Jacoba Steyn lives with her brother Hans and his wife and numerous
family on a remote farm far up in Waterberg, to the north-west of the
Transvaal. She is, although now well on in middle age, a spinster--a
rather remarkable circumstance among the women of the South African
Dutch. For Jacoba is, as Dutch Afrikanders go, not uncomely, and few
Boer women of her looks and condition in life escape, or desire to
escape, from the joys and cares of matrimony. You would never think, to
look at Jacoba Steyn nowadays, that there was much of romance or
sentiment in her nature. She is now a stout spinster of forty-seven,
thick and square of figure, and, as she takes her _kapje_ off, you may
note the grey threads showing thick in her dull brown hair. Yet Jacoba
cherishes within her broad breast a very real and very tender romance,
as all her relations and some few of her friends know.
Thirty years ago there came into the life of this staid, sober-minded
Boer woman a bright gleam of passion, which ever since has illumined her
quiet existence. That romance will never fade from her heart. Its
tender memory shapes and tinges almost every act of her working,
everyday life. It softens those somewhat rude asperities of manner
which the average Boer housewife usually exhibits. It gives that kindly
content which shines forth from the blue eyes and upon the homely
features of spinster Jacoba. All the ragged, rough, and noisy crew of
children--there are nine of them--of her brother Hans call in Tant
Jacoba for the settlement of quarrels and the drying of tears. Her
renown as a peacemaker has a far wider field than that of her somewhat
sharp-tongued sister-in-law, the mother of all this unruly brood. Until
ten years ago many of the neighbouring Boers of Waterberg--bachelors and
widowers--still cherished the hope and belief that Jacoba Steyn was to
be induced into the bonds of matrimony. Jacoba was still on the right
side of middle age; she was far from ill-looking in the eyes of a Dutch
farmer; a certain air of refinement, peculiar to herself, distinguished
her from all her fellows. And she had flocks and herds of her own,
running upon her brother's veldt, as well as some good tobacco "lands,"
which yielded no mean profit each year. The few cows and goats set
apart for Jacoba in her infancy, according to the ancient patriarchal
Boer plan, had increased and multiplied. Jacoba Steyn's stock always
had luck, and throve handsomely; and so at the age of thirty-seven she
was still looked upon as an excellent match. But Jacoba had throughout
her life steadily refused all offers of marriage. It was very
exasperating to her family in her younger days, and a complete mystery
to the Boer men who knew little of her earlier life. Gradually it
dawned upon the minds of these slow-witted Waterberg Dutchmen that in
real sober truth Jacoba Steyn was not to be won, that she was vowed to
spinsterhood, and that some unaccountable attachment of her girlish days
prevented her from ever accepting another man's attentions.
When she had reached the age of forty, her youngest brother, Hans, with
whom and whose family she had, since the death of her parents, always
lived, ceased to urge upon her to take a husband. It was hopeless, and,
after all, Jacoba's cattle, goats, and savings would be a great help to
the children at some future time. And so, at the age of forty-seven,
Jacoba had outlived the attentions of bucolic swains, and the strong and
even forcible recommendations of her own family, and was left to pursue
unmolested the tenor of her quiet existence. She helped Lijsbet, her
brother Hans's wife, with her unwieldy family, performed more than her
share of the household duties, and wore always a look of quiet happiness
upon her broad, pleasant face. Twice or thrice a year she trekked with
the family to _Nachtmaal_ (Communion) at Pretoria. After all, Jacoba
was a woman, and even she, weaned though she was from the hopes and
fears and commoner frets of the world, could not find it in her heart to
deny herself the pleasure of a few days in the Boer capital, the sight
of shops and _winkels_ [stores] and English folk, the joys of attendance
in the Dutch Reformed Church, and some little intercourse with the
_predikant_ (pastor). The _predikant_ knew something of Jacoba's
strange story; he was a man of some refinement and much sympathy; and it
did the quiet Dutchwoman good to have a talk with the minister she had
known so long. Sometimes on the calm Sunday evenings up in Waterberg,
when the cattle and goats are kraaled for the night and the still veldt
lies golden beneath the kiss of sunset, when the bush _koorhaan_
[bustards] are playing their half-hour of strange aerial pranks and
evolutions yonder, just outside the dark fringe of bush, Jacoba wanders
from the low homestead and sits up above the Falala River, dreaming upon
an old, old tale. That tale was once full of mingled memories--
bitter-sweet. You may tell now, from the clear, tender look on the good
woman's face, that her thoughts are mainly pleasant ones. Time and she
have healed, or nearly healed, her once bruised heart. Jacoba's tale is
a simple one. Yet it has its romantic side. It is not widely known
even in Waterberg, and it may perhaps be worth the telling.
