with Mad Conway. Well, after I met him at dinner, I saw a good deal of
him, and one day he asked me to come for a drive with two of his
friends, who owned a very smart turn-out, to a well-known drift across
the Vaal River, where there was an hotel. We were to start on a
Saturday afternoon, stay there the night, and return the next day. He
promised me a lively time, as two of the team of four horses were
unbroken, and the other two, although splendid animals, possessed all
the vices that gee-gees can be either born with or acquire. The
distance was about twenty-five miles, the road was good, across a
dead-level flat, which, like most of those in Grigualand West, was
thickly sprinkled with ant-heaps, from about a foot to two and a half
feet high. Well, perhaps the characters of the horses and that of the
two other men who were to accompany us, both roaring blades, to say
nothing about the well-known recklessness of our Jehu, might have made
a nervous old gentleman give pause and refuse the invite; but then you
see at that time I was not a nervous old party, and although I have no
wish to claim an inordinate amount of pluck or recklessness still as I
was blue mouldy for the want of a bit of divarsion, and knew Conway to
be one of the best whips in Africa, I gladly accepted. The start was a
trifle exciting, our two companions turning up just about half-seas
over, while the horses promised to act up to their evil reputations.
However, the trap was a brand-new Cape cart, and the harness of the
very best, so that after some little circus play Conway managed to get
the nags to move off, and we started. The drive through the diggings
was accomplished, thanks to Conway's masterly management, in safety,
for although we scattered like chaff many groups of niggers, we only
upset two Parsee pedlars and one Chinaman, the balance of the damage
done being the demolishment of a coolie's habitation, which was
constructed out of material that at one time had been paraffin and
sardine tins. This accident caused the pious Hindoo who owned the
shattered tin-heap to swear horribly and spit just like an angry cat;
but I don't think we killed anybody. When we reached the veld and were
on the broad, open waggon road, the horses, thanks to the splendid
handling of our charioteer, settled down to a swinging pace. There was
but little chance of our meeting anyone, the scores of high-heaped
produce and wood waggons trekking into Kimberley being, at that time
of day, all drawn off the road and outspanned, as were also the empty
waggons homeward bound, and I firmly believe we should have reached
our destination in safety had it not been for the conduct of the other
two passengers. The drive was most exhilarating as we rushed through
the glorious air, and there was plenty of excitement in it too for a
man who was not a glutton; for although the road was a first-class
one, and quite flat, yet frequently, when we passed a group of
outspanned waggons, the Dutchmen's dogs would rush out and bark at us,
a proceeding that drove our unbroken and vicious horses nearly mad.
Yet I thoroughly enjoyed the drive, and no doubt should have done so
to the end, as the change from the slogging hard work of the mine,
with its dust and dirt, was delightful, while the slashing pace we
were going and the wild, fresh, veld wind roused my animal spirits
till I felt as exhilarated as a penniless small boy does when he is
presented with an unexpected half-crown. But, alas! we had other
spirits on board, and our two companions, who occupied the back seat
in the cart, partook of them freely, nor did they partake of them in
the orthodox manner, as the motion of the swinging cart made the use
of a glass and a mixing of _aqua fortis_ with _aqua fontis_ a somewhat
difficult matter; so they dispensed with the usual accessories and
swigged the whisky neat out of the bottle. Now this was a very
dangerous proceeding, especially as they had imbibed a fair skinful
previous to starting, and what with the natural high spirits
engendered by the drive, and the other spirits they loaded up in the
aforementioned manner, they became very tight indeed, and decidedly
uproarious. First of all they began to sing a song. That was a
failure. Then they began to chaff old Conway, which was dangerous; and
then they began to rattle and stamp their feet on the floor of the
cart, so as to make the horses more restive, which was both
unnecessary and foolish. Conway, the muscles of whose arms were
swollen to nigh breaking-point, took no notice of their crazy antics,
except to order them to stop monkeying, as it was all he could do to
hold and guide the half-maddened animals, but they paid no heed to his
admonitions. Then he cursed them with unction, but that succeeded no
better, till at last, thoroughly angry, he shouted out: "Oh, you want
a smash, do you? Well! by gad, you shall have one." And without
another word he bundled up the reins, which he threw on to the
leaders' backs, at the same time letting go a letter "S" cut with his
whip which impartially stung up every horse in the team, and then
sitting back he let go one of his well-known wild bursts of laughter.
At the moment this happened we were about five miles from the drift.
The road was perfect, but some two miles or more farther on there was
a sharp bend in it, and the problem to me was, would the maddened
horses keep to the road or take to the veld when they came to it. I
had not to wait long for the solution. The horses, the moment they
felt the whip, and found their heads loose, at once broke into a
tearing gallop. Reaching the bend in next door to no time, they took
to the veld and tore wildly across it, making straight for the long
line of willows that marked the river's bank. Here we were bound to
come a most unholy smash, provided we ever reached it, but I knew
there were far too many ant-heaps on the way, and to run against any
one of these, which we were sure to do, would be quite enough to upset
our apple-cart. From the moment Conway threw away the ribbons I knew I
must come an awful mucker, and had philosophically prepared myself for
the inevitable smash. He simply leant back in his seat, giving vent to
his peculiar bursts of laughter, while the other two, sobered up by
the danger, howled curses, entreaties and pious ejaculations in a duet
that would have been highly diverting under other circumstances. Now
events that are inevitable usually happen--at least, that is my
experience--and we had not travelled far across the veld when the
off-side wheel of the cart struck an ant-heap, some two feet high,
bang in the middle, when I immediately and involuntarily vacated my
seat. Yes; I left it in the same manner as a war rocket should leave
its trough, and I described the same sort of a flight as one of those
infernal machines very often used to do, for when I had described a
parabola through the air, and had reached the full height of the
trajectory, I turned a complete somersault. Then my specific gravity
bringing me back to mother earth, I landed on my feet, ran a few yards
so as to ease off the momentum of my flight, and came to a halt, devil
a cent the worse. This was luck, and I turned round to see what had
become of my companions, one or more of whom I feared must be badly
hurt. Conway was all right, that was evident, as he was sitting on an
ant-heap taking a pull at a bottle of whisky that had somehow escaped
the debacle. Looking round, I saw the horses still galloping, dragging
the remains of the cart, smashed to flinders, behind them. They
disappeared among the willows, and I could conjecture the awful mess
there must be at the foot of the river's bank. I longed to go to their
assistance, for I dearly love a horse, but I first turned to our two
mates, for although they were, in my opinion, far the worse brutes,
still they were human brutes, and fashion makes us serve them first.
Going to them as they lay amidst a debris of lamps, cushions,
karosses, etc., I saw one of them was not only knocked silly but had
broken his left arm and, by the way he breathed and looked, I
diagnosed concussion of the brain. The other had broken his left leg,
had acquired a beautiful gravel rash all over his face and was
swearing at old Conway with much volubility. I was rendering the poor
devils first aid, and begging Conway to walk on to the hotel to get
more help, when we were hailed from the road by a well-known Kimberley
sawbones, who, having providentially viewed the smash-up from a
cross-road, had borne down to our assistance. A mob of Dutchmen and
waggon boys were also on their way from the hotel, so I was able to go
and look after the horses, borrowing a Boer's rifle _en route_. On
reaching the poor beasts I found them lying in a tangled heap at the
bottom of a steep bank. The cart was smashed to matchwood, and I had
to shoot two of the nags, while the others we extricated with great
trouble, both of them being badly hurt.
This was the finale of my first joy ride with Mad Conway, and though I
enjoyed many subsequent ones, none of them were so exciting as the
first. I could yarn to you all night about this extraordinary critter,
and on some future date may give you further reminiscences about him;
but I think you will allow, from what I have told you, that he was a
very queer card indeed.
