you that I am in a very precarious state of health, and that I doubt
greatly if I shall get over these repeated attacks of fever. In case
anything happens to me, I must unburden my mind on one other matter,
which seems to me, though it may not to you, very important. A year
ago, as you know, I was making some mineral explorations for copper in
the mountains behind Mossamedes, Portuguese West Africa. There was
little copper to be found worth speaking of, and this business came to
an end. One day towards the finish of this work, a Bushman in my
service, named Poeskop, came to me and said he thought he could show me
something better than copper; that he had once found gold, and that he
would show me the place where he had found it. Poeskop was a Bushman
from the country north-east of Ovampoland, in German territory. He had
worked for Germans and others, and had afterwards drifted into the
service of one of the Trek Boers who came to the Mossamedes country
fifteen or sixteen years before. He had been brutally treated by this
Boer, and, running away from him, came to me. I treated him kindly, and
he became exceedingly attached to me, and would do anything for me. He
speaks Boer Dutch and one or two native languages of his own country,
besides a smattering of German. Well, I asked Poeskop what he meant,
and where was the gold he spoke of. He took from the bottom of a dirty
old pouch he always wore a piece of skin sewn up with sinew. Cutting
this open, he took out four small nuggets of gold, manifestly
water-worn. He said that where they came from there were plenty
more--plenty. He had come across the place years before as a lad, and
he had discovered what gold was, and its value, when he was working for
some German prospectors in Damaraland. He knew now also the worth of
gold money in English, and German, and Portuguese. I asked him how long
it would take us to reach the place. He said more than a month. I was
then under contract for this work at the Gold Coast, and it was
impossible to throw it up, or to spare the time--about three months in
all, reckoning the return journey to Mossamedes. I told the man I would
return, if possible, the following year (1897), or, if not that year, in
1898, in the month of June, which is their healthy season, and go with
him to the place. Meanwhile, would he promise not to say a word to any
other person? Poeskop replied that he cared for no other white man but
me; that he would wait till I came, and would meet me in Mossamedes in
June the next year (1897), and the year after, and the year after that;
and that each year he would wait for me a month. "But," I said,
"supposing I can't come, and wish to send some one else in my place? I
may be ill, or dead, or anything may have happened to me." "Well, my
baas," replied Poeskop, his little drooping eyes twinkling in the oddest
kind of way, "if you can't come, and send any one in your place, let him
show me that funny _steenje_ which you wear on your watch-chain, and I
shall know he is your man, and will do what he asks me." The _steenje_,
I must tell you, was nothing else than a piece of New Zealand jade,
carved rather curiously in the shape of a fish. Well, there's the end
of my yarn. I am dead tired, and feeling very ill. The ague is coming
on again, as you can see by my handwriting."
"Here," interjected Mr. Blakeney, "as you can see, Guy, your poor
father's writing has become very shaky. But he has underscored the
remaining lines of his letter, and they run thus:--
"'My dear Charlie, _I consider this discovery is very important.
Poeskop, who was in my service five months, is a most shrewd and
reliable little chap. I know he is not lying. I know he has found a
place very rich in gold. Of this I am absolutely confident. If I'm
right, there is a fortune for all of us. If I get through this bout of
fever I shall ask you to give up your ranching for six months, and come
and join me at Mossamedes in June. If I go under--and something tells
me I shall--I beg you to go on my behalf. Take with you a good and
reliable mining engineer; and if Guy is with you, take him. If you
cannot go this year, go next_. I can't finish ... what I meant to say.
This fever is too much for me. _You and Guy are to go shares if the
gold is right_.--From yours ever,
"'J. S. HARDCASTLE.'
"Well now, Guy," added his uncle, "there's the yarn. Look over the
letter yourself."
Guy read the letter again, with a serious face, from beginning to end.
"Poor pater!" he said, as he concluded, the tears standing in his eyes;
"he was ill indeed when he wrote and underscored these last lines. Oh,
that he could have been with us now!"
"Would that he could have been, Guy!" said his uncle feelingly; "would
that he could! Having read that letter, you will understand something
of my anxiety. If your father's surmises are correct, there is a fortune
for us all. And yet any ordinary business man would say the whole thing
is a mere wild-goose chase, a will-of-the-wisp. I am bothered awfully;
I hardly know what to say, what to do."
Guy Hardcastle sprang to his feet.
