a solitary horseman—a youth in early manhood—riding at a snail’s pace over the great plains, or karroo, of south africa. his chin on his breast; his hands in the pockets of an old shooting-coat; his legs in ragged trousers, and his feet in worn-out boots. regardless of stirrups, the last are dangling. the reins hang on the neck of his steed, whose head may be said to dangle from its shoulders, so nearly does its nose approach the ground. a felt hat covers the youth’s curly black head, and a double-barrelled gun is slung across his broad shoulders.
we present this picture to the reader as a subject of contemplation.
it was in the first quarter of the present century that the youth referred to—charlie considine by name—rode thus meditatively over that south african karroo. his depression was evidently not due to lack of spirit, for, when he suddenly awoke from his reverie, drew himself up and shook back his hair, his dark eyes opened with something like a flash. they lost some of their fire, however, as he gazed round on the hot plain which undulated like the great ocean to the horizon, where a line of blue indicated mountains.
the truth is that charlie considine was lost—utterly lost on the karroo! that his horse was in the same lost condition became apparent from its stopping without orders and looking round languidly with a sigh.
“come, rob roy,” said the youth, gathering up the reins and patting the steed’s neck, “this will never do. you and i must not give in to our first misfortune. no doubt the want of water for two days is hard to bear, but we are strong and young both of us. come, let’s try at least for a sheltering bush to sleep under, before the sun goes down.”
animated by the cheering voice, if not by the words, of its rider, the horse responded to the exhortation by breaking into a shuffling canter.
after a short time the youth came in sight of what appeared to be a herd of cattle in the far distance. in eager expectation he galloped towards them and found that his conjectures were correct. they were cattle in charge of one of that lowest of the human race, a bushman. the diminutive, black-skinned, and monkey-faced creature was nearly naked. he carried a sheepskin kaross, or blanket, on his left shoulder, and a knobbed stick, or “kerrie,” in his right hand.
“can you speak english?” asked considine as he rode up.
the bushman looked vacant and made no reply.
“where is your master’s house?” asked the youth.
a stare was the only answer.
“can’t you speak, you dried-up essence of stupidity!” exclaimed charlie with impatience.
at this the bushman uttered something with so many klicks, klucks, and gurgles in it that his interrogator at once relinquished the use of the tongue, and took to signs, but with no better success, his efforts having only the effect of causing the mouth of the bushman to expand from ear to ear. uttering a few more klicks and gurgles, he pointed in the direction of the setting sun. as considine could elicit no fuller information he bade him a contemptuous farewell and rode away in the direction indicated.
he had not gone far when a dark speck became visible on the horizon directly in front.
“ho! rob,” he exclaimed, “that looks like something—a bush, is it? if so, we may find water there, who knows—eh? no, it can’t be a bush, for it moves,” he added in a tone of disappointment. “why, i do believe it’s an ostrich! well, if we can’t find anything to drink, i’ll try to get something to eat.”
urging his jaded steed into a gallop, the youth soon drew near enough to discover that the object was neither bush nor ostrich, but a horseman.
the times of which we write were unsettled. considine, although “lost,” was sufficiently aware of his whereabouts to understand that he was near the north-eastern frontier of cape colony. he deemed it prudent, therefore, to unsling his gun. on drawing nearer he became convinced from the appearance of the stranger that he could not be a kafir. when close enough to perceive that he was a white man, mounted and armed much like himself, he re-slung his gun, waved his cap in token of friendship, and galloped forward with the confidence of youth.
the stranger proved to be a young man of about his own age—a little over twenty—but much taller and more massive in frame. he was, indeed, a young giant, and bestrode a horse suitable to his weight. he was clad in the rough woollen and leathern garments worn by the frontier farmers, or boers, of that period, and carried one of those long heavy flint-lock guns, or “roers,” which the dutch-african colonist then deemed the most effective weapon in the universe.
“well met!” exclaimed considine heartily, as he rode up.
“humph! that depends on whether we meet as friends or foes,” replied the stranger, with a smile on his cheerful countenance that accorded ill with the caution of his words.
“well met, i say again, whether we be friends or foes,” returned considine still more heartily, “for if we be friends we shall fraternise; if we be foes we shall fight, and i would rather fight you for love, hate, or fun, than die of starvation in the karroo.”
“what is your name, and where do you come from?” demanded the stranger.
“one question at a time, if you please,” answered the youth. “my name is charles considine. what is yours?”
“hans marais.”
“well, mr marais, i come from england, which is my native home. in the coming i managed to get wrecked in table bay, landed at capetown, joined a frontier farmer, and came up here—a long and roughish journey, as probably you know, and as my garments testify. on the way i lost my comrades, and in trying to find them lost myself. for two days nothing in the shape of meat or drink has passed my lips, and my poor horse has fared little better in the way of drink, though the karroo-bush has furnished him with food enough to keep his bones together. so now, you have my biography in brief, and if you be a man possessed of any powers of sympathy, you will know what to do.”
the young dutchman held out his huge hand, which considine grasped and shook warmly.
“come,” he said, while a slight smile played on his bronzed countenance; “i have nothing here to give you, but if you will come with me to yon koppie you shall have both meat and drink.”
the koppie to which he referred was a scarce discernible knoll on the horizon.
hans marais seemed to be a man of few words, for he turned and galloped away, without for some time uttering another syllable to his companion. as for considine, the thought of once more feasting on any sort of meat and drink was so fascinating, in his then ravenous condition, that he cared for nought else, and followed his guide in silence.
soon the herbage on the plain became more luxuriant, and in half an hour the two horsemen found themselves riding among scattered groups of mimosa bushes, the thorns of which were from three to five inches long, while their sweet fragrance scented the whole atmosphere.
on reaching the ridge of one of the undulations of the plain, hans marais drew rein and gazed intently towards the distant horizon. at the same time considine’s horse pricked up its ears, pawed the ground, and exhibited unwonted signs of a desire to advance.
“hallo, rob!” exclaimed its master, “what’s wrong with you?”
“your horse has been gifted by his maker with a power,” said hans, “which has been denied to man. he scents water. but before he shall taste it he must help me to procure fresh meat. do you see the boks on that koppie?”
“do you mean those white specks like ostrich eggs on the hillock to the right of the big bush?”
“the same. these are springboks. ride away down by that hollow till you get somewhat in their rear, and then drive them in the direction of that clump of bushes on our left, just under the sun.”
without waiting for a reply hans rode off at a gallop, and considine proceeded to obey orders.
a few minutes sufficed to bring him close to the springboks, which beautiful antelopes no sooner observed him than, after one brief gaze of surprise, they bounded away in the direction of the bushes indicated by hans,—conscious apparently of their superior fleetness, for they seemed in no great haste, but leaped about as if half in play, one and another taking an occasional spring of six feet or more into the air. as they passed the bushes towards which considine drove them, a white puff was seen to burst from them, and the huge roer of hans marais sent forth its bellowing report. it seemed as if the entire flock of boks had received an electric shock, so high did they spring into the air. then they dashed off at full speed, leaving one of their number dead upon the plain.
when considine came up he found that hans had already disembowelled the springbok, and was in the act of fastening the carcase on his horse behind the saddle. remounting immediately, the hunter galloped towards a mound, on the top of which the bushes formed a dense brake. skirting this till he reached the other side, he pulled up, exclaiming—
“there, you’ll find good water in the hollow; go drink, while i prepare supper on the koppie.”
considine went off at once. indeed, he could not have done otherwise, for his impatient horse took the bit in its mouth and galloped towards a small pool of water, which was so yellow with mud that it resembled thin pea-soup.
thirsty though he was, the youth could not help smiling at his new friend’s idea of “good” water, but he was not in a condition to be fastidious. jumping out of the saddle, he lay down on his breast, dipped his lips into the muddy liquid, and drank with as much enjoyment as if the beverage had been nectar—or bass. rob roy also stood, in a state of perfect bliss, in the middle of the pool, sucking the water in with unwearied vigour. it seemed as if man and horse had laid a wager as to who should drink most. at last, the point of utmost capacity in both was reached, and they retired with a sigh of contentment, rob roy to browse on the plain, and his master to betake himself to the encampment on the knoll, where hans marais quickly supplied him with glorious steaks of springbok venison.
“isn’t it an enjoyable thing to eat when one is hungry, eh?” said considine, after half an hour’s silent devotion to the duty in hand.—“why, where got you that?”
he referred to an ostrich egg which his companion had taken from a saddle-bag, and in one end of which he was busy boring a hole.
“found it in the sand just before i found you,” said hans. “did you ever eat one?”
“no, never.”
“well then, you shall do so now, and i’ll show you how the niggers here make an omelet.”
he planted the huge egg in the hot ashes as he spoke, and kept stirring its contents with a piece of stick until sufficiently cooked.
“not bad,—eh?”
