"Well, youngsters! And what have you been doing with yourselves since
you got ashore?"
Thus a jolly voice behind them, and a hand fell upon the shoulder of
each. They were returning from a couple of hours' row among the bushy
islets of the bay, and were strolling down the main street of Durban,
stopping here and there to look at a shop window crammed with quaint
curios and Kafir truck, or displaying photographic views representing
phases of native life and scenes up-country.
"Mr Kingsland!" cried Gerard, turning with a lively sense of
satisfaction. "Why, I thought you were going straight through."
"So I was--so I was. But I ran against some fellows directly I landed,
and they wouldn't hear of my leaving Durban yesterday--or to-day either.
And now you'd better come along with me to the Royal and have some
lunch."
This invitation met with cordial acceptation. Both were beginning to
feel rather out of it, knowing nobody in the place. The breezy
geniality of their shipboard acquaintance did not strike Harry as
officious or obtrusive now.
"We shall be delighted," he said. "The fact is, we are none too
comfortable where we are. I, for one, don't care how soon we get out of
it."
"Eh--what! Why, where are you putting up?"
"At a precious rough-and-tumble sort of shop," answered Harry
resentfully, the recollection of the mosquitoes still fresh and green.
"A fellow named Wayne, who keeps a sort of boarding-house for navvies--"
"Wayne! At Wayne's, are you? I know Wayne well. Smartish fellow he
used to be--made a little money at transport-riding [Note 1], but
couldn't stick to it--couldn't stick to anything--not enough staying
power in him," went on Mr Kingsland, with that open-hearted garrulity
on the subject of his neighbours' affairs which characterises a certain
stamp of colonial. "And you find it roughish, eh?"
"I should rather think we did," rejoined Harry. And then he proceeded
to give a feeling account of his experiences, especially with regard to
the mosquitoes.
Mr Kingsland laughed heartily.
"You'll soon get used to that," he said. "Here we are. And now for
tiffin."
They entered the hotel just as the gong sounded. Several men lounged
about the hall in cane chairs. To most of these their entertainer
nodded, speaking a few words to some. Then he piloted them to a table
in a cool corner.
"And now what do you propose doing?" said Mr Kingsland, when lunch was
well in progress. "Stay on here and look around for a few days, or get
away further up-country?"
"The last for choice," answered Gerard. "We have had about enough of
Durban already. You see, we don't know a soul here," he hurried to
explain, lest the other should think him fastidious or fault-finding;
for there is no point on which the colonial mind is so touchy as on that
of the merits or demerits of its own particular town or section.
"And feel rather `out of it.' Quite so," rejoined Mr Kingsland. "But
didn't you say, Ridgeley, you had friends in Maritzburg to whom you were
consigned?"
"Not that exactly. I have a distant relative up there--Anstey his name
is--perhaps you know him? I believe he manages a store, or something of
that kind."
"N-no, I can't say I do. There's Anstey out Greytown way; but he's a
farmer."
"Oh no, that's not the man. This one hasn't got an ounce of farming in
him. The fact is, I don't know him. My mother--my people, that is--
thought he might be able to put me into the way of doing something, so I
have got a letter to him."
"And what is the `something' you are thinking of doing, Ridgeley?" said
Mr Kingsland, fixing his eyes upon Gerard's face.
"I'm afraid I must take whatever turns up--think myself lucky to get it.
But, for choice, I should like above all things to get on a farm."
"H'm! Most young fellows who come out here are keen on that at first.
They don't all stick to it, though--not they. They begin by fancying
it's going to be no end of a jolly life, all riding about and shooting.
But it isn't, not by any means. It's regular downright hard work, and a
rough life at that."
"That I'm quite prepared for," said Gerard. "I only wish I could get
the chance."
"Rather. It just is rough work," went on Mr Kingsland, ignoring the
last remark. "There's no such thing as saying to a fellow `Do this,'
and he does it. You've got to show him the way and begin by doing it
yourself. You've got to off with your coat and work as hard as the
rest. How do you like the idea of that, in a blazing sun about as hot
again as it is to-day? Eh, Maitland?"
"Oh, I suppose it's all right," said Harry, rather uncomfortably, for
this aspect of the case had struck him as not encouraging. "But I don't
know what I shall do yet. I think I'll look around a bit first. It's a
mistake to be in too great a hurry over matters of this kind, don't you
know. And I've got a lot of letters of introduction."
Mr Kingsland looked at him curiously for a moment, as if about to make
a remark, and then thought better of it. He turned to Gerard again.
"If I were you, Ridgeley--if I might offer you a bit of advice--I
wouldn't stop on here. Get on to Maritzburg as soon as you can and look
up your relative. Anyway, you can't do any good by hanging on here.