Jacoba Steyn's father was one of those sturdy emigrant Boers who crossed
the Vaal River towards 1837, defeated that terror of the north,
Moselikatse, and his fierce Matabele warriors, drove them beyond the
Limpopo, and took possession of the vast countries now known as the
Orange Free State and Transvaal. Jan Steyn was, until the verge of old
age, one of those restless frontier-men who are never content to settle
down entirely to the pastoral life of the average Dutch farmer. He was
a great hunter, and during the first ten years of his career beyond the
Vaal he found almost as much occupation as he needed within the
boundaries of the newly formed republic. But after that time elephants
began to grow scarce within the Transvaal, and the ivory-hunters had to
push their way farther afield. Moselikatse's country--which we now call
Matabeleland--was a sealed book for the Boers; the old Zulu lion seldom
allowed them to enter it, and then only on payment of an extortionate
tribute. Some of the hunters gradually thrust their way through
Zoutpansberg eastward into the low countries (rich in game, but terribly
feverish and unhealthy), towards Delagoa Bay; others gained permission
from the Bamangwato chief, Sekhomi, and followed the ivory into the wild
deserts towards Lake N'gami and the Zambesi. Among these last was to be
found Jan Steyn. Jan had settled, after the final defeat of Moselikatse
and his hordes, in that magnificent district of the western Transvaal
now known as Marico. He had had hard times during the war with the
Matabele, and had lost more than half his cattle. However, he consoled
himself by selecting a 6,000 acre farm of rich and well-watered land,
which he appropriately christened "_Beter laat dan Nooit_," ("Better
late than never"). His friend Jan Viljoen, the famous elephant-hunter,
was his nearest neighbour. Viljoen had named his farm "_Var Genoog_,"
("Far Enough"), not by any means a bad name for a trekking farmer who
had wandered in search of a home from the Knysna, on the extreme
southern littoral of Cape Colony, to the far Marico River.
Well, Jan Steyn built himself a house of Kaffir bricks, beaconed off his
farm, and settled down for a year or two to get things into shape.
After that time the wandering spirit overcame him again, and, leaving
his farm in charge of a near relation, he put his family into the big
tent-wagon and trekked away each season of African winter into the
hunting veldt. Jan Viljoen and other neighbours followed the same plan.
Elephants were inordinately plentiful, tusks were magnificently heavy,
and a good trade in ivory could, in those days, be done with native
chiefs. Jan Steyn's wife and family--six in all--always accompanied him
on these expeditions. The tough _vrouw_ refused to be left behind, and
where she went the family went also. So that from her earliest years
the little Jacoba remembered always the strange, wild life of the
hunting veldt, the voice of lions and hyaenas by night, the great
camp-fire, the return of the hunters laden with the hard-won spoils of
chase, the dark groups of Kaffirs carrying in the long gleaming tusks of
ivory. Like her mother, Jacoba as she neared her teens, could load a
gun, and upon occasion, even knew how to discharge it.
By the year 1855, the Transvaal elephant-hunters were trekking very far
afield in search of ivory. Livingstone's discovery of Lake N'gami in
1849 had opened up a new region, teeming with the great tusk-bearing
pachyderms, and a few Boer hunters began to filter gradually into the
deserts towards the Lake and the Chobe River. Among these were Jan
Viljoen, Piet Jacobs, and Jan Steyn. And so it happened that in 1859
the Steyn family for the fourth season had reached the south bank of the
Botletli, better known as the Lake River, which runs south-east from
Lake N'gami.