“glorious!” exclaimed considine, smacking his lips.
both youths continued to smack their lips over the egg until it was finished, after which charlie pronounced it not only a glorious but a satisfying morsel. this was doubtless true, for an ostrich egg is considered equal to twenty-four hen’s eggs.
returning to the springbok steaks, the half-starved youth continued his repast, while hans marais, having finished, extended his huge frame beside the camp-fire, leaned upon his saddle, and smoked his pipe in benignant contemplation of his companion.
“this is pleasant!” said charlie, pausing, with a sigh, and looking up.
“ja, it is pleasant,” replied hans.
“ja!” repeated charlie, quoting the dutch “yes” of the other; “are you a dutchman?”
“i am; at least i am a cape colonist descended from dutchmen. why are you surprised?”
“because,” replied his companion, while he prepared another steak over the embers, “you speak english so well that i could not have known it. how came you to learn the language so perfectly?”
“my father, being wiser than some of his friends and neighbours,” said hans, “sent me to capetown to be educated. i suppose that is the reason. we dwelt in the western part of the colony then, and i was the eldest of the family. when a number of us dutchmen left that part of the country—being disgusted with the government,—and came up here, my brothers and sister had to be taken from school. this was a pity, for education taught me to know that education is an inestimable blessing—the want of it a heavy misfortune.”
“true,” remarked considine. but being still too busy with the steaks to pursue the subject he merely added—“does your father live near this?”
“about seven hours’ ride, which, as i daresay you know, is forty-two miles. you shall go home with me to-morrow.”
“how many are there of you?” asked considine, looking at the young dutchman over a bone. “excuse my being so impolite,” he added, “but d’you know, one feels horribly like a tiger after a two days’ fast.”
“don’t stand on ceremony,” said the other, with a laugh. “when you are satisfied we can converse. there are fifteen of us: father, mother, sister, and eleven boys besides myself. i’ll tell you about them all after supper; meanwhile i’ll go fetch the horses, for there are lions about, as i daresay you know, and some of them are nearly as ravenous as yourself.”
hans rose, put his pipe in the band of his broad-brimmed hat, and sauntered heavily out of the thicket.
in a few minutes he returned, leading the horses, and then busied himself in surrounding the camp with an almost impenetrable wall of mimosa-thorn branches, the spikes of which were so tremendous that it seemed as if nothing smaller than an elephant could force its way through. this done, he sat down and quietly refilled his pipe, while considine, having at last finished his meal, drew the embers of the fire together, disposed his limbs comfortably on the ground, lay back on his saddle, and prepared to enjoy a contemplative gaze at the cheering blaze and an interrogative conversation with his new friend.
“do you smoke?” asked hans.
“no.”
“why?”
“because it makes me sick, and i don’t like it.”
hans looked surprised. this was a new idea to him, and he sat for some time pondering it; indeed, we may say with truth that he “smoked it” in a few minutes he looked earnestly at the youth, and asked why he came to the cape.
“to make my fortune,” answered considine.
“fortunes are not easily made at the cape,” was the grave reply. “my father has been making his fortune for the last quarter of a century, and it’s not made yet.—why did you choose the cape?”
“i didn’t choose it.”
“no?” said the dutchman, with a look of surprise.
“no,” responded the englishman; “my coming here was not a matter of choice: it was necessity. come, i will make a confidant of you and relate my history. don’t be alarmed, i won’t keep you up all night with prosy details. my life, as you may see, has not yet been a long one, and until this year it has been comparatively uneventful.”
he paused a few moments as if to recall the past, while his companion, picking his pipe with a mimosa thorn, settled himself to listen.
“father, mother, brothers, and sisters i have none,” began considine as he whittled a stick—a pastime, by the way, which is erroneously supposed to be an exclusively american privilege. “neither have i grandfathers, grandmothers, aunts, nephews, nieces, or anything else of the sort. they all died either before or soon after i was born. my only living relation is an uncle, who was my guardian. he is a sea-captain, and a good man, but tough. i bear him no ill-will. i would not speak disrespectfully of him; but he is tough, and, i incline to think, no better than he should be. infancy and boyhood with squalling and schooling i pass over. my uncle ordered me to study for the medical profession, and i obeyed. wishing to see a little of the world before finishing my course, i sailed in a vessel bound for australia. we touched at table bay in passing. obtaining leave, i went ashore at capetown. the ship also went ashore—without leave—in company with six other ships, during a terrific gale which sprang up in the night. our vessel became a total wreck. the crew were saved, but my effects went with the cargo to the bottom. fortunately, however, i had carried ashore with me the little cash i possessed.”
