George awoke chilled and cramped with the night air, and was preparing
leisurely to get up and commence the search after his missing steed,
when his eye lit on an object a few feet of him, which caused him
instantly to leap to his feet. A snake, which had probably been
attracted to the spot during the night by the warmth of his fire, was
just raising its head, as if preparing to dart upon him, spitting venom
at the same time from its open jaws. His rapid backward spring just
enabled him to avoid its fangs. But some of the poison had been spurted
on to his face, and he instantly felt a sharp sting of pain. His first
act was to crush the head of the reptile with his heel, and then to
sever its neck with his knife. It was of a dark brown, almost a black
colour, and six or seven feet long. George had never seen one of the
kind before, but recognised it from the descriptions that had been given
him as the picakholu, the most venomous, it was said, of any known
serpent, and called by the natives the "spitting snake." George noticed
that the fangs were still distilling poison in a considerable quantity,
notwithstanding that the neck had been completely severed. He felt a
good deal of pain in the places where the poison had fallen, and
especially in the white of the left eye. He hurried to the spring,
which was fortunately only at a short distance, and, kneeling down,
plunged his head again and again into the water, hoping in that manner
to get rid of the painful smart. This gave him some slight relief, and
he hoped that, as no poison could have mixed with his blood, the pain
would gradually wear itself out.
The first thing, of course, was to find his horse. He had hoped that if
it had succeeded in shaking off the wild dogs, it would return to the
spring to drink. But though he did not doubt that it would soon
outstrip them, they having been evidently completely exhausted by the
long previous chase, there might be water nearer to the point at which
the animal found itself after its escape, and in that case of course it
would make for it. Taking up his gun, he began following the track of
the animal's hoofs, which were clear enough to be traced in the soft
grass of the veldt. After an hour's search, the grass was exchanged for
a long arid stretch of sand, diversified by scrub and stone. Here the
hoofs of the horse and the lighter prints of the dogs' feet were still
more plainly to be distinguished. The sand became looser and looser as
he advanced. It was evident that the horse must have grown rapidly more
exhausted, as its feet plunged almost to the fetlock at every step. At
last he came upon the carcase of the animal itself, which had evidently
been torn down by the pack and devoured. There had plainly been a
furious struggle, one or two of the dogs having been killed by the dying
efforts of the horse.
Rivers was now seriously alarmed. He must retrace his steps as well as
he was able to the spring, and seek again to relieve the burning pains
in his face, which under the scorching heat of the sun stung him more
sharply than even at first. Then he must make his way on foot, keeping
as before to the north-west, and hope to fall in with some traveller, or
reach the shelter of some friendly habitation. He was well aware that,
if all these chances failed him, his life on earth would soon be ended.
He began his return across the sandy waste, and, after several hours of
painful exertion, succeeded in reaching the spring, by the side of which
he sank down completely exhausted. Long and copious draughts somewhat
restored him; and as the cool of the evening came on, he got up and
resumed his journey, making another meal before he started on what
remained of his morning's repast. He walked on for a mile or two,
leaning on his gun, and hardly sensible of the objects round him. At
last he got to a part of the wood where the trees seemed to have been
cut away, and a broader path, almost approaching to a road, cut out. He
staggered for some distance along this track, and then his senses
completely deserted him, and he dropped to the ground, his gun going off
as he fell, though happily without injury to himself.
When he opened his eyes again, he looked around him with great surprise.
He was lying on a comfortable bed, in a tolerable-sized room; which,
though different in many respects from any chamber he had hitherto
occupied, was nevertheless evidently of European construction. There
was a sash window, looking out, so far as George could distinguish, upon
a garden. The walls were of plank, planed and fitted together with some
neatness; the floor of mud, beaten hard and smeared with cow-dung.
There were no tables or chairs, no chests of drawers, or washing
apparatus, but there was a bench and one or two solid chests. The bed
itself was tolerably clean, and there were sheets, but of coarse
material. By his side, on a shelf, were a tea-cup and spoon and several
bottles.
