The Settler and the Savage

“And you needn’t be afraid to speak to Bertha by the way,” said Conrad, with a peculiar side glance.

Charlie looked up quickly with a flush.

“Do you mean, sir, that—that—”

“Of course I do,” cried the stout farmer, grasping his friend by the hand; “I forgive your being an Englishman, Charlie, and as I can’t make you a Dutchman, the next best I can do for you is to give you a Dutch wife, who is in my opinion better and prettier than any English girl that ever lived.”

“Hold!” cried Considine, returning the grasp, “I will not join you in making invidious comparisons between Dutch and English; but I’ll go farther than you, and say that Bertha is in my opinion the best and prettiest girl in the whole world.”

“That’ll do, lad, that’ll do. So, now, we’ll go see what the Totties have managed to toss us up for breakfast.”

Before the sun set that night the emigrant farmers, united with another large band, were entrenched in a temporary stronghold, and the women and children, with the rescue party—strengthened by a company of hunters and traders who had been in the interior when the war broke out, were far on their way back to Fort Wilshire.

Chapter Twenty Six.

Relates Incidents of the War and a Great Deliverance

On reaching the frontier fort it was found to be in a state of excitement bustle, and preparation.

News had just been received that the treacherous chief Hintza, although professedly at peace with the colony, was secretly in league with the invading chiefs, and the Governor was convinced of the necessity of taking vigorous measures against him. The savages, flushed with success, and retiring for a time to their own land with the cattle they had carried off, found in Hintza one ready to aid them in every way. It transpired that he had not only allowed the stolen cattle to be secreted in his territory, but many of his own people were “out” with the confederate chiefs fighting against the colonists, while traders under his protection had by his orders been seized and plundered. A message had therefore been sent to Hintza requiring him at once and decidedly to declare his intentions. To this, instead of a reply, the savage chief sent one of his braves, whose speech and conduct showed that his wily master only wished to gain time by trifling diplomacy. The brave was therefore sent back with another message, to the effect that if he, Hintza, should afford any of the other chiefs shelter or protection, and did not restore the booty concealed in his territory, he would be treated as an enemy. It was also proposed that himself should come and have an interview with the Governor, but this invitation he declined. Sir Benjamin D’Urban, therefore, resolved to menace the truculent chief in his own dominions, and when Hans Marais with his band entered the square of the little fort, he found the troops on the point of setting out.

The force consisted of a body of regulars and a burgher band collected from all parts of the colony. Among them were hardy Englishmen from the Zuurveld, tough with the training of fourteen years in the wilderness, and massive Dutchmen from the karroo, splendid horsemen and deadly shots.

While the bustle was at its height a party of horsemen galloped up to the gate, headed by a giant. It turned out to be a contingent from Glen Lynden, under Groot Willem of Baviaans River, with Andrew Rivers, Jerry Goldboy, and several of the Dutch farmers of the Tarka in his train.

“Ho! here you are,” cried Groot Willem in his hearty bass roar, as he leaped to the ground and seized Hans Marais by the hand. “All well at Eden—eh?”

“Burnt out,” said Hans quietly.

The giant looked aghast for a moment. Then his friend ran hurriedly over the main points of his story. But there was no time for talk. While salutations were being exchanged by the members of the various parties thus assembled, Sir Benjamin appeared, mounted his horse, gave orders to several of his officers, and spoke a few words to Groot Willem and Hans. In a few minutes the troops were marched out of the fort, and next day reached the right bank of the Kei River.

This was the western boundary of Hintza’s particular territory. On arriving, the Governor issued general orders to the effect that Hintza was not “to be treated as an enemy.” No kraals were to be burnt, no gardens or fields pillaged, and no natives meddled with, unless hostilities were first begun by them, and that no act of violence should be committed until due notice of the commencement of hostilities had been given. “You see,” said Sir Benjamin in a private conversation with one of his staff, “I am resolved to take every possible precaution to avoid giving cause of complaint to the great chief, and to endeavour by mild forbearance to maintain peace. At the same time, it is essential that I should act with vigour because undue forbearance is always misinterpreted by savages to mean cowardice, and only precipitates the evils we seek to avoid.”