CHAPTER III
A CONVERSION THAT FAILED
It has always been a source of wonder to me why so many people change
their religion, for, although I have never had the time, opportunity,
or perhaps the inclination, to study theology in any part of its
ramifications, and have never even read the Thirty-Nine Articles which
caused the fancy religionists not only to desert their Church, but has
now enabled them, through their co-operation with rebels, atheists,
socialists and a gang of men who, so long as they can hang on to
power, are ready to play any dishonourable game, to gratify their
rancorous spite in looting the said Church, my astonishment still
remains. Yet very many people of all classes are frequently chucking
up the faith of their fathers and joining another. No doubt some of
these are actuated by sincere religious convictions, but I think the
majority of them are prompted by the desire in some way to better
themselves in this life. For instance, to remove an obstacle that
prevents them from making an advantageous marriage, to succeed to
property, to advance themselves in society or to make money. Still,
there are plenty of people who swap their fire insurance policy for
other motives, not even so respectable as the few I have enumerated,
and one sinner told me that, having been a very bad hat during early
manhood, he had joined the R.C. Church as he had been assured that by
doing so he had cleaned his slate of the accumulation of his past sins
and had thereby choused Old Nick. This may or may not have been the
case, but anyhow he was very ready to contract fresh obligations with
the Old Gentleman, as before we parted he managed to swindle me out of
a fiver; so that after mature consideration I came to the conclusion
that he was not a brand that was likely to be snatched from the
burning, thanks to his change of religion, but was still a very bad
hat indeed.
Now anyone can understand, although he may not admire, a man who,
prompted by greed, love or interest, changes his mode of worship. But
the man who I am going to yarn to you about was not an individual of
this class, and, moreover, although he was most charitably disposed,
and always ready to plank down a cheque for any good purpose, yet as a
rule he did not pan out on religious matters at all, and knew as much
about dogma as a chimpanzee does about snowballing. But let me start
the yarn from the beginning.
During the latter eighties, when I was adjutant of the D.F.H., and was
located at De Toits Pan, there lived on the same diamond diggings a
man who carried on the trade of baker, and whom I shall designate by
his Boer name of Davy. Now Davy had begun life as a ship's baker, and
having followed the sea for many years had drifted up to the diamond
fields in the early times, had started in at his trade and had
prospered exceedingly, so that when I knew him he was a rich man, and
justly very popular with the diggers. In person he was of medium
height, thick-set, with great rounded shoulders, on which was stuck,
for he had not much neck to boast of, a huge round head that, owing
perhaps to the effects of early piety, was as devoid of hair as a
Little Englander is of patriotism. As regards manners, he was rather
brusque, and until he came to know you was a bit repellent, and was
totally uneducated. But he was a white man right through, and many a
score of women and children would have had to go hungry to roost,
during hard times, had good old Davy cut off supplying bread, although
the betting might be decidedly against his ever pouching a single
ticky (threepenny piece) of their money. Now, this old worthy, who as
a rule never attended any Gospel Mill, and was as devoid of theologic
controversy as one of his loaves of bread, nevertheless, whenever he
indulged in an occasional burst always developed the idiosyncrasy that
he must change his religion, and would promptly set to work to do so.
What faith he had been brought up in originally (if any) I know not,
and I doubt if he knew himself, but he tried all there were on the
diamond fields (and owing to the polyglot crowd located on the
diggings there were many), with the exception of the Hebrew, from
which ancient cult Davy shied, as he always affirmed there was an
obstacle in the way, which required to be removed before he could
become a proselyte in the Synagogue.
Well, one fine day shortly after Davy had exhausted the last available
religion, De Toits Pan was invaded by a commercial traveller in a
brand-new fancy faith, the name of which I forget, but it was one
freshly imported from America, and was guaranteed to be something
quite new, slick and up-to-date. In fact, its votaries might reckon
on a first-class ticket up to heaven, without any detention at the
custom-house, while, provided they subscribed liberally, they might
even expect to be transmitted there in a private fiery balloon. Now I
never knew the ritual of the band of brothers, as they called
themselves, but I knew it was necessary for a recruit, upon his
initiation, to be soused over head and ears in water, which was meant
to typify that all past sins would be washed away, although I guess it
would have taken more than one ducking in cold water to have made an
impression on the case-hardened iniquities of some of the converts who
joined the movement. Yes, by gad! it would have required scalding
water, soft soap, soda, and a wire scrubbing-brush to have shifted
their moral delinquencies. Still, if the tubbing did not purify their
immortal souls, it had a salutary effect on their hides, so we can
pass that part of the performance as O.K.
Now, this missionary, spiritual bagman, or call him what you like, was
at the first go-off of his raid very successful, doing a great
business and roping in very many proselytes, so many, in fact it made
the sky-pilots in the older established firms buck up, and look
askance. He laboured, however, under one very great disadvantage--viz.
there was no building in De Toits Pan procurable, large enough to
contain the necessary water tank, so that until one could be built the
numerous recruits had to be taken on the Sunday to the Modder River,
and be ducked therein. Well, just as the new movement was in the
hey-day of its popularity, good old Davy went on one of his rare
jamborees, and, _faute de mieux_, at once fell into line, signed on
as a brother, and on the following day (Sunday) went to the Modder
River with a number of other neophytes, male and female, to undergo
their preliminary water cure. Now it chanced that, on the same Sunday
evening, I happened to be chatting in the De Toits Pan club, when all
of a sudden in dashed Davy in a great state of perturbation. Rushing
up to the bar he demanded a double-headed whisky straight, which he
swallowed like an oyster, then promptly held out his glass for another
supply.
"Hullo, Davy," quoth one of those present, "you seem to be gulping
down the cratur with unction. I thought you would have been nursing
your new religious doctrines at this time of night."
Davy answered him not, but with a growl ordered the barman to refill
his glass.
"Why, Davy, what's the matter?" queried another. "What have they been
doing to you to capsize you in this fashion, and why don't you take
water with your pongello?"
"Water, indeed," snarled Davy. "I sha'n't want no water for another
month." And he made a motion to the barman to pass the bottle.
"Here, ease up, Davy," said I. "You've had enough. Leave the whisky
alone, and come over here. Sit down and tell us how you got on this
afternoon at the washing fête."
"Whoi," grumbled the old fellow, whom, it seemed, the third nobbler
had somewhat pacified, as he took the offered chair and proceeded to
light his pipe, "I didn't get on at all, and this new-fangled religion
ain't worth a cuss. 'Tain't one as any man with any common-sense 'ud
cotton to, and as for the sky-pilot, he's jist as hignorant as a
howl."
"Well, well, tell us all about it. Did you imbibe the faith?"
"Faith, be d----d!" he growled. "I didn't imbibe nothing except a
gallon or two of Modder River water." And he expectorated with
disgust. However, after he had been smoothed down a bit, and had had
another tot, he bucked up and related his tribulations as follows:--
"You see, boys," said he, "I went down to the Modder River this
afternoon, with a large party of other converts. The shepherd, as 'e
calls his blooming self, 'e comes along too, and brings two or three
of the sharps as 'elps 'im. Well, when we got there we finds a couple
of tents pitched: one for the ladies, and one for us men, to take off
our duds in. Well, after a bit, one of the sharps, he comes to me, and
sez he: 'Brother, we's going to commence along with you.' So 'e shows
me into the tent, and sez he: 'Brother, remove your gaudy 'abiliments
and put on this 'ere garb of simplicity.' And with that 'e 'ands me a
sort of a nightgown which came to about me knees. As soon as I was
togged out, feelin' a bit ashamed of meself rigged out like that, he
leads me down to the river bank and there was the shepherd, as 'e
calls hisself, long, thin, herring-gutted devil, standing up to his
middle in the water. 'Enter, brother,' he sings out to me, 'and 'ave
your manifold sins swabbed away.' I wades in and whin I reaches 'im
the water took me up to the chin. He begins his palaver, and before I
knowed where I was 'e puts his two hands on me shoulders and ducks me
bloomin 'ead under. He fair took me by surprise 'e did, or I'd 'ave
took an extra breath of air. As it was, I lost me footin', and 'ad to
struggle to come up. Me old skull-cap comes off and I got me 'ead
above water, but no sooner did 'e see me old bald pate appear than he
shoved it down agin, and kep' on a-doing so until I was near drownded.
