One fine morning early, high up among the krantzes and dark jungles of a
kloot or mountain gorge, which branched off from Glen Lynden, a noble
specimen of an African savage awoke from his night's repose and
stretched himself.
He had spent the night among the lower branches of a mimosa-bush, the
opening into which was so small that it was a wonder how his large body
could have squeezed through it. Indeed, it would have been quite
impossible for him to have gained the shelter of that dark retreat if he
had not possessed a lithe supple frame and four powerful legs furnished
with tremendous claws.
We should have mentioned, perhaps, that our noble savage was a
magnificent leopard--or Cape "tiger."
As he stretched himself he laid back his head, shut his eyes, and
yawned, by which act he displayed a tremendous collection of canines and
grinders, with a pink throat of great capacity. The yawn ended in a
gasp, and then he raised his head and looked quietly about him, gently
patting the ground with his tail, as a man might pat his bedclothes
while considering what to do next. Not unlike man, he lay down at full
length and tried to go to sleep again, but it would not do. He had
evidently had his full allowance, and therefore got up and stretched
himself again in a standing position. In this act, bending his deep
chest to the ground, he uttered a low _gurr_ of savage satisfaction,
sank his claws into the soil, and gently tore a number of tough roots
into shreds. Sundry little creatures of various kinds in the
neighbourhood, hearing the _gurr_, presented their tails to the sky and
dived into their little holes with incredible rapidity.
The leopard now shook off dull sloth, and, lashing his sides in a
penitential manner with his tail, glided through the opening in the
mimosa-bush, bounded into the branches of a neighbouring tree, ran
nimbly out to the end of one of them, and leaping with a magnificent
spring over a gully, alighted softly on the turf at the other side.
Trotting calmly into an open space, he stopped to take a survey of
surrounding nature.
Breakfast now naturally suggested itself. At least we may suppose so
from a certain eager look which suddenly kindled in the leopard's eye,
and a wrinkling of his nose as a bird flitted close over his head. At
that moment a species of rabbit, or cony, chanced to hop round the
corner of a rock. The lightning-flash is not quicker than the spring
with which the Cape-tiger traversed the twenty feet between himself and
his prey.
The result was very effectual as regarded the cony, but it was not much
to gurr about in the way of breakfast. It was a mere whet to the
appetite, which increased the desire for more.
Advancing down the kloof with that stealthy gliding motion peculiar to
the feline race, the leopard soon came in sight of a fine bushbok, whose
sleek sides drew from him an irrepressible snicker of delight. But the
bushbok was not within spring-range. He was at the foot of a low
precipice. Creeping to the top of this with great caution the leopard
looked over with a view to estimate distance. It was yet too far for a
spring, so he turned at once to seek a better way of approach. In doing
so he touched a small stone, which rolled over the krantz, bounded from
crag to cliff, and, carrying several other stones larger than itself
along with it, dashed itself at the very feet of the bushbok, which
wisely took to its heels and went off like the wind.
Sulky beyond all conception, the leopard continued to descend the kloof
until he reached a narrow pass from which were visible, not far off, the
abodes of men. Here he paused and couched in quiet contemplation.
Now there was another early waking on that fine morning, though not
quite so early as the one just described. Master Junkie Brook, lying in
a packing-box, which served as an extempore crib, in the cottage of
Kenneth McTavish, opened his large round eyes and rubbed them. Getting
up, he observed that Mrs Scholtz was sound asleep, and quietly dressed
himself. He was a precocious child, and had learned to dress without
assistance. The lesson was more easily learned than beings living in
civilised lands might suppose, owing to the fact that he had only two
garments--a large leather jacket and a pair of leather trousers, one
huge button in front, and one behind, holding the latter securely to the
former. A pair of veltschoen and a fur cap completed a costume which
had been manufactured by the joint efforts of his mother and sister and
Mrs Scholtz. The husband of the last, on seeing it for the first time,
remarked that it "vas more like me garb of a man of dirty zan a boy of
dree." The garb had been made of such tough material that it seemed
impossible to wear it out, and of such an extremely easy fit that
although the child had now lived in it upwards of two years there were
not more than six patches on it anywhere.
How Junkie got to the Baviaans River may perhaps perplex the reader. It
is easily explained. Hans had invited all or any of the Brook family to
visit his father's farm on the karroo. Gertie catching a cold, or in
some other way becoming feeble, wanted a change of air. Her father,
recalling the invitation, and happening to know that Hans was in
Grahamstown at the time, drove her over with Mrs Scholtz and Junkie to
make the thing proper, and offered a visit of all three. You may be
sure Hans did not refuse to take them to his home in his new cart.