They had had a terrible struggle across the thirst-land lying between
Shoshong, the Bamangwato Stadt, and the Lake River. More than once it
seemed that they must have left their wagons behind in the desert; but
they had somehow battled through, with the loss of three good trek oxen.
It was within an hour of sundown when they rose the little swelling of
the plain, just where you strike the river, and drew up their wagons by
the big thorn tree for the night N'gamiland hunters will know that tree;
it bears the initials of most of the wanderers who have passed that way.
Jacoba Steyn was but a girl of seventeen then, but she will never, to
her dying hour, forget the scene that lay before her. Boer women are
not, as a rule, impressionable; they give little heed to the sights that
surround them, and have no eye for the picturesque. But this evening,
of all others, will, for a particular reason, remain imprinted deep in
the tablets of Jacoba's remembrance. Below the wagons lay the Lake
River, now somewhat shrunk within its low banks, and teeming with bird
life. Just here the tall reeds had been burnt down, and there was a
clear view. Flamingoes, ibises, coots, great gaudy geese, thousands of
wild-duck, widgeon, and teal thronged the shallows and darkened the
river surface. Elegant jacanas flitted brilliantly upon trembling
islets of floating weed. Noisy spur-winged plovers clamoured with sharp
metallic voices. Aloft soared a great fishing-eagle or two. And from
afar, following one another slowly and solemnly in even, single-file
procession, long lines of monstrous pelicans filled the sky. Their
soft, melancholy whistling sounded clear, even amid the lowing of the
parched oxen, now frantic and well-nigh dead with thirst. To the right
the vast reed-beds of the Komadau marsh filled the view for miles. In
front, outlined clear against the flaming sunset, stood up here and
there a few tall palm trees, marking the course of the river. Beyond
these the dry plains stretched to the north and west in illimitable
monotony.
Just beyond where the Steyns had outspanned was the wagon of another
traveller. And as Jacoba Steyn stood, stretching herself a little after
the long wagon journey, and gazing about her, the owner of it walked up
from the river. He was an Englishman, that was perfectly clear. His
smart, erect carriage, short, neatly trimmed dark beard and moustache,
and the cut of his breeches, gaiters, and boots, at once proclaimed the
fact. He looked to be about the middle height; he was strong and well
set up; an air of careless grace sat well upon him. He had dark and
very handsome grey eyes, and a most pleasant smile, and his face,
throat, and bare arms were deeply tanned by the sun. He wore a
broad-brimmed felt hat for head-gear, and his grey flannel shirt was
open at the throat, and had the sleeves rolled up. On his shoulder
rested a double-barrelled shot-gun. At his heels followed a pointer
dog, and a young native boy, the latter carrying several couple of duck
and geese. As the stranger approached the wagons and doffed his hat,
something in Jacoba's heart told her that she had never seen so
completely good-looking a man. She stared hard with all her eyes as the
Englishman advanced towards her. As he drew near and held out his hand,
and said, in a clear, pleasant voice, "_Dag, juffrow_," Jacoba's eyes
fell beneath the steady gaze of his, and she whispered bashfully, as she
put her palm into his, "_Dag, meneer_."
That, as well as I can describe it, is the picture that even now, thirty
years after, is constantly before the mind's eye of Jacoba Steyn.
Captain Meredith had soon introduced himself to the Steyn family. He
was heartily received; for the Transvaal Boers, even in those days, had
no grudge against individual Englishmen. Their dislike was for the
British Government and British officialism, which, from their point of
view, had driven them to trek from the old colony. While the oxen and
horses were being watered at the river, a bottle of the captain's brandy
was produced, and Dutch and Englishman pledged one another in _soupjis_
of right "French."
Meanwhile, the Steyns proceeded to unburden their wagons and prepare for
the night. The sailcloth was spread between the two wagons; Jacoba's
fowls and chickens, and her cat Tina and the kittens were set loose.