Should 'ave bin, I believe, 'ad I not managed to giv' 'im a punch in
the bread-basket which shut 'im hup like a pair of scissors, and then
I scrambles out and runs to the tent nigh water-logged. Presently
along 'e comes, and sez 'e to me, sez 'e: 'Brother, wherefore did you
assault me while in the water?' And I sez to 'im: 'You ain't no
brother of mine. What for did yer try to drown me?' 'Brother,' sez 'e,
'I knew not you was so bald, and when yer 'ead appeared above the
surface of the river I laboured under the delusion it was another
portion of yer hanatomy, and so as to prevent what might 'ave become
an indecent hexhibition I pressed it hunder agin and continued to do
so.' 'Well,' sez I, 'yer religion may be a darned foine one, and yer
may be a darned foine shepherd, but whin yer don't know the difference
between a conwert's bows and 'is starnpost 'tain't no religion for me,
and I 'ud scorn to belong to it or own yer as a brother or shepherd,
so ye and yer 'ole gang can go to h----.' And with that I left 'im and
came 'ome as fast as I could git."
Now although I think that on this one occasion old Davy's plea, like
himself, was a good un, and that he, under the aforementioned
circumstances, was fully justified in doubting the _bona fides_ of
this fancy religion through the lack of acumen and also the gross
ignorance on the part of the shepherd, still, as one swallow does not
make a summer, this one legitimate case of perversion does not, in my
eyes, justify the large number of people who chop or change their
faith and are always thronging to hear some half-crazy tub-thumper, be
he a long-haired, red-nosed revivalist, unctuous Mormon or any other
hypocritical expounder of a new cult.
CHAPTER IV
JACK ASHORE IN 1871
Yes, I've had the honour and pleasure of serving in the same outfit as
H.M. bluejackets, and I will maintain that the British sailor is
second to none either as a fighting man or love-maker, the only man,
in my unbiassed opinion, to equal him in the above pursuits being the
Irish soldier. Now Jack and Pat both keenly appreciate a bit of fun
and devilment, but I think, in pursuit of divarsion, Jack must be
assigned the cake, as during his hours of relaxation, while at
liberty, on shore, he frequently displays a bit of originality in his
pranks that, in fairness I must confess, land him ahead of my dear,
reckless, light-hearted countrymen. During the New Zealand wars the
Maoris called the Naval Brigade Te Ngati Jacks, and they insisted that
they belonged to a different people from the remainder of H.M. forces;
for you never could convince the old-time Maori warrior that the
loose-clad, rollicking, gallant sailor was of the same blood as the
tight-buttoned-up, stiff and more stolid, though equally brave,
soldier. This erroneous idea was, I think, also in a great measure due
to the fantastic capers Jack cut while enjoying his well-earned
liberty on shore, during which treasured moments he strove to cram
into twenty-four hours all the fun, and also as many of the minor
vices, as he could manage to indulge in, and I am only doing him
justice when I state he usually succeeded in participating in as much
devilment during those few hours as would satisfy an ordinary healthy
Tommy for a year.
Times, customs and manners have greatly altered since 1870, and
although there can be no doubt that, changed as in many respects our
fleet men are from the sailors of the past generation, still the same
courage and devotion exists in our present-day, highly trained,
splendid naval seamen as ever instigated the grand old hearts of oak,
who boxed yards about, pulled on bits of string called halyards,
braces, etc.; and, totally ignorant of electricity, cursed steam.
Moreover, there has been a great change for the better in the conduct
and sobriety of our ever-popular and much-loved bluejackets when
ashore on short leave.
Settlers, old identities, in colonial seaport towns, will, I am sure,
endorse what I have written above, for although during the forty years
I lived in the colonies I never heard of one of H.M. bluejackets
committing a crime, still some of their sprees were rather alarming to
nervous people, while they shocked the puritanical, hypocritical
humbugs, of whom there is always a superfluity wherever the Union Jack
flies. For these cattle, being able to indulge in their pet vices _sub
rosa_, or else being too narrowminded to make allowance for the
festive pranks of high-spirited men, let loose for a few short hours
after being cooped up on board ship for months at a stretch, where
they have been subjected to the most severe discipline in the world,
hold up hands in horror at poor Jack's frolics, and call the brave
fellow, whose mess tins they are not worthy to swab out, a drunken,
profligate sailor-man, unfit to be at large in this world, and sure to
be damned in the next. Yet many of Jack's sprees were most diverting
to the looker-on, as he would frequently introduce into his frolics
some originality that, simple in itself, and most probably quite
unpremeditated, still compelled anyone with the smallest spark of
humour in his composition to thoroughly appreciate. I am now going to
spin you a yarn about one bluejacket's spree that, if it does not
amuse you, at all events afforded myself and some of my comrades, just
down from the frontier, a hearty laugh. The scene was Wellington, New
Zealand, the date somewhere about the end of 1871, when, the long war
having burnt itself out, and the sharp fighting having smouldered
itself away to the ordinary frontier defence work, myself and a few of
my comrades had, for the first time for nearly six years, the chance
of returning for a period to civilisation and enjoying such comforts
and luxuries as were at that time to be obtained in the capital of New
Zealand. This we were doing with a relish only to be enjoyed by men
who have for years been living, or rather enduring, a hard bush life,
utterly debarred from the ordinary pleasures of society, and the
refinement of ladies' companionship.
We were doing ourselves well, and going very strong, when the fun was
enhanced by the arrival of a squadron of H.M. ships, with whose
officers we fraternised, notwithstanding the fact that they ran us
very close, if they did not quite cut us out, in the favour of the
fair New Zealand ladies, for both officers and men of H.M. Royal Navy
are as hard to contend against in the rosy lists of love as they are
to beat in the ruddy game of war. No matter if there may have been a
trifle of jealousy between us in those days it did not matter a row of
pins, and we all enjoyed rattling good times. But hold hard, I am off
the trail of my yarn, and so must try back. Well, the squadron
anchored, squared yards, and, after the ships had been put into
apple-pie order, in due course of time, leave was given to the crews,
and the starboard watches came ashore to enjoy themselves for
twenty-four hours. This they did; and my word they made the town of
Wellington lively, opening the eyes and elevating the hands of the
unco guid in a way that, to such lost sinners as ourselves, was most
exhilarating. In those days, I know not if such be the case now, every
sailor had the fixed conviction that he was a perfect master of
equitation, and no sooner did he get ashore than he yearned to ride a
horse, or, failing to obtain one, a mule, a donkey, a cow or even a
goat came not amiss. Some four-footed beast must be obtained by hook
or by crook, or, if saddle animals were quite unobtainable, then he
must drive or be driven. Well, the starbowlins came ashore and painted
the town a vivid red, and the streets soon became full of bluejackets,
mounted on every description of animal, some of the poor beasts having
to carry double, while now and again you would see some cart-horse,
very long in the back, ridden by three laughing, shouting sailors, the
whole of the cavalcades galloping and sidling up and down the main
roads cheered to the echo by their admiring messmates, while the
riders, with their bell-bottomed slacks rucked up above the knees,
their elbows square with their ears, and a rein, or as Jack termed it
a yoke-line, in either hand, held on like grim death to a dead nigger.
Yet numerous were the falls and collisions that took place, and it
appeared to be fully understood that, should a rider be pipped, his
loose horse and empty saddle should be the lawful prize of the lucky
shipmate who first captured them, and sometimes you could see
half-a-dozen or more Jacks trying to board the said prize from both
sides and ends of the unfortunate quadruped at one and the same time.
Many of the horses could and did buck a bit, but this did not seem to
daunt Jack one iota; in fact, buck-jumping appeared to rather enhance
the value of the mount, and I saw some wonderful and determined
attempts to stick on viciously bucking animals, the rider hanging on
manfully by gullet plate and cantle, yea, you might say with teeth and
toe-nails, yelling, "Whoa, whoa, you----!" at the top of his gamut,
while his admiring comrades howled their applause, every man-jack of
them anxious to try his luck the moment the temporary horseman should
be grassed. Of course it must be remembered that all of these men had
been accustomed to jockey the yard-arm of a plunging ship, and as Jack
is by nature and training utterly fearless, I should have bet my
bottom dollar that any one of them would have unhesitatingly tried to
have ridden Old Nick himself, had he chanced to have come along on
four legs. Here I'm off the right spoor of my yarn again, so must
circle and pick it up.
It was on the afternoon of the said day, a number of us were gathered
together in the billiard-room of the club, when a tremendous cheer
from the crowded street caused us to make for the verandah, to see
what had caused such an uproar. And this is what we spotted. But mark
time, as I must digress again for a moment.