Now, there's a man I know starting from Pinetown with a load of goods.
He'd give you a passage up there on his waggon for the cost of your
keep, and that's a mere trifle; and you'd have the advantage of seeing
the country and at the same time getting an insight into waggon
travelling. But you'll have to leave here by an afternoon train. He
starts from Pinetown to-night."
"It's awfully kind of you, Mr Kingsland," said Gerard. "There's
nothing I should like better. How shall we find him?"
"That's easily done. Pinetown isn't such a big place. Dawes, his name
is--John Dawes. I'll give you a line to him. If you won't take
anything more I'll go and write it now."
Just before they took leave of each other Mr Kingsland found an
opportunity of speaking to Gerard apart.
"Look here, Ridgeley, I don't say I shall be able to help you in that
notion of yours about getting on a farm, but I may be. You see I've got
a couple of boys of my own, and between them and myself we haven't room
for another hand on the place. I won't even ask you to come and see
us--not just now, because the sooner you get into harness the better.
But afterwards, whenever you have a week or two to spare, we shall be
delighted to see you, whenever you can come, and as long as you can
stay. That's a very first-rate idea of yours to get your foot in the
stirrup before you think of anything else; and when you've got your foot
in the stirrup, keep it there. Stick to it, my lad, stick to it, and
you'll do well. One word more. This is a deuce of a country for
fellows getting into a free-and-easy, let-things-slide sort of way--I
say so, though I belong to it myself. Now, don't you let any such
influences get hold of you. You've got to make your way--go straight
through and make it, and while that's your motto you have always got one
friend in this country at any rate, and his name is Bob Kingsland.
Well, Maitland," as Harry rejoined them, "ready to start on such short
marching orders, eh?"
"Rather. Anything to get away from those beastly mosquitoes."
They took leave of their kind entertainer and returned to their lodgings
to pack up their traps.
"Rattling good chap, old Kingsland," said Gerard, enthusiastically, when
they were alone again.
The straight commonsense counsel, the kind and friendly interest in him
and his welfare, and that on the part of a comparative stranger, on
whose good offices he had not a shadow of a claim, touched him deeply.
Moreover, he felt cheered, morally braced up for whatever start in life
might lie before him. There and then he resolved more firmly than ever
that whatever his right hand should find to do, he would do it with all
his might.
Gerard Ridgeley's story was that of many another youngster who has begun
life under similar circumstances. He was the eldest son of a
professional man, a struggling surgeon in a provincial town, who had
recently died, leaving his widow with a family of five and the scantiest
of means whereon to maintain, let alone educate, the same. His father,
an easy-going thriftless man, had fixed on no definite profession for
him, dimly reckoning on the chance that "something was sure to turn up"
when the boy was old enough. But the only unexpected thing that did
"turn up" was the doctor's sudden death in the prime of his years, and
the consequent straitened circumstances of his widow and family.
So Gerard was removed from school--indeed it was time he should be in
any case, for he had turned eighteen. The good offices of an uncle were
invoked on his behalf, and somewhat grudgingly given. He was offered
his choice between a stool in a counting-house and a free passage to any
British colony, with an outfit and a few pounds to start him fair upon
landing, and being a fine, strong, manly lad, he had no hesitation in
choosing the latter alternative. Then it became a question of selecting
the colony, and here the choice became perplexing. But Mrs Ridgeley
remembered that a distant relation of hers had emigrated to Natal some
years earlier. It was true she hardly knew this relative; still "blood
was thicker than water," and he might be able to give Gerard a helping
hand. So it was decided to ship the boy to Natal accordingly.
It was hard to part with him. He was the eldest, and just of an age to
be helpful. Still, there were four more left, and, as it happened, Mrs
Ridgeley was not a woman who ever displayed over much feeling. She was
a good woman and a sensible one, but not ostentatiously affectionate.
So the parting between them, though hard, was not quite so hard as some
others. One fact is certain. It was the best thing in the world for
Gerard himself.
Harry Maitland, on the other hand, was the son of a well-to-do London
clergyman. From a pecuniary point of view, therefore, his chances and
prospects were immeasurably better than those of his companion. He
would inherit a little money by-and-by, of which prospective advantage,
however, he was wisely kept in ignorance. He, too, had been sent to the
colonies at his own wish, and we think we have shown enough of his
character and disposition to suggest grave doubts in our readers' minds
as to whether he would do any good when he got there. But whether he
does or not will appear duly in the course of our narrative.
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Note 1. The carriage of goods by ox-waggon, which before the day of
railways was the sole method, is thus termed.