GUIDANCE.
_"I will guide thee by mine eye."_—Psalm xxxii. 8.
THE movements of the two waggons belonging to the English hunters,
though certainly quicker than those of the Boer who had lost so many of
his span, * were tedious to the impatient David. He did not, however,
have to remain suffering from thirst until they came up, for a party
of Hottentots, sent by the hunters, who were themselves engaged in
shooting, came up to carry off the skin and claws of the lion, and
Manners had not forgotten to forward by them water, and other things
needful.
* A "span" usually consists of fourteen oxen.
David, though to a certain degree refreshed, longed for the shelter of
the waggon-tilt to shield him from the blazing sun. He was not exactly
in the track along which the waggons would pass, having left it, as the
reader is aware, for the little low clump of bushes. David, to whom the
sight and scent of the Hottentots engaged in their task were anything
but agreeable, took the musket and spear to support his painful steps,
and made his way back to the road, if road it could be called, where he
saw on the sand the broad marks of the wheels of Hans' waggon, and the
hoof-prints of his weary oxen.
The youth was now not many yards from the spot where he had pleaded,
though in vain, to be taken up on that waggon,—perhaps some fifty paces
farther on the road than where he had stood at that time. Emotions of
fiery indignation rose in the Wanderer's breast, when he thought of the
cruel wrong that had been done him, and how nearly the conduct of his
heartless master had given him over as a prey to the lion.
David was turning over these reflections in his mind, when his eye
chanced to fall on an object lying not far from his feet, on the track
of the Boer's waggon. He knew in an instant what it was, and hastening
to the spot, as fast as pain would let him, he raised from the sand a
large leathern purse heavy with gold, that gold which Hans Kuhe prized
more than anything else upon earth, except perhaps, his brandy-flask
and his pipe.
A crowd of conflicting feelings pressed upon the mind of David as he
grasped the heavy purse, dropped on the road by the man who had almost
been his murderer. The very first thought which arose was, "This is
sent in answer to prayer; this money will take me home!" Then there
followed a strange conflict within, a kind of dialogue which David held
with his own soul; or rather, there was the Tempter of man speaking
on the one hand, and Conscience answering on the other. If the reader
knows nothing of such an inward struggle, it is to be feared that it is
because Conscience is silent, not because sin is dead.
TEMPTER.—Why should you doubt for a moment whether it is lawful for you
to take this money which Providence has placed in your very path?
CONSCIENCE.—It is written, "Thou shalt not covet."—"Thou shalt not
steal."
TEMPTER.—The hateful Boer owes you wages; it is lawful to take your
own.
CONSCIENCE.—He owes you but "one" piece of gold, which alone can be
rightfully yours; that purse, by its weight, contains at least forty.
TEMPTER.—But think of the good you might do with that money. In the
hands of the Boer it will be spent on drunken revels, or still worse.
With you it will make your parents happy; it will take you back to the
home which it was sin in you ever to leave.
CONSCIENCE.—How that money will be spent by another is not the point
to decide. It is not the Boer's conduct, but your own, that "you" must
answer for before God. Ill-gotten wealth brings no blessing, but a
curse. Let none "do evil, that good may come."
TEMPTER.—But think on your cruel wrongs. Remember the insulting
words,—nay, even the blows which you have had to endure. Think on the
barbarity of him who could leave a faithful follower to die a lingering
death, and that, too, from a hurt received in his service. If you
cannot keep the purse for yourself, throw it away. Let it be found by
some one else who will use the money without a scruple. Take out the
one piece which is your own, and then scatter the gold to the right and
the left. You may scorn to keep another man's money, but you may enjoy
the "sweetness of revenge." Your tyrant will have to bear a heavy loss,
and it is to be hoped that he will look upon it as a just punishment
for his conduct to you.
CONSCIENCE.—It is written, "Do good to them that hate you; pray for
them that despitefully use you and persecute you." It is written, "If
ye do not forgive, neither will your Father which is in Heaven forgive
your trespasses." There is a safe and simple rule which every servant
of Christ is bound to follow, "Be not overcome of evil, but overcome
evil with good."
Conscience had won the victory, and David enjoyed the blessed
experience of what it is for God's child to be guided by His eye.
The youth resolved to restore the purse, at the first opportunity,
to its rightful owner; but human nature is weak, and he knew that if
such opportunity were long delayed, the temptation which he had just
conquered might come back again with irresistible force. Reason told
him that it would be better to put it out of his power to take from
that store of gold in case his need should be very great or a length of
time should elapse before he should meet Hans Kuhe again. The Boer was,
as David believed, more than a day's march before him, and his road
would turn off at Quagga Fountain in quite a different direction from
that which the English party were likely to take. The gentlemen would
know better than David could how to send money across a wild country;
the lad therefore made up his mind to place the purse in their hands,
after taking from it the small amount of wages actually due to himself.
Before the hunters came riding up towards him, a little in advance of
their waggons, David had decided on the right course to be pursued. As
soon as they had dismounted and had come up to the place where he was
awaiting their arrival, young Aspinall gave the parse into the hands of
Manners, and told him that he had picked it up on the road, but that he
knew it belonged to Hans Kuhe, a Dutch Boer, who lived at Heinbok Moot
and that he hoped the gentlemen would kindly take charge of it, and
have it restored to its owner.