With some difficulty he recalled the incidents which had taken place
previously to his fainting fit,--the poison spirted on his face by the
snake, his search after his horse, and his subsequent journey through
the wood. But all seemed dim and confused, and as if it had taken place
a long while ago. He lay thinking for a long time, or rather in a state
of half consciousness, in which dream and reality were blended together.
Then he closed his eyes and again fell asleep, waking up a second time,
also to his confused fancy after a long period of inaction. He found
himself lying on the same bed and in the same room, but this time he was
not alone. There was an old man sitting by his bedside and watching him
apparently with some curiosity. He was a Dutchman,--that was plain from
his physiognomy alike and his dress,--and probably a man of some
substance. His clothes were of the usual material, but of a good
quality, and had not been much worn. His features were rather harsh,
but not repulsive, and his demeanour quiet and self-possessed. He
noticed the change in George's appearance, and proceeded to express his
satisfaction in English, which was not quite idiomatic, but nevertheless
was intelligible.
"The Englishman is better; is he able to talk?"
"Thank you, I feel much better," said George. "Will you please to tell
me where I am, and how I came here?"
"I heard your gun, and found you in a swoon. This is my house; it is
called Malopo's Kloof."
"I am very thankful," said George. "How long have I been ill?"
"It is more than five weeks since I found you--five weeks last Monday."
"Five weeks!" repeated George, becoming dimly conscious of strange, wild
scenes, among which he seemed to have passed an immeasurable period of
time,--gallops over interminable plains, struggles with armed assassins,
writhings of wounded snakes, and the like phantasmagoria of a sick
fancy, succeeding and intermingling with one another. "Five weeks!
Have I had a fever?"
"A marsh fever, and a very bad one. I thought several times the
Englishman would die," said the old man.
"And who has been my doctor?" inquired Rivers, only able to recall two
figures that were not quite shadowy and unreal,--the figure of the man
before him, and another younger than he. "Who have been my doctor and
my nurse?"
"You have had no doctor: there is none in these parts. Rudolf and I
nursed you," was the answer. "We put on cool bandages and gave you cool
drinks--nothing else."
"And I have to thank you for my life then!" exclaimed George, feebly
stretching out his hand, and becoming aware for the first time how thin
and wasted it had become.
"We could not let the Englishman die," said the old man simply. "But
you must be quiet--you are not strong enough to talk." Putting a glass
containing some mixture which tasted deliciously cool and refreshing to
his lips, the Dutchman now withdrew, and Rivers was soon once more
buried in slumber.
He woke again after a long interval, feeling stronger, and so went on
for a week or two more, gaining strength continually, until at last he
was permitted to get up and sit for an hour in the garden, which was now
in the prime of its beauty and luxuriance. Mynheer Kransberg--that he
presently discovered to be his host's name--had been one of the earliest
settlers in the Transvaal, long before the country bore that name, and
when it was only inhabited by the native tribes. He had been quite a
young man, though possessed of good means, when the Dutch first broke
out into resistance to the English rule. Aware of the hopelessness of
rebellion, and unwilling to take part against his countrymen, he had
withdrawn with a considerable following of his own dependants into the
then unknown regions lying to the north of the Orange river. Here he
had purchased land of one of the native chiefs, built his house, and
enclosed his farm, and here he had lived ever since, through all the
numerous changes which the country had undergone, paying as little heed
to them as if he had belonged to another planet. He had never married,
or felt any inclination to do so. He had ridden about his fields, and
reared his cattle and sent them to market, and brewed his Dutch beer,
year after year, with a placid contentment which is rarely witnessed,
even in a Dutchman. If he was indolent he was at all events extremely
good-tempered, and his oldest servants scarcely ever remembered to have
seen him ruffled.
He had lived alone until within the last few years, never seeming to
experience the want of a companion. But about two years since his
solitude had been broken in upon by the arrival of his nephew, Rudolf
Kransberg, a tall, gawky youth of two-and-twenty, who came to claim his
help and protection. His father, a merchant in Graham's Town, had died
insolvent, and his son, calling to mind for the first for a great many
years his uncle in the Transvaal, had made a journey hither, in the hope
of gaining a kind reception. In that he had not been disappointed. The
old man heard of his arrival, and of the misfortunes which had befallen
his brother, without exhibiting the smallest emotion, but at the same
time he gave the young man shelter and maintenance, allowed him, in
fact, to live in his house, treating him in all respects as though he
had been his own son. Rudolf, who in many respects resembled his
relative, accepted the situation with equal complaisance, and they had
now lived together two years in perfect contentment, not a word having
been exchanged between them as to the older man's disposal of his
property or the younger one's prospects in life, till within the last
few weeks, when Rudolf had consulted his uncle on the subject of a
marriage which he was anxious to contract.
