile the unfortunates of the eastern
provinces to their heavy losses, and a still longer time to teach them
to forget.  Nevertheless, from this time forward the march of the
settlers of 1820, commercially, intellectually, and religiously, became
steady, regular, and rapid.

No doubt they suffered one or two grievous checks as years rolled on.
Again and again they had to fight the Kafir savage and drive him back
into his native jungles, and each time they had more trouble in doing so
than before, because the Kafir was an apt pupil, and learned to
substitute the gun for the assagai; but he did not learn to substitute
enlightened vigour for blind passion, therefore the white man beat him
as before.

He did more than that.  He sought to disarm the savage, and, to a large
extent, succeeded.  He disarmed him of ignorance by such means as the
Lovedale Missionary Institution near Alice; the Institution near
Healdtown, and other seminaries,--as well as by mission stations of
French, Dutch Reformed, Wesleyan, English, and Scotch churches scattered
all over Kafirland; he taught the savage that "the fear of the Lord is
the beginning of wisdom," and that industry is the high-road to
prosperity.  Some of the black men accepted these truths, others
rejected them.  Precisely the same may be said of white men all over the
world.  Those who accepted became profitable to themselves and the
community.  Those who rejected, continued slaves to themselves, and a
nuisance to everybody.  Again we remark that the same may be said of
white men everywhere.  White unbelievers continued to pronounce the
"red" Kafir an "irreclaimable savage," fit for nothing but coercion and
the lash.  Black unbelievers continued to curse the white man as being
unworthy of any better fate than being "driven into the sea," and,
between the two, missionaries and Christians, both black and white, had
a hard time of it; but they did not give in, for, though greatly
disheartened at times, they remembered that they were "soldiers" of the
cross, and as such were bound to "endure hardness."

Moreover, missionaries and Christians of all colours and kinds,
doubtless remembered their own sins and errors.  Being imperfect men,
they had in some cases--through prejudice and ignorance, but _never_
through design--helped the enemy a little; or, if they did not remember
these errors and aims, they were pretty vigorously reminded of them by
white opponents, and no doubt the thought of this humbled them to some
extent, and enabled them to bow more readily to chastisement.  Then they
braced themselves anew for the gospel-fight--the only warfare on earth
that is certain to result in blessing to both the victors and the
vanquished.

If any of the missionaries held with Lord Glenelg in his unwise reversal
of the good Sir Benjamin D'Urban's Kafir policy, they must have had the
veil removed from their eyes when that nobleman himself confessed his
error with a candour that said much for his heart; reversed his own
decrees, and fell back upon that very plan which at first he had
condemned in such ungenerous terms.  His recantation could not, however,
recall the thousands of Dutch-African farmers whom he helped to
expatriate.  Perhaps it was well that it should be so, for good came out
of this evil,--namely, the reclamation of vast tracts of the most
beautiful and fertile regions of the earth from the dominion of darkness
and cruelty.

But what of those whose fortunes we have been following, during this
period of peace and prosperity?

Some of them remained in the colony, helped on these blessings, and
enjoyed them.  Others, casting in their lot with the wanderers, fought
the battles and helped to lay the foundations of the new colonies.

First, Charlie Considine.  That fortunate man--having come into the
possession of a considerable sum of money, through the uncle who had
turned out so much "better than he should be," and having become
possessed of a huge family of sons and daughters through that Gertie
whom he styled the "sugar of his existence,"--settled in Natal along
with his friends Hans and Conrad Marais.  When that fertile and warm
region was taken possession of by the British, he refused to hive off
with the Marais, and continued to labour there in the interests of
truth, mercy, and justice to the end of his days.

Junkie Brook, with that vigour of character which had asserted itself on
the squally day of his nativity, joined Frank Dobson and John Skyd in a
hunting expedition beyond the Great Orange River; and when the Orange
Free State was set up by the emigrant Dutchmen, he and his friends
established there a branch of the flourishing house of Dobson, Skyd, and
Company.  Being on the spot when South Africa was electrified by the
discovery (in 1866-67) of the Diamond Fields of that region, they sent
their sons, whose name was legion, to dig, and soon became diamond
merchants of the first water, so that when Junkie visited his aged
parents on the Zuurveld--which he often did--he usually appeared with
his pockets full of precious stones!

