_AFRICAN NEIGHBOURS._
FOR an hour or two during the burning heat in the middle of the day
Mr. Treby was obliged to rest. Here and there the veldt was crossed
by little streams. By the edge of one of these the waggon halted. In
places it was nearly dry, yet the milk-bushes, with their long waxen
leaves, grew taller by its margin.
Jack and his ostrich were glad to alight and stretch themselves, for
Vickel could not stand upright beneath the tilt without knocking her
head. A good play amidst the waving tufts of tambouki grass refreshed
them both.
When Mr. Treby had fed his oxen, he sat down under the shadow of the
nearest bush, and called Jack to share the dinner which Tottie had
provided for them. The ostrich found her own amongst the loose stones
and sprouting leaves by the brook.
When they were ready to start again on their journey, Jack's father
gathered a nice bundle of the long, dry grass to make a bed for his
little boy in a corner of the waggon. Jack coiled himself up in it like
a bird in its nest, and found it very comfortable, whilst his father
calculated how far the ten pounds could go. He had neither pencil nor
paper, so he made his figures with the point of his penknife on the
side of the waggon.
It was fortunate, he thought, that the knife was in the pocket of his
trousers. As he felt for it, he pulled out the newspaper the postman
had given to him. It was the last number of the "Illustrated London
News." What a burlesque, it seemed to him, to receive it in such
circumstances!
"Here, Jack," he said, "here is something for you to look at. Take care
of it, my boy, for I was just thinking you might forget how to read
before we had another book to call our own. We shall want so much to
build the house again."
"I shall never forget how to read, father," answered Jack decidedly;
"and I can write with a burned stick on the wall of Tottie's hut, or
make figures, as you are doing now, for I have got my knife as well as
you." He dived into the pocket of his jacket as he spoke, and produced
a stout clasp-knife, which had seen a deal of service in the garden.
"All right," returned his father. "We must gather up the fragments.
Every trifle may be of use."
Then Mr. Treby went on with his calculations, and Jack lay back in his
nook, with the big rush-hat Tottie had found for him tilting over his
eyes. How he enjoyed his lovely pictures; whilst Vickel, who had become
more reconciled to the jolting waggon, diverted herself by enlarging
the hole in the sack of mealies.
When Mr. Treby looked round again Jack was fast asleep, with the
precious paper still in his hand. The poor child was worn out with the
alarm and excitement of the previous night, so his father was careful
not to disturb him; for he said to himself with a sigh, "No one can
tell what may lie before us."
Jack did not rouse until the glorious African sunset had tinged the
lonely veldt with molten gold. Hard-winged, spotted insects buzzed in
and out of the waggon. One blood-thirsty mosquito refused all notice to
quit until Vickel snapped at it most ferociously.
But they were near their journey's end. The zinc roofs of the Boer's
farm-buildings glowed like fires in the distance. Behind them was
the wide flat plain, one dull, monotonous red; before them rose the
rocky hills, the boundary of Jack's horizon. He had seen them looming
cloud-like in the distance as long as he could remember anything; but
now, as the waggon rumbled on, and they came nearer and nearer, as
the daylight faded, they seemed to alter into some big blur of brown,
blotting out the ruddy sunset gold. The clumps of bush grew larger,
and now and then a shy antelope darted across their path. Jack sat up,
resting one hand on his father's knee. The weary oxen dragged heavily
along.
"Jack," said his father, "just one more mile. We are close on
Jaarsveldt. Cheer up, my boy."
Then Jack began to sing, but his father stopped him. "Hush, there is
somebody coming."
A wild cat scampered over a ridge of stones and made the oxen bellow.
She had been startled from her lair by the approaching horseman.
"There they come," continued Mr. Treby, as a powerful black horse
with an equally ponderous rider emerged from the shadows; two Kafir
attendants followed, dragging between them a buck antelope. Some
smaller game was hanging to their master's saddle. "I ought to know
that young giant," soliloquized Mr. Treby. "He must be a son of Van
Immerseel." It was evident that the hunting party was returning to the
farm.
As they drew near to each other, the young Boor stared hard at the
ox-waggon and its ragged driver. But despite his forlorn appearance,
Mr. Treby raised his hat with the air of an English gentleman, and
pointing to the homestead before them, asked him if it were the
residence of Van Immerseel.
