The Settler and the Savage

When the long line of emigrants had slowly defiled through the poort, or narrow gorge, of the mountains from which Baviaans River issues into the more open valley where it joins the Great Fish River, they came suddenly upon a very singular scene, and a still more singular man. In the middle of the poort they found a small farm, where tremendous precipices of naked rock towered all round, so as to leave barely sufficient space on the bank of the river for the houses and cattle-folds, with a well-stocked garden and orchard. There was also a small plot of corn-land on the margin of the stream.

“’Tis a little paradise!” exclaimed Kenneth McTavish, as he and Considine joined a knot of men on a knoll, whence they had a good view of the little farm.

“It’s an unco’ rocky paradise,” observed Sandy Black, “an’ the angelic appendages o’ wings wadna be unsuitable to its inhabitants, for it seems easier to flee oot o’t ower the precipices than to scramble intil’t ower the rocks an’ rooten trees. I wonder wha it belangs to.”

Hans Marais, who came up at the moment, explained that it belonged to a Dutch boer named Prinsolo, who had been a leader some years before in a rebellion, but had been pardoned and allowed to retain his lands. “You’ve sometimes said you thought me a big fellow, Considine,” remarked Hans, “and I can’t gainsay you, but you shall see a much bigger fellow if Prinsolo is at home, for he’s a giant even among Cape Dutchmen. We call him Groot Willem (Big William), for he is burly and broad as well as tall—perhaps he is taking his noon nap,” added Hans, moving forward. “He seldom lets even a single waggon come so near without—ah! I thought so.”

As he spoke a peculiarly deep bass yawn was heard inside the principal house of the farm to which the party now drew near. Next moment a heavy thump sounded, as if on the floor, and immediately after there issued from the open door a veritable giant in his shirt-sleeves. Groot Willem was rough, shaggy, and rugged, as a giant ought to be. He was also sluggish in his motions, good-humoured, and beaming, as many of the Dutch giants are. Appropriately enough, on beholding the settlers, he uttered a deep bass halloo, which was echoed solemnly by the mighty cliffs at his back. It was neither a shout of alarm nor surprise, for he had long been aware that this visit was pending, but a hasty summons to his household to turn out and witness the stirring and unwonted sight.

It might have been supposed that a giant, whose kindred had been deprived of their lands by the British Government, and some of whom had been executed for high treason, would have regarded the British immigrants with no favourable eye, but Groot Willem appeared to have a large heart in his huge body, for he received the advance-guard of the party with genuine hospitality. Perhaps he was of an unusually forgiving spirit; or it may be that his innate sense of justice led him to recognise the demerit of himself and his kindred; or perchance he was touched by the leniency extended to himself; but, whatever the cause, he shook the newcomers heartily by the hand, said he regarded them as next door-neighbours, started the echoes of the precipices—which he styled Krantzes—and horrified the nearest baboons with shouts of bass laughter at every word from himself or others which bore the remotest semblance to a joke, and insisted on as many of the strangers as could be got into his house, drinking to their better acquaintance in home-made brandy. The same deadly beverage was liberally distributed to the men outside, and Groot Willem wound up his hospitalities by loading the party with vegetables, pomegranates, lemons, and other fruits from his garden as he sent them on their way rejoicing. Soon afterwards he followed them, to aid in forcing a passage up the valley.

In return, as a slight acknowledgment of gratitude, Hans supplied the giant with a little powder and lead, and Mr Pringle gave his family a few Dutch tracts and hymn-books.

“Wonders’ll niver cease in this land!” said Sandy Black to Jerry Goldboy as they left the farm.

“That’s true, Sandy; it’s a houtrageous country.”

“To think,” continued the Scot, “that we should foregather wi’ Goliath amang the heeland hills o’ Afriky; an’ him fond o’ his dram tae—Hech, man! look there—at the puggies.”

He pointed as he spoke to a part of the precipice where a group of baboons were collected, gazing indignantly and chattering furiously at the intruders on their domain.

The ursine baboon is not naturally pugnacious, but neither is he timid or destitute of the means of defence. On the contrary, he is armed with canine teeth nearly an inch long, and when driven to extremities will defend himself against the fiercest wolf-hound. He usually grapples his enemy by the throat with his fore and hind paws—takes a firm bite with his formidable tusks, and tears and tugs till he sometimes pulls away the mouthful. Many a stout baboon has in this manner killed several dogs before being overpowered. It is said that even the leopard is sometimes attacked and worried by baboons, but it is only collectively and in large bands that they can oppose this powerful enemy, and baboons are never the aggressors. It is only in defence of their young that they will assail him.

The strong attachment of these creatures to their young is a fine trait in their character. This quality has been shown on many occasions, especially when the creatures have been engaged in orchard-robbing,—for they are excessively fond of fruit and remarkably destitute of conscience. On such occasions, when hunted back to the mountains with dogs, the females, when separated accidentally from their young, have been seen to return to search for them through the very midst of their pursuers, being utterly regardless of their own safety.