The two were sitting in the garden in a Dutch summer-house which old
Kransberg had run up with his own hands some forty years before. It was
generally thought that the old man liked the society of his nephew, and
especially during the smoking of the evening pipe, though he never
expressed any feeling to that effect, or, indeed, to any effect
whatsoever, unless compelled by absolute necessity. He was therefore
somewhat surprised when one evening Rudolf took his pipe from his lips,
and after rolling out a long puff of smoke, addressed his uncle.
"My uncle, there is something I would ask you. May I speak?"
The old man similarly removed his pipe, emitting a corresponding puff,
and then answered briefly, "Ya."
"My uncle, I am four-and-twenty."
He paused, but his uncle not considering this to require a verbal
acknowledgment, only nodded.
"My uncle, it is time I was married."
This apparently was regarded as calling for a reply. The pipe
accordingly was again removed, and Mynheer inquired "Whom?"
"Thyrza Rivers."
Another long silence followed this communication, after which the old
man remarked, "Englishwoman."
"True," assented the nephew, roused by his feelings to unusual prolixity
of speech; "but she has always been bred up in our ways. And her
father-in-law is a good man."
Old Kransberg again gave an affirmative nod. "Go over and ask her," he
said.
Rudolf nodded in his turn, and so the conversation ended.
It was on the day following this that Mynheer Kransberg, as he was
proceeding after supper to smoke his usual pipe in the summer-house, was
startled by the discharge of a gun at a short distance. As the reader
has heard, the country had been for some time infested by bands of
ruffians, who committed great depredations in the neighbourhood. The
old man's first idea was to summon his servants and send them out to see
after the marauder, but, casting his eyes along the road, he saw the
figure of a man lying prostrate, having apparently been shot.
Straightway he summoned two of his Hottentots and desired them to bring
the wounded man or his body, as the case might be, into the house. It
was soon discovered that there was no wound, but the stranger had a
dangerous attack of fever of some kind, and was in imminent danger of
his life. Without more words he had him consigned to the bed in his
guest-chamber, where he and his nephew nursed him with all possible
kindness, until he had recovered his consciousness, as the reader has
heard, and appeared to be in a fair way of recovery. George soon made
acquaintance with both uncle and nephew. No great effort, indeed, was
necessary to form such an acquaintance. All that was required was to
sit still and smoke, exchanging, it might be, two words in the course of
every hour. During all this time Rudolf's courtship had been held in
abeyance. As it was necessary for him to stop at home and assist his
uncle in nursing, it was not possible he could be spared to ride over
twenty miles to Umtongo. If the swain had been a Frenchman or an
Italian, or even an Englishman, it might have been argued that his
attachment to the lady was not a very ardent one. But that would have
been to mistake the case. Rudolf was very sincere in his devotion, and
was anxious that his visit should not be delayed any longer, and he had
ordained in his own mind that he would set forth on his errand the
following day, when he was greatly startled by a question which his
guest put to him.
George had been sitting, as the reader has heard, in his host's garden,
enjoying the scent of the delicious flowers, when he saw Rudolf
Kransberg advancing towards him. The young Dutchman bestowed a nod upon
him, his usual greeting, and then, sitting down on the bench beside him,
lighted his pipe and began to smoke. Presently George inquired whether
Rudolf could tell him of a farmhouse in that neighbourhood called
Umtongo, the residence of a farmer named Ludwig Mansen.
Rudolf was so startled that he actually dropped his pipe. He stooped,
however, to pick it up again, before he repeated the words, "Umtongo!
Ludwig Mansen!"
"Yes," said George, supposing that his companion did not understand him.
