THE STUBBORN SINNER.
_"Be ye not as the horse, or as the mule, which have no understanding:
whose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle, lest they come near
unto thee."_—Psalm xxxii. 9.
DAVID was reminded of the verse which heads this chapter while watching
the struggles of one of the draught-oxen, which was young, obstinate,
and not yet well broken-in to the yoke. Restive and stubborn, it seemed
disposed to pull in any way but the right one, though its very life, as
David knew, depended on its obeying the driver, who was directing it to
the nearest point where a large fountain of water was to be found. The
ox kicked, tried to gore with its horns,—to break from the waggon, to
do anything rather than "obey," and drew down upon itself heavy blow
after heavy blow—punishment carried to an extent that would have been
cruel, had it not been actually needful.
"My conduct was once very much like that of yon wretched ox,"
thought David, "though I could not plead its excuse of having 'no
understanding.' I have had terrible blows that have made my very heart
bleed; but it was long before I would give way and bow my proud spirit
to the yoke. But I will call it a yoke no longer; those who obey
Conscience are released from the 'bit and the bridle;' they follow the
steps of their Master; they are not driven, but led."
The sun was sloping towards the west, and the Hottentot drivers said
that the waggons would reach Quagga Fountain before he set. It was
there that they would outspan for the night.
"We shall not be alone," observed Carlton, "for I see a waggon not half
a mile ahead."
This was rather a subject of surprise, as David was certain that none
had passed on the tract since Hans Kuhe had gone that way.
"It must be that of the Boer," he observed, "but still it is strange
to see it there. He counted upon leaving Quagga Fountain early this
morning, and if that be his waggon yonder, he can never have reached
the water at all."
"Perhaps," suggested Manners, "his oxen were too feeble to draw the
waggon, and so he has outspanned, and taken on the weary beasts to the
fountain, leaving the waggon until they were able to pull it again."
"We shall soon know the truth," said Carlton. "I hope the Boer may be
there, that he has stuck fast in the sand, and that David may have the
pleasure of giving back the purse himself, and seeing if it be possible
to make such a fellow blush."
After the waggons had advanced some way, David spoke again, anxiously.
"Certainly there are none of the oxen with the waggon, and, strange to
say, there does not seem to be anyone left in charge. Hans Kuhe is not
the man to desert his goods like that."
"Though he could desert his faithful servant," observed Carlton.
"There is a man,—and it must be the Boer himself, for he is certainly
not a Tottie, laying flat upon the ground, about five yards to the left
of the waggon, and he looks as if he had been stripped of half his
clothes!" said Manners.
"Something must have happened to him!" exclaimed David, starting up.
"Hans Kuhe must have been attacked by the Bushmen. Let us hasten on and
see."
The oxen were urged to their best speed. Every yard that they advanced
served to confirm the fears of David. He saw before him the waggon
of Kuhe, but it was utterly empty, stripped of all the innumerable
articles of furniture, dress, trade, the karosses, cooking-utensils,
ivory tusks, skins, ostrich-eggs and feathers, that had made it appear
something between a house on wheels, and a travelling museum. One
wounded dog which came barking up to David, as if delighted to see his
familiar face, was the only thing that showed life and motion. One or
two arrows such as are used by Bushmen, a biscuit-cask robbed of its
stores, and some broken pipes and empty bottles lay on the sand, which
had evidently been trampled by many feet that had never worn shoes.
The first care of the three Englishmen was to hasten up to what had
appeared to be the lifeless body of the Boer. David, in his eagerness,
sprang down from the waggon, almost forgetful of his lameness.
"He is not dead!" exclaimed the youth. "He is not dead! See—he moves—he
opens his eyes. If we had water—"
"Brandy—brandy!" groaned the Boer.
Both water and brandy were brought. The wretched man, who had lain
there for twenty-four hours, drank as if he never would cease from
drinking.
"He's not much hurt, I hope!" cried David. "That wound from the dart in
his shoulder may not be deep; it has scarcely bled at all, and it is
near no vital part."
"But the flesh is dreadfully swollen around it," said Manners, gravely
shaking his head. He then quickly returned to his own waggon, to bring
from it other things that might be needed by the wounded man.
