Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Illustration: The rhinoceros, snorting loudly, was upon them.]
*The Gold Kloof*
BY
H. A. BRYDEN
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS
_London, Edinburgh, Dublin, and New York_
1907
_CONTENTS._
I. _School Days_
II. _Bamborough Farm_
III. _Up-country Life_
IV. _The Gold Spoor_
V. _The Trek Begins_
VI. _The Shadowers and the Shadowed_
VII. _Adventures in the Veldt_
VIII. _The Elephant Country_
IX. _In the Thirst-land_
X. _Tom's Story.--The Baboon Boy_
XI. _The Berg Damaras_
XII. _The Lion Camp_
XIII. _Guy is Missing_
XIV. _Poeskop to the Rescue_
XV. _The Kloof_
XVI. _Gathering Gold_
XVII. _The Shadowers' Attack_
XVIII. _The Last of Karl Engelbrecht_
XIX. _Homeward Bound_
*THE GOLD KLOOF.*
*Chapter I.*
*SCHOOL DAYS.*
It was a fine, hot July day on the banks of the Severn river at
Tewkesbury, that quaint, old-world, and somewhat decayed town, which
offers to the inspection of the visitor and the archaeologist some of
the most ancient and interesting buildings to be seen in any part of
broad England. There was some stir on the banks of the river, for two
public schools, one of them situate in the west of England, the other
hailing from a Midland shire, were about to contest with one another in
their annual boat race. From the Western school a considerable
contingent of lads had come over; these were discussing, with the
enthusiasm of schoolboys, the prospects of the races. On the banks,
gathered near the winning-post, were also to be seen a number of other
spectators, some from the town itself, others from the neighbouring
country-side.
The fateful moment at length had come; the two boats were to be seen in
the distance, their oarsmen battling with one another with all the
desperate energy that youth and strength and an invincible determination
could put into their task. As they drew nearer it was to be seen that
the Midland school was leading by nearly half a length. A quarter of a
mile remained to be rowed. Loud cries from the Western school resounded
along the banks. Hope struggled against hope in every youthful breast;
yet it seemed that if the oarsmen of the Western school were to make
that final effort for which they were famous, it was now almost too
late. But, no! the Western stroke is seen to be calling upon his crew;
their flashing blades dip quicker, and yet quicker; they are well
together, all apparently animated by the vigour and the reserve of force
displayed by their leader. Foot by foot they diminish the lead of their
adversaries, who are striving desperately, yet ineffectually, to retain
their advantage. A hundred yards from the winning-post the Western lads
are level; and as the post is passed they have defeated their
adversaries, after one of the finest races ever rowed between the two
schools, by a quarter of a length.
Amid the exultant and tremendous cheering that now greets the triumph of
the Western school, both crews paddle to the boat-house and disembark.
The boats are got out and housed, and all but the Western captain and
stroke, Guy Hardcastle, are inside the boathouse, bathing and changing
their clothes. Guy Hardcastle, a strong, well-set-up lad of seventeen,
lingers on the platform in conversation with his house-master, Mr.
Brimley-Fair, who has come down to congratulate him on his victory. He
is a good-looking lad, fresh complexioned, with fair brown hair, a firm
mouth, and a pair of steady, blue-gray eyes, which look the world
frankly in the face, with an aspect of candour, friendliness, and
self-reliance that most people find very attractive.
While master and boy are talking together for a brief minute or two, a
sudden cry comes from the river, followed by others. They look that
way, and see instantly the reason of the outcry. Some country people,
rowing across from the other side, are evidently not accustomed to
boating. Two of them attempt to change places in mid-stream: they are
womenfolk; they become alarmed and shift in their places, the heavily
laden boat is upset, and half a dozen people are struggling in the
water.
Guy Hardcastle is nothing if not prompt. His resolution is instantly
taken. He is in his light rowing kit, well prepared for swimming.
Kicking off his shoes, he dives neatly into the water, and swims rapidly
upstream towards the group of struggling people sixty yards away. Of
these, three are clinging to the boat; one man is swimming for the shore
with a child; the sixth, a girl of fourteen, has just sunk ten yards
beyond the boat down-stream. Her danger is manifestly great and
imminent. Boats are putting off from the bank, but they may be too
late. Guy Hardcastle, surveying the disaster with cool eye as he swims
that way, has concentrated all his energies on this drowning and
terror-stricken girl. He is within fifteen yards of where she sank; and
now, a few seconds later, just as the girl, now partly insensible, comes
to the surface again, he grasps her firmly, turns her over on her
back--a task of some difficulty--and, himself also swimming on his back,
tows her towards the bank. It is not an easy task. The girl is no
light weight, encumbered as she is with soddened clothing; the stream is
strong, and Guy himself is by no means so fresh as he might have been,
after that hard and exhausting race of a few minutes since. Still, with
invincible determination, the plucky lad struggles with his burden
towards the boat-house. Help comes unexpectedly. His house-master, Mr.
Brimley-Fair, has foreseen his difficulties, and, jumping into a dingy,
has rowed out to his assistance. Presently he is alongside.
"Here you are, Hardcastle," he cries; "catch hold of her side!"
Guy clutches with one hand at the boat's gunwale, and feels that he and
his burden are now pretty safe.