Years before Cobb & Co. introduced into New Zealand their American
coaches some speculative settler had imported one of the original
London omnibuses, a vehicle of great length, on which the top
passengers sat back to back, with their knees up to their chins on
what was known as knife-boards, and gained these perches by crawling
up perpendicular iron ladders fastened to either side of the door. A
more unsuitable trap could not have been invented for New Zealand
roads, so that shortly after its arrival it was stowed away and
forgotten by the general public. Its owner, however, was a cute
fellow, for hearing of the probable invasion of sailors, he had the
old ramshackle caravan made roadworthy, horsed it, and, on the landing
of Jack, promptly chartered it to a large party of them, so that it
was the sudden appearance of this prehistoric tramcar, rumbling along
the street, that had evoked the burst of applause which had attracted
our attention.
Truly Jack had rigged and fitted out the old shandrydan handsomely, as
flags, streamers and wreaths decorated it wherever it was possible to
make them fast. Nor was she indifferently manned, as even musicians
had been provided, for, perched along the driver's footboard, two more
than half drunk fiddlers and a half-section of equally intoxicated
fifers sawed and blew for all they were worth. The coachman sat on the
usual raised seat in the centre of the fore cross-bench, and on
either side of him lolled two huge quartermasters who, cigar in mouth
and arms crossed, tried to appear quite at their ease and
preterhumanly sober. The roof of the vehicle was overcrowded with
brawny bluejackets all rollicking drunk, who demonstrated their good
will to the passers-by and the laughing spectators in the windows by
holding out to them bottles of liquor, while at the same time they
exchanged badinage of a saline nature with their messmates thronging
the side-walks. The inside of the old omnibus was occupied by only two
men, who ostentatiously sniffed at and frequently tasted huge bottles
of make-believe medicine, while at intervals they exhibited to the
onlookers grotesque imitations of surgical instruments, and, in case
it required any further explanation as to what the interior of the
vehicle was intended to represent, over the windows and doors were
chalked such notices as--Sick-bay, Dead-house, Boozers-locker, etc.
All this was funny enough, but although the appearance of the old
rattle-trap somewhat surprised us, still there was nothing, after all,
extraordinary in its existence, nor in its festive crew, and we should
merely have laughed and forgotten the circumstance had we not spotted,
the moment it came abreast of us, a wondrous appendage to the vehicle
itself, for at the tail-end over the door protruded two stout poles,
from which was suspended a large-sized stable wheelbarrow. Now what in
the name of Comus could Jack want with a wheelbarrow? Its presence
roused our curiosity, so that we at once made for the stables, where
our horses were carefully locked up, mounted and followed the festive
show that had taken the road towards the Hut (a small village a short
distance along the sea coast from Wellington and a very pretty drive).
Our journey in search of knowledge was not to take us far, for we had
only just caught up to the slowly moving caravan when, as it turned a
sharp corner, one of the crew, rather more drunk than the others, lost
his balance, tumbled off the top and landed on the road, which
fortunately for him was at this spot heavy sand, with a concussion
that would have killed or seriously maimed any sober landlubber. In a
moment a shout of "Man overboard" was raised and a stentorian voice
howled out: "Hard down with your helm, back the main yard, heave to,"
and in almost the same breath: "Pipe away the jolly-boat." Out rang a
shrill pipe: "Jolly-boats away," and in a second down was lowered the
wheelbarrow, down slid two men, and before even a woman could get
breath for a squeal, or any of the horrified spectators could gather
round the unfortunate, who lay on the road striking out with his arms
and legs as if swimming, they ran the wheelbarrow up to him, dumped
him in, ran him back to the door of the sick-bay, into which he was
promptly hauled and administered to by the attendants. "Hook on and
hoist jolly-boat" was the next order, the crew of which, disdaining
the use of ladders, scrambled up the side, and the wheelbarrow was run
up and made fast. Then came the order, "Square away the main yard,"
the coachman whipped up his horses and away they went before the
gaping populace could remember or make use of a single pious
ejaculation. Now this was very funny, and we all enjoyed a hearty
laugh, but Jack was far from the end of his farcical frolic, as there
was, not far ahead, a house, half inn, half farm, owned by a fine,
bluff old sea-dog who had himself served as bos'n in the Royal Navy,
and as they were sure to halt--I beg pardon, heave to--there, thither,
expecting more fun, we determined to follow them, and were not sorry
we did so, as no sooner were they abreast of the house, which was
situated a few feet from the roadway, than H.M.S. _Shandrydan_ was
again skilfully hove to, the jolly-boat was lowered and manned, and
the strident voice sang out: "Pipe all hands ashore to lay in wood and
water."
Then as a combined movement took place to vacate the roof: "Vast
heaving, you thirsty swabs; see the sick-bay cleared first, the
fiddlers and idlers, and then the rest of you take your blooming
turn."
The order was carried out to the letter, each man as he got into the
barrow being run up to and shot out on to the verandah, every one of
them on recovering his feet touching his cap to the host, who stood
beside the open door, and saluting him with the words: "Come on board,
sir." We had seen enough, so cantered gaily back to the club, myself
thinking how extremely useful the jolly-boat would be later on, always
provided the crew of it were teetotallers, in assisting their
messmates to their quarters when H.M.S. _Shandrydan_ had finished her
cruise and her gallant crew's back teeth were awash with their
potations. Yes, the idea of carting along the wheelbarrow was not only
humorous but it demonstrated profound forethought on the part of the
Jacks, and I maintain that no soldier in the world, not even my
beloved countrymen, would ever have the nous to devise such a
whimsical, and at the same time provident, entertainment, so I
therefore declare that her late Majesty's bluejackets were the first
in devilment as they ran the Irish Tommy neck and neck in war. "Here's
good luck to the crowd of them!"
CHAPTER V
THE CONVERSION OF MIKE O'LEARY
"Whin a man's that cross and crabbed that his sowle's as black as
paint,
An' his contrary conversation wud petrify a saint,
And he will ate mate on fast days, an scornes the praste as well,
Ould Nick will soon be after him, to escort him straight to (the
guard room)."
QUIN.
Years ago I was soldiering in South Africa, and at that time owned a
few horses, my own private property and nothing to do with the
Government. I used to race a bit in a small way, just for the sport,
and it became necessary for me to employ a groom who must be my own
private servant.
Now grooms were hard to get, especially at the price I could afford to
pay, and I did not want a man of the sundowner stamp. One evening my
servant came to me and informed me that a man had come into camp who
was looking out for a job and he thought he would do. On my asking him
why he thought he would do (for Quin, though an Irishman, was,
wonderful to relate, no horseman and had no knowledge of horses)
replied: "The man is an Irishman, a small man, a knowledgeable man,
and also a townie of my own." So I decided to see him, and Mike
O'Leary was ushered in. Directly I saw him I seemed to know him, but
for a time could not place him, till at last it flashed through my
mind he must be Charles Lever's Corney Delaney come to life again, or
at all events the creature in front of me must be a descendant of
his. Not that the dress was similar, for my man wore breeches and
boots, both of which wanted renewing, but the head, the face, the
cross, crabbed expression and the general appearance were exactly like
the immortal Corney as depicted by Phiz in "Jack Hinton." He was a
tough, wiry little fellow, showing, as we say out in the colonies, the
marks of the Whalaby.
He stood rigidly to attention, after glancing at myself and belongings
with a sneering grin that would have excited the envy of Satan
himself. So I opened fire with the remark: "You are an old soldier."
"I am," quoth he; "and served in the 57th, God bless them! They wor a
rigimint you could be proud of, not a tearing lot of divils the likes
of what you've got here. Bad scran to them! it's neither soldiers or
peelers they be."
"Well, well," I said, "leave the men alone. I want a groom. Are you
one?"
"It's a lot of grooms you do be wanting, judging by the look of your
troop horses," he snarled.
"Leave the troop horses alone. I want a man as my own private servant.
Do you want work of that sort?"
"I may take you on trial," he rejoined, "for did I not serve under
your honourable father, Sir George Brown, in the Crimee."