"How came 'you' here!" exclaimed Hans Kuhe suddenly, fixing his eyes
with a wild startled expression upon David, who had been supporting the
Boer's head on his knee, while holding a flask to his lips.
"You may well ask that question," muttered Carlton, "for it is no
thanks to you that he is here, or anywhere on this earth!"
He probably did not intend that his words should reach the Dutchman's
ear, but they had been both heard and understood, for Hans exclaimed
with vehemence, raising himself with an effort to a sitting posture as
he spoke, "Ay, ay, it was that, that has brought the ruin upon me! He
would have watched, have kept awake; the savages would not have stolen
upon us, and struck before I could snatch up a musket! Ay, ay, I've had
nothing but ill-luck since I left him alone! First I dropped my purse—"
"Which David found—and which David restores to you!" said Manners, who
came up at the moment, as he drew forth the purse, and gave it to the
youth, who was still on his knees beside his former master.
"Take it—all your money is there, save the one piece which you owed
me," said David, putting the heavy purse close to the coarse brown
fingers that were wont to clutch gold so eagerly, and to hold it so
fast. But, to his surprise, Hans Kuhe made no attempt to take up the
purse.
"What's money to me!" groaned the miserable man, sinking back on the
sand. "Can it keep back death for one hour—one moment?"
"Not death!" exclaimed David, cheeringly. "You have but a flesh-wound
from an arrow."
"But the arrow was 'poisoned!'" muttered Hans. "There's nothing on
earth that can save me!"
"He speaks too truly," said Manners, who had been examining the wound.
"Spend what time is left you, unhappy man, in making your peace with
God, for no human skill can help you now."
"Peace with God!" repeated the sufferer gloomily. "It is too late. I
never cared for religion in health, and now—"
"Pray, oh! Pray!" exclaimed David. "God is so merciful—I have found Him
so merciful,—if we but repent."
"I cannot repent," groaned the dying sinner, whose life had been one
long course of rebellion, who had closed his ears and his heart to
offers of mercy, till he had become stubborn and hardened in guilt.
"Let me but repeat to you what has been my own comfort—my own hope,"
said David with emotion, for Conscience bade him make yet one effort
more for the soul of the miserable man,—though the presence of the
hunters, and his own consciousness of unworthiness, made it very
difficult for him to speak. "'Blessed is he whose—'"
"There's no blessing for me—none!" interrupted the Boer. "Go, boy,
go,—you mean kindly, but it is too late! Take that purse—keep it—I have
wronged you,—I've met my deserts,—money—oxen—goods—life—all gone! I
shall want nothing more—but a grave!"
These were the last words which Hans ever spoke. He was gently placed
in a waggon, and there David, with such care and kindness as a son
might have shown, tended his enemy while life ebbed away. How awful
is the deathbed of the wicked! David had prayed to his God "in a time
when He might be found." Hans was like those unhappy ones who neglected
Noah's warnings till God's people had entered the Ark, and the door was
shut, and they who had been offered mercy in vain were swept away by
the flood of great waters!
It is scarcely necessary to relate how the misfortune of Hans had come
upon him. After eating and drinking to excess, the Boer had fallen
into a heavy sleep in his waggon. Pollux, who never worked if he could
possibly be idle, followed his master's example and slept, while the
tired oxen halted on the way. A crouching Bushman who had come as a
spy saw the state of affairs, which was such as to invite an attack.
And gathering some of his tribe, they made an onslaught on the waggon,
first sending a shower of poisoned arrows, for the Boer was known to
be heavily armed, was a dead shot, and a very powerful man. The reader
knows the result: Pollux fled,—the oxen and everything that could be
carried off were taken, and the Boer was left to die! There he lay,
thirsting, and in misery, dreading attacks from wild beasts, in far
more woeful state than that to which his selfish cruelty had doomed his
poor young servant.
That night the remains of Hans Kuhe were buried near the Quagga
Fountain. There was no tear shed over his grave. His life had been
without faith or repentance; his death was without hope or peace.
"There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked."