THE GREAT "TREK"
Great-grandfather Joubert was a very patriarch in years. A full century
had passed over his head. They had all been such active years, full of
stirring memories. Through his rugged features there shone the same
big-hearted kindliness which had marked all his days.
Petrus loved him. No one could tell quite such fascinating tales as
he; thrilling tales of early adventure and conquests; of hair-breadth
escapes from wild animals and savage natives in the final conquering
of the African Veldt; tales of the terrible "Border Wars," and of long
wars against the British.
To Great-grandfather Joubert his country's history was sacred history.
It had all taken place before his very eyes. In fact, he had helped
to make it. Even in his eighty-fifth year he had scaled the Transvaal
hills and done scouting duty with all but the agility of his sons,
grandsons, and great-grandsons fighting bravely at his side.
He often sat thinking it over. Few of the old "Voor-trekker" Boers were
still living--those who had "trekked" in their great ox-wagons across
the deadly "Karroo," finally to settle in the Transvaal. But that great
"Exodus"--known in Boer history as the "Great Trek of 1836"--was one of
Great-grandfather Joubert's most vivid memories. He was but a boy then.
The mid-summer heat was so oppressive that Great-grandfather Joubert
had asked to have his comfortable armchair moved over close by the open
window, just above the syringa bush. He liked the scent.
But two weeks now remained until Christmas time--about the hottest
season of the year in South Africa. In another week would come the
yearly festival commemorating that tragic episode of December 16, 1836,
"Dangaan's Daag," when the immortal Piet Retief, with a number of the
Voor-trekkers, left the main party and made their way down into Natal,
only to be massacred by the Zulus.
All day long Great-grandfather Joubert sat there beside the open window
smoking his ornate pipe filled with fragrant tobacco and reading from
the large, silver-bound Bible on his knees, whose open pages were swept
by his long, grizzly beard. He was a typical "Takhaar" Boer.
Aunt Johanna had brought him the Sacred Book, with some hot coffee and
rolls. From the window he could see Uncle Abraham riding about the
farm to see that his beasts were all right, counting his flocks, and
superintending his Kafirs.
The Hottentot maids fetched him his dinner. Then Petrus brought him
the latest Johannesburg and London daily newspapers. He often sat
and read to him carefully everything of interest--especially the
latest "war-news"--which filled all the leading pages, nowadays, with
accounts of the terrible "world-war" raging throughout Europe between
Germany and the Allies. Thus Great Britain--their mother-country--had
been plunged into the fearful conflict. Great-grandfather Joubert
wished he was younger that he might go himself to fight for his king.
"Race-hatred" had no place in his feelings. The Jouberts belonged to
the more intelligent, unprejudiced class of Boers who had long ceased
to regard the British as intruders. He had always believed with Paul
Kruger--the great Boer leader of his day--that "Where love dwells
prosperity follows."
As he re-read the old story of the wanderings of the Israelites in
the Wilderness--they scarcely knew whither--the trials and hardships
they had encountered--it seemed to him that the Sacred Book was telling
the story of the "Great Trek" of his own people. The Boers, too, had
wandered forth--had suffered hardship and injustice no less than had
the patriarchs of old--he told himself. Closing the book, he folded
his hands, and, leaning comfortably back in his armchair, he gazed far
across the grassy sweep of high veldt, with its red-brown scattered
kopjes, towards the western horizon. Soon he was lost in the memories
of a century.
Softly the room door opened. In a twinkling Petrus' arms were flung
around the old man's neck.
"A penny for your thoughts, Grandfather dear! Please let me stay here
with you a while," begged the boy.
"Ah, Koos, is it you, my boy? Yes, yes, you may stay a while if you do
not ask too many questions. It is easy to guess your thoughts. Let me
try. Your visit with Aunt Kotie at Johannesburg next week. Your trip
to Cape Town with Lieutenant Wortley and George. Hurrying back home in
time for Christmas. Isn't that right, Koos?"
"Yes, Grandfather, and George is expecting a big Christmas box from his
Aunt Edith in England. Now for yours!"
"I should have to take you back to the early days in the Old Colony,
Koos, when I was but a boy like yourself. And, like you, I used
to beg my old grandfather for 'stories' of his country, which was
France. He was one of several hundred French Huguenots who fled from
their own country to South Africa, because they could not worship
as they liked. Those were happy days in the Old Colony there on our
large, quiet farms, before British rule became intolerable. Our
people were prosperous slave-holders. My father owned as many as
eighty Hottentots. But as British oppression became more and more
intolerable--our slaves liberated, and indignities of every kind heaped
upon us--our Boer leaders resolved to endure no more and the great
'Exodus'--known in history as the 'Great Trek of 1836'--began. I shall
never forget those awful days. I was just a boy then."
"Why didn't the Boers rebel?" indignantly questioned Petrus.