"I was on my way to his house when I was taken ill. The farm must lie
at no very great distance. Perhaps you may be able to tell me where it
is."
"You going there!" ejaculated Rudolf with more animation.
"Yes, I was going there, and I want to go there now."
"It will not be fit for you to go for a long time yet," returned the
Dutchman, relapsing into silence, from which he could only be roused to
make monosyllabic replies. A minute or two afterwards, indeed, chancing
to see his uncle in the distance, he got up and went to join him.
George was perplexed, but the demeanour of his hosts had puzzled him
from the first. He saw, however, that they meant kindly by him, and
supposed that Rudolf was simply afraid that he might bring on a relapse
by venturing on a long ride in his present weak condition. He knew,
indeed, he was not fit to make the attempt yet. Impatient, therefore,
as he was to rejoin his mother and sister, he resolved to remain quiet
for a few days more. He was more ready to do this, because he felt his
strength returning to him every day, and it was evident from Rudolf's
manner that his stepfather's house lay at no great distance.
He was a good deal surprised when, on the following evening, Rudolf
Kransberg, who had been absent all day, returned to Malopo's Kloof, but
with a companion. He was sitting alone in the arbour, the time for old
Kransberg's pipe having not yet arrived, when a well-known figure
suddenly presented itself, and the voice of Redgy Margetts greeted him.
"Hooray, old fellow! this is glorious indeed! Why, here have we been
scouring the country for you for weeks past, and your mother and
Thyrza--your mother and your sister," added Redgy, correcting himself,
"have put off going into mourning for you day after day, only because
they couldn't bear to think you were dead. And here have you been alive
all the time, only twenty miles from us. Old Kransberg, they say, never
holds any intercourse with his neighbours, and it must be so, or he must
have heard of the hue and cry that has been raised. Matamo had gone
back to Horner's Kraal, and we only heard from some people in Heidelberg
of his having parted company with you somewhere near Koodoo's Vley. We
searched the whole country, Hardy and Haxo and I, and some of Ludwig
Mansen's men, and we found at last the skeleton of your horse; we knew
it by your saddle. And by the spring, where it was quite clear you had
camped for the night, there were the remains of one of the most venomous
snakes in the country. We were afraid you had been bitten by it, and
had staggered somewhere into the bush and died. There would have been
small chance for you, they said, if it had bitten you. But it doesn't
matter, happily, what we thought, only I should like to know if you are
able to tell me the true history of the matter."
"You shall hear presently," said George. "But first of all I want to
know about my mother. Is she looking well?"
"Well, I never saw her before, you know," said Redgy, "and of course she
has been in great distress about you; but as regards looks, I'm sure
she's an extremely handsome woman, and she will soon now be at her best
again. You should have seen what a difference there was in her when we
found out all about you from young Kransberg."
"Young Kransberg," repeated George. "I supposed he guessed the truth,
then, from what I told him yesterday, and rode over to tell you about
me."
"Hem! no," said Margetts shortly; "that wasn't the object of his visit.
He didn't know that you were in any way connected with Mrs Mansen--
didn't know what your name was indeed. He only mentioned quite casually
at dinner that a young Englishman had been found close to his uncle's
house, nearly two months ago, who had been seized with a bad attack of
marsh fever. We all caught at it at once, and felt almost sure, from
his description, that the person of whom he had been speaking must be
you. But Mrs Mansen couldn't bear to be kept in suspense a moment, and
I offered to ride over here the moment dinner was over; and Rudolf
Kransberg," added Redgy with something of a chuckle, "was obliged to
accompany me."
"Well!" said Rivers. "But there's plenty more I want to know. I
haven't seen my sister since she was quite a child. She must be grown
up now."
"Yes, she is grown up," assented Redgy shortly. "And she promised to be
pretty?"
"That's a matter of opinion," said Redgy with evident embarrassment.
"Some people, I believe, do think her so."
"But you don't, eh?" said George, glancing at him in some surprise.
"But never mind that, I shall soon be able to judge for myself. There
are other things I want to know about. What has become of--of the
Vander Heydens?"