Now Sir George Brown was not my father, nor any relation to me, but
Mike O'Leary would have it so, and Sir George was trotted out of his
grave and thrown in my teeth as long as Mike lived. Well, he was not a
promising lot, but I was so hard up for a man, and the horses wanted
so much looking after, that I took him on. As a groom he was perfect;
never have I seen a man his equal. The horses took to him, and he was
devoted to them. But, by the Lord Harry! he was a blister to everyone
else on the station. How he had ever been enlisted in the 57th the
Lord only knows, and how he had ever existed in the regiment is a
mystery to me to this day. His tongue was as sharp as a double-edged
sword, and as bitter as gall, but the little fiend could fight like a
gamecock, and was as hard as iron, so that when his remarks were
resented he was always ready to back his words up with his hands,
until at last most of the troopers were only too glad to leave Mike
alone.
As regards myself, he showed me neither deference nor respect, would
never say Sir when addressing me, and would openly and audibly
criticise my riding, my personal appearance, my drill, and my dress,
and none of these to my credit. Poor Sir George was also brought to
the fore every day, and the difference between us as to morals,
manners, sport, or anything else that might be on the tapis, was
pointed out and expatiated upon, and never in my favour. The little
beast became quite obnoxious to me, but he did so well by the horses
that I could not part with him, and came at last to look on him as a
trial sent by Providence to humiliate me, and as a punishment for my
sins; so I was bound to accept him as such, and put up with him.
Well, things went on like this till one day, when I came in from a
long patrol, I found Quin on the sick list and that Mike O'Leary had
installed himself in his place as servant. Now if I had wanted him to
come and look after me, nothing on earth would have made him come,
but as he knew he was the last man on the station whose presence I
desired in my rooms, of course there he was and there he evidently
intended to stick. In vain I told him he would be overworked looking
after both myself and the horses.
"Sure, and don't I know that?" he snarled. "It's little thanks I'll
get from the likes of you, who spends your money on debauchery and
blaggardism, and pays your servants, who works their fingers to the
bone, as little as ye can; but I knows my duty to your honourable
father, God rest his sowle, and while that useless baste Quin is
skulking, I'll be here to see you to bed when you come home drunk
every night."
What was to be done? I though matters over, and at last determined to
attack Mike on his only weak spot. Mike I knew to be a rigid R.C., but
he was also saturated with superstitions. He had all those of the
usual Irish peasant, and a good many more of his own.
He firmly believed in witches, ghosts and fairies, good and bad, and
was convinced that the devil himself was frequently knocking around
looking for someone to transport to tropical regions.
As to his religion, Mike was very devout, with one exception--he would
eat meat on Fridays. "Fast, is it?" he would say. "A soldier may ate
his rations."
"But you are not a soldier now, Mike."
"Well, and whose fault is that now? Did not I put my pride in my
pocket and offer to join your blackguards, and did not that T.S.M.
tell me I was too small? Bad luck to the lout! Was I not fighting in
the Crimee with your honourable father before he was breeched? It's
little the likes of him is fit to be T.S.M., but what can you expect
when the captain ought to be at skule learning manners! It's little of
an officer you'll ever make." Exit Mike, with a well-directed boot
after him.
It was an uphill job, but I worked and worked away at him. I even
persuaded the good Father de Rohan to go for him and preach abstinence
to him, and even threaten him with pains and penalties if he did not
put the muzzle on. But no good. Then I began to pretend that the rooms
were haunted, and that rather fetched him, but yet, though he was
uncomfortable, it did not quite hit the right spot.
At last Fortune played into my hands. A lieutenant who had been away
on long leave rejoined and was sent up to my station. He was a very
tall, thin man, very dark, with straight features, large eyebrows and
moustache, and Mike had never seen him before. The first night he
joined we were talking over our pipes, after dinner, when he mentioned
a very swell fancy-dress ball he had been to. At once I asked him in
what character he had gone. Of course he replied: "Mephistopheles."
Had he brought his dress out with him? Yes, he had it in his kit.
Would he do me a very great favour? Why, certainly. Then I told him
about my incubus, Mike, and I earnestly requested him to put his dress
on the next night and play the devil for Mike's benefit. Of course he
was only too delighted to assist, and the plot was duly laid.
That night I went to my quarters. There was Mike, with his usual
pleasant remarks and sneer.
I stopped short and said sternly: "You have been smoking."
"Begorra I've not," said he.
"Then you have been lighting those beastly sulphur matches."
"I've not," said he.
I walked over to the dressing-table, looked in the glass, then started
back, and let out at him.
"Have done with your fooling tricks. How dare you grin over my
shoulder like that?"
"I did not," he replied.
"If it was not you it must have been the devil then," I said sternly.
"And I don't wonder at it, when such a cross-grained ugly beggar as
you sits in my quarters alone at this time of night. Take care, Mike,"
I said impressively; "take care. Remember what Father de Rohan told
you. If you will eat meat on Friday, and will quarrel and insult
everyone, the devil will be after you in earnest.
"What's that?" I cried, looking hard past him. "Get out of this, Mike;
the company you keep here when I'm out is not safe for a Christian
man."
He turned very white, was evidently very uncomfortable, crossed
himself over and over again, and bolted.
Next morning he brought two sticks, when he came to my room, which he
crossed on the fire hearth, and when he turned up at night-time he had
evidently been to the canteen, for he was pot-valiant and I could see
he had a bottle with him.
"I suppose you will be afraid to stay in the rooms alone," I said, as
I left for dinner.
[Illustration: THE DIVIL, BEDAD!]
"I will not," said he; but I saw the blue funk rising in him. It was a
Friday.
"Did you eat meat to-day?" I asked.
"I did that," he replied, "and I will."
"Well, God help you," I said. "It's great danger you are in this
night."
It was midnight when the lieutenant, fully got up in a most perfect
fancy dress, and looking his part to perfection, appeared in the mess
hut. In his hand he carried a few inches of time fuse, and also a huge
fork, known in the service as the tormentor. The cook uses it to take
the men's meat out of the boilers. We all crept up to my quarters,
which consisted of a hut with two rooms in it, in the front one of
which was the victim. To light the fuse and pass it under the door was
the work of a moment, then to open the latter and step in took no
longer. Mike, who had been absorbing courage from the bottle, had
fallen asleep, but was waked up by a prod from the tormentor. He woke
with a growl of rage, that changed into a yell of consternation, when
he saw the terrific figure regarding him through the sulphury smoke of
the fuse.
"Mike O'Leary," said a deep voice, "I've come for you."
Poor Mike, who had fallen back open-mouthed, with the sweat of fear
trickling off him, whimpered: "Oh no, good Mr Devil; wait for the
master."
"No," thundered the voice; "it's you I want, not your good, kind
master, who's been a friend to you, and who you sneer at, insult and
deride, and who, Protestant as he is, tries to stop your greedy sin of
eating meat on fast days. Come on!"
And he made a pass at Mike with the tormentor, which Mike dodged by
going over backwards, chair and all.
"I'll never cheek him again, by this, and by that, I won't!" yelled
Mike, as he got another prod in a fleshy part, "and I'll never touch
meat again, I won't." But at that he fainted. He soon came round, and
was on his knees telling his beads when we entered the room, as if we
were going to have a parting smoke before turning in.
"What the deuce have you been up to, Mike?" I said. "Who has been
here? What is the cause of this awful smell, and what have you been
making such a row about?"
"O holy Mary! sor," whined Mike; "he's been here."
"Who the devil has been here, you drunken blackguard?" I shouted.
"Oh, dear sor, oh, kind sor, don't spake disrespectfully of the Ould
Gentleman; shure he's been here, and has just left. Oh, sor; I'll
repent, I will. For God's sake send for the holy father. What will I
do? What will I do?"
We got him to his quarters at last, and next morning Mike was a
changed man. Although still by nature cross-grained, yet a more
respectful servant or a better comrade could not be found on a month's
trek, and he stayed with me till he died, two years afterwards,
regretted by everyone who knew him. _R.I.P._
CHAPTER VI
BUSHED
In very many parts of the world, which on the map are painted red and
collectively called the British Empire, there are huge tracts of
country covered with forests of all sorts, which are known to the
inhabitants of the different colonies by various names, and these have
exacted a heavy toll of human life from the venturesome traveller,
prospector, hunter, or others, who have entered their recesses on
their own business or pleasure. If the scrub of Australia, the bush of
New Zealand, the forests of Canada, and the wilds of Africa could only
be examined with a microscope, the remains of thousands of men would
be discovered who, having been bushed (_i.e._ lost in the forest),
have died of hunger, thirst or exhaustion, and whose remains, unfound,
have wasted away until only a few mouldering bones, some tattered
rags, and a few fragments of rusty metal remain to tell the tale and
act as a warning to others. I have on two occasions been the finder of
the remains of men who have been lost. One on the Taupo plains, who
disappeared and who, although he was missed and looked for, was not
found until three years after his disappearance, when I, quite by
chance, stumbled on the poor chap's bones, which were identified by a
glass eye. The other case was the bones of a white man I found while
shooting in South Africa. Who or what he had been never transpired.
