The bullock-waggons which had attracted Frank Jamieson's attention, when
approaching the kraal, belonged to a certain Mr Abraham Shipp, who was
engaged in the adventurous and not unprofitable occupation of trading
with the natives in the interior of South Africa, bartering a great
variety of British hard goods--principally of "Brummagem" manufacture--
for elephants' tusks, valuable skins and horns, and ostrich feathers.
Mr Shipp, after many months' sojourn amongst the up-country tribes, had
come down south, and was now hastening on to Natal, where he hoped to
dispose of the ivory, skins, and plumes that he had collected, to some
of the British and Dutch traders, who had branch houses in the
fast-rising town of D'Urban, or else make arrangements to ship them off
to Cape Town in one of the small coasting vessels plying regularly (more
or less!) between Port Natal and Table Bay.
But apart from his desire to "trade," Abraham Shipp had another and more
important reason for wishing to reach D'Urban as quickly as possible.
He had with him a sick companion, a young man of four--and--twenty,
Oliver Maurice by name. Young Maurice was an Oxford man of good family
and fortune, but having "gone the pace" whilst at college, and plunged
into the dubious pleasure of what Captain Costigan was wont to call
"poloit societee" with rather too much enthusiasm when reading for the
bar, he had damaged his fortune and lost all taste for what is termed
"life," and so came out to South Africa to seek enjoyment amidst "fresh
woods and pastures new." Meeting with Abraham Shipp, Maurice had
arranged to accompany him on his trading expedition, but whilst up
country far north of the Gareep River, he had been seized with sickness,
and now it was only too evident that his days were numbered. He
suffered no pain, but lay all day in one of the waggons in a state of
apathy. Still Mr Shipp clung to the hope that if Oliver Maurice could
only be placed under a doctor's care he might "pull round."
Shipp, though somewhat brusque-mannered and rough-tongued, was a right
good-hearted fellow, and when he heard Frank's story he at once proposed
that they should join company.
"Look you now, my lad," cried he, slapping Frank's shoulder with a hand
half as big as a fair-sized leg of mutton, "just you give up your mad
idea of tramping to Cradock, and make up your mind to come with me.
Your chum can share the waggon with poor Noll Maurice; it's plenty big
enough for both, and they'll cheer one another up; and I've got a spare
nag--rather a rum 'un, but I can see _you_ won't mind that!--which you
can ride. I'll find you in meat, baccy, and grog, and rig you out in
fresh togs into the bargain. We inspan at daybreak to-morrow, and I
hope to be at D'Urban by Tuesday week. Come now, what d'ye say?"
We need hardly add that Frank accepted this generous offer without
hesitation.
Early next morning Shipp's waggons were got on the move, and having
taken a friendly leave of Ntlororo--upon whom Frank bestowed
Waishlahla's gun and ammunition--the party left the kraal en route for
Natal.
Oliver Maurice seemed very pleased to have Tom as his companion, and
before they had known one another four-and-twenty hours they were on
friendly terms.
Maurice evidently felt a relief in having somebody with him in whom he
could confide, and he gave Tom a brief sketch of his short, but misspent
life.
"If I had only been a poor man I might have done better," said he one
evening--the day before they reached D'Urban. "But it is a true saying
that money unfairly come by brings--"
"Unfairly come by!" ejaculated Tom. "You surely don't mean that you
_stole_ it?"
"Not exactly, my dear fellow," replied the sick man, with just the ghost
of a laugh. "But nevertheless, though _legally_ mine, the best part of
my fortune should by rights have gone to another man. My father had a
distant relative--a queer, crochety old fellow whom he had never seen
and never wished to see--and this distant relative had an only son, a
lieutenant in the royal navy, who unfortunately--"
"Why!" interrupted Tom, a sudden light breaking in upon him, "you don't
mean Weston?"
"Weston was the name of my father's relative; and his son was dismissed
the service for striking his superior officer. Do you know anything
about him?"
"I should think I did!" was Tom's reply; "why, my dear chap, Weston is
my father's partner, and Frank Jamieson's brother-in-law." And
thereupon he proceeded to give Maurice a full account of Mr Weston's
history.
"I am glad to have the opportunity of making a restitution of this
property," said Maurice when Tom finished. "Ask Shipp to give you some
paper, and this very evening I'll draw up a will in Weston's favour,
which, if I live to reach D'Urban, I will have put into regular legal
jargon. I shall leave him every penny--no, I sha'n't though," he added
with a faint smile; "I owe you something, Tom, and as I see that you
feel a tender interest in Miss Gracie Weston I shall leave her a share
of the property."
Poor Maurice was as good as his word; he reached D'Urban just in time to
draw up a formal will, which was duly attested by the resident
magistrate, leaving his fortune to Mr Weston, with the exception of
3000 pounds, which he settled on Miss Grace Weston. Two days later he
breathed his last, and after his funeral Frank Jamieson and Tom Flinders
took leave of Mr Shipp and embarked on board the _Mary Anne_ cutter,
bound for Table Bay, where they landed after a rough passage of a week's
duration.
Our task is ended; but before parting we must ask our readers to
accompany us once again to Ralfontein, and to imagine that ten years
have elapsed since our hero and his friend escaped from the Caffres.
Quite a large village has sprung up on the plateau in rear of the old
homestead; a village in which may be counted four substantial houses,
"standing in their own grounds," and one tiny wooden church.
On the fertile plains that surround the plateau hundreds of splendid
cattle are grazing, whilst the meadows and inclosures nearer home are
enlivened by young horses sufficient in number to furnish remounts for
any light cavalry corps in the service.
The village is inhabited by the employes of "Jamieson, Flinders, and
Weston," the largest and most successful horse-breeders and farmers in
the colony; and in the four substantial houses dwell the families of
Messieurs Tom Flinders, Frank Jamieson, George Maurice Weston, and
Richard (commonly called Dick) Jamieson; the little church is "_served_"
by the Reverend James Jamieson.
Major and Mrs Flinders reside in the old house with Mr Weston and his
wife.
And now let us lay down our pen, saying: "God save all this fayre
compagnie!"
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The End.