"Rebellion was useless. But we knew of a vast land that stretched
away to the north of us. To be sure, it was filled with savages and
ferocious wild animals, but even that was preferable to British
tyranny. There were about six thousand of us in all who left our
fertile coastland farms and trekked forth into the unknown wilderness
in search of new homes where we could live in peace. One by one, we
loaded up our huge ox-drawn wagons, which were to serve as home,
fort and wagon for many a long day on our journey. Inside these great
covered wagons--'rolling-houses'--the Zulus called them--the women and
children were seated. Outside--tramping alongside as a guard--carrying
their well-oiled, long-barreled guns--were the men. The older children
helped to drive and round up the great flocks and herds which
accompanied our migration. Well do I remember the cries of a small,
bare-foot boy of ten, running at the head of a long team of tired oxen,
which now and then quickened its pace at the touch of his sjambok. Who
do you suppose that bit of a boy was, Koos?"
"You, Grandfather?"
"No, no, Koos. That little fellow was only about half my size then,
but, since those hard days, he has four times ruled our glorious
Transvaal as its President, and often fought with us all for our
country's freedom."
"Oh, I know! President Kruger?"
"Yes, Koos, that ragged little boy was none other than Paul Stephanus
Kruger."
"Go on, Grandfather. Did the Voor-trekkers come straight to the
Transvaal with all their covered ox-wagons and everything?"
"No, Koos. There were the great desolate stretches of the 'Karroo' to
be crossed, with such dangers and hardships by day and night that many
of our oxen soon trekked their last trek. The loud gun-like crack of
the long ox-whips, as they whirled over the poor oxen's heads--and
fell with a savage blow on their brown hides--to the driver's yell:
'TREK'!--is still in my ears. Those whips, made from the hide of
giraffes, were usually eighteen or twenty feet long.
"This great 'Exodus'--or 'the Boer Mayflower trip'--as your cousins in
New York City once described it--was full of all kinds of experiences
and suffering. Vast herds of wild elephants impeded our way. Flocks of
ostriches, with herds of zebras, antelopes, gnus and quaggas, covered
the plains in such vast numbers that at times the whole landscape
was obscured. Poisonous snakes glided from among the bushes in front
of us--and there was scarcely a rocky kloof or kopje but sheltered a
ravenous lion or leopard."
"Oh, Grandfather! and were your dangers over when you'd crossed that
terrible Karroo?"
"No, Koos, they were just beginning. All the Voor-trekkers did not go
in one direction. They spread out like a fan from the Mother Colony,
advancing by different routes. About two hundred followed Hendrik
Potgieter to the banks of the Vaal, into the land we now call the
Orange Free State. Another small party trekked its way down to Delegoa
Bay where all but two perished from the horrible poisonous marshes.
I was with the main party, which continued on farther northward, and
finally settled here in the Transvaal. Here we encountered the fierce
Matebele, who attacked us in large numbers. Quickly we chained our
wagons together into a huge circle--making a 'lagger' or fort of them,
and fired on the savages from that ambuscade--our women bravely loading
and re-loading our guns for us. They rushed madly upon us and fought
like demons--stabbing in through the spokes of the wheels. Desperate as
we were, Boers are good marksmen, and finally the Matebele were driven
off, but not until many of our brave people were massacred, and six
thousand head of our cattle and sheep taken. Then we had fifty years of
terrible Kafir wars--Zulu wars--and Border Wars of the most horrible
kind against the savage natives before we could possess the land--our
own Transvaal--in peace."
"Oh, Grandfather! Grandfather! I'm so glad your life was spared!" cried
Petrus, flinging his arms tightly about his great-grandfather's neck.
"But you forgot to tell me the story of 'Dangaan's Daag' and Piet
Retief." Petrus never tired of hearing of that famous march of the
Voor-trekkers to Natal under their heroic leader, Piet Retief. History
tells us it was comparable only to the march of the Greek Ten Thousand
in Asia.
"No, Koos, I've told you that story a hundred times. I'm thankful I did
not join that fatal party. One of your uncles went."
"Was it Uncle Petrus Jacobus, Grandfather? The one who was made
President next after Kruger, and who became a famous general? The one
who was made commander-in-chief of all the Boer forces, and gained the
victories of Majuba Hill and Laing's Neck, against the British? The
uncle whose name I bear? Oh, Grandfather, may I see his picture? The
one in your old iron chest?" begged Petrus excitedly.
"Here is the key, Koos. Lift out the things. It is in an old portfolio
down in the very bottom."
One by one, Petrus spread the precious keepsakes from the Boer war on
the floor about the old chest. It was a strange collection. The first
thing his hand touched, was an old "bandoler"--or cartridge-belt--heavy
with unspent cartridges--now green with mold. Petrus laid it on the
floor at his great-grandfather's feet. Next came a long-barreled, old
gun--the sight of which made Koos' eyes sparkle with interest, but a
tear fell down the old Boer's bronzed cheek as he lifted the rusty
Mauser and read the words cut on its stock thirteen years ago: "For
God, Country, and Justice." Silently he examined it, but Koos could
read in his flashing eyes that he was hearing again the distant rolling
of artillery, the crackling of rifles, the shrieking of shells through
the air--made bright by the sweeping searchlights of the enemy. Then
Petrus lifted out an old broad-brimmed slouch hat. Embroidered on the
band around its crown were the words: "For God and Freedom," and sewed
on one side of the upturned brim was a rosette of the "Vier-kleur," and
the fluffy brown tail of a meerscat. A small roll containing a blanket
and a mackintosh came next.