"How came you to identify a common-looking purse so readily?" inquired
Mr. Carlton.
"I have seen it dozens of times in the hands of its owner; I know well
that tobacco-stain left by his fingers."
"He is some friend of yours then, I suppose?"
"Hardly to be called so," answered David with a smile; "only yesterday
he was my master."
"Your master!" exclaimed Carlton. "What—the fellow who left you to die
in the desert!"
Carlton whistled, and turned on his heel.
Manners smiled, placed the heavy purse in one of his pockets, and told
David that he would take care not only that it should reach its owner,
but that the Boer should be informed who had been its finder.
"And now, my boy," said the Englishman, "let me play the surgeon, and
look at your ankle."
Very skilfully and very kindly did Manners, like the good Samaritan,
bind up the hurt of the young traveller whom he had met by the way,
Carlton looking on with interest as he did so. The three then mounted
the waggon, whose tilt, lined with many a trophy of the chase, offered
a refreshing shelter from the blazing heat of noon. Manners made
David rest on his own bed in the waggon, where the lad enjoyed a long
deep sleep, from which he awoke quite free from fever, and much more
disposed to look upon everything in a cheerful light.
It was very pleasant indeed to David, who had been treated as a dog
by Hans Kuhe, to find himself not only in the society of countrymen
and gentlemen, but to be aware that they were both very favourably
disposed towards him, and that they admired his courage and honesty.
It was not merely the hope that Manners and Carlton might in some way
help his return to England that made this knowledge so delightful to
David; he had a heart that warmed to kindness, especially in a foreign
land, and after having experienced so much of the reverse, the youth
was naturally desirous to keep the good opinion of the hunters, and was
anxious not to say or do anything which might lower him in their eyes.
As the three sat in the waggon together, the gentlemen asked David a
few questions as to his parentage and birthplace, and seemed pleased
when they heard that he was the son of an English farmer.
"One might have guessed that you came of the race of our bold yeomen,"
observed Carlton, "when you would face a lion for half an hour without
winking!"
David's cheek glowed with pleasure at the praise, and he could not
refrain from telling of a brave deed performed by his father in early
youth, when John Aspinall had been the means of saving a girl from an
infuriated bull.
Both the gentlemen listened with much interest, and Manners quoted
something from Goldsmith about a "bold peasantry, their country's
pride," which raised David's spirits still higher. The conversation
then took another turn. The subject was that of shooting, and the
hunters were glad to find that their young comrade knew very well how
to handle a musket or rifle.
"Almost the best shot that ever I met with was our gamekeeper's son,"
observed Manners. "I've seen him bring down a small bird on the wing
when it looked a mere speck in the sky! He was such a clever lad too;
he could turn his hand to anything. He'd have been invaluable on an
expedition like ours—he'd have dressed a dinner or mended a shaft, or
have made a pair of velt-shoen, or have driven a span of oxen, as if
he'd been brought up to the business of cook, carpenter, cobbler, and
driver! The poor fellow was wild to come with me to Africa!"
"And why did you not bring him?" asked Carlton.
"Well," began Manners slowly, as if he scarcely dared to give his
reasons; "you see—he had got into a scrape—had been before the
magistrate, and had seen the inside of a prison. I don't choose to have
anyone about me whose character bears a stain."
"Quite right,—don't you think so?" said Carlton, tuning towards David.
The poor youth's face flushed again, but not this time with pleasure.
He felt uneasy, mortified, ashamed, and knew not what to reply.
"Why," continued Carlton, seeing that he hesitated, "you would not keep
company with a gaolbird, would you?"
Again there was a struggle within, a dialogue between the Tempter and
Conscience, only carried on far more rapidly than I can write, or the
reader peruse it.
TEMPTER.—Put a bold face on the matter; say "no" at once.
CONSCIENCE.—That would be a lie.
TEMPTER.—Only a white lie; it will do no one harm.
CONSCIENCE.—It will do you grievous harm, for it is sin. "Lying lips
are an abomination to the Lord."
Once more David felt Conscience to represent his God's guiding eye.
"You would not keep company with a gaolbird?" repeated Carlton,
resolved to have a reply.
"I—I have been in a scrape myself," said David with a desperate effort.
"Then I'll be bound, it was on some false charge!" exclaimed Manners.
"I wish I could say so," murmured poor David, heartily wishing himself
fifty miles off.
There was silence for two or three seconds, and then Manners observed
to Carlton, "whatever he was 'then,' he is a noble fellow 'now;' we'll
never come on this subject again."
The effort was over—the truth had been told, and David had the comfort
of finding that his candour had raised him as much in the favour of his
friends, as he had feared that his confession would have lowered him.
Manners and Carlton treated him with even more kindness than before,
while he had the comfort of feeling that he had followed the dictates
of Conscience, and spoken the truth, as a Christian should ever do.
Never yet had any being cause to regret having followed, whether in
small things or in great, the gentle leading of Him who guideth His
saints by His eye!