"Oh, they are all right," said Margetts. "Vander Heyden recovered
rapidly, and got home in three weeks after the time you left us. Their
place is only a few miles from Umtongo. They have been continually over
there to see your mother and sister. Miss Vander Heyden and Miss Rivers
have struck up a very close friendship, and I must do Vander Heyden the
justice to say that nobody has been more active in the search after you
than he was."
"He's a good fellow," said George, "though he is a Dutchman, and hates
the English, and is as proud as Lucifer into the bargain. Well, and
Hardy--what of him?"
"Hardy is at Pieter's Dorf--that's the name of Vander Heyden's place.
He has designed a capital house, which they have already begun building.
It will go on all the faster now that the search for you is happily
over. Well now, it's my turn, George, to ask questions. Do you think
you are strong enough to be moved? Mr Mansen proposes to send over his
light bullock waggon for you. Of course you couldn't sit in the saddle
for twenty miles, and won't be fit to do so for some time yet. But you
might be able to bear the motion of the waggon. You look quite as
strong as Vander Heyden did, and you haven't so far to go."
"I should think I certainly might," said George. "I don't know whether
it is in consequence of seeing you and hearing your good news, but I
feel ever so much better than I did this morning."
"Very good," said Margetts. "Then I will ride back at once and tell
them to send the waggon. It will take one day to come here, then you
can go back the next. That will be the day after to-morrow, you know."
"Very good. I must of course consult my kind host. But I don't fancy
he will make any difficulty. We shall have to arrange, also, what I am
to pay him for my lodging and nursing. I must have been a considerable
expense, as well as trouble to him."
Margetts took his leave, and George went in quest of Mynheer Kransberg,
whom he found in his usual seat in his summer-house. He listened in
silence to George's proposed arrangements, as well as to his thanks for
the great kindness shown him. But when his guest inquired how much
money was due for the lodging and attendance he had received. Mynheer
Kransberg answered quietly,--
"There is nothing due. This is not an inn."
"I am aware of that," returned Rivers, colouring a little, for he had
entertained the idea that all Dutchmen were eager to make any profit in
their power, and had spoken accordingly. "But I must have occasioned
some considerable outlay, and besides have given your servants and
yourself and nephew, a great deal of trouble," he pursued.
"We do not, any of us, grudge it," said the old man in the same tone as
before. "We do not want money for doing a simple act of Christian
charity. You have rendered me your thanks--that is enough."
"I do indeed render them most heartily," said Rivers, "and I shall never
lose the recollection of your generous kindness."
During the journey in Farmer Mansen's ox-waggon, which occupied nearly
the whole of the day, he had time to reconsider the opinion which he had
formed respecting the Boers, and which had been very much the same that
is entertained by Englishmen generally. There is undoubtedly a strong
prejudice felt against them. They are believed to be selfish,
cold-blooded, and cowardly,--harshly oppressive to the helpless, but
descending to falsehood and trickery in their dealings with those whom
they dare not openly defy. A good deal of disgust also is felt at the
strictness of their religious profession, which is thought to be
inconsistent with their harsh and worldly conduct.
That there is some truth in these censures is not to be denied. They
have been for many generations slaveholders, and no nation ever yet
escaped the degradation which that most odious of all customs entails.
Slaveholders become inevitably selfish, unjust, and brutal, and incline
to become cowardly also. It is the coward only that oppresses the weak,
and they who habitually oppress the weak cannot but become cowards. But
the Boers have virtues to which justice has not been done. They are
kind-hearted and generous to all except the blacks. No nation exceeds
them in industry, in simplicity of life, and in the practice of domestic
virtues. The profound respect rendered to parents, the faithful
affection subsisting between husband and wife, the anxious care bestowed
on their children, the loyal attachment and devotion to their country,
might put to shame many who are their severest censors. And their
religious profession is sincere enough, however blinded their eyes may
have become as regards some obvious Christian duties.
Prayer is offered in almost every Dutch household morning and evening to
Almighty God. The Sunday is given up to the strictest religious
observances; the periodical communions are punctually and reverently
attended. If the curse of slavery could be torn out by the roots, and
the natives recognised by them as of equal value with themselves in the
sight of Heaven, there would be few worthier races to be found on the
face of the earth than they.