On arriving at a spot where a trader named Purcell had been plundered and murdered, the troops were met by several “councillors” from Hintza and from the chief Booko, who were still a day’s journey distant. To these the Governor said:—

“Go, tell the Great Chief that I request an interview with himself, because I desire that peace should be between us, and that justice should be done. I will not cease to advance until such interview is obtained, and it will depend on his own conduct whether Hintza is treated by the British Government as a friend or a foe.”

But the Great Chief was doggedly bent on meeting his fate. He returned no answer to the message, and the troops moved on. Arriving at the mission station of Butterworth, they found it destroyed, and here they were met by a large body of Fingoes—native slaves—who eagerly offered their services to fight against their cruel masters the Kafirs. These Fingoes—destined in after years to make a deep impression on the colony—were the remains of eight powerful nations, who, broken up and scattered by the ferocious Chaka and his Zulu hordes, had taken refuge with Hintza, by whom they were enslaved and treated in the most brutal manner. He gave them generally the name of Fingo, which means dog. Their eager offer to serve under the British Chief was therefore most natural, but Sir Benjamin declined their services at the time, as war had not yet been declared.

Soon after, a detachment of thirty men was sent back to the colony with despatches, in charge of an ensign named Armstrong, who was waylaid and murdered by some of Hintza’s Kafirs. The Governor, finding that his overtures were treated with studied neglect, and that hostilities were thus begun, called to him a Kafir councillor and warrior, and said—

“Your master has treated all my messages with contempt. He is in secret alliance with the chiefs who have invaded our colony. He has received and concealed cattle stolen from the white men. A British trader has been deliberately murdered in his territory, near his own residence, and under his protection, and no steps have been taken to punish the murderers. Violence and outrage have been committed by him on British traders, and missionaries living under his safeguard have been forced to flee to the Tambookie chief to save their lives. I will no longer treat with him. Since Hintza is resolved on war, he shall have it. I will now take the Fingoes under my special protection, make them subjects of the king of England, and severely punish any who commit violence upon them. I will also carry off all the cattle I can find.—Go, tell your master his blood shall be on his own head.”

This message, which was followed up by prompt action, the capture of considerable numbers of cattle, and a successful attack on one of his principal kraals, brought the great chief to his senses—apparently, but not really, as the sequel will show. He sent in four messengers with proposals, but the Governor refused to treat with any one except Hintza himself. Terrified at last into submission, he entered the camp with a retinue of fifty followers, and was courteously received by the commander-in-chief.

During the course of these proceedings detached parties were frequently sent hither and thither to surprise a kraal or to capture cattle, and the two parties under Groot Willem and Hans Marais, having arrived at Fort Wilshire at the same time, were allowed to act pretty much in concert.

One night they found themselves encamped in a dark mountain gorge during a thunderstorm.

“Well, well,” said Jerry Goldboy to Junkie, who with Scholtz had taken refuge under the very imperfect shelter of a bush, “it’s ’orrible ’ard work this campaigning; specially in bad weather, with the point of one’s nose a’most cut off.”

Jerry referred to a wound which an assagai aimed at his heart had that day inflicted on his nose. The wound was not severe, but it was painful, and the sticking-plaster which held the point of his unfortunate member in its place gave his countenance an unusually comical appearance.

“Is it very zore, boy?” asked Scholtz.

“Zore! I wish you ’ad it, an’ you wouldn’t ’ave to ask,” returned Jerry.

“How did you come by it?” asked Junkie, looking grave with difficulty.

