The Boer is not what one would call a sentimental person; he is
practical in all his ways. If he sees a thunderstorm approaching, he
does not go into raptures over the magnificence of the lightning; he
watches that thunderstorm calmly and philosophically. And if he had
anything to do with the order of the elements, he would have that
thunderstorm come his way, and he would detain it exactly three days
over his particular farm, so that the rain should leave a lasting
impression upon his mealies and forage. The Boer likes wet weather,
probably because he gets so little of it.
I have said that the Boer is practical in all things; he is even so in
love. The old story concerning the 'opzit' candle may have applied in
former days, but the Boer of the present day does not waste his time
in any such fashion. He has probably become cognisant of the
match-making methods practised by other nations, and he has,
therefore, abandoned that affected by his forefathers. It is still a
common thing, however, to see him astride a horse with a sleek skin
and noble appearance and plenty of life in it, cantering gaily towards
the residence of his beloved or intended. Sometimes, too, in order,
perhaps, to add more lustre to his own appearance, he is to be seen
suffering untold agony under the unyielding brim of a tall, white felt
hat, trimmed with green veiling. He likes to look imposing, and so he
gets under that hat. This in many instances may account for the
restiveness of his steed, which is as yet unaccustomed to the weight
of a person with such a grotesque headgear.
The Boer has several methods of courting. There is one thing he
objects very strongly to, however--he doesn't like courting in a
drawing-room; he prefers a dark and quiet corner on the veranda. Let
us picture a little scene in this connection. Observe young Piet,
dressed in his best Sunday suit, and wearing a worried look in
addition, sitting on one end of a long form that stands on the veranda
of the house; and observe also a fair young damsel, who has just been
initiated into the art of doing her hair up on top, sitting on the
other extreme end of that form. The night may be dark and only the
stars visible, or the moon may be shining brightly overhead, casting
shadows awry here and there, and endeavouring to catch a furtive
glimpse of the lovers under cover of the veranda.
A painful silence takes the place of conversation at the outset, and
young Piet occasionally coughs in an apologetic manner. When he does
sum up sufficient courage, the moon has travelled a considerable
distance; but then Piet is not so sentimental as to make any reference
whatever to the moon.
'That's a fine horse your father has bought of Dirk Odendaal,' says
Piet, in a tone which suggests that his new paper collar, purchased
for the occasion, is choking him.
A two minutes' pause ensues.
'Ja! Piet,' agreeably assents the maiden after an interval which Piet
reckons must be at least half an hour--and he has forgotten about the
new horse altogether.
'Your father's oxen are looking well after the rain,' continues Piet
some minutes later; and this time he has reduced the space between
himself and the maiden by about three inches.
After the lapse of another few minutes, the maiden, who is evidently
bashful, ventures again, 'Ja! Piet.'
Piet's eyes wander away across the open veldt in front of him, and
gradually from the observation of kopjes, they wander upwards towards
the pale moon; but, as has already been remarked, that luminary
suggests no new theme in the mind of Piet.
'The last Nachtmaal was very good.'
With this he once more edges away from his end of the form and covers
an additional three inches.
'Ja! Piet.'
Another person would have become exasperated at this stage, but not so
Piet.
'The new minister preaches very well,' is followed up by an advance of
three more inches.
'Ja, Piet!'
The form may be an inconveniently long one, and this naturally hampers
Piet somewhat, because by the time he has covered half the distance,
his stock of remarks may be exhausted. But he gets close up in time,
by the exercise of perseverance, and when he is at last in a position
to manipulate his left arm in connection with the maiden's waist, he
does so with a sigh of relief.
'I think I love you a great deal,' is what he says when he has placed
his arm to his satisfaction. The maiden whispers 'Ja, Piet!' and the
thing is done.
But the young Boer does not attach so much importance to pleasant
features and agreeable dispositions, as he does to the worldly
standing of the lady's parents. If there is the slightest prospect of
a handsome dowry in the shape of one or two farms, the inducement to
enter into married bliss is, of course, greater than in the case of
the young lady who merely brings with her a nice set of false teeth
and a pleasant countenance. Young widows are in great demand
throughout the country, because, as a rule, they are in possession of
farms and stock which require the undivided attention of a responsible
man, and that man must be a husband.
Such an instance occurred only the other day. This very fortunate
young man, before his betrothal, could conveniently count his riches
on the fingers of his left hand--in pence! But he is happy now,
because he can bring in a load of wool every year with his own waggon
and oxen, and talk to the merchant with all the swagger and assurance
of a full-blown capitalist.
It must not be supposed that such occurrences are uncommon; they
happen almost every week, which would seem to indicate that rich young
widows are very plentiful.
In these latter days a Boer wedding is arranged on a very grand scale.
No matter if the young couple reside fifty miles from the nearest
town, they all come in to church to get fixed up. Friends and
relations arrive, with great ostentation, in conveyances drawn by
four, six, and sometimes eight, horses, the number depending on the
wealth of the families. They come from far and near. You can see them
coming to town when they are yet miles away across the veldt--that is,
if the day is bright. The dresses of the women-folks flash gaily in
the sun, and the old vrouw would not change places with the Queen of
Holland as she proudly surveys her offspring seated around her in the
wagonette. The old man presides unctuously at the ribbons, and he
cracks his whip every now and then just to let his team know that he
is there, and that he is a very capable person.
[Illustration: DUTCH CHURCH (PRETORIA)]
The generality of weddings are uninteresting, but occasionally
something unique is introduced. In the town of Harrismith a very long
time ago, a transport-rider decided to take unto himself a fair
partner. He was a practical sort of person, and in cases of this kind
he did not believe in allowing business to become a secondary
consideration. Transport-riding in those days paid very handsomely,
and the intervention of side issues might have meant a serious loss.
Accordingly, this particular gentleman (who had meantime been loading
up coal) repaired to his tent-waggon at the appointed hour, and
proceeded to attire himself in the conventional black suit. In order
to economize time, he pulled his best clothes over his working
garments, and hastily rubbing his face and hands with a coarse towel,
he hurried towards the church. Within ten minutes he was back again
loading up coal, his better half being occupied in preparing dinner.
The Dutch are not a musical nation, and for convincing proof it is
only necessary to attend Divine service in any of their churches.
Their rendition of psalm-tunes reminds me of A.K.H.B.'s story
regarding the lonely Italian, who, passing the Iron Church in
Edinburgh one Sunday morning while the congregation were engaged in
praise, and on inquiring of the beadle 'What that horrible noise was?'
remarked very sorrowfully, 'Then their God must have no ear for
music' It is strange, nevertheless, that no matter how poor a Boer may
be, he will have an organ in his house. There are instances
innumerable where the only respectable piece of furniture in the house
is an organ. It does not, of course, follow that every Boer is a
musician, but it is a fact that nearly every Boer knows how to produce
at least one tune, even if it is only the Volkslied or national
anthem. They will come into the stores, and the first thing they do is
to sit down at an organ and show people generally what they can do. In
the meantime the English merchant and his clerks fume around and vow
all sorts of things under their breath, but the indefatigable Boer
knows nothing of all this, and he would not care if he did.