The captain invited them all to his wagon to supper. He had the flesh
of a fat cow eland all ready, and it would save much trouble to the
tired trekkers if they took their evening meal with him. In an hour's
time they all sat down together, a jovial party, to sup by the light of
two blazing camp-fires. The _Kaptein_, as the Steyns already called
Meredith, was an English officer spending his leave on a hunting trip.
It was his second expedition; he had been to the Lake two years before;
and he spoke Cape Dutch. That was well for all parties; they could
converse freely; and as all were interested in the life of the hunting
veldt, there was plenty to talk about Meredith, too, had fought in the
Crimean war four years before; and although these homely Boer folk had
the vaguest ideas as to Russia and its whereabouts, they were interested
in hearing of fighting, especially of warfare and siege amid the deep
snows of the frozen North. And so, after pipes and coffee, the
gathering separated, and Jacoba went to her _kartel_ bed and dreamt of
the alert, brisk _Engelschmann_ and his handsome face and grey eyes.
It was settled next day that the two parties should trek up the river
and hunt together for a time. Meredith was not sorry to make this
arrangement. He had left Natal with an English hunting friend. A
severe attack of fever on the Crocodile River had, however, driven his
comrade south; and, after a lonely hunt in the country about the Great
Salt Pan, north of the Lake River, he was not disinclined to have the
companionship of white folk again, rough Boers though they were. The
wagons stood for another two days at this outspan, while the Steyns'
oxen rested and refreshed themselves after their desperate trek across
the "thirst". On the last evening, Meredith was down at the river with
his fishing-rod, catching "cat-fish," of which there were quantities.
The Steyns were busied about their wagons, preparing for the evening
meal; the men-folk were sitting here and there, some on the
_dissel-boom_, some on wagon-chairs, smoking contentedly. Little Hans,
the youngest of the family, a sturdy imp of eight years, who had already
formed a strong attachment for the English captain, had run down towards
the water after his new acquaintance. Suddenly Jacoba glanced in that
direction and uttered a choking cry. The rest of the family, hearing
her exclamation, looked up, and were instantly horror-struck like
herself. A hundred and fifty yards away, little Hans was standing close
to the edge of a dense mass of reed-bed. Fifteen yards away from him
crouched a big yellow-maned lion, its tail twitching very softly from
side to side, its gaze fixed intently on the youngster's face. Hans had
seen the brute, and stood spellbound. Fifty paces away behind the boy
was Captain Meredith, who too had that instant caught sight of the lion,
and comprehended the whole terrible situation. He was armed only with
his fishing-rod. For one brief instant all the gazers at that terrible
picture were rivetted where they stood, frozen with apprehension.
Jan Steyn was the first to move. He rose from his chair and plunged
silently into his wagon for a rifle. But even he was not quick enough.
Meredith, defenceless though he was, had already made up his mind.
Flourishing his rod, and shouting objurgations on the lion at the top of
his voice, he ran swiftly straight in the brute's direction. To the
utter surprise of all the watchers and the intense astonishment of
Meredith himself, the lion, after baring his teeth in a savage defiance,
suddenly changed his mind, turned tail, and disappeared like a yellow
flash into the tall reeds. Meredith now picked up Hans, who, released
from the strain of apprehension, burst into tears upon his shoulder, and
carried him up to the camp. Vrouw Steyn first took the lad from his
arms, pressed him to her breast, kissed him, and then, putting her arms
round the captain's neck, gave him two or three hearty kisses. That was
the bravest thing, she said, she had ever heard of, much more seen, and
she and her family would never forget it as long as they lived. Then
the stout old _vrouw_ resigned herself to a quiet flood of tears and
went about her work. Jacoba came next. The tears were already
streaming down her cheeks. Hans was her favourite brother, and very
dear to her. She came softly to Meredith, took his hand, modestly
kissed him on the right cheek, and thanked him again and again. Jan
Steyn and his three big sons, ranging from fifteen to two-and-twenty,
one after another followed, thrust their big hands into the captain's,
and in their gruff Boer manner did their best to convey their hearty if,
somewhat uncouth, thanks.