"Now, hang on while I row you in," says Mr. Brimley-Fair, "and we'll
soon have you all right."
Guy does as he is told, and in fifty strokes the boathouse is reached,
and girl and rescuer are safe. A storm of cheering, greater even than
that which greeted the winning of the boat race, now testifies to the
gallantry of the boy's second feat and the relief of all that the girl
is safe. Meanwhile, the remainder of the overturned crew have been
rescued by boats rowed from the bank.
Arrived at the boat-house, willing hands hung on to the dingy while Mr.
Brimley-Fair stepped out of her. Then, bringing her side gently to the
platform, they grasped Guy Hardcastle and his burden and lifted them
into safety. The girl was pale and insensible, but she breathed; a
doctor was quickly in attendance; and after the usual restorative
methods had been applied for a quarter of an hour, the patient came
round, was carried to a neighbouring hotel, put to bed, and by the
evening was well enough to be taken home.
After the doctor had taken charge of the half-drowned girl, Mr.
Brimley-Fair turned his attention to Guy Hardcastle, still dripping from
his immersion.
"Now, my boy," he said, kindly patting him on the shoulder, "you have
done splendidly. That was a plucky thing to do. You remembered all
your life-saving lessons--which some of the boys seem to think a
bore--and deserve, and I hope will get, the Humane Society's Medal.
But, medal or no medal, you did your duty and a brave thing, and we are
all proud of you. Now go and get your clothes off and a rub down. You
look tired and chilled, as well you may, after rowing that fine race and
saving a girl's life. I've sent for some brandy, and you'll soon be all
right again."
"All right, sir," said the boy, cheerful though shivering. "I shall be
quite fit as soon as I get into my clothes."
The brandy soon arrived, and the lad was given a small quantity in some
water. Thoroughly dried and rubbed down, he was, not long after,
clothed and comfortable again, and quite equal to doing his duty by his
adversaries of the recent boat race, who with his own schoolmates were
loud in admiration of his latest feat.
The rival crews had some food together, under the chairmanship of Mr.
Brimley-Fair; and later on, the Midland crew having been seen off at the
station, the Western lads took train for their own school.
About ten days after these events, Guy Hardcastle received news that
altered the whole course of his life. The son of a mining engineer,
whose duties took him much away from England into distant parts of the
world, the lad had had the misfortune to lose his mother at a very early
age. He lived during his vacations with an aunt, a sister of his
father's, a Miss Hardcastle, who lived at a quiet country house in the
county of Durham. Beyond two families of cousins living in the same
county, the lad had few other relatives in England. He had, however, an
Uncle Charles, his mother's only brother, living in South Africa, who
came home occasionally to England, and to whom he was greatly attached.
In fact, next to his father, the lad looked upon his Uncle Charles as
his greatest friend. Guy was now a month or two past seventeen. He had
been four years at his present school, where he was an immense
favourite. Captain of the rowing club, he had not time or opportunity
to devote himself, as he would have liked, to cricket, and was not
therefore in the eleven. But he was in the twenty-two. He was also a
distinguished member of the football team, and a good athlete. At the
last sports he had won the mile in the record time for his school of
four minutes forty-nine seconds, and had, in addition, carried off the
half-mile, the quarter-mile, and the grand steeplechase. Winning as
well the long jump and throwing the cricket ball, he was easily _victor
ludorum_ in the school sports.
Although not a brilliantly clever boy, he was possessed of quite average
brains. He was, in addition, a steady and consistent worker, with the
result that he was now in the highest form in the school, on the modern
side, and a prefect. A thoroughly good stamp of an English schoolboy,
excellent at work, keen at games, good tempered, reliable, and steady,
Guy Hardcastle was undoubtedly all round the most popular boy in the
school. He owed not a little of his popularity to his character, which
was strong, simple, and always to be relied upon. His schoolfellows
knew that he hated meanness and lying; that he was the foe of the bully
and the sneak; that the side he took was the side always of truth and
honour and duty. In his own house his force of character and his steady
example had insensibly created within the last year or so a vast
improvement in the whole tone and spirit of the community of fifty boys;
and his house-master, Mr. Brimley-Fair, well knew how valuable an ally
he had in the boy, in those directions where the precepts and
admonitions of the master are not always able to penetrate.
Guy Hardcastle expected at this period to have another year of school
life. After that time it was his father's intention to send him to the
School of Mines in Jermyn Street, London, to prepare him for the
profession of a mining engineer, which he himself followed. The fateful
news that Guy received came to him one morning in a letter which, by the
handwriting, postmark, and stamp, he knew was from his Uncle Charles, in
British Bechuanaland. The first few lines read by him as he sat at
breakfast turned his ruddy cheek pale. He read no further, but thrust
the letter into his pocket, hurriedly finished his meal, and went to his
study. There he took out the letter again, and, sadly and with a clouded
brow, perused the contents, which were as follows:--
"BAMBOROUGH FARM, NEAR MAFEKING,
BRITISH BECHUANALAND,
_May 4, 1896._
"MY DEAR GUY,--I am grieved indeed to have bad news to send you--the
worst, in fact, that I could possibly have to write. Your dear father
died two months since at Abaquessa, some two hundred miles up country
from Cape Coast Castle, where, as you know, he was at work opening up a
mine. This is a sad blow for us all, more especially for you, who lose
your nearest and dearest relative, and one of the best and kindest of
fathers. I need not tell you how much I mourn his loss. He was a very
old and dear friend of mine, and the fact that he married my sister,
Helen, rendered our friendship yet a closer one.
