SALEM--A PECULIAR PICNIC--POLO UNDER DIFFICULTIES--LECTURING AND
SINGING--SPORTING AT NIGHT.
Salem is, as it should be, a peaceful spot. It was not always so.
There was a time when its inhabitants had to toil, so to speak, with the
spade in one hand, and the musket in the other. It lies in a hollow of
the great rolling plains, and was founded, like many of the eastern
towns, in the memorable "1820," when the "British settlers" came out,
and a new era for the colony began.
The arrival of the original settlers at Salem is thus described by one
who was a noted leader in the first days:
"Our Dutch wagon-driver intimating that we had at length reached our
proper location, we took our boxes out of the wagon, and placed them on
the ground. He bade us _goeden dag_, or farewell, cracked his long
whip, and drove away, leaving us to our reflections. My wife sat down
on one box, and I on another. The beautiful blue sky was above us, and
the green grass beneath our feet. We looked at each other for a few
moments, indulged in some reflections, and perhaps exchanged a few
sentences; but it was no time for sentiment, and hence we were soon
engaged in pitching our tent, and when that was accomplished, we removed
into it our trunks and bedding. All the other settlers who arrived with
us were similarly engaged, and in a comparatively short time the
somewhat extensive valley of that part of the Assagai Bush River, which
was to be the site of our future village, presented a lively and
picturesque appearance."
Soon the spade, the plough, and the axe began their subduing work. Some
of the beautiful grassy slopes were turned up. Small clearings were
made in the bush. Frail huts with doors of matting and windows of
calico began to arise. Lime was found, white-wash was applied, and the
huts began to "smile." So did the waters of the stream when partially
shorn of the bush-moustache by which, from time immemorial, they had
been partially concealed; the first crops were sown, and the work of
civilisation began. There was a ruinous "wattle and daub" edifice which
had been deserted by a Dutch Boer before the arrival of the settlers.
This was converted into a church, town-hall, and hospital.
The yell of the Kafir and the whizzing assagai afterwards disturbed the
peace of Salem, and at that time the settlers proved that, though on
peaceful plans intent, they could bravely hold their own; but it was
peaceful enough, and beautiful, when I first beheld it.
At the door of a moderately handsome residence--which had succeeded the
wattle-and-daub style of thing--I was heartily welcomed by my friend and
his amiable spouse. Here I had the pleasure of enjoying a South African
picnic.
A picnic is at all times interesting, doubly so when undertaken in
peculiar circumstances. One of the peculiarities of this picnic was
that the invitation to it was publicly given, and embraced the entire
population. Another peculiarity was that the population, almost in its
entirety, accepted the invitation. But there were still other
peculiarities which will appear in the sequel.
The morning of the day fixed was bright and beautiful. This, indeed,
was no peculiarity. Most of the mornings, days, and nights in that
splendid region were of much the same stamp at that time. The spot
fixed on for the scene of the picnic was about six miles from Salem,
where a wild buffalo had been killed the week before.
The killing of this buffalo was an "event," for that wild denizen of the
African Bush had long ago retired before the rifle of the settler to
safer retreats, and rarely returned to his old haunts. A band of
buffaloes, however, had apparently taken a fancy to revisit the home of
their childhood at this time. There was nothing to prevent them, for,
although the country is "settled," the original "Bush" is in many places
sufficiently extensive and impervious to afford safe shelter to the
wildest of animals. At all events, a band of buffaloes did come to the
neighbourhood of Salem, and there met with a farmer-Nimrod, who "picked
off" one of their number. I turned aside, during one of my rides, to
visit the head and horns, which lay near his house.
The place of rendezvous for those who dwelt in the village was an open
space in front of the church. Here, at an early hour, there assembled
numerous equestrians, as well as vehicles of varied shape and character.
I was mounted on a smart brown pony kindly lent by Mr Shaw, teacher of
the flourishing school of Salem. My friend Caldecott bestrode a
powerful steed suited to his size. When the gathering had reached
considerable proportions, we started like an Eastern caravan.
Among the cavaliers there were stalwart men and fair damsels--also
little boys and girls, prancing in anxiety to get away. There were
carts, and gigs, and buggies, or things that bore some resemblance to
such vehicles, in which were the more sedate ones of the gathering; and
there were great "Cape wagons," with fifteen or twenty oxen to each,
containing whole families--from hale old "grannies" down to grannies'
weaknesses in the shape of healthy lumps of live lard clad in amazement
and bibs. It was a truly grand procession, as, after toiling up the
slope that leads from the valley of Salem, we debouched upon the wide
plain, and assumed our relative positions--that is, the riders dashed
away at speed, the carts and buggies, getting up steam, pushed on, and
the oxen trailed along at their unalterable gait, so that, in a few
minutes, the dense group spread into a moving mass which gradually drew
itself out into an attenuated line, whereof the head ultimately became
invisible to the tail.