After that episode the friendship between Boers and Englishman grew
apace. The men hunted together as they moved slowly up the river, and
brought in many a head of game. Once or twice they came up with
elephants on the south bank of the river and secured some good teeth,
and the _Kaptein_, or Hendrik, as they all now familiarly called him
(his name was Henry), proved that, besides being a brave man, he was a
first-rate hunter and shot--as good a man, the Steyn lads said, as their
own father, which was their highest form of praise.
It was amusing to notice the domestic reforms that the Englishman and
his ways introduced into the Boer family. Instead of for ever stewing
lumps of game flesh in the big pot, or cooking dry _karbonadjes_ over
the embers, the captain persuaded the _vrouw_ to follow his own example,
and roast wild-duck or a joint of springbok in a Kaffir pot, with hot
embers below and on the lid. Sometimes he persuaded her to cook
springbok chops and "fry" in an open frying-pan, as had he taught his
own native cook. He presented her with one of his two frying-pans for
this purpose. He even inducted the good-wife and Jacoba into the
mysteries of curry, and gave them a supply of powder which lasted them
for a year or two later. In proof that these innovations were
acceptable, you may find them to this day, thanks to Jacoba's and Hans's
remembrance of the English captain, steadily practised in Hans's
household in Waterberg. Even Hans's wife, obstinate Boer woman though
she is, has long since admitted their merits. On the other hand,
Meredith had to acknowledge that he could not improve upon the Steyns'
coffee-making, which, performed though it was in an ordinary iron
kettle, was as good as could be. Many an Englishman, however, has
discovered that fact.
As for Jacoba, she foregathered with Meredith as often as she had
opportunity. It was a delightful thing for this simple, untaught Boer
maiden to hear news of that vast, dim outer world, and to gather some
little idea of modern civilisation. For the Transvaal Boers, you must
understand, to this day, linger in their isolation at least a hundred
years behind the average European. Sometimes, when the captain came
home early from hunting, Jacoba would walk with him to the river-side,
or to the spreading lagoons which were now everywhere forming upon the
flats, and watch him shoot wild-duck and geese, or some rare specimen or
curious bird. Those were delightful times for the girl, as she and her
hero strolled home in the soft African twilight, with all the glamour of
evening about them. For within the secret recesses of her maiden heart
she had long since set up the handsome Englishman as her hero. Jacoba
at seventeen was a very comely girl; her complexion was fresh and
clear--a rare thing among Dutch Afrikanders. She looked, as indeed she
was, always pleasant and good-tempered; her blue eyes were as clear and
honest as an African winter morning; from beneath her big sun-bonnet
(_kapje_) her plentiful fair hair fell in a single thick plait down her
back. Her figure, it is true, was nothing to boast of; but then, in the
faraway veldt, who troubles about an inch or two at the waist? Meredith
liked this frank, comely, modest South African maiden; even he, man of
the world though he was, could scarce help but feel a little flattered
at the manifest preference she showed for his society. Then the child--
for, measured by the European standard, she was but a child--had so many
questions to ask him upon all sorts of subjects; and it really was a
pleasure to answer some of these naive, unsophisticated inquiries, and
to try and teach her something of the life and thoughts of Europe. And
so it befell that Jacoba's heart insensibly slipped from her, and she
grew in her secret soul to love and almost to worship this fascinating
Englishman, who knew everything, and did everything--from shooting an
elephant to inspanning an ox--better even than her father and brothers,
and could teach her own mother how to cook. She loved to watch him as
he saddled up in the early dawning and rode off across the plains, or
into the bush veldt, with her father and brothers in search of game.
How nimble was this Englishman, and how graceful! With what an air he
sprang into his saddle, and sat his horse, and even carried his rifle!
And how fresh and trim and clean the man always looked! I am afraid
Jacoba began secretly to contrast the captain with her own heavy,
untrimmed and not over-clean kindred--much to the detriment of the
latter.