"Your father's agent at Cape Coast Castle has forwarded me all his
papers and belongings, including two letters written to me by your
father shortly before his death. From these two letters, and from Mr.
Delvine's accounts, I gather that your father had had repeated attacks
of the dangerous malarial fever which is so fatal on the West Coast.
From the last of these he never recovered. In his last two letters to
me, which I enclose for your perusal, he seems to have had a foreboding
that he would not recover; and in the very last (the few lines in
pencil, written the day before his death) he asks me to take charge of
you and look after you till you are able to manage your own affairs.
You know, my dear Guy, how glad and willing I shall be to do whatever I
can for you, and what a pleasure to us it will be to see you out here,
if it shall hereafter be settled that you come.
"From what your father has told me, he has left behind him some L2,000.
This will, of course, come to you, under the terms of the will, at the
age of twenty-one. Meantime, you are to have the interest for your
maintenance. I need hardly point out to you that your father's death
makes a great difference in your future prospects. He earned a fairly
good income during his life, and had at one time saved considerably more
money than he now leaves. Some unfortunate investments, and the very
heavy expenses of that patent lawsuit in which he was engaged--trying
vainly, as it turned out, to protect a very unique invention of his own
in connection with the concentration and chlorination of
pyrites--reduced his savings very considerably; and instead of some
L5,000, which might have been looked for three or four years ago, you
now only succeed, as I say, to about L2,000.
"In his last two letters your father, as you will see, told me that he
had decided not to enter you into his own profession of a mining
engineer. He had come to the conclusion that the life is too precarious
a one; that although a man, if he is lucky, can occasionally make a big
income, yet the prizes are few and the risks very great. The life is a
hard one, as he points out. A mining engineer has to take his chance in
all parts of the world; too often his work is cast in a pestilential
climate, and, if he escapes death, his health and constitution are, as
often as not, completely ruined by the time he reaches middle age. Your
father believed--and rightly, as it turned out--that the West Coast
mining on which he was engaged, handsomely though he was paid, would be
the death of him sooner or later, and was very sorry he had accepted the
appointment. However, he was under a contract, and could not well throw
up his engagement; and the fever has, alas, proved, as it has for so
many other good men, the death of him.
"He reiterated, as you will see, in both these letters, the wish that,
in case of his death, you should come out here to me and learn farming.
He says, very rightly, that the life is a healthy one; that a man can do
fairly well if he is steady and sticks to business; and that he is
convinced that you, with your open-air inclinations and active habits,
would do very well in it. You will have enough to start you fairly when
you are ready to take up land of your own. Your father knew, of course,
that if you came out here, as I hope you may do, you would live with us
at small expense--as a matter of fact I shall see that it costs you
nothing--and that you would have a fair chance of learning
stock-farming, and would be well looked after.
"Now, my dear boy, I want you to think over these things; to discuss
them with your house-master, Mr. Brimley-Fair, whom I had the pleasure
of meeting two years ago when I was home, and with your Aunt Effie, and
make up your mind what you think you would like to do in the world.
Your father has left me your guardian, but I don't want to press my own
ideas too much. I want you to think over your father's wishes, and give
me your own view of what you hope to do with your life. If you wish to
stay on another year at school, I will see that the thing shall be
managed. If, on the contrary, you desire to come out here to us, and
take up the business of stock-farming, I think it will be better to
leave after this term. I have written Mr. Brimley-Fair, pointing out
your altered circumstances, and arranging that, if necessary, the usual
quarter's notice shall be dispensed with. You will be going to your
Aunt Effie's at the end of the term for your holidays. You and she must
talk things over, and if you settle to come out here she will help you
to fit yourself out and see you off.
"You will understand that I don't want to make a point of your throwing
in your lot with me and taking to my business of farming out here. I
want you to think well over the pros and cons. I don't know whether you
have ever thought of any other line of life. I would remind you,
however, that doctoring and the law require a long and expensive
apprenticeship of five years at least before you can earn money for
yourself; that you cannot afford an army career; and that you are now
too old for the navy. From what I know of you, I don't fancy you would
take very readily to the career of a bank clerk, or a clerk in a
merchant's office.
"If you do settle to join us here, I can only say that we shall all have
the very heartiest welcome for you, and that I shall do my best to fit
you for the life of a South African farmer.
"Now, my dear Guy, I must finish. With our deepest sympathy in your
heavy loss, and our kindest love,--Believe me, your affectionate Uncle,
C. F. BLAKENEY."
From this letter, which, it may well be imagined, Guy Hardcastle read
with the saddest feelings, he turned to the enclosures--his father's
last letters to his Uncle Charles. He himself had received, three weeks
since, a most kind and affectionate letter from his father, written only
a week before the first of these two forwarded by his uncle. In this
letter his father, although mentioning that he had been down with fever,
had said nothing to his boy of the fears which he had expressed to Mr.