"Uncle Charles!" he exclaimed, "I'm certain this is no wild-goose chase!
My father had a great knowledge of men and things, especially where
natives and mining were concerned. He wasn't a mad enthusiast; in fact,
I always looked upon him as a very long-headed and cautious man. I'm
only a boy; but that was my impression. Let us go. I'm certain that
our search will be a success!"
"Well, Guy," rejoined Mr. Blakeney, smiling at the lad's enthusiasm, "I
half believe you are right. Your father was no hunter of wild geese; he
was, as you thought him, a man of good judgment and much knowledge. Yet
there are many difficulties to be surmounted. I don't like leaving this
place just now. Still, there's George Forster to look after matters in
my absence--as he did two years ago, when I was in England.
"I might do this," he went on, speaking as if to himself. "Some years
ago I trekked across the Kalahari, by way of Lake Ngami, to Damaraland,
and traded and brought back a thousand head of cattle. I have sometimes
thought of repeating the trip; but it's a tough business, and a long and
anxious one. If I go with you, we might kill two birds with one stone:
go round by sea, and so save much time; and after we have had a hunt for
the treasure, pick up a lot of cattle and bring them overland.
Meanwhile I'll have a talk with your aunt, and hear what she thinks
about it all."
Mrs. Blakeney was a great believer in her brother; and her vote went for
the expedition, little as she liked the prospect of parting from her
husband for five or six months. Finally Mr. Blakeney's mind was made
up: he determined to go, at all events, as far as Mossamedes. If Poeskop
were found, well and good: they would go on with the search. If he were
not found, they would go south, buy cattle in Damaraland and Ovampoland,
and take them across to Bechuanaland by the Trek Boer route, _via_ Lake
Ngami. No sooner was the expedition settled upon than Guy begged his
uncle to let Tom accompany them. This Mr. Blakeney refused; Tom, he
said, must remain at home to look after his mother and sisters. But, as
the lads pointed out, Mr. Blakeney's partner and cousin, George Forster,
was coming across to live at Bamborough and take up the management of
affairs during his absence. For weeks the lads moved heaven and earth
to accomplish their purpose. They at length won over Mrs. Blakeney; and
after she had joined for a few days in the siege, Mr. Blakeney gave way.
It was settled that Tom was to go, and the two cousins were overjoyed.
After much consideration, Mr. Blakeney decided not to take a mining
engineer, as suggested by his brother-in-law. He himself had spent two
years on the Lydenburg goldfields, in the Eastern Transvaal, in his
younger days, and had a fair knowledge of gold and gold formations; he
had learned assaying also. On the whole, they all deemed it wiser not
to impart the secret to any one out of their own family.
Towards the middle of May the party went down by rail to Cape Town, and
thence by sea to Mossamedes. Ostensibly they were on a cattle-trading
expedition; even George Forster was not let into the secret of the gold
search. It would be too ridiculous if the quest turned out an
unsuccessful one, and the gold vanished into thin air. Moreover, Mr.
Blakeney deemed it unwise to make any mention of gold at all; the merest
whisper of it might get about, and set others upon the alert. They kept
the secret, therefore, severely to themselves. In pursuance of his
expressed intention of bringing home some cattle, Mr. Blakeney took with
him as wagon-drivers and herds four of his most reliable natives. These
were--Jan Kokerboom, a Koranna; Seleti and Mangwalaan, two Bechuanas of
the Barolong clan; and September, a Zulu. They were all good herdsmen
and horse-masters, fair shots, and, barring various idiosyncrasies and
prejudices peculiar to their tribes, steady and reliable men. Jan
Kokerboom was a capital cook, a generally handy man, a good rider and
shot, and a first-class hunter. After a fairly prosperous voyage of a
week, during the early part of which the natives suffered a good deal
from sea-sickness, the ship dropped anchor in Little Fish Bay, off
Mossamedes, and the party landed. Their hunting ponies, four in all,
which they had brought with them from Bamborough, were safely got
ashore.
Mossamedes is, compared with other Portuguese towns on the African
coast, rather a pleasant little place. It is built of white stone, and
has a picturesque esplanade, lined with palm trees, running along the
frontage to the bay. The country surrounding is not very inviting, that
to the east and south being, like the littoral of Damaraland and
Namaqualand, almost completely desert.
Having passed their baggage at the Custom House with somewhat greater
ease than they expected--thanks mainly to a judicious use by Mr.