The gigantic youngster stared and scratched his head, answering with a
sullen "Jah" (Yes).
Mr. Treby's knowledge of Dutch was small, and young Immerseel knew
nothing of English, but he comprehended that it was his father Mr.
Treby wanted, and invited him by gestures to join company. He walked
his horse by the side of the waggon, and laughed most heartily
when Vickel poked her long neck through the tilt, which she had
been strenuously endeavouring to slit for the last hour. But his
exclamations were in Dutch, and Mr. Treby failed to catch their import.
When they passed the outlying ostrich camp belonging to his father's
farm, he pointed it out, and Mr. Treby expressed his admiration for the
large flock of majestic birds it contained, by nods and smiles. But
the proximity of so many of her feathered kin disturbed poor Vickel
sorely, and taxed Jack's ingenuity to the utmost to keep her in bounds.
Young Immerseel soon sent his black followers to the right about, the
antelope was left under the wall of the camp, and one of the Kafirs
ran forward to apprise the family at Jaarsveldt of the approach of the
waggon.
The house was large, low, and square, of substantial red brick. On one
side was the orchard, on the other extensive sheep-kraals; for where
Mr. Treby had counted his sheep by the score, Van Immerseel counted his
by the thousand. The water in the dam shone like silver beside the dark
row of Kafir huts where his servants lived. The house was surrounded
by a low wall, which enclosed the garden and farm-yard. At the open
gate stood the strong-built, broad-shouldered owner. His habitual
hospitality was tempered by his surly dislike of the English.
"Walt," he shouted to his eldest son, in a voice so gruff and deep that
Jack thought it might have belonged to the strongest of their oxen.
"We must not be dismayed at that, Jack. These 'Ooms and 'Tantes' are
a worthy race, if you can but get on their right side," observed Mr.
Treby.
"Ooms and tantes?" repeated Jack inquiringly.
"Yes; uncles and aunts, as we should say," laughed his father. "The
Boers and their wives are uncles and aunts to all the rest of the
world. Pray, don't forget that. Now take the reins."
Mr. Treby sprang lightly to the ground, and walked up to his burly
neighbour with outstretched hand, offering the customary salutation of
the Dutch, "Dagh, oom" (Good-day, uncle).
Slowly and sullenly the hand was taken, but the unwilling pressure
tightened to a hearty grip as the Englishman hastened to explain his
object. This was not an easy matter, but he pointed to his burned
clothes, about which the smell of smoke still lingered, and then
across the silent veldt to where a dull black column of smoke rose up
ominously in the far distance.
"Burned out!" The Boer comprehended thus far in a moment.
The shepherds at Jaarsveldt had also seen the ruddy glow in the
midnight sky.
The sullen frown began to change its character. The wrinkled brow was
puckered still, but with most genuine concern. He slapped Mr. Treby on
the back, and forced him to enter; whilst his son gave his horse to one
of the Kafirs, and lifted Jack out of the waggon as if he had been a
baby, mounted him on his shoulder, and marched off, laughing, to the
house.
From such an unwonted elevation, Jack had an excellent view of the
house they were approaching over his father's head. But this hardly
consoled him for the loss of dignity.
A wooden staircase outside the house led to the upper story, which was
little better than a loft, and was used as the general store for every
variety of household goods and discarded lumber. The door of the house
was cut in two, like an English stable door, and over the lower half,
which was closed, Tante Milligen was hanging, anxious to see what sort
of people her husband was bringing. Around her stood her black and
yellow maids, excited and eager, for the arrival of the strangers was
a pleasant break in the dull monotony of their daily life. At a word
from the "oom," a woolly-haired black (with nothing but a dirty scarlet
blanket twisted round her waist) was sent running with a message, but
to whom or where Mr. Treby had no idea.
Tante Milligen threw open the door, and dispersing the little knot of
servants and children, invited the travellers to enter.
Jack looked round the large white-washed room with some surprise. The
heavy chairs and lumbering settee were covered with home-tanned skins;
but the curiously-spotted floor attracted the most of his attention. It
was made of clay, thickly dotted over with plum-stones, well polished
by the friction of many feet.
