Part 4 (1/2)
On my way home, a couple of hours later, I could not see either the tent or the hut. The country was level and quite bare, so the tent had always been a conspicuous landmark from any, spot within a mile or so.
For a time I thought I must have lost my way. But no; there was the kraal. I came to the conclusion that the tent had been blown down. When I reached the spot all I found was two circles of ashes. The tent and the hut had been burnt down bedding, clothing, provisions everything except the gun, which I had taken with me, and the saddle which was in the pony's shelter down in the kloof had been consumed. Toby had bolted. I burst into tears and flung myself to the ground. Night fell; I could not endure the loneliness, so fled from the desolated spot. I was at the time not quite fourteen years old.
Shortly after this catastrophe I trekked with my flock to a small farm near what is now called Kei Road, but which was then known as Hangman's Bush. Here there was a homestead. But the place was surrounded by small fields cultivated by German peasants; consequently the sheep were continually trespa.s.sing and being sent to the pound. Before many months the flock had to be disposed of at a ruinous loss. Thus ingloriously ended my first and last adventure as a stock-farmer.
My next essay, towards wooing fortune was in the line of Kaffir trading. I hired myself to a trader, whose shop was in the Gaika Reserve, close to the kraal of the celebrated Chief Sandile, not far from Tembani. Sandile, who possessed enormous influence with his powerful and war-like tribe, was a man utterly wanting in dignity. He was club-footed, and consequently went very lame. I remember being once sent on a message to his kraal. He came to know that I had a threepenny piece, so began begging for this. He paid no heed to my refusal, but clung to my stirrup-leather and dragged himself after me for nearly half a mile, begging in the most abject terms. I am glad to be able to say that I kept the coin. But Sandile was a brave man; he died the death of a soldier in the Gaika Rebellion of 1878. He was killed in a skirmish in the Pirie Forest, near King William's Town.
My career as a trader was shorter and even more inglorious than that as a farmer. Within a month I was discharged as utterly incompetent.
Although I resented this at the time, I am now convinced that the dismissal was well-merited.
It is difficult in these days when Cook & Son issue excursion tickets to the Zambezi, and beyond to realize the mystery and glamour that hung over the greater part of South Africa forty years ago. I can remember how as a child I used to pore over the maps of the period so poor in detail, occasionally with ”elephants for want of towns” and wonder as to whether, after I had grown up, I might hope one day to reach the Orange River. Farther than that my wildest antic.i.p.atory dreams did not take me.
But at length the dazzling sheen of the diamonds unearthed on the banks of the distant Vaal, thrilled every one with a desire for adventure.
Before we could realize the process, the caravan crowded road was open to all; thus one of the ramparts of mystery, had fallen.
We have all become more or less accustomed to diamonds nowadays, but forty, years ago a diamond stood rather for crystallized romance than for a form of carbon worth so much per carat. It stood for the making of history, for empire, and for unbounded wealth. We knew that wars had been waged for the possession of such gems, that blackest crime nor oceans of blood could dim their piercing l.u.s.ter. We felt that every celebrated stone, whether s.h.i.+ning on the breast of a lovely woman or blazing in the scepter of a king, was a symbol of power, a nucleus of tragedy, a focus of human pa.s.sion.
It is, therefore, no wonder that the disturbance of our uneventful South African life a life as simple and as serene as any lived on the face of the earth caused by the realization that diamonds had actually been discovered near the borders of the Cape Colony, raised a flood of wildest excitement. This flood soon swept in a wave of men over the wide, sun-scorched plains of the glamorous North.
Many of my friends had ventured to the new Golconda, and I was fired with desire to follow the gleam. At length I met a man who, after much persuasion, consented to let me accompany him on a contemplated trip to the Vaal River. This was William Brown, who will be remembered by most old Kaffrarians. Brown was a farmer of sorts, usually squatting on Government land, and occasionally occupying a hut on the fringe of the Isidengi Forest, not far from Kabousie Nek. I had now and then stayed with him there, and had spent many days wandering with my gun through the lovely woodland that surrounded his dwelling.
Living in another hut in the vicinity was a very strange character called ”Jarge”; his surname has completely escaped me. Jarge was a very old man. Hailing originally from Somersets.h.i.+re, he had never lost the dialect of his early years. Many an hour have I spent at his saw-pit, listening to recitals of his fifty-year-old adventures, some of which were most unedifying. I remember being much amused at an expression he used. He had met with a large leopard; the animal behaved in a threatening manner. On being questioned as to his feelings on the occasion, Jarge replied: ”O, zur, I beed awful frowt.”
Brown's preparations for departure were slow; my patience was severely tried. But at length everything was ready. The caravan consisted of two Scotch carts, each drawn by six oxen. With these we started on our long journey, crossing Kabousie Nek by a road of a gradient steeper than that of any other I have traversed in a vehicle. We were accompanied by another strange character a man named Dixon, who had lived for many years at the foot of the Kabousie Mountain. Dixon had been a military tailor at Gibraltar. He had a red face and fiercely protuberant eyebrows, a curled up moustache, and an imperial. When he became intoxicated, as he occasionally did, Dixon grew more solemn than any of the various judges it has been my privilege to meet. Twenty years afterwards I saw, him at the front in one of the Kaffir wars. He must then have been nearly seventy years of age, yet, literally, he did not look a day older than when we first met.