“Well, it ain’t easy to say exactly. You see it was getting dark at the time, and I was doin’ my best to drive a thief of a hox down a place in the kloof where it had to stand upright, a’most, on its front-legs, with its tail whirlin’ in the hair. An’ I ’adn’t much time to waste neither, for I knew there was Kafirs all about, an’ the troops was gettin’ a’ead of me, an’ my ’oss was tied to a yellow-wood tree at the foot o’ the kloof, an’ I began to feel sort o’ skeery with the gloomy thickets all around, an’ rugged precipices lookin’ as if they’d tumble on me, an’ the great mountains goin’ up to ’eaven—oh! I can tell you it was—it was—”

“In short, the most horrible sight you ever saw,” said Junkie, drawing his blanket tighter round his shoulders, and crouching nearer to the bulky form of Scholtz for protection from the wind which was rising.

“Yes, Junkie, it was—the most ’orrible sight I ever saw, for wild savageness, so I drew my sword and gave the hox a prog that sent ’im ’ead over ’eels down the kloof w’ere ’e broke ’is back. Just at that werry moment—would you mind takin’ your toe out o’ my neck, Junkie? it ain’t comfortable: thank you.—Well, as I was sayin’, at that very moment I spied a black fellow stealin’ away in the direction of my ’oss. He saw me too, but thought I didn’t see ’im. Up I jumps, an’ run for the ’oss. Up ’e jumps an’ run likewise. But I was nearer than ’im, an’ a deal faster—though I don’t mean to boast—”

“An’ a deal frighteneder,” suggested Junkie.

“P’raps, ’owever I got to the ’oss first. I didn’t take time to mount, but went leap-frog over ’is tail slap into the saddle, which gave the hold ’oss such a skeer that ’e bolted! The Kafir ’e gave a yell an’ sent ’is assagai after me, an’ by bad luck I looks round just as it went past an’ all but took off the point of my nose. Wasn’t it unlucky?”

“Unlucky! you ungrateful man,” growled Scholtz. “You should be ver’ glad de assagai did not stick you in de neck like von zow.—Is zat rain vich I feels in ze back of mine head?”

“Like enough. There’s plenty of it, anyhow,” said Junkie, trying to peer through the gloom in the direction of the tents occupied by a small body of regular troops which accompanied them.

As he did so a sudden squall struck the tents, levelling two with the ground, and entirely whisking off one, which, after making a wild circle in the air, was launched over a precipice into thick darkness, and never more seen!

Lying under another bush, not far distant, Considine and Hans lay crouched together for the purpose at once of keeping each other warm and presenting the smallest possible amount of surface to the weather. They did not sleep at first, and being within earshot of the bush under which the brothers Skyd had sheltered themselves, found sufficient entertainment in listening to their conversation.

“We scarce counted on this sort of thing,” said John Skyd, “when, fifteen years ago, we left the shores of old England for ‘Afric’s southern wilds.’”

“That’s true, Jack,” was Bob Skyd’s reply, “and I sometimes think it would have been better if we had remained at home.”

“Craven heart! what do you mean?” demanded James.

“Ay, what do you mean?” repeated Dobson; “will nothing convince you? It is true we made a poor job of the farming, owing to our ignorance, but since we took to merchandise have we not made a good thing of it—ain’t it improving every day, and won’t we rise to the very pinnacle of prosperity when this miserable war is over.”

“Supposing that we are not killed in the mean-time,” said Stephen Orpin, who formed one of the group.

“That is a mere truism, and quite irrelevant,” retorted Dobson.

“Talking of irrelevant matters, does any one know why Sandy Black and McTavish did not come with Groot Willem?” asked Orpin.

To this John Skyd replied that he had heard some one say a party of the Glen Lynden men had gone off to root out a nest of freebooters under that scoundrel Ruyter, who, taking advantage of the times, had become more ferocious and daring than ever.

“Yet some say,” observed Dobson, “that the Hottentot robber is becoming religious or craven-hearted, I don’t know which.”

“Perhaps broken-hearted,” suggested Orpin.

“Perhaps. Anyhow it is said his followers are dissatisfied with him for some reason or other. He does not lead them so well as he was wont to.”