Blakeney. Guy could see well enough now, as he read the two last
letters, that his father had wished to spare him any anxiety. The
perusal of these two letters received by his uncle, and the tidings of
his father's death; the remembrances of the happy days that he had had
with him; his unvarying good temper and cheerfulness and thought for
him--all these things brought the tears welling to the boy's eyes. Sad
was it, indeed, to think that he should never again set eyes upon that
strong and active form; never look into those keen blue eyes; never be
able to depend upon that firm mind and excellent judgment, which
hitherto had always been at his disposal.
After dinner on the following day, Guy, instead of going out with his
schoolfellows to their usual games, stayed behind in the house and
waited for a summons from Mr. Brimley-Fair, who had already spoken a few
kind words to him, sympathizing in his heavy loss, and telling him he
would be prepared to talk over matters with him after a day's interval.
He was presently sent for. His house-master laid his hand kindly on the
lad's shoulder and put him into a chair.
"This is a very sad business, Hardcastle," he said. "I know what a loss
yours is. Nothing, no other friend, can replace a good father, do what
we can. I think you know that I feel with you most sincerely in your
trouble. I knew your father, and liked and respected him much; and I
had as little idea as yourself that he was so soon to be taken from
you."
The tears came to Guy's eyes at these words; his feelings were too much
for him; he could just then say nothing. His master noticed the lad's
trouble, and went on.
"But we are now face to face with quite a different set of circumstances
from those of forty-eight hours ago. You have to go out into the world,
not, thanks to your Uncle Charles, quite alone, but with the knowledge
that for the future you have to rely mainly upon your own exertions in
the battle which we all have to fight. I have had a long letter from
your uncle; it contains very much the same information that he has sent
you. I have purposely left you a day for reflection before talking
things over. I have always looked upon you as a sensible fellow. What
are your ideas as to the future?"
Guy had had time to recover himself, as his master intended he should.
He was now able to answer in a fairly collected voice.
"Well, sir, I have thought over things the greater part of the last day
and night, and the conclusion I have come to is, that I should prefer
above all things to go out to Bechuanaland and join my uncle. My
reasons are best expressed, I think, by the last part of my uncle's
letter to me."
He showed the letter to Mr. Brimley-Fair, who read it carefully.
"Well," said the house-master, "there is a great deal in what your uncle
says, and you are certainly restricted in your choice of a profession or
business. Still, your ideas may alter. Don't be in a hurry."
"No, sir," the boy went on firmly, "my mind is quite made up, and I
don't think anything will alter it. My uncle's life, which I know a good
deal about, will, I am certain, suit me better than any other
occupation. I should like it above all things. Of course I shall hear
what my Aunt Effie--Miss Hardcastle, I mean--has to say, but I am
convinced I shall not change my opinion."
Miss Hardcastle came down from the north during the following week, and
Guy's future was again seriously and thoroughly discussed. In the end,
all three parties--Miss Hardcastle, Mr. Brimley-Fair, and Guy
Hardcastle--agreed that he, Guy, could not do better than go out to his
uncle and take up the life of a farmer in South Africa.
Guy left that term, to the general regret of his schoolfellows, his
house-master, and, a much more important personage, the headmaster of
the school. In the following September, having chosen his modest kit
and belongings, as advised by his Uncle Charles, Guy sailed for South
Africa in the fine Cape liner, the _Tantallon Castle_. He had an
excellent passage, and landed at Cape Town in the second week in
October.
*Chapter II.*
*BAMBOROUGH FARM.*
At Cape Town Guy was met by his uncle, who had come down country to
welcome him. The greeting was an affectionate one on both sides, for
uncle and nephew were much attached to one another.
"My word, Guy," said Mr. Blakeney, as he shook his nephew by the hand,
and looked him up and down, "you have grown since I saw you at home two
years ago. What height are you now?"
"Five foot ten, uncle," returned Guy, smiling; "and my weight is eleven
stone four. I don't want to grow any taller."
"Well, you're about tall enough," said Mr. Blakeney; "but I expect
you'll put on another inch before you've done, and you're bound to be a
twelve stone five man when you're full grown. I'm heartily glad to see
you, and so will your aunt and cousins be when you reach Bamborough. As
for Tom, he's dying to have a look at his cousin, of whom he has heard
so much. By the way, my boy, I have to congratulate you on saving that
girl from drowning at Tewkesbury in July last. Mr. Brimley-Fair told me
about it in a letter shortly after, and sent me an account of it in a
local paper. We're all very proud of you; and you are, I can see, like
your father, a good plucked one. Mr. Brimley-Fair says you are pretty
sure to get the Humane Society's medal later on, and indeed you deserve
it after so gallant a feat."
"Please, uncle, don't say another word about it," said Guy, reddening at
Mr. Blakeney's words. "I only did what any other fellow would have
done. I was nearest to the girl, and you must remember I was already
stripped--or nearly stripped--for rowing."
"Yes, I remember that, my boy," rejoined his uncle, with a kindly pat on
the shoulder. "But I remember, too, that you had just had a very hard
and exhausting struggle in the boat race you won, and were scarcely in
fit condition to rescue people from drowning. Well, now, we'll get your
luggage off the ship, drive up to the International Hotel, have some
lunch, and then look about the town. I have some business in Cape Town
which will keep me two or three days. During that time we'll have a
look round, and you shall see what there is to be seen."