Blakeney of palm oil--they went up the town, and found fairly
comfortable quarters at the principal hotel. Here they remained for a
week without being able to find any trace of the native known as
Poeskop. At the hotel, the proprietor remembered Mr. Hardcastle, who
had stayed with him. He remembered also his Bushman servant Poeskop,
but neither he nor any of his people had seen him lately in the town.
While they were thus waiting, Mr. Blakeney was by no means idle. He
spoke with various Trek Boers who were in the place; bought an excellent
tent-wagon for L80; four fairly good horses, wiry, but in low
condition--a useful addition to their stud; and a span of serviceable
oxen. These would in any case be necessary to them, even if Poeskop
failed to put in an appearance. The native servants were then
dispatched to the commonage outside the town, where a camp was formed,
and the horses and cattle were turned out for grazing. The wagon was
thoroughly cleaned out, repaired, and painted, and various cooking
utensils necessary for the trek were purchased.
On the evening of the seventh day of their stay in Mossamedes the little
party of English were sitting, half an hour before dinner, near the
landing-place. Mr. Blakeney spent much time there; for he had an idea
that if the Bushman, Poeskop, came to Mossamedes at all, he would make
his way to the shore, and be on the lookout for his old master.
"Pater," said Tom, kicking his heels against the low wall on which he
sat, "I begin to think the man Poeskop is a solar myth, and I am
revolving in my mind a theory by which he can be explained away."
The lad had a roguish smile on his face, at which his father in turn
could not help laughing.
"Well, fire away!" replied Mr. Blakeney. "What's your theory?"
"Well, I'll shortly explain," went on Tom. "I consider you and Guy have
brought me out here under false pretences. The whole thing is a Barney.
I've been thinking it all out for days past. Poeskop is clearly a
non-existent person; and here is my theory of his non-existence!"
At this instant, from behind a great pile of stores which lay stacked on
the landing-place, there appeared, just in front of them, the short
figure of a native. He was a queer, dwarfish-looking little man, with
high cheek-bones, a narrow chin, and yellowish skin. His eyes slanted
upwards like a Chinaman's; curious, dark, bloodshot eyes they were, with
a singular droop of the lids and innumerable wrinkles at the corners.
This odd figure was dressed in an old store suit of faded moleskin, a
ragged shirt, and a very battered, broad-brimmed hat. A pair of
velschoens covered the man's feet. Before Tom, who stared open-mouthed
at the apparition, could proceed with his theory, the little man's sharp
eyes had run rapidly over the group before him. He looked, as it were
expectantly, into the countenance of each. His eyes lingered longest on
the face of Guy, and then fell instantly to the middle of the boy's
waist. Stretching out his right forefinger, he pointed, with a gesture
of strange energy and earnestness, at the watch-chain which Guy wore: it
was his father's, and the green jade ornament depended from it.
Mr. Blakeney had watched the man keenly.
"Poeskop?" he said quietly.
"Ja; Poeskop," returned the native instantly, looking furtively about
him. "Vaar is de baas--Baas Hartcassel?"
Mr. Blakeney could not refrain from his little triumph over Tom, who sat
utterly confounded.
"Tom, my boy!" he said, with a hearty laugh, "your solar myth is
instantly exploded. Here is the essential man, Poeskop himself!"
And indeed it was Poeskop. Speaking in Dutch, Mr. Blakeney explained to
the strange little figure before them what had happened. The Bushman
followed the story closely, nodding his head, and throwing in a "Ja,
ja!" now and again, as it were rounding off the various points. When
Mr. Blakeney ceased, he spoke.
"Ja," he said, "I am Poeskop. I came here to meet my Baas Hartcassel,
and I am sad because of the news I hear. Never mind; if I cannot be his
'boy' longer, I will be his son's 'boy.' And I will tell you all I
know, and take you to the place where--" [here he glanced suspiciously
round him, with eyes that searched keenly beneath their droop] "--where
my baas wanted me to take him. I see that the young baas is truly the
son of my old baas: he has the same blue eyes, and the same look, and
the same coloured hair, and though he is young he walks just as walked
his father. I saw him yesterday, and watched him; and again to-day I
watched him; and now I have seen the _steenje_--the little stone of the
fish--and I am sure. Well, I am glad indeed. I will be the young
baas's 'boy,' and wait upon him and hunt for him, as I did for his
father. Is it not so?" he asked, looking inquiringly first at Mr.
