INTRODUCES A CAPE DUTCHMAN AND HIS FAMILY, AND SHOWS THE UNCERTAINTY OF
HUMAN PLANS.
The break of day found Charlie Considine and Hans Marais galloping
lightly over the karroo towards a range of mountains which, on the
previous evening, had appeared like a faint line of blue on the horizon.
The sun was just rising in a blaze of splendour, giving promise of an
oppressive day, when the horsemen topped a ridge beyond which lay the
primitive buildings of a frontier farm.
Considine uttered an exclamation of surprise, and looked inquiringly at
his companion.
"My father's farm," said Hans, drawing rein and advancing at a
foot-pace.
"A lovely spot," returned his companion, "but I cannot say much for the
buildings."
"They are well suited to their purpose nevertheless," said Hans;
"besides, would it be wise to build fine houses for Kafirs to burn?"
"Is being burnt by Kafirs the necessary end of all frontier farms?"
asked Considine, with a smile.
"Not the necessary, but the probable end. Many a one has been burnt in
times gone by, and many a one will be burnt again, if the Government and
people in England do not recognise and admit the two great facts, that
the interest as well as the main desire of the frontier settler is
_peace_, while the chief delight as well as business of the Kafir is
_war_. But I suppose that you, being an Englishman, will not believe
that until conviction is forced on you by experience.--Come, I will
introduce you to one of those colonists who are supposed to be such
discontented fire-eaters; I think he will receive you hospitably."
The young farmer put spurs to his horse as he spoke, and dashed away
over the plain, closely followed by his new friend, who was not sorry to
drop the conversation, being almost entirely ignorant of the merits of
the question raised.
The style of the group of buildings to which they drew near was not
entirely unfamiliar to Considine, for he had passed one or two similar
farms, belonging to Cape Dutchmen, on his trip from the sea-coast to the
interior. There were about this farm, however, a few prominent points
of difference. The cottages, being built of sun-dried bricks, were
little better than mud-huts, but there were more of them than Considine
had hitherto seen on such farms, and the chief dwelling, in particular,
displayed some touches of taste which betokened superior refinement in
the inhabitants. The group lay in a hollow on the margin of an
insignificant stream, whose course through the plain was marked by a
thick belt of beautiful mimosa-bushes. Close to the houses, these
mimosas, large enough to merit the title of trees, formed a green
setting in which the farm appeared to nestle as if desirous of escaping
the sunshine. A few cactus shrubs and aloes were scattered about in
rear of the principal dwelling, in the midst of which stood several
mud-huts resembling gigantic bee-hives. In these dwelt some of the
Hottentot and other servants of the farm, while, a little to the right
of them, on a high mound, were situated the kraals or enclosures for
cattle and sheep. About fifty yards farther off, a clump of tall trees
indicated the position of a garden, whose fruit-trees were laden with
the blossoms or beginnings of a rich crop of peaches, lemons, oranges,
apricots, figs, pears, plums, apples, pomegranates, and many other
fruits and vegetables. This bright and fruitful gem, in the midst of
the brown and apparently barren karroo, was chiefly due to the existence
of a large enclosure or dam which the thrifty farmer had constructed
about half a mile from the homestead, and the clear waters of which
shimmered in the centre of the picture, even when prolonged drought had
quite dried up the bed of its parent stream. The peaceful beauty of the
scene was completed by its grand background of blue mountains.
A tall, powerful, middle-aged man, in a coarse cloth jacket, leathern
trousers or "crackers," and a broad-brimmed home-made hat, issued from
the chief dwelling-house as the horsemen galloped up and drew rein. The
sons of the family and a number of barking dogs also greeted them. Hans
and Considine sprang to the ground, while two or three of the eleven
brothers, of various ages--also in leathern crackers, but without coats
or hats--came forward, kicked the dogs, and led the horses away.
"Let me introduce a stranger, father, whom I have found--lost in the
karroo," said Hans.
"Welcome to Eden! Come in, come in," said Mynheer Conrad Marais
heartily, as he shook his visitor by the hand.
Considine suitably acknowledged the hospitable greeting and followed his
host into the principal room of his residence.