After spending some time there Mrs Scholtz took a fancy that she would
like to go with Hans on one of his frequent excursions to Glen Lynden,
but she would not leave Junkie behind. Hans objected to Junkie at
first, but finally gave in, and thus the little hero found his way to
the River of Baboons.
When dressed--which was soon done, as he omitted washing--Junkie began
to consider what he had best do. Mischief, of course, but of what sort?
That was the question.
His room was on the ground floor, and had a lattice window which opened
like a door into the back premises. He pushed the window and found that
it opened. What a chance! Mrs Scholtz was still asleep, and snoring.
Absence without leave was his chief delight. In two minutes he was deep
in the jungle, panting. Knowing from long and bitter experience that he
would be pursued by the inveterate Mrs Scholtz, the urchin ran up the
kloof, bent on placing the greatest possible space between him and his
natural enemy in the shortest possible time. In this way he was not
long of drawing near to the leopard's point of observation.
No doubt that keen-sighted animal would quickly have observed the child,
if its attention had not at the moment been attracted by other and
equally mischievous game. A troop of baboons came down the kloof to
pilfer the white man's fruit and vegetables. They had evidently risen
late for breakfast, and were in a hurry to reach their breakfast parlour
before the white man should awake. There were a dozen or so of females,
several huge males, and quite a crowd of children of various ages,
besides one or two infants clinging to their mothers' waists.
It was pitiful to see the sad anxious faces of these infants. Perhaps
they knew their parents' errand and disapproved of it. More probably
they felt their own weakness of frame, and dreaded the shocks sustained
when their heedless mothers bounded from rock or stump like balls of
india-rubber. They were extremely careless mothers. Even Junkie, as he
stood paralysed with terror and surprise, could not avoid seeing that.
The troop was led by a great blue-faced old-man baboon with a remarkably
saturnine expression. On reaching the top of the rock which the leopard
had just vacated, the old man called a halt. The others came tumbling
awkwardly towards him on all-fours, with the exception of several of the
youngsters, who loitered behind to play. One of these, a very small bad
little boy-baboon, deliberately turned aside to explore on his own
account. He came down near to the foot of the rock where the leopard
had concealed himself. Catching sight of his glaring enemy, the bad boy
uttered a terrified squawk. Instantly all the males, headed by the old
man, rushed to the rescue. Powerful though he was, the leopard was
cowardly at heart. A large troop of baboons had some time ago made
mince-meat of his own grandmother. Remembering this, he sloped under a
bank, glided round a corner of the cliff, bounded over a bush, and
sought refuge in a thicket.
It was at this moment, while in the act of bounding, that he caught
sight of Junkie, but being confused at the moment, and ashamed of having
been twice foiled, he slunk away with his tail between his legs and
concealed himself among the branches of an old gnarled and favourite
tree.
The bad boy-baboon was the only one who had seen the leopard; the old
males therefore had to content themselves with a few fierce looks round
in all directions, and several defiant roars. Born and bred in the
midst of alarms, however, they were soon composed enough to resume their
descent on the white man's stores--to the great relief of the petrified
Junkie, of whom in their alarm they took no notice, regarding him,
possibly, as a badly executed statue of a baboon.
Junkie quickly recovered himself, and, seeing the baboons descend the
kloof, thought it safer, as well as more in accord with his original
plans, to ascend.
Gladly, hopefully, did the leopard observe his decision and watch his
progress. To him the tide of fortune seemed to have taken a favourable
turn, for Junkie, in the innocence of his heart, made straight for the
gnarled tree.
But one of the many slips so often quoted with reference to cups and
lips was at this time impending over the unfortunate leopard.
There was yet one other early riser that morning--namely Booby the
Bushman. In pursuance of his calling, that ill-used and misguided son
of the soil arose about daybreak with much of his native soil sticking
to his person, and, with a few other desperadoes like himself, made a
descent on Glen Lynden--not, by any means, the first that his fraternity
had made. Not so bloodthirsty as the leopard, quite as mischievous as
Junkie, and much more cunning than the baboons, Booby chanced to arrive
at the gorge already mentioned just at the time when Junkie was
approaching it. There was, if you will, somewhat of a coincidence here
in regard to time, but there was no coincidence in the fact of such
characters selecting the same route, because whoever passed up or down
that kloof must needs go by the gorge.
Slowly Junkie picked his way up the ragged path towards the gnarled
tree. The leopard, scarcely believing in his good luck, licked his
lips. Rapidly the Bushman and his men descended the same path.