In a little while the girl had come to look forward to Meredith's return
from hunting as the one great pleasure in the long day. Sometimes, when
the men were in pursuit of elephants, and slept out on the spoor, it
seemed as if the slothful hours would never pass. Her mother noticed
the change in Jacoba's demeanour, and would sometimes rate her for her
forgetfulness and absent ways. "Jacoba," she would say, from her low
chair under the shady lee of the wagon, "your mind is always running on
that English `Kaptein.' Wake up, child, and think what you are doing,
or I shall send him packing."
Yet it must be confessed that the big ponderous _vrouw_ was, in truth,
almost as taken with the stranger as her own child. She liked, as every
one else in the camp liked, his pleasant, hearty ways, and the air of
novelty and briskness that his presence brought into the dull lives of
herself and her folk. She liked his friendship for her child most of
all, stout anti-Briton though she was in the abstract. It would be a
fine thing indeed, she whispered to herself, if the captain should ask
the girl in marriage, and set her up as a great lady. Vrouw Steyn had
very faint ideas of what great ladies did, and how they comported
themselves; yet as a child she remembered seeing the wife of the
Governor of the Cape, and other official dames, at Graaff Reinet. And
besides, she had once or twice seen old copies of the _Illustrated
London News_, from which she assisted her own misty and fantastic
glimmerings upon the subject.
It was curious to note in these days how particular Jacoba had grown
about her clothes and person. It would be hard to say how she managed
it. She had but two print gowns, and yet now she always appeared in a
spotless frock in the afternoons. After all, even hunting Boers carry
soap, and in the hot sunshine and parching winds of South Africa you can
dry a print dress on a bush in a very little while. The captain had
presented her, among other feminine treasures, with a brand-new pair of
nail-scissors, and her hands were now kept as daintily as a Cape Town
_meisje's_. Even her brothers could scarcely help noticing the smart
ribbons that, especially on Sundays, decked her gown and hair.
It must be said on the captain's side that he behaved fairly well in a
somewhat difficult position. He was an honourable man, and he had no
intention in the world of stealing this simple girl's affections. He
was, in truth, much too keenly occupied in the wild pleasures of hunting
big game to think about her affections at all. To him she was a mere
child, and as such he had grown to treat her. It is true that it was a
pleasant thing to find, even in this faraway desert--tolerable in many
respects only for the game it held--a pretty fresh-eyed maid such as
Jacoba, Dutch and semi-civilised though she was. Perhaps, if he had
reflected a little, his friendship for the girl might have been somewhat
less intimate. He treated her, indeed, in a careless brotherly, or
perhaps, rather, cousinly way. When he came home from the hunt, often
towards 3 o'clock, after a cup of coffee and a snack of food, he would
exchange his heavy gun for the fowling-piece, whistle for Juno, the
pointer, and stroll off arm-in-arm with Jacoba down to the river-side or
the nearest lagoon. Sometimes little Hans would accompany them;
sometimes he was lazy and stayed behind. It must be said that
insensibly the captain and Jacoba grew to prefer their expeditions
alone. When Meredith had shot enough wildfowl and red-billed francolin,
he and Jacoba would stroll up to the camp-fire as the dusk fell. I am
afraid, somehow, that the captain's arm often wandered to the maid's
waist; sometimes even he took a kiss quite unresistingly from Jacoba's
fresh lips and soft cheek. It was thoughtless of him, which was perhaps
the worst that could be said. For Jacoba those evening walks were full
of unfading joy; to this hour she cherishes every incident of them,
middle-aged woman though she is.