"I've found a diamond _this_ time, nurse," he said, on the occasion of
one of these visits, "which is as big--oh!--as--as an ostrich-egg!  See,
here it is," and he laid on the table a diamond which, if not quite as
big as the egg of the giant bird, was large enough to enable him, with
what he had previously earned, to retire comfortably from the business
in favour of his eldest son.

The sudden acquisition of riches in this way was by no means uncommon at
that time, for the "Fields" were amazingly prolific, and having been
discovered at a crisis of commercial depression, were the means, not
only of retrieving the fortunes of South Africa, but of advancing her to
a condition of hitherto unparalleled prosperity.

Mrs Scholtz--by that time grown unreasonably fat--eyed the diamond with
a look of amused contempt; she evidently did not believe in it.  Patting
the hand of her former charge, she looked up in his laughing face, and
said, with a shake of her head--

"Ah!  Junkie, I always said you was a _wonderful_ child."

Sitting on a bench in front of the house--no longer domestics, but
smoking their pipes there as "friends" of the family, who had raised
themselves to a state of comparative affluence--George Dally and
Scholtz, now aged men, commented on the same diamond.

"It'll make his fortune," said George.

"Zee boy vas always lucky," remarked Scholtz; "zince I began to varm for
myself I have not zeen so big a stone."

"Ah!  Scholtz," returned his friend, "the hotel business has done very
well for me, an I don't complain, but if I was young again I'd sell off
and have a slap at the `Fields.'"

"Zat vould only prove you vas von fool," said Scholtz quietly.

"I believe it would," returned George.

In regard to the Scotch party at Glen Lynden, we have to record that
they continued to persevere and prosper.  Wool became one of the staple
articles of colonial commerce, and the hills of the Baviaans River sent
a large contingent of that article to the flourishing seaport of the
eastern provinces.

Of course the people multiplied, and the sturdy sons of the South
African highlands did credit to their sires, both in the matter of
warring with the Kafir and farming on the hills.

Sandy Black stuck to his farm with the perseverance of a true Scot, and
held his own through thick and thin.  He married a wife also, and when,
in later years, the native blacks made a sudden descent on his
homestead, they were repulsed by a swarm of white Blacks, assisted by an
army of McTavishes, and chased over the hills with a degree of energy
that caused them almost to look blue!

Andrew Rivers, being a man of progressive and independent mind, cast
about him in a state of uncertainty for some years, devoting himself
chiefly to hunting, until the value of ostrich feathers had induced
far-sighted men to domesticate the giant bird, and take to "farming"
ostriches--incubating them by artificial as well as natural means.  Then
Rivers became an ostrich-farmer.  He was joined in this enterprise by
Jerry Goldboy, and the two ultimately bought a farm on the karroo and
settled down.  Rivers had a turn for engineering, and set himself to
form a huge dam to collect rain near his dwelling.  From this reservoir
he drew forth constant supplies, not only to water flocks and herds, but
to create a garden in the karroo, which soon glowed with golden fruit.

In this he set a good example, which has been followed with great
success by many men of enterprise in those regions; and there is no
doubt, we think, that if such dams were multiplied, Artesian wells sunk,
and railways run into the karroos, those fine, though comparatively
barren regions of South Africa, would soon begin to blossom like the
rose.

Thus, what between ostrich feathers, wool, horses, cattle, and
enterprise, Rivers and Goldboy made themselves comfortable.  Like other
men of sense, they married.  Thereafter the garden had to be
considerably enlarged, for the golden fruit created by the streams which
had been collected and stored by Rivers, proved quite inadequate to the
supply of those oceans of babies and swarms of Goldboys that flooded the
karroo, and filled its solitudes with shouts and yells that would have
done credit to the wildest tribe of reddest Kafirs in the land.

Some of these descendants, becoming men of energy, with roving
dispositions like their sires, travelled into the far north, and west,
and helped to draw forth the copper ore, and to open the mines of Great
Namaqua-land--thus aiding in the development of South Africa's
inexhaustible treasure-house, while others of them, especially the sons
of Jerry, went into the regions of the Transvaal Republic, and there
proved themselves Goldboys in very truth, by successfully working the
now celebrated gold-fields of that region.