We struck a bad snowstorm on the top of the Stormberg; had we not been able to drive the oxen into a sheltered kloof they would a.s.suredly have perished. We s.h.i.+vered sleepless all night under one of the carts in a freezing gale. Next morning was cloudless; the ranges far and near were heavily, covered with glistening snow. A few days later we picked up two men, who were tramping towards the diamond-fields. One was named Beranger; I believe he was the son of a former lessee of Covent Garden Opera House. His companion was a man named Hull, an ex-publican from Lambeth. With these two chance companions we entered into a sort of partners.h.i.+p; for some months after reaching the diggings we all worked together.
On our way through the Orange Free State we saw immense herds of springbuck and an occasional herd of blesbuck and wildebeeste. As we were badly armed, very little game fell to our guns. In those days it was lawful for travelers to shoot game anywhere along the roadside for their own consumption; a farmer would no more think of objecting to a stranger shooting a buck on his veld than a gardener would object to one destroying a caterpillar.
When we reached the fields we found the ”dry diggings” at Du Toit's Pan and Bultfontein in full swing. ”Old De Beers” had only been ”rushed” a few days previously. So we decided to try our luck at Bultfontein instead of going on to the Vaal River, as we had originally intended.
We outspanned in the middle of the Du Toit's Pan ”pan”; this, of course, was a purely temporary camp. I was, much to my disgust, left in charge of the carts while the others went on to look for a permanent location.
Here it was that I nearly killed one of my friends. We had foregathered on the road with three brothers named Dell; they belonged to the well-known family of that name in Lower Albany, and were proceeding to the fields in a small wagon. We had met them about a fortnight previously, and ever since the two caravans had traveled together. We had become very intimate; the younger brother, Sam, was my particular friend. He taught me to smoke, and that was the cause of the trouble.
Finding ”Boer” tobacco too strong for my unaccustomed nerves, I had beguiled the weary hours of my vigil by soaking about a quarter of a pound of strong tobacco in boiling water in a large pannikin. After the soaking had gone on for some considerable time, I took the tobacco out of the water, squeezed it, and set it out in the sun on a board to dry.
The liquor remaining in the pannikin was just the color of milkless coffee made with vlei water. William Dell, the eldest brother (he afterwards lived at s.h.i.+lbottel, in the Peddie district), had gone to the camp with the others. He returned alone. The afternoon was hot, and Dell was extremely thirsty. When he got near his wagon he called out for water. Unfortunately there was no one at the wagon. Seeing an opportunity of paying off a score, I called out: ”Here is some coffee,”
and offered the pannikin containing the tobacco juice.
Poor Dell thanked me with effusion, seized the vessel eagerly, and took a big gulp of its contents. At once he flung the vessel into the air, fell to the ground, and began to contort violently. I looked on, horror-stricken at the effect of my practical joke. After a few frightful seconds vomiting set in; this, no doubt, saved the sufferer's life. I had quite unwittingly, of course administered a most virulent poison. In the midst of his convulsions I caught William Dell's eye, and read something suggestive of murder in it. So I made for the open veld, and stood not upon the order of my going. Late at night I returned to the vicinity of the camp and, after some difficulty, opened communication with Sam. He acted as amba.s.sador to William, and the latter was good enough to forgive me. Thus I escaped the thras.h.i.+ng I so richly deserved.
Our plans were changed almost immediately; we decided to try our luck at Old De Beers. Next day we trekked thither, and pitched our camp on the plain to the south-westward of the mine. This plain was studded with very large ”camel thorn” trees. Before the axe had wrought universal havoc, the landscape surrounding the dry diggings was well wooded and highly picturesque. At the spot we selected for our encampment two especially large trees stood; between these we pitched our tents.
I felt quite at home. Camped in the vicinity were many old Kaffrarian friends Barbers, McIntoshes, c.u.mmings, and others. We started work immediately on the eastern side of the mine. Claims were to be had for the mere trouble of marking out and the payment of a license; probably not more than two thirds of the surface of the mine had been ”located.”
We found a very few diamonds; all were small, and none were of any particular value.
Fuel was plentiful; at night camp-fires twinkled far and near. Around these happened some of the pleasantest gatherings I have ever attended.
The nights were usually clear and calm however the wind may have swirled the gritty dust during the day and the stars shone as they only s.h.i.+ne when the dew-moist air of upland South Africa underlies them.
Every one capable of making music, whether by means of violin, concertina, or voice, was much in demand. Coffee and rusks circulated freely. Quite a number of diggers had brought their families from the Colony; thus, many a pretty girl in print dress and ”cappie” joined the firelit circle. Most of us were young and free from care. Life was full of romance, for Fortune scattered her favors with an occasionally lavish hand. Every few days one would hear of some lucky digger finding a ”stone” worth perhaps several hundred pounds. And in those days money was money in South Africa; that is to say, its purchasing power was probably three times as great as it is now.
Our most serious difficulty was in the matter of the water-supply. No wells had as yet been dug, and no drinking water was obtainable nearer than Wessel's Farm, seven miles away. It was part of my duty to repair thither once a week with a Scotch cart and fetch two hogsheads full. So far as I can remember, this quant.i.ty cost six s.h.i.+llings at the well.