Blakeney, then at Guy.
"Yes," said Guy quickly, his colour heightened with the interest and
excitement of the discovery; "it is so. You shall be my 'boy,' and I
will be your baas, and try to be a good baas to you, as my father was.
What wages did he give you?"
"He gave me one pound a month and my _skorf_ [food], baas," replied
Poeskop, "and sometimes some old clothes when I wanted them."
"Well, I'll do the same," returned Guy cheerfully; "and I am sure we
shall be good friends."
Poeskop smiled a huge smile at this speech, showing a set of splendid
teeth, which for the moment strongly illuminated his quaint and
decidedly ugly visage.
"That is very good, my young baas," he said, his face still beaming with
pleasure; "and I shall show you what I promised to show to your
father"--he glanced round again, as if fearing to be overheard--"the
Gold Kloof. It is there!" He stretched a forefinger into the air,
pointing north-eastward. "And you will find plenty gold, enough for you
all; and you will make Poeskop rich too, and buy him cattle, and set him
up as a farmer."
It was now arranged that the Bushman should at once join the outfit.
They walked with him to the wagon outside the town, and introduced him
to the other servants. Had he a gun? asked Mr. Blakeney. Yes; he had a
gun, concealed not far away. He would get it that night, and put it in
the wagon. It was a Martini carbine, given to him by Baas Hardcastle,
and in good condition; but he wanted ammunition. This Mr. Blakeney
promised to procure for him; and they left the little man at his supper
as happy as a king.
Next morning Poeskop turned up at the hotel in good time, as Mr.
Blakeney had told him to do. It was after breakfast; and they were
talking in front of the place, the three Englishmen asking the little
Bushman all sorts of questions as to their route, the kind of country
they would pass through, the prospects of game (which Poeskop told them
were first-rate), and so forth.
"Poeskop," presently queried Mr. Blakeney, "how long will it take us,
trekking steadily and with good oxen (which I have got), to reach the
kloof?"
"About six weeks, baas," replied the Bushman. "It is far, and the way
is hard."
"I had thought of getting another wagon," continued Mr. Blakeney. "It
will be rather a squeeze for myself and the two young masters here to
get into one at night. What say you, Poeskop? Can we manage with two
easily?"
"Baas," replied the Bushman, "I would not take two wagons, if you can
help it. It is a hard trek, and we have to cross a piece of
_doorst-land_ [thirst-land], which takes more than a week to get
through: two days' and two nights' trek, then water, but not much; then
two days and a night without water; then a water-pit; and then three
days' and three nights' thirst. It will be hard to get across this with
one wagon; much harder with two. If I were the baas, I would take the
one wagon only and some spare oxen. We may lose some beasts on the trek
from lions, or thirst, or hard work; and it will be safer."
"I'm glad you told me of this, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney. "You are
quite right; we will take one wagon only. I can buy a small tent in the
town; that will do for the young baases to sleep in, and I can have my
_kartel_ [bed-frame] to myself in the wagon. In the daytime the tent
can be lashed along the buck-rail."
They discussed many other points connected with the trek, concerning all
of which the little Bushman gave them copious information. Suddenly, as
he glanced down the sandy street, his countenance changed; he trembled;
fear unmistakably seized him.
"Baas," he said, in a hoarse voice, "there comes Karl Engelbrecht; I am
afraid!"
"Who is Karl Engelbrecht?" asked Guy; "and why are you afraid?"
"He is the Trek Boer in whose service I used to be," returned the
Bushman. "He beat me often with his sjambok, and treated me cruelly;
and so I ran away. But I fear him still. He is a bad man--_schelm_!"
"You need have no fear, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney; "I will look after
you. Put on a bold face, and stick to me; I'll see that your friend
Engelbrecht plays no tricks upon you. Remember that you are in my
service, and that we are in Portuguese and not Boer country."