There was no hall or passage to the house. The visitor walked straight
off the veldt, or plain, into the drawing-room--if we may so style it.
The house door was also the drawing-room door, and it was divided
transversely into two halves, whereby an open window could at any moment
be formed by shutting the lower half of the door. There was no ceiling
to the room. You could see the ridge-pole and rafters by looking up
between the beams, on one of which latter a swallow--taking advantage of
the ever open door and the general hospitality of the family--had built
its nest. The six-foot sons almost touched the said nest with their
heads; as to the smaller youths it was beyond the reach of most of them,
but had it been otherwise no one would have disturbed the lively little
intruder.
The floor of the apartment was made of hard earth, without carpet. The
whitewashed walls were graced with various garments, as well as
implements and trophies of the chase.
From the beams hung joints of meat, masses of dried flesh, and various
kinds of game, large whips--termed sjamboks (pronounced _shamboks_)--
made of rhinoceros or hippopotamus hide, leopard and lion skins, ostrich
eggs and feathers, dried fruit, strings of onions, and other
miscellaneous objects; on the floor stood a large deal table, and chairs
of the same description--all home-made,--two waggon chests, a giant
churn, a large iron pot, several wooden pitchers hooped with brass, and
a side-table on which were a large brass-clasped Dutch Bible, a set of
Dutch tea-cups, an urn, and a brass tea-kettle heated like a
chafing-dish. On the walls and in corners were several flint-lock guns,
and one or two of the short light javelins used by the Kafirs for
throwing in battle, named assagais.
Three small doors led into three inner rooms, in which the entire family
slept. There were no other apartments, the kitchen being an outhouse.
On the centre table was spread a substantial breakfast, from which the
various members of the family had risen on the arrival of the horsemen.
Considine was introduced to Mynheer Marais' vrouw, a good-looking, fat,
and motherly woman verging on forty,--and his daughter Bertha, a pretty
little girl of eight or nine.
"What is Mynheer's name?" was the matron's first question.
Mynheer replied that it was Charles Considine.
"Was Mynheer English?"
"Yes," Mynheer was proud to acknowledge the fact.
Mrs Marais followed up these questions with a host of others--such as,
the age and profession of Mynheer, the number of his relatives, and the
object of his visit to South Africa. Mynheer Marais himself, after
getting a brief outline of his son's meeting with the Englishman, backed
the attack of his pleasant-faced vrouw by putting a number of questions
as to the political state of Europe then existing, and the chances of
the British Government seriously taking into consideration the
unsatisfactory condition of the Cape frontier and its relations with the
Kafirs.
To all of these and a multitude of other questions Charlie Considine
replied with great readiness and good-humour, as far as his knowledge
enabled him, for he began quickly to appreciate the fact that these
isolated farmers, who almost never saw a newspaper were thirsting for
information as to the world in general as well as with regard to himself
in particular.
During this bombardment of queries the host and hostess were not
forgetful to supply their young guest with the viands under which the
substantial table groaned, while several of the younger members of the
family, including the pretty Bertha, stood behind the rest and waited on
them. With the exception of the host and hostess, none of the household
spoke during the meal, all being fully occupied in listening eagerly and
eating heartily.
When the Dutch fire began to slacken for want of ammunition, Considine
retaliated by opening a British battery, and soon learned that Marais
and his wife both claimed, and were not a little proud of, a few drops
of French blood. Their progenitors on the mother's side, they said,
were descended from one of the French Huguenot families which settled in
the colony after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
"You see," said Mynheer Marais, with a quiet smile of satisfaction, as
he applied a boiled cob of mealies or Indian corn to his powerful teeth,
"our family may be said to be about two-thirds Dutch and one-third
French. In fact, we have also a little English blood in our veins, for
my great-grandfather's mother was English on the father's side and Dutch
on the mother's. Perhaps this accounts to some extent for my tendency
to adopt some English and American ideas in the improvement of my farm,
which is not a characteristic of my Cape-Dutch brethren."
"So I have been told, and to some extent have seen," said Considine,
with a sly glance; "in fact they appear to be rather lazy than
otherwise."