“i found the capetown people very kind. one of them took me by the hand and offered me employment, but i preferred to proceed into the interior with a trader and work or shoot my way, in order to save my money. no trader being about to start at that time, i was obliged to accept the offer of a frontier farmer, who, for a small sum, agreed to allow me to accompany his waggons, on condition that i should make myself generally useful. i grudged the cash, but closed with the offer, and next day started on our journey of six hundred miles—such being the distance we had to go, according to my employer or comrade, jan smit.”
“who?” exclaimed hans, with sudden energy.
“jan smit,” repeated considine. “do you know him?”
“ja—but go on,” said hans, with a nod and a smile.
“well, i soon found that my dutch comrade—”
“he’s only half dutch,” interrupted hans. “his mother was dutch, but his father is english.”
“well, dutch or english, he is the most unmitigated scoundrel i ever met.”
“ja,” muttered hans, “he is.”
“and i soon found that my trip of pleasure became a trip of torment. it is true we shot plenty of game—lions among the rest—but in camp the man was so unbearable that disgust counterbalanced all the pleasure of the trip. i tried hard to get the better of him by good-humour and jollity, but he became so insolent at last that i could not stand it. three days ago when i asked him how far we were from his farm, he growled that it wasn’t far off now; whereupon i could not refrain from saying that i was glad to hear it, as we should soon have the pleasure of parting company. this put him in a rage. he kicked over the pot containing part of our breakfast, and told me i might part company then and there if i pleased. my temper does not easily go, but it went at last. i jumped up, saddled my horse, mounted, and rode away. of course i lost myself immediately, and for two days have been trying to find myself, without success, mourning over my fate and folly, and fasting from necessity. but for my opportune meeting with you, mr marais, it might have gone hard with me and my poor horse, for the want of water had well-nigh floored us both.”
“you’ll never make your fortune by doctoring on the frontier,” said hans, after a few minutes’ silence. “nobody gets ill in this splendid climate—besides, we couldn’t afford to waste time in that way. people here usually live to a great age, and then go off without the assistance of a doctor. what else can you turn your hand to?”
“anything,” replied considine, with the overweening confidence of youth.
“which means nothing, i suspect,” said the dutchman, “for jack-of-all-trades is proverbially master of none.”
“it may be so,” retorted the other, “nevertheless, without boasting, i may venture to assert—because i can prove it—that i am able to make tables, chairs, chests, and such-like things, besides knowing something of the blacksmith’s trade. in regard to doctoring, i am not entitled to practise for fees, not yet being full-fledged—only a third-year student—but i may do a little in that way for love, you know. if you have a leg, for instance, that wants amputating, i can manage it for you with a good carving-knife and a cross-cut saw. or, should a grinder give you annoyance, any sort of pincers, small enough to enter your mouth, will enable me to relieve you.”
at this hans smiled and displayed a set of brilliant “grinders,” which did not appear likely to give him annoyance for some time to come.
“can you shoot?” asked hans, laying his hand on his companion’s double-barrelled gun, which lay on the ground between them, and which, with its delicate proportions and percussion-locks, formed a striking contrast to the battered, heavy, flint-lock weapon of the dutchman.
“ay, to some extent, as the lions’ skins in jan smit’s waggon can testify.—by the way,” added considine quickly, “you said that you knew smit. can you tell me where he lives? because i still owe him the half of the money promised for permission to accompany him on this trip, and should not like to remain his debtor.”
“ja, i know where he lives. he’s a bad specimen of a dutch farmer in every respect, except as to size. he lives quite close to our farm—more’s the pity!—and is one of those men who do their best to keep up bad feeling between the frontier-men and the kafirs. the evil deeds of men such as he are represented in england, by designing or foolish persons, as being characteristic of the whole class of frontier farmers, hence we are regarded as a savage set, while, in my humble opinion, we are no worse than the people of other colonies placed in similar circumstances—perhaps better than some of them. do you know anything of our past history?”
“not much,” replied considine, throwing away the remnant of the stick he had been whittling, and commencing on another piece. “of course i know that the cape was first doubled by the portuguese commander bartholomew diaz in, i think, 1486, and after him by vasco de gama, and that the dutch formed the first settlement on it under van riebeek in 1652, but beyond this my knowledge of cape history and dates is hazy and confused. i know, however, that your forefathers mismanaged the country for about a century and a half, after which it finally came into possession of the british in 1806.”