They rode on horses--stolen horses, of course. The leopard heard the
clatter of hoofs and looked back. Junkie drew nearer to the gnarled
tree; the leopard looked forward. Never was savage beast more
thoroughly perplexed. Anxiety glared in his eyes; exasperation grinned
in his teeth; indecision quivered in the muscles of his tail. Just at
that moment Booby caught sight of his spotted skin. Had the leopard
been less perturbed he would have been too wise to allow his carcass to
appear. A poisoned arrow instantly quivered in his flank. It acted
like a spur; with an angry growl and a clear bound of no one knows how
many feet, he re-entered the jungle and fled to the mountains.
Petrified again, Junkie remained motionless till the Bushmen robbers
rode up. Booby knew that his leopard was safe, for a poisoned arrow is
sure to kill in time, so he did not care to hasten after it just then,
but preferred to continue his approach to the white man's habitations.
Great, then, was his amazement when he all but rode over Junkie.
Amazement was quickly succeeded by alarm. His knowledge of the white
man's ways and habits told him at once the state of affairs. The
appearance of Junkie in the company of "tigers" and baboons, was, he
knew well, a mere juvenile indiscretion. He also knew that parental
instincts among white men were keen, and thence concluded that discovery
and pursuit would be immediate. His own plans were therefore not only
defeated, but his own safety much endangered, as his presence was sure
to be discovered by his tracks. "Let's be off instanter," was the
substance of Booby's communication to his brethren. The brethren
agreed, but Booby had lived among white men, and although his own
particular master was a scoundrel, there were those of his household--
especially among the females--who had taught him something of Christian
pity. He could not leave the child to the tender mercies of wild
beasts. He did not dare to convey him back to the cottage of Kenneth
McTavish. What was he to do? Delay might be death! In these
circumstances he seized the horrified Junkie by the arm, swung him on
the pommel of his saddle, and galloped away up the kloof and over the
mountains into the deepest recesses of Kafirland.
When Mrs Scholtz awoke that morning, rubbed her eyes, looked up and
discovered that Junkie's crib was empty, she sprang from her bed,
perceived the open lattice, and gave vent to an awful scream. In
barbarous times and regions a shriek is never uttered in vain. The
McTavish household was instantly in the room, some of them in
deshabille--some armed--all alarmed.
"Oh my!--oh me!" cried Mrs Scholtz, leaping back into bed with
unfeminine haste, "he's gone!"
"Who's gone?" asked McTavish.
"Junkie!"
"What! where? when? how? why?" said Mrs McTavish, Jessie, and others.
Mrs Scholtz gasped and pointed to the lattice; at the same time she
grasped her garments as a broad hint to the men. They took it hastily.
"Come, boys, search about, and one of you saddle up. Go, call Groot
Willem," was the master's prompt order as he turned and left the room.
Six Hottentots, a Bushman, and a Bechuana boy obeyed, but those who
searched sought in vain. Yet not altogether in vain--they found
Junkie's "spoor," and traced it into the jungle. While two followed it,
the others returned and "saddled up" the horses. Groot Willem chanced
to be on a visit to the Highlanders at the time.
"What a pity," he said, coming out of his room and stretching himself
(it was quite an impressive sight to see such a giant stretch himself!)
"that the hunters are off. They might have helped us."
The giant spoke with good-humoured sarcasm, believing that the urchin
would assuredly be found somewhere about the premises, and he referred
to the departure of an exploring and hunting party under George Rennie,
which had left Glen Lynden the previous day for the interior.
But when Groot Willem with his companions had ridden a considerable way
up the kloof, and found Junkie's spoor mingling with that of baboons, he
became earnest. When he came to the gnarled tree and discovered that it
was joined by that of horses and Cape tigers, he became alarmed.
A diligent examination was made. Drops of blood were found on the
ground. The leopard itself was ultimately discovered stone dead in a
thicket with the poisoned arrow in its side, the horse-spoor was
followed up a long way, and then it was pretty clearly seen that the
child had been carried off by marauders of some sort.
Of course a thorough search was made and pursuit was immediately
instituted. Groot Willem and McTavish pushed on promptly to follow the
spoor, while men were sent back to the glen for a supply of ammunition,
etcetera, in case of a prolonged search becoming necessary.
The search was ably planned and vigorously carried out; but all in vain.
Junkie had departed _that_ life as thoroughly as if he had never been,
and Mrs Scholtz remained at Glen Lynden the very personification of
despair.
We shall now turn to the exploring party which had left the Baviaans
River on the previous day.
About this time the rumours of war among the natives of the vast and
almost unknown interior of the land had become unusually alarming. A
wandering and warlike horde named the Fetcani had been, for some time
past, driving all the other tribes before them, and were said at last to
be approaching the Winterberg frontier of the colony. In order to
ascertain what foundation there was for these reports, as well as to
explore the land, the party under Rennie was sent out. Among those who
formed this party were Charlie Considine, Hans Marais, Sandy Black and
his satellite Jerry Goldboy, Andrew Rivers, Diederik and Christian
Muller, and the tall black-bearded hunter Lucas Van Dyk, besides
Slinger, Dikkop, and other Hottentots and Bushmen.