My tall host led the way with enthusiastic vigour. He was a hearty,
earnest man, who could turn quickly from the pleasant contemplation of
the trivialities of life to the deep and serious consideration of the
things that bear on the life to come.
One Sunday I rode over the plains with him to visit a native church in
which it was his duty to conduct worship. The congregation was black
and woolly-headed--Hottentots chiefly, I believe, though there may have
been some Kafirs amongst them.
There is something very attractive to me in the bright, eager, childlike
look of black men and women. The said look may be the genuine
expression of feeling--it may be, for aught I can tell, the result of
contrast between the dazzling whites of eyes and teeth, with
liquid-black pupils and swarthy cheeks,--but that does not alter the
fact that it is pleasant.
The Hottentot who translated my friend's discourse, sentence by
sentence, was a fine specimen--I won't say of his race, but of humanity.
He was full of intelligence and fire; caught the preacher's meaning
instantly, riveted with his glittering eye the attention of his
audience, and rattled out his words with a power that was most
impressive, and with the interspersion of those indescribable "clicks"
with which the native language abounds.
But to return to the picnic.
As we advanced, groups and couples of cavaliers and carts and wagons
joined the line of march from outlying farms, so that when we reached
the rendezvous we must have formed a body of two hundred strong, or
more.
The spot chosen was the summit of a woody knoll, from which we could
survey all the country round, and look down upon the river with its
miles and miles of dense bush, in which the buffaloes had vainly fancied
themselves free from the danger of human foes.
Was there plenty of food at that picnic? I should think there was.
South Africans do not live upon air, by any means--though air has a good
deal to do with their living. These comely maidens and strapping boys
had not been brought up on water-gruel. These powerful men and ruddy
matrons, to say nothing of the aged and the juvenile, would not have
gone to that knoll on the plain without a prospect of "strong meat" of
some sort. There were pies and joints, buns and beef, cakes and coffee,
tea and tongues, sugar and sandwiches, hams and hampers, mounds of
mealies, oceans of milk, and baskets of bread and butter. I'm not sure
whether there were wines or spirits. I culpably forget. Probably there
were not, for "Good Templars" are powerful in that region, and so is
temperance.
Did we do justice to the viands? Didn't we? My notions of human
capacity were enlarged that day. So was my own capacity--out of
sympathy, coupled with the ride. But we did not linger over our food.
Seated in groups near the margin of, and partly in, the bush, we
refreshed ourselves in comparative silence. Then we grew noisy over our
milk and tea. Some of us even got the length of singing and
speech-making, but the younger portion of the band soon lost their
appetites and dispersed--some to romp, some to ramble, others to engage
in games.
A few of the more reckless among us extemporised a game of polo.
Most people know, though some may not, that this is a game played on
horseback with a club and ball--a species of equestrian "hockey," as it
is styled in England, "shinty" in Scotland. To be well done it requires
good and trained horses, a wide expanse of level country, and expert
riders. Our state of preparation for the game may be understood when I
say that we had indifferent and untrained horses, that the ground was
very uneven and covered with huge ant-hills, while the riders were not
expert--at least, not at polo.
We got sticks, however, and went at it. Half a dozen men cut and
levelled several ant-hills, and marking off a square patch of ground,
four of us--I won't say who--were placed, one at each corner, while the
ball, a football, was put in the middle of the square.
Our innocent horses stood quietly there till the signal was given to
start. Then each cavalier essayed to reach the ball first. The sudden
urging of the steeds to instant action seemed to confuse them. They did
not spring, as they should have done like arrows from bows. One rider
wildly kicked with his heels and shook his reins. The horse turned
round, as if in contempt, from the ball. Another applied his whip with
vehemence, but his horse only backed. A third shouted, having neither
whip nor spur, and brought his polo-stick savagely down on his animal's
flank, but it plunged and reared. The only horse that behaved well was
that of a gallant youth who wore spurs. A dig from these sent him into
the field. He reached the ball, made a glorious blow at it, and hit the
terrestrial ball by mistake. Before the mistake could be rectified
three of the other players were up, flourishing their long clubs in
reckless eagerness; the fourth rode into them; the horses then lost
patience and refused obedience to orders--no wonder, for one club, aimed
at the ball, fell on a horse's shins, while another saluted a horse's
ear. Presently the ball spurted out from the midst of us; the horses
scattered, and one was seen to rise on its hind-legs. Immediately
thereafter one of the players--I won't say which--was on the ground and
his horse was careering over the plain! Regardless of this the other
three charged, met in the shock of conflict; clubs met clubs, and ears,
and shins--but not the ball--until finally an accidental kick, from one
of the horses I think, sent it towards the boundary at a considerable
distance from the players.
Then it was that the power of spurs became conspicuously apparent.