“humph!” ejaculated hans, while a shade of displeasure flitted for a moment across his broad visage. “’tis a pity your reading had not extended farther, for then you would have learned that from 1806 the colony has been mismanaged by your countrymen, and the last fruit of their mismanagement has been a bloody war with the kafirs, which has only just been concluded. peace has been made only this year, and the frontier is now at rest. but who will rebuild the burned homesteads of this desolated land? who will reimburse the ruined farmers? above all, who will restore the lost lives?”
the young dutchman’s eyes kindled, and his stern face flushed as he spoke, for although his own homestead had escaped the ruthless savage, friends and kindred had suffered deeply in the irruption referred to, which took place in 1819, and one or two of his intimate comrades had found early graves in the wild karroo.
considine, sympathising with his companion’s feelings, said, “i doubt not that you have much to complain of, for there is no colony under the sun that escapes from the evil acts of occasional bad or incompetent governors. but pray do not extend your indignation to me or to my countrymen at large, for few of us know the true merits of your case. and tell me, what was the origin of the war which has just ended?”
the young farmer’s anger had passed away as quickly as it came. letting his bulky frame sink back into the reclining position from which he had partially risen, he replied—
“just the old story—self-will and stupidity. that domineering fellow lord charles somerset, intending to check the plundering of the colony by kafirs, chose to enter into treaties with gaika as paramount chief of kafirland, although gaika himself told him plainly that he was not paramount chief. of course the other chiefs were indignant, and refused to recognise such treaties. they did more: they made war on gaika, and beat him, whereupon somerset, instead of leaving the niggers to fight their own battles, must needs send a great commando of military and burghers to ‘restore’ gaika to his so-called supremacy. this was done. the chief t’slambi was driven from his villages, and no fewer than 11,000 head of cattle were handed over to gaika. while this was going on at the eastern frontier, the kafirs invaded the colony at other points, drove in the small military posts, ravaged the whole land, and even attacked the military headquarters at grahamstown, where, however, they were defeated with great slaughter. after this a large force was sent to drive them out of their great stronghold, the fish river bush. this was successfully accomplished, and then, at last, the right thing was done. the governor met the kafir chiefs, when it was agreed that they should evacuate the country between the great fish river and the keiskamma, and that the territory so evacuated should form neutral ground. so matters stand at present, but i have no faith in kafirs. it is their pride to lie, their business to make war, and their delight to plunder.”
“but is it not the same with all savages?” asked considine.
“doubtless it is, therefore no savages ought to be trusted, as civilised men are trusted, till they cease to be savages. we trust them too much. time will show.—by the way, i hear that a new move is about to be attempted. rumour says that your government is going to send out a strong party of emigrants to colonise the eastern frontier. is this true?”
“it is,” replied considine; “i wonder that you have not heard all about it before now.”
“good reasons for that. for one thing, i have just returned from a long trip into the north-western districts, and i have not been in the way of hearing news for some time. besides, we have no newspapers in the colony. everything comes to us by word of mouth, and that slowly. tell me about this matter.”
“there is little to tell,” returned considine, replenishing the fire with a thick branch, which sent up a magnificent display of sparks and scared away a hyena and two jackals that had been prowling round the camp-fence. “the fact is that there is a great deal of distress in england just now, and a redundant population of idlers, owing to the cessation of continental wars. this seems to have put it into the heads of some people in power to encourage emigration to the eastern part of this colony. in the house of commons 50,000 pounds have been voted in aid of the plan, and it seems that when the proposal was first made public, no fewer than 90,000 would-be emigrants applied for leave to come out here. of these i believe 4000 have been selected, and twenty-three vessels chartered to convey them out. this is all i could learn before i left england, but i suppose we shall have more light on the subject ere many months have gone by.”
“a good plan,” said the dutchman, with a grim smile, “but i pity the emigrants!”
as considine’s head drooped at this point, and his eyes winked with that owlish look which indicates the approach of irresistible sleep, hans marais rose, and, spreading a large kaross or blanket of leopard skin on the ground, invited his companion to lie down thereon. the youth willingly complied, stretched himself beside the dutchman, and almost instantly fell sound asleep. hans spread a lighter covering over himself and his comrade, and, with his head on his saddle, lay for a long time gazing tranquilly at the stars, which shone with an intensity of lustre peculiar to that region of the southern hemisphere, while the yelling cries of jackals and the funereal moaning of spotted hyenas, with an occasional distant roar from the king of beasts, formed an appropriate lullaby.