"This is what I call real enjoyment," said Considine, as he rode with
Hans, somewhat in advance of the cavalcade;--"splendid weather,
magnificent scenery, lots of game big and little, good health and
freedom. What more could a man wish?"
"Ja," said Hans quietly; "you have reason to be thankful--yet there is
more to wish for."
"What more?" asked Considine.
"That the whole world were as happy as yourself," said Hans, looking
full at his friend with a bland smile.
"And so I do wish that," returned Considine with enthusiasm.
"Do you?" asked Hans, with a look of surprise.
"Of course I do; why do you doubt it?" asked his friend, with a
perplexed look.
Hans did not reply, but continued to gaze at the mountain-range towards
which the party was riding.
And, truly, it was a prospect which might well absorb the attention and
admiration of men less capable of being affected by the beauties of
nature than Hans Marais.
They were passing through a verdant glen at the foot of the mountains,
the air of which was perfumed with wild flowers, and filled with the
garrulous music of paroquets and monkeys. In front lay the grand range
of the Winterberg, with its coronet of rocks, its frowning steeps, its
grassy slopes, and its skirts feathered over with straggling forest,--
all bathed in the rich warm glow of an African sunset.
"You have not answered me, Hans," said Considine, after a pause. "Why
do you think I am indifferent to the world's happiness?"
"Because," replied the other, with an expression unusually serious on
his countenance, "I do not see that you make any effort--beyond being
good-natured and amiable, which you cannot help--to make the world
better."
Considine looked at his friend with surprise, and replied, with a
laugh--"Why, Hans, you are displaying a new phase of character. Your
remark is undoubtedly true--so true indeed that, although I object to
that commonplace retort,--`You're another,'--I cannot help pointing out
that it applies equally to yourself."
"It is just because it applies equably to myself that I make it,"
rejoined Hans, with unaltered gravity. "You and I profess to be
Christians, we both think that we are guided by Christian principles--
and doubtless, to some extent, we are, but what have we done for the
cause that we call `good,' that is good? I speak for myself at all
events--I have hitherto done nothing, absolutely nothing."
"My dear fellow," said Considine, with a sudden burst of candour, "I
believe you are right, and I plead guilty; but then what can we do? We
are not clergymen."
"Stephen Orpin is not a clergyman, yet see what _he_ does. It was
seeing what that man does, and how he lives, that first set me
a-thinking on this subject. He attends to his ordinary calling quite as
well as any man of my acquaintance, and, I'll be bound, makes a good
thing of it, but any man with half an eye can see that he makes it
subservient to the great work of serving the Saviour, whom you and I
profess to love. I have seen him suffer loss rather than work on the
Lord's day. More than once I've seen him gain discredit for his
so-called fanaticism. He is an earnest man, eagerly seeking an end
which is _outside_ himself, therefore he is a happy man. To be eager in
pursuit, is to be in a great degree happy, even when the pursuit is a
trifling one; if it be a great and good one, the result must be greater
happiness; if the pursuit has reference to things beyond this life, and
ultimate success is hoped for in the next, it seems to me that _lasting_
as well as _highest_ happiness may thus be attained. Love of self,
Charlie, is _not_ a bad motive, as some folk would falsely teach us.
The Almighty put love of self within us. It is only when love of self
is a superlative affection that it is sinful, because idolatrous. When
it is said that `love is the fulfilling of the law,' it is not love to
God merely that is meant, I think, but love to Him supremely, and to all
created things as well, self included, because if you can conceive of
this passion being our motive power, and fairly balanced in our
breasts--God and all created beings and things occupying their right
relative positions,--self, although dethroned, would not be ignored.
Depend on it, Charlie, there is something wrong _here_."
The young Dutchman smote himself heavily on his broad chest, and looked
at his friend for a reply.
What that reply was we need not pause to say. These two young men ever
since their first acquaintance had regarded each other with feelings
akin to those of David and Jonathan, but they had not up to this time
opened to each other those inner chambers of the soul, where the secret
springs of life keep working continually in the dark, whether we regard
them or not--working oftentimes harshly for want of the oil of human
intercourse and sympathy. The floodgates were now opened, and the two
friends began to discourse on things pertaining to the soul and the
Saviour and the world to come, whereby they found that their
appreciation and enjoyment of the good things even of this life was
increased considerably. Subsequently they discovered the explanation of
this increased power of enjoyment, in that Word which throws light on
all things, where it is written that "godliness is profitable for the
life that now is, as well as that which is to come."