Mr. Blakeney was as good as his word. He showed Guy the sights of the
old Dutch town, one of the most picturesque cities in the world. They
drove round by the wonderful Victoria Drive, thence home by Wynberg and
Rondebosch. At Wynberg they had a look at Great Constantia, the
Government wine farm, a fine old Cape mansion, once the abode of the
Cloete family. At Rondebosch they paid a visit to Groot Schuur, and Guy
was shown the various trophies and curiosities of Mr. Rhodes's
well-known mansion. Another day they went over the Kloof to Kamp's Bay;
and on yet another they climbed the four thousand feet of Table
Mountain, and from that magnificent altitude gazed over one of the
grandest scapes by sea and land to be witnessed in any part of the
world.
On the fifth day after Guy's arrival they took the up-country train, and
after spending two days and nights on the rail, and passing Beaufort
West, the Orange River, Kimberley, and Vryburg, reached Mafeking.
During the journey Guy Hardcastle was never weary of gazing at the
strange and varied scenery that unfolded itself before his eyes. He
noted the wild mountain country through which they climbed before
reaching the plateau of the Great Karroo. He watched the barren and
seemingly illimitable vastness of the flat, red Karroo plains; saw wild
springbucks and tame ostriches; and feasted his eyes on the huge chain
of mountain, the magnificent Zwartberg, which for scores of leagues
reared its mighty ramparts to the south of the plain country, until lost
in the dim distance a hundred miles away to the eastward. He noted,
too, the extraordinary clearness of the atmosphere. Hills and mountains
that were, as his uncle assured him, forty or fifty miles away, appeared
in this sparkling and translucent atmosphere little more than a dozen or
fifteen miles distant.
"Yes, Guy," added his uncle, "you'll find this clearness of the
atmosphere rather troublesome at first, when you begin rifle-shooting.
The game on the plains are much farther off than newcomers can believe;
and the consequence is that, until they get used to our conditions of
light and atmosphere, sportsmen fresh to the country invariably
underestimate their distances, and fire far short of the buck, or
whatever it may be they are aiming at. By the way, have you ever fired
a rifle?"
"Yes," replied the boy quietly, "I have had some practice with the
Martini-Henry at butts, and did pretty well for a beginner; and, as you
know, I've used a shot-gun ever since I was twelve years old. I began
with small birds and rabbits; two years ago I shot partridge with
father--he was home that autumn; and last year I was grouse-shooting
with our cousins, the Forsters, in Northumberland.
"By the way, uncle," he went on, "I've brought out a sporting
Martini-Henry rifle, as you told me. That and the ammunition are packed
up in the long case with my saddlery and the rest of my outfit. Here's
my shot-gun," he continued, taking down a gun-case from the rack above,
undoing it, and extracting from it a handsome double-barrel. "It's a
beauty, isn't it? Father gave it me two years ago on my birthday. It's
a 'Cogswell and Harrison,' and a first-rate shooter."
Mr. Blakeney was a keen sportsman, and naturally took an interest in
every kind of firearm. He took the gun, which Guy had meanwhile put
together, examined it carefully, handled it, balanced it, and standing
up in the first-class carriage, which they had to themselves, put it up
to his shoulder two or three times.
"Yes, it's a very pretty gun, well built and finished, Guy," he
remarked. "You'll have plenty of opportunity of using it at Bamborough.
We have lots of feathered game: partridges, pheasants (both of them a
kind of francolin), koorhaan--that is, bustards--of various kinds, and
numbers of wild guinea-fowl. Then there are plover, "dikkop," and so
forth; sand-grouse, wild fowl, when the rains fall and the pans and
vleis are full, and various other odds and ends."
"My word, uncle," said Guy eagerly, "this is splendid news. I'm
especially fond of bird-shooting, and I had no idea you had all this
variety."
Meantime, Mr. Blakeney had in his turn been looking for a gun-case,
which he extracted, after no little trouble, from under the seat. He
took out his keys, opened the case, and quickly put together a light
small-bore sporting rifle.
"Here's a little surprise I had in store for you, Guy," he said. "We
have a deal of time to put in on this journey, and I may as well make
the best of it. This is one of the newest small-bore magazine rifles, a
sporting Mannlicher, which an old friend of mine, who has tested it,
tells me is the best weapon he knows for all kinds of buck up to a
hartebeest or koodoo, or even an eland. I sent down to George Rawbone
of Cape Town to get it out from England for me. Tom and I each have a
Lee-Metford .303 sporting rifle. This, I believe, is even better. It's
from Holland and Holland in Bond Street, and it ought to be a good one.
There you are, my boy," he added, putting it into his nephew's hands. "I
hope you'll like it, and will shoot many a head of game with it. I've
got plenty of ammunition for you."
Guy's face had lit up with pleasure as his uncle handed him the weapon.
"It's awfully good of you, uncle," he said; "I can't thank you enough.
It's a lovely rifle," he continued, as he handled the weapon and tried
the mechanism. "If I can't shoot with that, I deserve to be shot myself.
I've heard one of our fellows talk of the Mannlicher. His father shoots
red deer with it in Scotland, and he says it's a splendid rifle. I'm
afraid my Martini-Henry, with its black powder, will have its nose
rather put out of joint by this beauty."
"No, I don't think so," replied his uncle. "You will find the Martini
still a very useful rifle, although, compared with the new smokeless
powder weapons, it produces a lot of smoke, makes a big noise, and has a
nasty kick. Some day, when you go into the hunting veldt, you will find
it a very good second rifle in reserve; and it's always well to have a
spare arm in case anything goes wrong with your first choice and
favourite. The Martini bullet delivers a heavy, smashing blow; and I'm
not sure whether for lion, leopard, and elephant, and giraffe and the
heavier game, I should not still prefer it."
They presently crossed the Orange River, and passed into Griqualand
West. Kimberley was reached and left behind; in no great while they
passed Fourteen Streams, and entered the rolling grass-veldt country of
British Bechuanaland. Vryburg, the little capital of this colony, was
presently left behind; and, a hundred miles farther north, they
alighted, after their long journey, at Mafeking. Here they stayed the
night at Dixon's Hotel.
Mafeking still showed some faint remnants of the excitement which had
overtaken it when, some ten months earlier, Dr. Jameson and his raiders
had marched from that neighbourhood on their madcap and ill-starred
attempt upon the Transvaal. That evening, after dinner, Guy heard
occasional references to that period, which interested him not a little.
He saw, too, for the first time, some Transvaal Boers, who were in the
town selling stock and buying various things that they required. Guy
watched these men with a curious and a critical eye. So these were the
people with whom England for a hundred years had had so much trouble and
so many difficulties. As he watched the big burly fellows--slack and
loose-limbed and clumsy they seemed to him, with their rough corduroy
clothes, loose trousers, short jackets, slouch hats, great beards, and
generally unkempt appearance--it was hard to realize that these were the
men who had defeated British troops at Majuba Hill, Laing's Nek, and
other places.
He listened to their thick guttural language with astonished interest.
"What a strange lingo," he said to his uncle quietly, after the latter
had been discussing cattle and crops with some of the Transvaalers.
"Yes," replied Mr. Blakeney, "it's a queer patois till you get
accustomed to it. But you'll have to pick it up, uncouth as it sounds.
One can hardly get on in this country without it. All the natives who
work for Europeans speak it; and what with transport-riders and Dutch
farmers all over the place--most of whom can hardly speak a word of
English--one finds it absolutely necessary to acquire Boer Dutch."
"All right, uncle," said Guy, with his usual keenness, "I'll begin as
soon as you like."
"Very well," rejoined Mr. Blakeney; "Tom and I will be your tutors. You
will not be long before you pick up a fair colloquial knowledge of the
language. After all, many of the words are practically identical with
much of our Lowland Scotch. _Kist_, the word for chest, for example, is
identical with the Scottish word. _Lang_ stands for long in both
countries. _Kloof_, a ravine, is the same as the Lowland _cleugh_.
_Pat_ means path or road, and so on. Their word _spoor_, which means
tracks or footprints, is identical with an old-fashioned provincial word
still in use in England. Otter hunters, for example, often call it the
spur of an otter, when they see the prints of these animals in the
smooth mud or sand of a riverside."
Mr. Blakeney had had his Cape cart and four horses sent in to meet them,
and next morning at dawn they started on the forty-mile drive
south-westward which was to land them at Bamborough Farm. Taking with
them their gunnery and some ammunition, as well as Mr. Blakeney's and
Guy's portmanteaus, they left behind the rest of Guy's kit and
impedimenta, which were to be sent on, with some goods and farm
implements, by ox-wagon. Having driven for some two and a half hours,
they outspanned for breakfast. Peetsi, Mr. Blakeney's Bechuana groom,
quickly collected some thorn wood and made a fire; they cooked a kettle
of coffee, fried some tinned sausages in a tiny saucepan, got out bread,
butter, and a tin of marmalade, and made an excellent meal. Never,
thought Guy, had he enjoyed a breakfast so much. Meanwhile the horses,
on being unharnessed, had indulged in the invariable roll which all Cape
nags make a point of on being off-saddled or outspanned, and were
knee-haltered. This operation was closely observed by Guy, at his
uncle's suggestion. It is an extremely useful one, which any newcomer
to the South African veldt ought to make himself master of.
Knee-haltered, the horse can graze comfortably, yet cannot wander far
away. Guy watched Peetsi's operations, and then, after one or two vain
attempts, secured two of the horses himself.
"Well done, Guy!" said his uncle approvingly. "Nothing like picking up
these things as soon as possible. You'll do, I can see. Once a man
learns how to knee-halter a nag, he never forgets it. It's like running
or skating, or riding or dancing--once mastered, never forgotten."
The horses were given a feed of forage, which consists of the ears and
stalks of oats cut up and eaten together--"oat-hay" some people call
it--and then grazed for half an hour in the long grass veldt. The sun
was becoming hot, and the travellers now doffed their coats and went, as
most people do up-country, in their shirt sleeves.
Presently they inspanned again and drove off. Now they were approaching
a belt of charming forest country, low, spreading, umbrella-shaped
giraffe-acacia timber, planted by nature not too thickly together.
Everywhere among these trees grew the tall, pale, yellow veldt grass,
and pleasant vistas and open glades here and there greeted the eye.