"Not lazy, young sir," returned Marais with some emphasis. "They are
easy-going and easily satisfied, and not solicitous to add to their
material comforts beyond a certain point--in short, contented with
little, like Frenchmen, which is a praiseworthy condition of mind,
commended in Holy Writ, and not disposed to make haste to be rich, like
you English."
"Ah, I see," rejoined Considine, who observed a twinkle in the eyes of
some of Mynheer's stalwart sons.
"Yes," pursued the farmer, buttering another mealie-cob, and commencing
to eat it with infinite gusto, "you see, the Cape Dutchmen, although as
fine a set of men as ever lived, are just a _little_ too contented and
slow; on the other hand, young sir, you English are much too reckless
and fast--"
"Just so," interrupted Considine, bowing his thanks to the hostess for a
third venison-steak which she had put on his plate; "the Dutch too slow,
the English too fast, so that three parts Dutch, two parts French, and
one part English--like a dash of seasoning--is, it seems, the perfect
Marais mixture."
This remark produced a sudden and unintentional burst of laughter from
the young Maraises, not so much on account of the excess of humour
contained in it, as from the fact that never before had they heard a
jest of any kind fabricated at the expense of their father, of whom they
stood much in awe, and for whom they had a profound respect.
Conrad Marais, however, could take a joke, although not much given to
making one. He smiled blandly over the edge of his mealie-cob.
"You're right, sir,--right; the mixture is not a bad one. The Dutch
element gives steadiness, the English vigour, and the French spirit.--By
the way, Arend," he continued, turning to one of his stout
olive-branches, "talking of spirit reminds me that you will have to go
to work at that leak in the dam with more spirit than usual, for we
can't afford to lose water in this dry weather. It is not finished, I
think?"
"No, father, but we hope to get it done this afternoon."
"That's well. How many of you are at it?"
"David and I, with six Totties. Old Sam is ill, and none of the others
can be spared to-day."
"Can't some of your brothers help?" asked the farmer. "Losing water is
as bad almost as losing gold."
"Joseph meant to come, but he started at six this morning to look after
the cattle. We hear that the Kafirs carried off some of Jan Smit's
sheep yesterday."
"The black scoundrels!" exclaimed Conrad Marais, with a growl and a
frown, "they are never at rest, either in times of peace or of war."
The frown passed as quickly as it came, and the genial smile habitual to
the farmer resumed its place on his countenance as he ran his fingers
through the thick masses of his iron-grey hair, and rose from the table.
"Come, Mr Considine," he said, putting on his hat, "are you disposed
for a ride? I take a look round the farm every morning to see that
things are going straight. Will you join me?"
Of course Considine gladly assented, and Hans said he would accompany
them, while the other sons--except of course the younger ones, and the
baby who was Bertha's special charge--went out to their various
avocations.
A few minutes later the three horsemen were cantering over the plain.
During the ride, Considine was again questioned closely as to his future
intentions and prospects, but without anything very satisfactory being
evolved. At last Conrad Marais pulled up, after a long pause in the
conversation, and while they advanced at a walk, said--"Well, I've been
_thinking_, and here is the outcome. You want work, Mr Considine, and
I want a workman. You've had a good education, which I count a
priceless advantage. Some of my sons have had a little, but since I
came here the young ones have had none at all worth mentioning. What
say you to become a schoolmaster? You stop with me and give the
youngsters as much as you think fit of whatever you know, and I'll give
you house-room and food, with a small salary and a hearty welcome. You
need not bind yourself. If you don't like it, you can leave it. If you
do like it, you are welcome to stay as long as you please, and you'll
thus have an opportunity of looking about and deciding on your future
plans. What say you?"
Considine received the opening sentences of this proposal with a smile,
but as the farmer went on he became grave, and at length seriously
entertained the idea. After having slept a night over it he finally
resolved to accept the offer, and next day was fairly installed as
dominie and a member of the farmer's family. School-books were ferreted
out from the bottom of family chests; a Hottentot's (or Tottie's)
mud-hut was converted into a schoolroom; six of the farmer's sons--
beginning almost at the foot of the scale--formed a class. Reading,
writing, and arithmetic were unfolded to youthful and not unwilling
minds, even Latin was broached by the eldest of the six, and, during a
separate hour in the evening, French was taught to Bertha. Everything,
in short, was put in train, and, as Considine expressed it, "the Marais
Academy was going full swing," when an event occurred which instantly
sent French and Latin to the right-about and scattered the three R's to
the four winds.
This was nothing less than an order from the Colonial Government to the
Field Cornets on the frontier to engage waggons and oxen from the
farmers, to be sent to Algoa Bay for the purpose of conveying the
British immigrants--expected in a few weeks--from the coast to the
various locations destined for their reception.
Among others, Conrad Marais was to send two waggons and spans of oxen,
each span consisting of eighteen animals. Hans Marais was to go in
charge, and Hans resolved to have Considine as a companion, for the
journey down to the coast was long--about 160 miles,--and the two youths
had formed so strong an attachment during their short acquaintance that
Considine was as anxious to go as his friend could desire.
Conrad Marais, having no objection to this arrangement, the oxen were
"inspanned," and the day following that on which the order was received
they set off towards the shores of the Indian Ocean.
Having to pass the residence of Jan Smit on the way, Considine seized
the opportunity to visit his former cross-grained companion and pay his
debt.
Jan Smit was in a more savage humour than usual when the young man
walked up to his dwelling. The farmer's back was towards him as he
approached. He stood nervously switching a sjambok in his right hand,
while he stormed in Dutch at three of his unfortunate people, or rather
slaves. One was a sturdy Hottentot named Ruyter, one a Malay named
Abdul Jemalee, both of whom had travelled with Considine on the up
journey. The third was the Bushman whom he had encountered when lost on
the karroo, and who, owing to his inveterate stupidity, had been named
Booby.
They had all been implicated in the recent loss of cattle suffered by
their savage master, who had already flogged the Bushman with the
sjambok and was furiously interrogating the Hottentot. At last he gave
him a tremendous cut across the shoulders, which immediately raised a
dark red bar thereon.
Ruyter's black eyes flashed. He did not wince, but drew himself quickly
up like a man about to retaliate. Jan Smit observing and resenting the
action, at once knocked him down.
Ruyter slowly rose and staggered away just as Considine came up. The
youth could not resist the inclination to exclaim "Shame!"
"Who dares--" cried Jan Smit, turning fiercely round. He paused in mute
surprise at sight of his former companion.
"_I_ dare!" said Considine sternly; "many a time the word has been on my
lips before, and now that it has passed them it may go. I came not
here, however, to bully, or be bullied, but to pay my debt to you."
He drew out a leathern purse as he spoke, and the Dutchman, whose spirit
was quelled both by the manner and the matter of his visitor's remark,
led the way to his domicile.
The house resembled that of Conrad Marais in form, but in nothing else.
Everything in and around it was dirty and more or less dilapidated.
There was no dam, no garden,--nothing, in short, but the miserable
dwelling and a few surrounding huts, with the cattle kraal.
Having paid his debt, Considine did not vouchsafe another word, but
returned at once to the waggons. On the way he overtook Ruyter.
"My poor fellow," he said, "have you no means of redress? Can you not
complain to some one--some magistrate?"
"Complain!" exclaimed the Hottentot fiercely, "what de use of complain?
No one care. Nobody listen--boh! no use complain."
The man had learnt a smattering of English. He was a short but very
powerful fellow, and with a more intellectual head and countenance than
is common to his race.
"Where are you going just now, Ruyter?" asked Considine, feeling that it
was best to change the subject just then.
"Go for inspan de waggin. Ordered down to Algoa Bay for bring up de
white men."
"Then we shall probably meet on the road," said Considine, "for I am
going to the same place." As he spoke, they came to a point where the
road forked. The Hottentot, with a sulky "Good-day," took that path
which led towards Jan Smit's cattle kraal, while Considine followed the
other and rejoined his waggons. The two friends mounted their horses,
the drivers set the ox-teams in motion, and the huge waggons lumbered
slowly over the karroo towards the rising sun.