That he had been a white man was evident, but when or how he had been
lost I never found out. I remember well that after I had searched the
vicinity for anything that could have been used as a clue to his
identity, I stood over the poor bones and moralised. This poor chap
must have belonged to someone in the world who cared for him. Yet here
he lay nameless, and unknown, his bones to be buried, as soon as my
hunting boys with knife and tomahawk could scoop out a hole, by a man
who was a perfect stranger to him, or, for all I knew to the contrary,
we might have been comrades in two or three wars, or have hobnobbed
together scores of times. However, there, under a tree, his bones lie,
and I have no doubt that all marks of his grave, even the cross I cut
out on the tree, to mark the spot, have long ago disappeared, and yet
it is quite possible to this day there are people hoping and wondering
if he will turn up. In the colonies men disappear very rapidly, and
they are not readily missed. So they do in this great wilderness,
London, whose hidden mysteries far and away outnumber all the frontier
mysteries of the British Empire put together, but yet somehow the
picture of a man lost in the bush, dying, alone, of starvation, thirst
and exhaustion seems, if not so pathetic, at least more romantic than
the scores of hungry, ragged and homeless creatures who wander about
the Embankment, or the slums of the mighty city. Very many times
during my life on the frontiers of the various colonies in which I
have served I have been called on to assist in the search for a
missing man; sometimes we have been successful, and have found our
man alive, sometimes we have found him dead, and often we have
searched in vain, the poor chap having disappeared, as if taken from
earth in a chariot of fire. I could fill a book with yarns of cases of
people being lost and found, and of being lost and not found, but the
most wonderful case I know of is that of a young colonial, who was
lost for forty days, yet was found alive, and who I believe to be
still living.
In 1891 I had taken command of the De Beer's Company Expedition to
Mashonaland, consisting of sixty white men, forty colonial boys
(natives), and eighteen waggons. The above I was to conduct from
Kimberley to Salisbury, a trek of about 1300 miles. It was no joke.
Very many of my men were quite raw hands, and just after we had left
Kimberley the heaviest rains ever known in South Africa came on, so
that the rivers became flooded, the swamps impassable, and the roads,
such as they were, so rotten that the heavily laden waggons sank to
their bed plates every few minutes.
However, I at last passed Tuli, and proceeded some eighteen miles on
the Umzinguani River, where I determined to halt for a fortnight, so
as to rest and recuperate my worn-out oxen. In Tuli the O.C. of the
B.S.A. Police had told me that some days before I reached that place a
man had been lost from some waggons that had been outspanned at the
Umzinguani River. Up to date he had not been heard of, so he requested
me to make a careful search and try to discover any trace of the
missing man. I promised to do so, and asked for all the particulars.
The man was a Colonial of Dutch descent, who was acting as orderly to
some Dominican Nursing Sisters _en route_ to Salisbury. They had
outspanned across the river, in the early morning. After breakfast the
man had taken his rifle, had entered the bush on the down-river side
of the road, to try and shoot a buck for fresh meat, but had never
returned. The waggons had waited three days for him, and then trekked
on. I also ascertained that some twelve miles farther on the road was
crossed by a big creek, that ran into the river some miles below the
drift. This being the case, I failed to see how a colonial man,
_provided he kept his head_, could be lost, as the area in which the
occurrence happened was surrounded on all sides by good landmarks. It
was in fact an irregular triangle, bounded on one side by the river,
on another by the creek, and on the third by the road. Provided he
struck the road, he had only to turn to his left to reach the outspan.
If he struck the river he would only have to follow it up and find his
waggons, and if he came across the creek he would only have to follow
it to the road or river. This seems easy enough; but, as an old and
experienced scout, I knew there were fifty sorts of trouble that might
have happened to him, or he might have been guilty of a score of
follies, all inexcusable but all committed frequently, even by old
hands. He had gone away without his coat, that we knew; he might also
have gone without matches--this was quite likely--and probably with
only two or three rounds of ammunition. It was a very bad lion
country: he might have tackled one and got the worst of the encounter;
he might have been hurt by a wounded buck, sprained his ankle, broken
his leg or otherwise hurt himself. It is folly, a man going shooting
alone in a South African bush. Anything may happen in a moment, and
then a man by himself is helpless and unable to send for assistance.
We reached the Umzinguani River at daylight, crossed the drift and
outspanned. After breakfast I collected the men, explained my plans to
them and drew them a rough map of the area over which our search was
to be made. I selected seventy men, black and white, for the job, and
my plan was to extend these men some ten or twelve yards apart and,
keeping our right on the river's bank, to move down in line till we
came to the spot where the creek ran into the river. Then, if we found
no trace or spoor of him, to swing round and return to the road,
taking, of course, a new line parallel to, and touching, the first
one; and to enable us to do this correctly I ordered the man on the
left flank to blaze the trees on his line, so that we should know we
were not going over the same ground twice, nor leave a gap between the
lines of search.
I had plenty of old hands among my men, both black and white, and on
reaching the junction of the river and creek I was certain the work
had been done thoroughly, although nothing had been found. At the
junction I found a lot of Dutchmen, some twenty in number, who were
outspanned there. They were trek riders, who, after delivering their
loads in Salisbury, had hauled off the road and camped for the purpose
of resting their oxen and shooting big game to make biltong. They had
heard nothing of the lost man, but insisted on helping me to look for
him. That afternoon we searched the new line of country back to the
road, the right-hand man blazing the trees _en route_, but found
nothing except game and lion spoor. The next day we started from where
we had left off and took a new line, the left-hand man blazing the
trees, while the right-flank man worked down the line of the previous
afternoon. I did not rush the men, as I had no hopes of finding the
poor fellow alive, but yet I hoped to find his rifle--a lion could not
eat that--or some trace of him, so I told the men to search carefully
and not hurry. I had two bugles with me, and the men shouting to one
another, so as to keep in touch, made plenty of noise, that the poor
chap must have heard if alive. The bush was an open one, with little
undergrowth, so we had a good chance of finding anything out of the
common.
We kept up this search ten days, until I was convinced every bit of
ground in the triangle had been prospected; but we found absolutely
nothing. Then we said good-bye to the Dutchmen and continued our
journey. Some weeks afterwards a post cart passed me going to
Salisbury and the corporal in charge of it told me a wonderful tale.
The Dutchmen had remained at their camp some time after my departure,
and the day before they moved off one of them, while out shooting, had
found a white man concealed in an ant-bear hole. He was stark naked,
and in a dreadfully emaciated condition, the nails torn off his hands
and his teeth actually worn down to his gums. He was quite mad, but
the Dutchman carried him to his waggon, and trekked into Tuli; where
he was taken into the hospital, and with careful nursing restored to
reason and health.
He afterwards came up to Salisbury, where I was staff officer. I knew
him well, and held frequent conversations with him regarding his
woeful experiences. His story is a very short one. He had left the
waggons after breakfast for a stroll, with his rifle, three cartridges
and no matches. All at once it dawned on him he was lost, so he
started running (_a fatal mistake_), and remembers no more. Up to the
time he was found, quite close to the Dutchman's camp, over forty days
had elapsed. How he had lived he had no idea. The state of his hands
and teeth showed he must have grubbed roots and gnawed them; but he
must have obtained water from either the creek or river, and, mad as
he was, one of them should have guided him to safety.