As the wagons moved up the river, elephants became more plentiful. On
several occasions the hunters had crossed the water and followed the
great tusk-bearers into the jungles beyond. They had had first-rate
sport, and secured some magnificent teeth. One morning, at earliest
dawn, some Makobas punted their dug-out canoes across the river, and
reported that a good troop of elephants had drunk during the night. For
a consideration they would take the hunters across. All was now bustle
and excitement in the camp. Jan Steyn and his two eldest sons and the
captain were soon equipped. They swallowed a hasty breakfast, and then,
walking their horses down to the river, got into the boats and swam
their nags over behind them. There was some risk from crocodiles, but
the feat was safely accomplished. Then they took up the spoor in
earnest. Some Masarwa bushmen tracked for them, and they rode at a
brisk pace upon the trail, hour after hour, until noon had come and the
sun lay midway in the sky between north-east and north-west. At
half-past twelve they came suddenly upon the elephants in some
troublesome thorny bush. There were eighteen in all, and some good
bulls among them. Meredith quickly got to work and slew two magnificent
bulls, carrying long, even teeth, after a hot and most exciting chase.
He next tackled a big cow, furnished with a capital pair of tusks.
After a sharp gallop he got alongside and put a four-ounce ball, backed
with seven drachms of powder (those were the days of smooth-bores and
heavy charges), behind her shoulder. But, stricken though she was, the
cow was by no means finished. She turned short in her tracks, and,
spouting blood, came with a ferocious scream straight for her tormentor.
Meredith had instantly turned his horse and spurred for flight. But, as
it happened, in a hundred yards he was met by an absolutely impassable
_cul-de-sac_ of thorn-bush. Almost before horse and man knew where they
were, they were caught up and flung to earth. The great cow drove her
left tusk deep into the off flank of the horse, and hurled the poor
brute and its rider away from her in one confused and bleeding mass.
Before she could halt and turn again, the impetus of her ferocious
charge took her thirty yards farther, right through that seemingly
impenetrable wall of bush. It was her last effort. The heavy bullet
had done its work. Thrice she lifted her blood-dripping trunk as if for
air. Then she swayed softly to and fro, and suddenly sank down upon
all-fours, as if kneeling, and so yielded up her fifty years of life.
Meredith himself was found by his native boy ten minutes afterwards in
but sorry plight. He had fallen underneath his horse when the pair of
them had been hurled aside by the enraged cow, and the terrible impact
had not only rendered him senseless, but had broken his right forearm
and several ribs. His horse lay across his body breathing its last,
with entrails protruding from a gaping wound in the flank. The boy,
with the assistance of a Bushman, extricated his master and laid him
upon the earth. In half an hour the Steyns came up. They had slain
between them four elephants--a bull and three cows--and were well
content. They now at once ascertained the Englishman's injuries. He
lay still insensible. They set his arm and bound it up in a pair of
rough splints, and then carried him to the river, across which the
Makobas again ferried them. Arrived at last at the camp, Vrouw Steyn
and her daughter at once insisted that, for better nursing, the captain
should be placed under the tent-sail, between the two Dutch wagons.
There she and Jacoba tenderly laid him, bound up his ribs, washed the
blood from his face, and poured brandy and water between his lips.
For more than twenty-four hours Meredith lay in the long stupor produced
by concussion of the brain. It was some way past the middle hours of
the second night that the first glimmering of reason came back to him.
He seemed to awake, as it were, in a fresh world. His body and limbs
seemed curiously light; everything was strange. It was not unpleasant
to lie thus, with eyes shut, awaiting new impressions. Presently a pair
of soft lips kissed his brow and cheek, and he heard a woman's voice, in
a strange tongue, which yet he understood. "My darling!" said the
voice, "my love! come back to me, come back to me. Ah! Heer God, bring
him back to his senses, and make him well and strong again. Hendrik, my
Hendrik, I cannot bear to see you lie like this. Come back to your
Jacoba, or I shall break my heart." There was a little sob, and then
Meredith felt warm tears falling upon his face, and the lips pressed his
brow again, this time more passionately. He could not move, much less
make answer to the strange appeal which, as if through the mists of a
dream, he now heard. But he felt somehow that it was pleasant to rest
thus and to hear these things, to feel soft kisses and the tender caress
of a hand that now and again stroked his own, or smoothed his brow.