An ample supper was awaiting the return of the young hunter—huge joints
of beef, from which the rations for the numerous dependants had been
already cut; piles of roaster-cake; and above all, a well-filled basket
of grapes, oranges, and peaches.
At first poor Jack was almost dazed by the sudden change from the
shadowy night to the bright lamp-light within the Boer's "sit-kamé"
(sit-chamber, or sitting-room, as we should say in English). More
bewildering still was the buzz of strange voices around him, every one
speaking in a language he could not understand. Walt placed him on the
wondrous floor, in the middle of the room, and called to his younger
brother, a boy about Jack's age, but twice his size, "Zyl, Zyl."
Jack caught the name, and smiled, as a lumpy, sheepish-looking boy
answered the brotherly appeal, by seizing him by both hands and
dragging him to the table, around which the family were gathering.
Their sister, a fat, freckled girl of thirteen, sat staring at him,
with her thumb in her mouth, until poor Jack grew very hot and
uncomfortable, for he was as black as a sweep and as shy as a wild
rabbit. He wanted to keep close to his father, who was doing his best
to cover up the awkwardness of his introduction, and make the most of
the few Dutch phrases he could command.
In vain Jack tried to edge a little nearer to him. Between Walt and Zyl
there was no escape. Tante Milligen loaded his plate with the tough
beef, which at that hour of night he knew not how to eat. His eyes were
fixed upon the corners of the room, in one of which lay a little bundle
of blue and white check, and in the other the head and horns of the
bullock whose ribs they were eating. Presently the bundle rolled over,
and Jack discovered by its snoring that it really was a sleeping child.
Just then the black maid returned, followed by a young man in a
pepper-and-salt suit, with an English hat. Jack's father brightened,
for he saw by the cast of the stranger's countenance he was a German,
and guessed that the Boer, who was probably his master, had summoned
him to act as interpreter.
This new-comer was quickly seated at the family supper-table, between
Van Immerseel and Mr. Treby. Yes, it was fortunate this young Otto,
the German shepherd, knew about as much of English as Mr. Treby did
of Dutch. With his assistance a sort of patch-work conversation was
carried on.
"Vat ou zay?" the Boer inquired continually, for he was slow of
understanding.
The one fact "burned out" had been made plain to him. To this he now
added, "set on fire." When at last he was made to comprehend, "sheep
gone," he laid down his knife and fork in sympathetic consternation.
After a while they began to understand each other better. Walt, who
seemed far more intelligent than his father, became an interested
listener, and quickly grasped the position in which the unfortunate
English farmer now stood. He scratched his head, as if recalling
some occurrence to his memory; and then rubbing his hands gleefully,
thundered in Mr. Treby's ear, as if he thought the loudness of his
voice would make his meaning plainer.
He had been hunting "velderbeeste" all day. Jah, he was sure he had
crossed fresh sheep-tracks, leading to the rocks among which the free
Kafirs had their homes.
"Follow them," counselled his father, and Walt's eyes brightened at the
prospect of a fight.
Then it was Mr. Treby's turn to explain. He managed to make them
understand that he was alone, having sent his only man to Scarsdorp to
warn his neighbour there.
Whilst this conversational medley was taking place, Tante Milligen
perceived poor Jack's vain endeavour to get through his supper, and
kindly exchanged the gigantic slice of beef for roaster-cakes and
honey. Zyl and his sister Genderen watched these disappear, and before
the last mouthful was finished, piled his plate with grapes and
peaches. After his long and dusty drive, the fruit seemed delicious;
but in spite of his utmost endeavours, Jack was nodding over his supper.
With a good-humoured smile, Tante Milligen made a sign. Walt took him
up once more, and laid him on the sheep-skin by the snoring bundle.
It was intolerable to be treated like a baby, just because they were
all so big and he so little. Jack started up belligerently, but his
father's eye checked him. So he contented himself with shrugging
his shoulders against the white-washed wall, and staring at his
"vis-à-vis,"—the bull's head—for he was far too indignant to bestow a
single glance upon his sleeping companion.
"I should just like to show them the sort of stuff an English boy is
made of," he thought.