While two of the champions backed and reared, the gallant youth with the
armed heels made a vigorous rush at the ball, miraculously hit it, and
triumphantly won the game.
On the whole it was a failure in one sense, but a great success in
another, inasmuch as it afforded immense amusement to the spectators,
and pleasant excitement as well as exercise to the performers.
It must not be supposed, however, that the energies of the whole picnic
were concentrated on polo. The party, as I have said, had broken up
into groups, one of which played hide-and-seek among the bushes on the
knoll, while another engaged in a game which involved sitting in a
circle, changing places, frequent collisions, constant mistakes on the
part of the ignorant, and shouts of laughter, with rectifying advice on
the part of the knowing.
All this time the sun was glowing as only a South African summer sun can
glow, in a cloudless sky, and it was not until that sun had become red
in the face, and sunk far down into the west, that the panting, but far
from exhausted revellers saddled up and inspanned, and began to quit the
scene.
Then it was, as my friend and I stood on the bush-topped knoll, that the
magnificence of our picnic fully impressed us, for, as we surveyed the
long line of riders, and trundling carts, and gigs, and carriages, and
heavy Cape wagons with their creeping teams winding over the plain, the
head of the column was seen almost on the horizon before the rear-guard
had left the scene of our festivities. This was altogether one of the
pleasantest days I had spent in the colony; the people were so hearty
and vigorous, so varied in appearance, character, and age, so full of
life and fun and good-will.
But it is not always in the sunshine that the good people of Salem enjoy
themselves. The hunters among them occasionally go out shooting at
night with the aid of a dark lantern, and the wretched creature which
they pursue on such occasions is called a spring-hare. It seems a
mixture of the hare and the kangaroo--its size and aspect being those of
the former animal, while its long hind-legs and its action in springing
resemble the latter. In running it does not use its fore legs, but
bounds like the kangaroo.
Never having engaged in night-sporting--save in dreams--I agreed to
accompany two Salem Nimrods on a hunt after spring-hares.
We went into the fields. That is all I can vouch for. It happened to
be so dark that we might as well have been groping about in a coal-pit.
My companions, however, knew the ground, which was fortunate, for
walking over a rugged surface in the dark is not only confusing, but
trying to the nerves, to say nothing of the temper. I followed
faithfully and "close to heel," like a well-trained dog.
"This way, Sir; mind the ditch."
"Where? ah! all ri-ight!"
The last syllable was shot out of me like a bullet as I plunged into the
ditch.
The Nimrod who carried the lantern opened the slide for a moment,
revealed the rugged nature of the ground, and closed it when I had
risen.
"It's better farther on," he said, encouragingly.
"Is it? Ah, that's well."
We came to a piece of ground which my feet and legs told me was covered
with long rough grass and occasional bushes. Over this we stumbled, and
here the rays of the lantern were directed far in advance of us, so as
to sweep slowly round, bringing bushes, and grassy tufts, and stumps,
and clods, into spectral view for a moment as the focus of light moved
on.
"We never see their bodies," said the lantern-bearer, slowly, as he
peered earnestly in front, "we only see the sparkle of one eye when the
light falls on it, and--then--we--fire--at--there, that's one! Look,
don't you see his eye? Fire, Sir, fire!"
I raised my gun, and looked eagerly with all my eyes, but saw nothing.
Never having been in the habit of firing at _nothing_, I hesitated.
"Ah, he's gone! Never mind, we'll soon see another."
We stumbled on again. The surrounding gloom depressed me, but I revived
under the influence of one or two false alarms, and a severe plunge into
a deepish hole.
"There he is again, quite near," whispered my light-bearer.
"Aim for the eye," whispered the other.
The whispering, and intense silence that followed, coupled with the
gloom, made me feel guilty. I saw nothing, but tried so hard to do so
that I persuaded myself that I did, and attempted to aim.
"The sights of the gun are invisible," I whispered somewhat testily.
Without a word the lantern was raised until the light glittered on the
barrels. Then I saw nothing whatever except the gun! In sheer
desperation I pulled the trigger. The tremendous appearance in the dark
of the sheet of flame that belched forth, and the crash of the report in
the silent night, gave me quite new ideas as to firearms.
"You've missed," said the light-bearer.
As I had fired at _nothing_ I felt inclined to reply that I had not--but
refrained.
Again we stumbled on, and I began to grow melancholy, when another
"there he goes" brought me to the "ready," with eager eyes.
I saw it clearly enough this time. A diamond was sparkling in the
blackness before me. I aimed and fired. There was a squeal and a rush.
Instantly my friends dashed off in wild pursuit and I stood listening,
not daring to move for fear of ditches. The sounds of leaping,
stumbling, and crashing came to me on the night air for a few minutes;
then my friends returned with the light, and with a poor little
spring-hare's lifeless and long-hind-legged body.
With this trophy I returned home, resolved never more to go hunting at
night.