In a fortnight's time Meredith was slowly recovering. His bones were
healing, his pulses beat a thought more firmly. He knew now all about
that strange night, when his mind first wandered back into the chambers
of life again. He knew that Jacoba loved him, and the thought troubled
him. Had he been wise? Had he done well to make so great a friend of
this simple Dutch child, to have her so much about with him? Ought he
to have kissed her? to have wandered in the dusk with her, arm-in-arm,
or with his arm round her waist? All these questions returned again and
again to his mind and sought answer.
One quiet morning, as he lay on the _kartel_ there under the tent-sail,
they two were alone in the camp. The men were out hunting; Vrouw Steyn
and Hans were down at the river, washing; the native servants were
scattered. Juno, the pointer, lay by her master's bedside, as she
always did; and, as Jacoba came in under the tent and sat down in the
wagon-chair, something in Juno's affectionate eyes, now turned from
Jacoba's face wistfully to her master's, seemed to ask a question.
Meredith returned Juno's look, and then spoke.
"Jacoba," he said, taking the girl's hand, "I want to tell you
something. I ought to have told it you before, I am afraid. If I had
known what I think I know now, I would have done so. I shall be leaving
you very shortly--as soon as I am well enough to start. I have to be
back in England before Christmas, because early next year I am going to
be married. That is what I ought to have told you before. Forgive me,
Jacoba; I never dreamt that our friendship was turning in another
direction. I heard you say something the other night, just when my
senses were coming back, which makes me think that I have done wrong in
not telling you of all this before. I have been selfish and unfair.
You must forgive me, Jacoba, and forget all about the past two months,
though, indeed, it will be hard for me to forget the pleasant days we
have had together. Don't! don't cry, my dear; I am not worth it, and
you will forget it all soon enough."
Jacoba, seated in her low chair by the bedside, had buried her face in
Meredith's hand and her own as he neared the end of his speaking, and
was now sobbing heavily. Presently she mastered herself, dried her
tears a little, and spoke.
"Perhaps, Hendrik," she said, "you ought to have told me. But, indeed,
it would not have much mattered. I loved you ever since I set eyes on
you the first evening we met. And I should have loved you just the
same, even if you had told me that very evening that you were promised
to another. Yet all the time we have been together--these weeks that
have gone so quickly--I knew, Hendrik, that indeed our ways lay
differently; that your world was a different world to mine; that I was
to you nothing but a child--a playmate. Yet your friendship even has
been so sweet to me that never, never shall I forget these nine weeks
with you by the Lake River." Once more the girl dried her tears. Her
face was clearer now. "But there," she went on, "that is enough about
myself. Presently, when I can bear it, you must tell me all about your
wife that is to be, and your future. We have lived together so much in
the happy present that I never cared to speak or even to think about
your leaving us." There were voices heard approaching the wagons.
Jacoba kissed passionately Meredith's hand, which she still held within
hers, laid it gently by his side, and went to her _kartel_ at the end of
the big tent-wagon.
And so the Boer maiden's dream was ended. Meredith quitted the camp and
trekked for the Cape a little later, after a friendly and even
affectionate farewell with the Steyn family. A sad heart was Jacoba's
as the captain's wagon moved away south-eastward, and the last crack of
the great whip sounded through the hot morning air. Sadder yet was it
when the captain, after kissing Vrouw Steyn and herself, climbed into
his saddle and rode away. There were tears even in Meredith's eyes as
he departed.
And so Jacoba, with the tenacity of her race, has cherished that first
love of hers, and steadily refused all others in its place. No Dutchman
can ever supplant that dear image which, long years ago, she set up
within her maiden heart. The bright girl of seventeen has changed to
the middle-aged woman of forty-seven, yet that early love and its
memories have remained ever constant within her, and will go with her to
her grave.
The smart English captain of 1859 is now a grey but still handsome
veteran with a grown-up family of his own. You may usually see him
sitting comfortably in an easy chair at the Naval and Military Club
towards afternoon.
Major-General Meredith has an excellent memory for the details of his
old stirring hunter's life. I sometimes wonder if he recalls also that
other brief episode on the far-off Lake River. I am inclined to think
he does. But he can little imagine that for his sake Jacoba Steyn
remains a single woman to her last hour.