They watched the two tall figures, on which Poeskop's eyes were
fastened, coming up the street. The Bushman whispered that Karl
Engelbrecht was the bigger of the two--the man on the right. The
Boers--for they were manifestly both Dutchmen--were now close to the
hotel. Karl Engelbrecht, of whom Poeskop stood in so much terror, was a
typical Boer of Boers--a big, heavy, slouching fellow, six feet in
height, powerfully made, very strong, but slack and loose-limbed. He
wore the usual Boer clothing--short jacket and loose trousers of
moleskin, a flannel shirt, velschoens (field-shoes) of untanned hide,
and a big slouch-hat, ornamented with a single short black-and-white
ostrich plume. His long hay-coloured hair ran over his ears and partly
covered his neck, and he wore a huge untrimmed beard and moustache of
the same dull hue. His hard, pale blue eyes were set deep above broad,
sunburnt, fleshy cheeks. It was an unpleasant face; something in the
lowering brows, the hard, furtive eyes, gave the beholder instantly an
unpleasant impression; and about the man's whole demeanour there was an
undefinable yet unmistakable air of menace and brutality. The Dutchman
accompanying him was of a much milder and less aggressive type--a big,
dark-bearded, slouching fellow, of dull and heavy countenance, with
nothing much to differentiate him from scores of his fellows of the
Transvaal, Orange Free State, and Cape Colony.
As Karl Engelbrecht strode up to the hotel, his eyes suddenly fell upon
Poeskop. He started, frowned evilly, glowered at the three white men
standing near, and then, taking a step or two forward, seized the
Bushman by the collar of his jacket.
"So, my fine fellow, I have caught you, have I?" he said, in a deep
guttural and manifestly angry voice. As he spoke, he cuffed the
unfortunate Bushman heavily on the head with his huge hand.
Mr. Blakeney was a strong and determined man, and in no mood to stand by
and see his servant knocked about. His blood rose instantly at the
insolent aggression of this bully.
"Let the man alone!" he said angrily in Dutch, snatching Poeskop away so
suddenly and with such force that he freed him from the Boer's grip.
"He is my servant!"
Karl Engelbrecht turned instantly upon the Englishman. His face was
inflamed with passion, and he struck a heavy blow with his right fist,
which, if it had not been parried, would have caught Mr. Blakeney fair
in the face. But the latter had been a good boxer in his young days,
and had no difficulty in stopping the hit. He was an active man, hard
as nails, and in the prime of life, and he was in no mood to take a blow
from any man. He retorted by a swift left-hander, which crashed into
the middle of the Boer's broad, fleshy face like a kick from a horse.
The blood instantly gushed from Engelbrecht's nose. With an oath in
Dutch the giant rushed upon his assailant, swinging at him some
dangerous right-handers; but Mr. Blakeney, although angry enough, was
much too good a general to be overcome in this way. He fought very
coolly, parried the round-arm blows, and every now and again planted on
the Dutchman's face heavy and telling strokes that quickly told their
tale. Pausing to get breath, to spit the blood from his mouth, and to
wipe his streaming nose with the back of his hand, the Dutchman once
more rushed in to the attack. This time he fought desperately, and Mr.
Blakeney had some ado to repel the rush. Changing his tactics, he
delivered two or three heavy body-blows, under which the Dutchman winced
visibly; the third of these took the Boer's wind, and doubled him up.
As his head went forward, the Englishman let drive one vicious upper cut
which took Engelbrecht on the point of the jaw and stretched him
instantly on the sand. The fight was over.
*Chapter V.*
*THE TREK BEGINS.*
Karl Engelbrecht gathered himself up after a short pause, but there was
no further fight left in him. He turned to go.
"All right, my fine Englishman," he said, shaking his fist at his
conqueror. "I don't know who you are or what you are, but no one does
Karl Engelbrecht an injury without paying for it. I shall be even with
you, and that before very long. Meanwhile I shall go straight to the
magistrate's office, and get that scoundrel arrested for running away
from my service."
As he spoke he pointed to Poeskop, who was smiling all over his yellow
face at his former master's discomfiture.
"And I'll follow you to the magistrate's office directly," said Mr.
Blakeney, "and have you summoned for assaulting this native."
Accompanied by the two lads, who were overjoyed, if a little awed, at
the result of the contest, Mr. Blakeney went into the hotel to wash his
hands and get rid of all traces of the encounter. He himself had
scarcely suffered at all. He had a lump on his forehead and a red patch
on his cheek-bone, and one of his knuckles was badly cut; beyond these
slight injuries he has untouched.
"My word, uncle," said Guy, as Mr. Blakeney took his coat off and poured
out some water, "you did punish that ruffian. I had no idea you were
such a fighting man. It was splendid!"