"Grandfather, I don't see the portfolio," protested Koos, who had about
reached the bottom of the old chest.
"Go on, Koos, you will find it along with my old Bible--the one I read
between battles."
Carefully Petrus lifted out a great silken flag and unfurled it--its
bright horizontal stripes of red, white and blue, being crossed by a
band of green--the "Vier-kleur" of the Republic. Within the folds of
the old flag he had found a well-worn pocket Bible and the portfolio.
"Hand me the flag, too, Koos," said the old man. He touched its silken
folds tenderly--almost with affection. "This flag belonged to the days
before the annexation of the Transvaal to Great Britain--before our
present 'Union of South Africa' existed. Its colors tell of the time
when the Transvaal was the 'South African Republic,' Koos."
"Shall we always have to fly the 'Union Jack' in the Transvaal,
Grandfather? George says it helps him to feel more at home down here."
"It may be God's will, Petrus. Let us hope that the worst of our
troubles are forever over. During the thirteen years since peace was
signed between Great Britain and the Transvaal our friendly relations
have been deepening. A new era of progress, prosperity and peace seems
to have come for the Transvaal. Our future looks bright."
"The portfolio, Grandfather? Is Uncle Petrus' picture there? And tell
me all about his great victories of Majuba Hill and Laing's Neck, won't
you? I've never heard enough about them."
"I can't talk of those days, Koos. Divine favor guided our footsteps,
and, victories though they were, those days cost us many of our
best-loved kinsfolk--even your little thirteen-year-old cousin
Martinus, who fought so bravely in the 'Penkop Regiment'--a whole
regiment made up of school-children like himself. There were also
great-grandfathers like myself. Paul Kruger was seventy-five, and
hundreds of his gray-haired burghers fighting with him were even older.
Your Uncle Petrus, when in command of all the Boer forces, was very
close to seventy.
"We never wanted to fight and kill our fellow-beings. It was
heart-rending to us," continued the aged man, vehemently, as he handed
Petrus the picture of General Joubert. "All we asked for was peace to
cultivate the soil, and worship together. But every burgher in the
Transvaal--from President Kruger and your Uncle Petrus down to little
Martinus--swore to yield his life's blood rather than fail to defend
his country's right to freedom. For that their fathers had suffered and
died."
"I've heard Uncle Abraham say that it was just a 'Wait-a-bit' peace the
Boers signed in 1902, Grandfather. Do you think so?"
"No, Petrus. Loyalty to the mother country is deepening in the
Transvaal every day. Premier Botha and all his people are ready to
fight in her behalf at any time. Now run along. There comes George
galloping across to see you, Koos. I'll put these things back in the
chest myself."
"Thank you, Grandfather dear, for all you've told me," called back
Petrus, as he bounded downstairs to meet George, who had come to take
part in the short twilight games of the early tropical evening which
Petrus, Franzina, Yettie and Theunis always played together just before
dinner-time.
Scarcely had darkness given place to a bright moonlight than
Magdalena's favorite "freyer"[13]--Hercules van der Groot--came
riding over on his "kop-spuiling" courting horse--tossing his head,
prancing and jumping all the way (being sharply bitted and curbed for
the purpose). As Hercules always liked to look very imposing on these
important courting occasions he had decked himself out in a fine yellow
cord jacket, vest and trousers, changed his veldt-schoens for a pair
of shiny tight patent-leather congress gaiters, above which he wore a
pair of showy leather leggings. Waving gracefully in the breeze from
one side of his broad-brimmed white felt slouch hat was a tall ostrich
plume--and in his pocket he had not forgotten to place a nice box of
"Dutch Mottoes." He had ridden twenty miles from his father's farm
Vergelegen.[14]
Upon Aunt Johanna's inviting him to enter, he politely shook hands with
each member of the family, then seated himself in a corner against
the wall, patiently waiting for an opportunity to speak alone with
Magdalena, when he quickly whispered in her ear: "We'll set oop this
necht."
Finally, after the family had retired, Magdalena appeared dressed in
a pink dress with bright ribbons of every shade, and much jewelry
encircling her neck. In one hand she carried a match box and in the
other a piece of candle, which--to Hercules' delight--he noticed was
a long one. According to rigid Boer etiquette he must depart when the
candle had burned out. Together they lighted the taper and placed it
upon the table alongside the plate of "Candy Lakkers" which Magdalena
had that morning made especially for her freyer, who produced his
"Dutch Mottoes." As Hercules kept an eye on the diminishing candle,
anxiously guarding it from drafts, seeing to it that it should not flit
or flare, and trimming it from time to time, he told her how much he
admired her uncle's new horses, how well the oxen looked after the
rain, and other such interesting things--not forgetting to assure her
that he loved her very much. But as time flies with lovers so with
lights, and the interview was abruptly terminated, but not before it
was agreed they should be married on New Year's Day, and that their
honeymoon trip should be to the Victoria Falls on the Zambesi.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] Suitor.
[14] "Set aside."