Amid these trees fluttered occasionally queer, bizarre-looking
hornbills, and brilliant rollers, miscalled "blue-jays" by the
colonists, blazing in lovely plumage of many hues--blues, lilacs,
purples, and greens. For an hour they drove through this pleasant
country, and then emerged upon the dry, rolling grass plains once more.
Half an hour later they approached a small shallow valley, through which
ran the dry bed of a periodical stream. Along the banks of this dry
stream grew a fringe of thorn bush, the common doom boom, or thorny
acacia. Suddenly Mr. Blakeney pulled up his team.
"Sh!" he said in a low tone, handing the reins to Guy, and reaching out
the Mannlicher, which now stood against the seat behind him. "Follow
the line of bush yonder," he continued, pointing with his right hand.
"Do you see anything?"
"Yes," replied Guy; "I see a big bird. What is it?"
"That's a paauw, my boy," answered his uncle; "our biggest bustard. You
must have a try for him."
Taking some cartridges from a bandolier that hung at the side of the
cart, Mr. Blakeney filled the magazine clip and pushed it into its
place. Then he worked a cartridge into the breech.
"Now, Guy," he went on, "jump down there, creep up behind that bush, and
try for a shot. You know the mechanism. If you miss with the first,
have a blaze with your second cartridge. You won't get nearer than a
hundred yards. Take your time, and don't hurry your shot."
Guy slipped down quietly, and, stooping low, crept towards the bush his
uncle had pointed out. The paauw still fed quietly along the spruit: it
was some two hundred and fifty yards from the cart, and the cunning
creature, judging the distance to a nicety, esteemed itself quite
secure. But, meanwhile, the eager lad with the Mannlicher was creeping
up, the wind was right, and it seemed that he might attain his
vantage-ground without the alert bird becoming aware of him. Now he is
within forty yards of the bush, now thirty, now ten. He is there.
Cautiously peering through the leafy screen, and dropping on to his
right knee, he takes steady aim and fires.
The report of the Mannlicher was a light one, and its smoke very
trifling. The big bird staggered to the shot, half lifted its wings,
ran fifteen paces, and then dropped to the veldt dead. A shout of
triumph rang out from Mr. Blakeney's lips.
"Bravo! bravo! my boy," he cried in stentorian tones. "You've done the
trick beautifully."
Long before the words were out of his uncle's mouth, Guy, scarcely able
to contain his exultation at this his first success, threw his hat into
the air, leaped out of the bush, and ran like a deer up to the dead
bustard. He picked it up--it seemed enormously heavy--and held it up in
triumph. Then turning he walked swiftly back towards the cart. His
uncle met him at the bush, clapped him on the back, and said heartily,--
"Well hit, Guy! A first-rate shot. I can see you don't want much
coaching in the art of rifle-shooting. It isn't every day we get a
paauw."
He took the great bird from the lad, and, holding it out, tested its
weight. "He's a beauty," he went on; "fat, and in high condition.
Can't weigh less than thirty pounds. Handsome bird, isn't he? Look at
his crest. That's the biggest and finest bustard in the world--_kori_
the Bechuanas call him.
"Now let us pace the distance," he continued.
They paced it from the bush to the spot where the bird had been hit.
Just one hundred and five yards it was, at a rough computation.
"A good shot, Guy," repeated his uncle. "And you kept your head and
didn't hurry it. Well, we shall dine excellently. Your aunt and
cousins will be as pleased as Punch to see that paauw; it's by far the
best eating of any game-bird in Africa."
They reached the cart again. Peetsi, with beaming face, exclaimed in
smooth Bechuana at the kori, and fastened the great bird up at the back
of the cart, under the shade of the hood. Then they resumed their
journey. Half an hour farther on, Mr. Blakeney got down from the cart,
shot-gun in hand this time. He had noticed a koorhaan, one of the lesser
bustards, go down at a certain spot in the veldt on the left-hand side
of the road. In approaching the place where the bird lay concealed, he
executed a circling movement. Smaller and smaller became the circle, and
then, suddenly, without a cry of warning, a biggish bird flushed from
the long grass and flew off. In an instant the sportsman's gun was at
his shoulder. Then came the crisp report of a Schultz cartridge, and
the bird instantly fell to the shot. Mr. Blakeney walked forward to
pick it up. As he did so a second bird, the hen, rose almost from under
his feet. Giving her twenty-five yards law, again the gunner pulled the
trigger, and the second game-bird hit the earth. It was a pretty
scene--the wide yellow plain; the gunner standing knee deep in grass;
the stricken bird, outlined clear against the hot sky. Giving the reins
to Peetsi once more, Guy sprang out of the cart and ran to meet his
uncle.
"Well, that was a pretty bit of shooting, uncle!" he cried joyfully.
"I'm glad I saw it. I shall know what to do when I see a koorhaan go
down and squat as that one did."
"That's a blue-necked koorhaan," answered his uncle; "one of our most
beautiful bustards. Look at its lovely colouring and plumage--the
bright rufous back, marked with black; the bluish tinge on the neck; and
the tints, rufous, ash-colour, white and black, of the head and neck.
And how splendidly the black wing feathers and the white underparts
contrast with the rest of the plumage."