Again, how did he escape my search and that of other parties who had
looked for him? What became of his rifle, boots and clothes? And,
above all, why did not a lion skoff him? To these and heaps of other
queries I can only say that truth is stranger than fiction, that I
have told the yarn as it happened, and can't answer conundrums. In the
above yarn I have told you that the lost man began to run, and have
noted it was a fatal mistake. Yes, it is a fatal mistake to begin to
run when you discover you are lost, for I can assure you that it is
not a difficult matter for even an old and experienced scout to lose
himself, if he lets his mind and attention wander. But now I will spin
you a yarn about one of my men who was lost on the same trek to
Mashonaland.
This man was a fine, strapping fellow about thirty years of age. He
was a well-educated mechanic, a good athlete and football-player, but
a new chum in the bush and at frontier work. We were at the time
trekking along the Limpopo River, a very bad bit of country indeed,
and I had given my men warning not to leave the waggons.
I had also tried to teach the new chums some simple facts in
bushcraft. The country here swarmed with feathered game: partridges,
pheasants, and guinea-fowls. It was my custom to walk on before the
train of waggons, on the trek, with my gun, and shoot plenty of these
birds sunning themselves on the road. One evening when the men were
inspanning, a very noisy job when you have eighteen waggons, I took my
gun and strolled along as usual. The road was about thirty yards
broad, and well-defined, the wide river running some one hundred yards
on the right-hand side of it. I had progressed about two hundred yards
from the outspan, but was still well within earshot and sight of it,
when I saw the man I have mentioned come rushing through the trees and
thorn bushes, down the slope on the left-hand side of the road. At
first I thought he had gone mad, and so, for a time, he was. He had
lost his hat, his khaki clothes were torn to rags, his face worked
convulsively, with his eyes bulging out of his head, while the
perspiration ran down him in streams. He reached the road within a
yard or two of me; but he neither saw me, the road, nor the river in
front of him. I jumped forward and seized him, saying: "What's the
matter with you? What are you doing here?"
He struggled for a moment, as if to try and break away; then some
expression came into his face, and he gasped out: "Oh, thank God,
major, you have found me. I knew you would look for me."
[Illustration: BUSH TRACK.]
[Illustration: PUNGA (TREE FERN).]
"Look for you?" I said. "Why, what's gone wrong with you?"
"Oh, sir," he cried--and, strong man as he was, he shook with
fear--"I'm lost in the bush."
"Lost in the bush?" I said. "What do you mean? Don't you see you are
on the road? Don't you see the waggons? Don't you hear the row the
boys are making inspanning, or see the river in front of you?"
"I do now, sir; but I saw nothing, and heard nothing, when you caught
hold of me. Oh, thank God you found me."
As he was quite unnerved, I took him back to my waggon, and gave him a
tot, at the same time making inquiries as to the time he had left the
camp; and I found out he had not been absent more than an hour. So
much for the rapidity with which bush fear unnerves a new chum, no
matter how strong he is, unless he has the will-power to fight against
it. On questioning this man, subsequently, he told me he had only
strolled into the bush for a few minutes, then tried to find the
waggons, had failed to do so, started running, and remembered no more.
Fortunately he had run in a circle that crossed the road; had he
circled in the other direction, nothing could have saved him, and
another case of the bush having claimed a white man's life would have
been registered. Now anyone would think that one experience of that
sort would have been enough for that man, but it was not, for, some
time afterwards, he again went off by himself, and again got lost. At
this time we were trekking through very rough country, full of steep,
high granite kopjes, and, notwithstanding my strict orders to the
contrary, he left the waggons, and went into the bush alone. On his
absence that night being reported to me, I took a party of colonial
blacks with a couple of Mashonas and ascended a big kopje, at the foot
of which we were outspanned, and from that height examined the
country. It was not long before I spotted a fire, about two miles
away, that was evidently a white man's fire; so I at once had an
answering fire lit, and carefully took the bearings of the one I saw.
At daybreak I sent a party of men, under an experienced old hand, to
bring in the straggler. They reached the place and found the remains
of the fire, but he had gone. Not content with his first folly, the
stupid fellow had evidently tried to find his way back to us, and lost
himself again. For two days we looked for him, and on the third the
late Mr Alfred Beit, who was travelling up to Mashonaland, brought him
into my camp, having come across him, in a dazed condition, quite by
chance, some miles back on the road. You may depend that the reception
he got from me was a very warm one, and that I took most effectual
precautions to prevent him leaving the waggons again.
CHAPTER VII
THE NON-COM.'S REVENGE, OR THE CURATE AND THE SNAKE
I was proceeding up-country in South Africa with a small party of
troopers and led horses. The day before I was to start the bishop came
to me and said: "One of my young men has to go up to headquarters. Do
you mind taking him with you? He is quite new to the country and, as
he is not well off, he can't afford the heavy coach fare. You are
taking up led horses. He tells me he can ride a little, and you would
be doing a very great kindness if you would take him."
Now the bishop and myself were rather pals in our way; for although,
as a rule, I did not trouble the Church much, yet I have always had
the greatest respect for the cloth, and perhaps, as this youngster
might be a varsity or public school man, he would be company for me on
my 500-mile ride. So I said: "All right, bishop; trot him round to the
lines to-morrow morning with his traps, an hour before sunrise, and he
will find us ready to start. Remember, it is a hard ride, roads bad,
rivers full, horses only half broken, and warn him to be punctual."
Next morning the two light mule waggons that were to accompany us were
inspanned and ready to load, the horses saddled, early coffee drank,
but no curate. Now this was bad. Nothing ever goes quite right the
first trek. Mules are new to their places in the span; men, with
their last night's heads on them, are sulky; the officer a bit sharp,
so as to knock them into shape; the half-broken horses restive; while
the non-com. in charge of the waggons is anxious to pack them, and
can't do so, to his satisfaction, until he has all the baggage to his
hand. Consequently the curate, or, as the men profanely termed him,
the bally sky-pilot, not having turned up to time, he was being
growled at and cursed. At last he came, his kit consisting of paper
bags, parcels and band-boxes.
How he ever expected them to stand the rough usage of the road the
Lord only knows. Then he paraded in a field kit composed of a long
black coat, short black trousers, low shoes and white socks. Such a
get-up to ride 500 miles in I had never seen, and my men eyed him with
wonder and astonishment. He came up to me and introduced himself,
though he evidently did not think it worth while to apologise for
keeping us waiting, but trusted we were going to have fine weather,
that he would have a quiet horse, that the men did not swear, that we
should meet no wild animals, above all, snakes. In fact he was so full
of trust that I had to cut him short, and when he suggested the
advisability of saying a few prayers before we started on this very
dangerous journey I told him sharply to get on his horse, as smart as
he could, and then he could pray there as long as he liked.
This was not perhaps quite polite; but no officer likes to be kept
waiting when he is on the point of starting on a journey, and, as I
said before, tempers are crisp for the first trek. I had selected for
him a quiet old troop horse; and it was well I had done so, as when
he started to mount he tumbled over on the other side, and when at
last we got him into his saddle he gave endless trouble: first of all
his stirrup leathers were too long, then too short, and he was such a
noodle, unable to do anything for himself, that a man had to keep on
dismounting every few minutes to render him assistance.
Now there is no class of men in the world more respectful to clergy,
of any denomination, than the up-country man, be he miner, farmer or
trooper. A parson or priest is always made welcome at any camp he may
choose to call at, and the best in that camp is placed at his
disposal. The men, no matter how wild and godless, will listen to him
with attention, so long as the time is fit and the homily straight;
but the minister must have tact.
It is by no means wise for a pastor to preach a sermon against bad
language when the waggon is stuck in a drift, or when the cook's mate
upsets the bucket of tea into the fire; no, it is better for him,
under these circumstances, to bide his time, close his ears, retire a
short distance and commune with himself.
Now this Johnny had not the tact of an ostrich. He had already made a
bad impression on us by being late, his wonderful get-up, and by his
utter helplessness. This would have been looked over, and the men,
thoroughly good-natured, would have done their best for him, and have
taken all the care in the world of him, provided he would have left
their souls alone, at least during the trek. Leading unbroken horses,
for the first day or two, is no joke. They try to break away, and
sometimes do so, when they at once head back for their old
feed-grounds, have to be rounded-up and recaught; and it does not
improve men's tempers when this occurs, and they drop a big D, to have
a useless new chum, who, sitting like a monkey on his horse, with his
trousers rucked up to his knees, raises his hands and says: "Oh, my
dear, dear man, where do you expect to go if you use such horrid
language? Oh, how can you say that? Please don't be so profane," etc.,
etc.
