Part 3 (1/2)

”Yes,” pursued the farmer, b.u.t.tering another mealie-cob, and commencing to eat it with infinite gusto, ”you see, the Cape Dutchmen, although as fine a set of men as ever lived, are just a _little_ too contented and slow; on the other hand, young sir, you English are much too reckless and fast--”

”Just so,” interrupted Considine, bowing his thanks to the hostess for a third venison-steak which she had put on his plate; ”the Dutch too slow, the English too fast, so that three parts Dutch, two parts French, and one part English--like a dash of seasoning--is, it seems, the perfect Marais mixture.”

This remark produced a sudden and unintentional burst of laughter from the young Maraises, not so much on account of the excess of humour contained in it, as from the fact that never before had they heard a jest of any kind fabricated at the expense of their father, of whom they stood much in awe, and for whom they had a profound respect.

Conrad Marais, however, could take a joke, although not much given to making one. He smiled blandly over the edge of his mealie-cob.

”You're right, sir,--right; the mixture is not a bad one. The Dutch element gives steadiness, the English vigour, and the French spirit.--By the way, Arend,” he continued, turning to one of his stout olive-branches, ”talking of spirit reminds me that you will have to go to work at that leak in the dam with more spirit than usual, for we can't afford to lose water in this dry weather. It is not finished, I think?”

”No, father, but we hope to get it done this afternoon.”

”That's well. How many of you are at it?”

”David and I, with six Totties. Old Sam is ill, and none of the others can be spared to-day.”

”Can't some of your brothers help?” asked the farmer. ”Losing water is as bad almost as losing gold.”

”Joseph meant to come, but he started at six this morning to look after the cattle. We hear that the Kafirs carried off some of Jan Smit's sheep yesterday.”

”The black scoundrels!” exclaimed Conrad Marais, with a growl and a frown, ”they are never at rest, either in times of peace or of war.”

The frown pa.s.sed as quickly as it came, and the genial smile habitual to the farmer resumed its place on his countenance as he ran his fingers through the thick ma.s.ses of his iron-grey hair, and rose from the table.

”Come, Mr Considine,” he said, putting on his hat, ”are you disposed for a ride? I take a look round the farm every morning to see that things are going straight. Will you join me?”

Of course Considine gladly a.s.sented, and Hans said he would accompany them, while the other sons--except of course the younger ones, and the baby who was Bertha's special charge--went out to their various avocations.

A few minutes later the three hors.e.m.e.n were cantering over the plain.

During the ride, Considine was again questioned closely as to his future intentions and prospects, but without anything very satisfactory being evolved. At last Conrad Marais pulled up, after a long pause in the conversation, and while they advanced at a walk, said--”Well, I've been _thinking_, and here is the outcome. You want work, Mr Considine, and I want a workman. You've had a good education, which I count a priceless advantage. Some of my sons have had a little, but since I came here the young ones have had none at all worth mentioning. What say you to become a schoolmaster? You stop with me and give the youngsters as much as you think fit of whatever you know, and I'll give you house-room and food, with a small salary and a hearty welcome. You need not bind yourself. If you don't like it, you can leave it. If you do like it, you are welcome to stay as long as you please, and you'll thus have an opportunity of looking about and deciding on your future plans. What say you?”

Considine received the opening sentences of this proposal with a smile, but as the farmer went on he became grave, and at length seriously entertained the idea. After having slept a night over it he finally resolved to accept the offer, and next day was fairly installed as dominie and a member of the farmer's family. School-books were ferreted out from the bottom of family chests; a Hottentot's (or Tottie's) mud-hut was converted into a schoolroom; six of the farmer's sons-- beginning almost at the foot of the scale--formed a cla.s.s. Reading, writing, and arithmetic were unfolded to youthful and not unwilling minds, even Latin was broached by the eldest of the six, and, during a separate hour in the evening, French was taught to Bertha. Everything, in short, was put in train, and, as Considine expressed it, ”the Marais Academy was going full swing,” when an event occurred which instantly sent French and Latin to the right-about and scattered the three R's to the four winds.

This was nothing less than an order from the Colonial Government to the Field Cornets on the frontier to engage waggons and oxen from the farmers, to be sent to Algoa Bay for the purpose of conveying the British immigrants--expected in a few weeks--from the coast to the various locations destined for their reception.

Among others, Conrad Marais was to send two waggons and spans of oxen, each span consisting of eighteen animals. Hans Marais was to go in charge, and Hans resolved to have Considine as a companion, for the journey down to the coast was long--about 160 miles,--and the two youths had formed so strong an attachment during their short acquaintance that Considine was as anxious to go as his friend could desire.

Conrad Marais, having no objection to this arrangement, the oxen were ”inspanned,” and the day following that on which the order was received they set off towards the sh.o.r.es of the Indian Ocean.

Having to pa.s.s the residence of Jan Smit on the way, Considine seized the opportunity to visit his former cross-grained companion and pay his debt.

Jan Smit was in a more savage humour than usual when the young man walked up to his dwelling. The farmer's back was towards him as he approached. He stood nervously switching a sjambok in his right hand, while he stormed in Dutch at three of his unfortunate people, or rather slaves. One was a st.u.r.dy Hottentot named Ruyter, one a Malay named Abdul Jemalee, both of whom had travelled with Considine on the up journey. The third was the Bushman whom he had encountered when lost on the karroo, and who, owing to his inveterate stupidity, had been named b.o.o.by.

They had all been implicated in the recent loss of cattle suffered by their savage master, who had already flogged the Bushman with the sjambok and was furiously interrogating the Hottentot. At last he gave him a tremendous cut across the shoulders, which immediately raised a dark red bar thereon.

Ruyter's black eyes flashed. He did not wince, but drew himself quickly up like a man about to retaliate. Jan Smit observing and resenting the action, at once knocked him down.

Ruyter slowly rose and staggered away just as Considine came up. The youth could not resist the inclination to exclaim ”Shame!”

”Who dares--” cried Jan Smit, turning fiercely round. He paused in mute surprise at sight of his former companion.