Guy took the two birds, which were each about the size of a blackcock,
and walked with his uncle back to the cart. They drove on now, with a
couple more outspans to rest the horses, until at length, turning a
corner of some bush, Mr. Blakeney suddenly pointed with his whip and
said, "There's Bamborough!"
Guy looked, and saw at the top of a gentle slope, which rose above a
well-bushed river valley, a long, low, square-built house, having a
raised veranda, or stoep as it is called in South Africa, running all
round it. In a mile they had crossed the dry river-bed, ascended the
slope, and driven up to the place. It was just upon two o'clock. Mrs.
Blakeney, a pleasant, comely-looking matron, came out of the house, and
greeted her nephew so soon as he descended. She had not seen him since
he was a small child.
"Of course, I should not have known you, Guy," she said. "What a giant
you have grown! I shall be very proud of my good-looking nephew."
Then the cousins had to be introduced--Tom, the eldest boy, a
fine-looking lad of eighteen, like his father, lean, dark, and wiry; two
pretty, fresh-looking girls of fifteen and thirteen, Ella and Marjory;
and Arthur, the youngest of the group, a sharp-looking boy of eleven.
The greetings over, Mrs. Blakeney took them at once into dinner, which
she had kept back, trusting to her husband's invariable speed and
punctuality, even on a forty-mile drive.
In the afternoon they sauntered round the place, and Guy was shown
everything there was to be seen. Bamborough was a typical South African
homestead of the better sort. It consisted of a large single-story
building, thatched by natives with grass, the exterior rough-cast and
white-washed. There were ten good-sized rooms, which served for all the
needs of the family and left a couple of spare beds for those not
infrequent occasions when visitors or wayfarers turned up. A governess,
who resided with the family, looked after the education of the girls and
Arthur. Tom, who had just finished his schooling at Grahamstown, in
Cape Colony, was now home for good. His father, who farmed twelve
thousand morgen of land, or rather more than twenty-four thousand acres,
needed assistance, and was glad to have his son about with him. Tom
knew a good deal of the mysteries of stock-farming already, and was, his
father declared, almost as good a judge of an ox as he was himself. A
first-rate rider, a good shot, and a keen sportsman, Tom was just the
kind of cousin Guy had hoped for. The two, who had many points in
common, quickly understood one another, and struck up a strong
friendship.
Guy was shown everything--the trellised vine, leading from the front
door to the gate; the fruit orchard at the side of the house, in which
grew peaches, apricots, nectarines, quinces, apples, and pears; the
orange trees down by the "lands," where the arable crops, oats and
mealies, were grown; the stables and compounds; the cattle and goat
kraals; and the ostrich camp, a vast enclosure, where stalked a number
of these great birds. He was shown the deep-bore well and windmill
pump, which supplied the station with water; the big dam, which looked
like a lake, with its fringe of willow and blue gums; and many other
things pertaining to the headquarters of a large South African cattle
ranch. Altogether, what with the morning drive, the meeting with his
new cousins, and the long afternoon of sightseeing, Guy was not sorry
for bed at ten o'clock. His head had not been two minutes on the
snow-white pillow, scented like the rest of the spotless bed linen with
some fragrant veldt herb, before he was sound asleep.
*Chapter III,*
*UP-COUNTRY LIFE.*
For some weeks Mr. Blakeney allowed Guy to have what may be called a
good time. He was anxious that the lad should not be thrust too soon
into hard collar-work. There is a good deal of steady routine labour,
even upon an up-country farm in South Africa, if the farmer is
up-to-date and business-like, and means to take his occupation
seriously. There are books to be kept; long and hard days to be spent
in the saddle; heavy fencing operations, which need care, thought, and
application; journeys to various market centres with troops of fat
stock; and a host of other details, not all of which are exactly what
may be regarded as pure pleasure or light work. Too many young
Englishmen, it is to be feared, look upon stock-farming and
cattle-ranching as pleasant out-of-door occupations, entailing merely an
ornamental kind of existence. They picture to themselves, before going
out to South Africa, a shirt-sleeve and broad-brimmed hat kind of life,
in which the stock-farmer has merely to have a good time, while his
flocks and herds increase about him. This sort of settler quickly
becomes disillusioned, and, having wasted a thousand or two of good
money--probably his father's--returns sadly to urban life again, vowing
that no one can make money by stock-farming in South Africa.
But there are plenty of hard-working and successful pastoral farmers in
many parts of South Africa who can testify to the excellent result of
application and attention to details, united with care, foresight,
energy, and experience.
For a long month Mr. Blakeney or his son Tom, sometimes both of them,
rode far and wide with Guy Hardcastle over the twenty-four thousand odd
acres comprised in Bamborough Farm. They explored boundaries, pointed
out to Guy the various beacons marking off their limits, inspected
cattle, and assisted at the sinking of a well in a distant part of the
estate. This well, and the erection of a windmill pump, were needed for
the supply of water to the cattle in what had been so waterless a
portion of the ranch that it had been hitherto practically unavailable,
excellent as was the grass veldt. A good-sized basin was formed in a
piece of limestone formation, where once had existed an ancient native
well, now long since dry; and here, when the operations were completed,
the cattle were able to slake their thirst in a cool, crystal-clear
pool, which at once sent up the value of the six thousand acres on this
part of the run by two hundred per cent.