Likewise at the first drift, a very bad one, with a rotten bottom, a
very steep pull-out, mules jibbing and waggons sticking, it is not
pleasant to have an ignorant josser interfering and making himself
more objectionable every minute, by praying out loud that evil should
not happen to him for being in the company of such godless men. This
he did, and before we reached the first outspan he had made himself
decidedly unpopular; and he did not improve matters there.
I have always made it a rule, when I am trekking with a small party,
to take my food in company and at the same camp fire with the men, who
will never take a liberty with an officer doing this--it draws the
feeling of comradeship tighter, and also only one man is required to
do the cooking. Now the new chum objected to this, and that in an
audible voice. He informed me he did not care to sit at the same fire
as troopers, most of whom were low fellows. By the same token, most of
them were gentlemen by birth, while some of them were varsity and
public school men to boot, and all of them thorough good fellows. I
lost my temper with the ass, and told him he could light a fire for
himself, or, if he preferred it, could sit with the Kafirs, but if he
required food he had better come and have it. This he did with a very
bad grace, and noticing the old waggon non-com. (a strict Roman
Catholic) cross himself before beginning his food, had the worse taste
to attack the old fellow's religion and preach at him for his bad
language at the drift.
The grizzled old warrior said nothing, but I could see a grin come
over his face that I knew predicted danger to the new chum; and
presently he began to talk about snakes and lions.
The curate opened his ears wide, taking in all that was said, and by
the time we were ready to inspan for the evening trek he had become
very nervous.
That afternoon he rode with two or three of the troopers, who filled
him up to the chin with wonderful and awful yarns about snake bites
and lion stories; so that when we halted for the night he dare not
move out of the light thrown by the camp fire.
He did not object to sharing the evening meal with the men, but again
made himself very offensive to the non-com., and, on the latter
serving out the evening ration of rum, made most uncalled-for remarks,
and preached us a sermon on temperance, and the evils of strong drink.
Well, the ration was drunk, the last pipe smoked, the sentry posted
and the blankets laid down. Again he started to fuss. Where was he to
sleep? He had never slept out in the open before. He could not sleep
without undressing. Was there not great danger from wild animals and
snakes? And he had no blankets in his kit to begin with.
The old non-com. looked after him like a mother, the men gave up
blankets for his use, and at last all turned in; but as I fell off to
sleep I saw the non-com. go to a thorn-tree and select, with much
care, a branch. The new chum had undressed, said most voluminous
prayers and, tired out by the journey, fallen asleep.
Everything was quite quiet, when suddenly we were all roused by the
most piercing yells. A frontier man is awake and on the alert in a
moment, and I at once demanded what the row was about.
The parson, nearly mad with terror, screamed out he had been bitten by
a serpent and must die; he also held out to me his naked arm, on which
I saw two small punctures with drops of blood oozing out of them.
To tie a piece of rhimpie round his arm above the wound, and twist it
tight with a cleaning rod, jab a penknife into the punctures, and suck
them, at the same time ordering the patient to hold his bally row, and
the non-com. to bring a pannikin of rum, did not take long, and I at
once administered a tot that would have made an old bos'n cough and
splutter. Then I had him walked about and in a few minutes gave him
another quartermaster's nip, which got well home on him, and he became
very drunk indeed. Of course as soon as I saw him drunk I knew he was
safe, and told him to stop whimpering, get into his blankets and go to
sleep. He did certainly stop whimpering, but he refused to go to bed,
or go to sleep. No, he declared he would not go home till morning. His
holiness sloughed off him like a serpent's skin, and in a few
minutes, to the huge delight of my godless troopers, he began to tell
very naughty stories and to sing very ribald songs. He likewise, in
his nightgown (a garment never before seen in that part of the world),
began to show us some can-can steps, and at last behaved in such a
manner that I was forced to tell him I would have him pegged out and
gagged if he did not hold his row.
On this he consigned us all to the place it was his duty to guide us
away from, got into bed, burst into tears, and sobbed himself to
sleep.
I saw by the chuckling of the men, and the unholy grin of the
non-com., some joke had been perpetrated; but as I could see I was not
to be informed of it I gave the order "Lights out," turned over and
went to sleep.
Next morning, an hour before daybreak, the rouse went, blankets were
bundled up, horses were quickly rubbed over, saddled, and while they
were eating their half-ration of mealies the waggons were packed and
early coffee served out. But oh! the wretched new chum! He was stiff
from the ride of the previous day, yet, sore as his body was from the
unaccustomed saddle, his head was much worse. He groaned when he was
roused up and told to turn out. Could he not be allowed to sleep
longer? What had happened? Was there no soda water? Oh dear, oh dear.
The non-com. proffered a pannikin of hot coffee and recommended a tot
in it. The curate took the coffee but refused the tot, although the
non-com. swore it was the best medicine in the world for anyone who
had been on the bust the night before, and assured the poor wretch
that he himself always doctored himself with one, after he had had a
wet night. Anyhow he must get up, as the waggons had to be packed, and
we should move off the moment the horses and mules had finished their
feed. He could not or would not, so I was called, and went to him. I
saw in a moment the miserable wretch was unable to ride, so ordered
the non-com. to make a place for him on one of the waggons, which was
done, and, making him dress, we put him on to it. At the midday halt
he was better, and at the night outspan he was so well that he began
to get aggressive again. The men stood it for a bit, and then one of
them repeated one of his own stories, and another started to sing one
of his songs. He rushed to me and complained; but I pointed out to him
that the song and story were his own, which he had favoured us with
the night before, and therefore he could not grumble.
This sort of thing went on all night, and when the rum ration was
served out, and he indignantly refused to share it, he was politely
requested to favour the men with a discourse on the evils of drink,
and bad company.
Of course the men treated him with the greatest respect in my
presence, but when they could get him alone he caught it, and even at
the camp fire sly shots were fired at him, such as low fellows, get
drunk, shocking language, filthy songs, etc., etc., until the poor
wretch was nearly driven mad with shame and contrition, and hung on to
me so much that he became a perfect nuisance.
This went on for a couple of days, when at a wayside house where the
mail coach stopped I had become so sick of him, and also, I must
confess, sorry for him, that I paid his coach fare and persuaded him
to continue his journey by it, an offer he thankfully accepted. And so
I got rid of him, with equal pleasure.
It was after he had left us I was let into the joke that had so amused
the men on the night of the catastrophe.
The old non-com., incensed by the new chum's tactless interference
with his mules, his language and his religion, and knowing full well
the course I should pursue in counteracting a case of snake bite, had
taken advantage of the camp being asleep to jam into his victim's arm
the thorns I had seen him go to the tree to get, and then on the alarm
being given had declared he had seen a snake, so in this crafty way
had gained his revenge.
The new chum proved no good up-country, and in a few months was sent
back to England, where it is to be hoped he has found a better sphere
for his talents than in trying to convert members of the Lost Legion.
And now this skein is ended it is the profound hope of an old Lost
Legionary that the perusal of them has not bored you, and he only
wishes he had been in better form to do justice to the kind support he
has received from the Press and public.
_Salue!_
THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH
* * * * *
EXTRACTS FROM REVIEWS OF
A LOST LEGIONARY IN SOUTH AFRICA
_Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net. Fully Illustrated_
_The Nation_, _17th August 1912_.--"The book is full of adventure and
anecdote, and Colonel Brown's simple unaffected style is well suited
to the story he tells."
_Illustrated London News_, _31st August 1912_.--"From cover to cover
the book is packed full of lively incidents, told in a quick, easy and
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_Evening Standard_, _12th July 1912_.--"A more natural writer never
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_Glasgow Herald_, _11th July 1912_.--"The book is to be commended for
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_Dublin Times_, _9th August 1912_.--"To those who wish to know
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_The Graphic_, _27th July 1912_.--"'A Lost Legionary in South Africa,'
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_Review of Reviews_, _July 1912_.--"A book with the right ring; mainly
concerned with fighting. The author preaches with rough and ready
eloquence an impromptu sermon which will amuse, arrest and convince."
_Belfast News Letter_, _29th August 1912_.--"The book is written in
the same attractive style as its predecessor, and there are many
striking passages in it."
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