Stephen Orpin did not give up trade, but he prosecuted it with less and
less vigour as time went on, and at last merely continued it as a means
of enabling him to prosecute the great object of his life, the preaching
of the gospel, not merely to those whom men style _par excellence_ the
"heathen," but to every one who was willing to listen to the good news--
redemption from _sin_!  Ah! there was great fervour in Stephen Orpin's
tones when he said, as he often did--"Men and women, I do not come here
to make you _good_, which, in the estimation of more than one half of
the so-called Christian world, means _goody_.  My desire is to open your
eyes to see Jesus, the Saviour from _sin_.  Who among you--except the
young--does not know the power of sin; our inability to restrain bad and
vicious habits; our passionate desire to do what we _know_ is wrong; our
frequent falling from courses that we _know_ to be right?  It is not
that hell frightens us; it is not that heaven fails to attract us.
These ideas trouble us little--too little.  It is _present_ misery that
torments.  We long and desire to have, but cannot obtain; we fight and
strive, but do not succeed, or, it may be, we do succeed, and discover
success to be failure, for we are disappointed, and then feel a tendency
towards apathetic indifference.  If, however, our consciences be
awakened, then the torment takes another form.  We are tempted
powerfully, and cannot resist.  We cannot subdue our passions; we cannot
restrain our tempers.  No wonder.  Has not God said, `Greater is he who
ruleth his own spirit, than he who taketh a city?'  The greatest
conqueror is not so great as he who conquers himself.  What then?  Is
there _no_ deliverance from sin?  Yes, there is.  `Sin shall _not_ have
dominion over you,' are the words of Him who also said, `Come unto Me,
all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'"

"Stephen Orpin," cried a sturdy sinner, in whose ears these words were
preached, "do you _know_ all that to be true?  Can you speak from
experience of this deliverance, this rest?"

"Yes," cried Stephen, starting up with a sudden impulse, "I _do_ know
it--partly by some deliverances that have been wrought for me, partly
from some degree of rest attained to, and much, very much, from the firm
assurance I have that, but for God's forbearing and restraining mercy, I
should have been a lost soul long long ago.  Man, wherein I have failed
in obtaining deliverance and rest, it has been owing to _my_ sin, not to
failure in the Lord's faithfulness."

But Stephen did not travel so far or so long as had been his wont in
days gone by.  A wife and family, in the village of Salem, exercised an
attractive influence, fastening him, as it were, to a fixed point, and
converting his former erratic orbit into a circle which, with
centripetal force, was always drawing nearer to its centre.

In the course of his early wanderings Orpin managed to search out Ruyter
the Hottentot robber, and so influenced him as to induce him to give up
his lawless career, and return to the colony.  Ruyter drew with him
Abdul Jemalee, Booby the Bushman, and one or two others, who settled
down to peaceful occupations.

The Malay in particular--slavery being by that time abolished--returned
to Capetown, and there found his amiable wife and loving children ready
to receive him with open arms.  It is true the wife was somewhat aged,
like himself, and his children were grown up--some of them even
married,--but these little matters weighed nothing in his mind compared
with the great, glorious fact, that he was reunited to them in a land
where he might call his body his own!

If Jemalee had been a man of much observation, he might have noted that
many important changes had taken place in Capetown and its surroundings
during his long absence.  A new South African college had been erected;
a library which might now stand in the front rank of the world's
libraries had been collected; the freedom of the press had been largely
taken advantage of, and education generally was being prosecuted with a
degree of rigour that argued well for the future of the colony--
especially in Stellenbosch, Wellington, and neighbouring places.  But
Abdul Jemalee was not a man of observation.  He did not care a straw for
these things, and although we should like much to enlarge on them, as
well as on other topics, we must hold our hand--for the new and eastern,
not the old and western provinces of South Africa claim our undivided
attention in this tale.

There is no necessary antagonism, however, between these two--`East' and
`West.'  Circumstances and men have at present thrown a few apples of
discord into them, just as was the case with England and Scotland of
old; with the North and South in the United States of late; but,
doubtless, these apples, and every other source of discord, will be
removed in the course of time, and South Africa will ere long become a
united whole, with a united religious and commercial people, under one
flag, animated by one desire--the advancement of truth and righteousness
among themselves, as well as among surrounding savages,--and extending
in one grand sweep of unbroken fertility from the Cape of Good Hope to
the Equator.

THE END.






End of Project Gutenberg's The Settler and the Savage, by R.M. Ballantyne