The group to which Black now directed attention consisted of several females with a number of young ones. They were all huddled in a cleft of the precipice, looking down in apparent surprise at the strangers. On a neighbouring height sat a big old satyr-like male, who had been placed there as a sentinel. Baboons are wise creatures, and invariably place sentinels on points of vantage when the females and their young are feeding on the nutritious bulbs and roots that grow in the valleys. The old gentleman in question had done his duty on the first appearance of the human intruders. He had given a roar of warning; the forty or fifty baboons that were down near the river had scampered off precipitately, dashed through the stream, or leaped over it where narrow, hobbled awkwardly on all-fours over the little bit of level ground, and clambered with marvellous agility up the cliffs, till they had gained the ledge from which they now gazed and chattered, feeling confident in the safety of their position.

“Did iver ’ee see the like? They’re almost human!” said Sandy.

“Just look at that big grandmother with the blue face and the little baby on ’er back!” exclaimed Jerry.

“How d’you know she’s a grandmother?” asked Considine.

“W’y, because she’s much fonder of the baby than its own mother could be.”

As he spoke, one of the party below them fired, and the echoes sprang in conflict from the surrounding heights, as a bullet whizzed over their heads and hit the rocks, sending a shower of harmless chips and dust among the baboons.

With a shriek of consternation they scattered and fled up the heights at racing speed.

A burst of laughter from the settlers,—all the more hearty that no damage had been done,—increased the terror inspired by the shot, and seemed to invest the animals with invisible wings.

“Tally-ho!” shouted Considine in excitement.

“The black ane for ever!” cried Sandy.

“I’ll back the grey one with the short tail,” said Kenneth McTavish, coming up at the moment, “although she has two little ones clinging to her.”

“Ten to one,” cried Jerry, bending eagerly forward, “on the blue-nosed grandmother wi’ the baby on her back!”

It did indeed seem as if Jerry’s favourite was going to reach the top of the crags before any of the other horrified creatures, for she was powerful as well as large, and her burden was particularly small. The infant required no assistance, but clung to its dam with its two little hands like a limpet, so that she could use her limbs freely. But an unusually long and vigorous bound chanced to loosen the little one’s grasp. It fell off with a pitiful shriek, and, with an imploring upward look on its miserable countenance, clasped its little hands in mute despair.

Granny or mamma,—we know not which,—with the quick intuition of a great general, took in the whole position like a flash of light. She turned on the ledge she had gained and dropped her tail. Baby seized it and clambered up. Then away she went like a rocket, and before the little one had well regained its former position she had topped the ridge full two yards ahead of the whole troop!

“Well done!” cried McTavish.

“Huzza!” shouted Jerry.

“Brute!” exclaimed Considine, striking up the muzzle of a gun which was pointed at the grandmother and child by a panting young idiot who rushed up at the moment, “would you commit murder?”

The gun exploded and sent its ball straight to the new moon, which, early though it was, had begun to display the washed-out horns of its first quarter in the sky.

“Confound you!” cried the so-called Brute, who was by no means a coward, throwing down his gun and hitting Considine a heavy blow on the chest.

Charlie “returned” on the forehead and sent the Brute head over heels on the turf, but he sprang up instantly, and there would certainly have been a battle-royal if Groot Willem, who opportunely appeared, had not seized Considine by the arm, while Hans Marais grasped the Brute by the neck, and rendered further action impossible. A moment sufficed to cool the youths, for the “Brute” was young, and they both shook hands with a laugh and a mutual apology.

Soon after leaving the giant’s farm the travellers reached a point where the main stream was joined by a subsidiary rivulet. Its corresponding valley branched off to the right, about eight miles in length, containing fine pasturage and rich alluvial soil. It extended eastward behind the back of the Kahaberg, where the settlers observed the skirts of the magnificent timber forests which cover the southern fronts of that range, stretching over the summits of the hills at the head of the glen. To this valley, and the wooded hills which bound it, was given the name of Ettrick Forest, while the main valley itself was named Glen Lynden.

Not far from this point the apology for a waggon track ended altogether, and thenceforth the settlers found the route difficult and dangerous to a degree far exceeding their previous experiences or their wildest conceptions. Jerry Goldboy had now “facts” enough to overturn all his unbelief. The axe, crowbar, pick, and sledge-hammer were incessantly at work. They had literally to hew their path through jungles and gullies, and beds of torrents and rocky acclivities, which formed a series of obstructions that tested the power of the whole party,—Groot Willem and the allies included,—to the uttermost.

Of course the difficulties varied with the scenery. Here the vale was narrow and gorge-like, with just sufficient room for the stream to pass, while precipices of naked rock rose abruptly like rampart walls to a height of many hundred feet. These in some places seemed actually to overhang the savage-looking pass, or “poort,” through which the waggons had to struggle in the very bed of the stream. Elsewhere it widened out sufficiently to leave space along the river-bank for fertile meadows, which were picturesquely sprinkled with mimosa trees and evergreen shrubs, and clothed with luxuriant pasturage up to the girths of the horses. Everywhere the mountains rose around, steep and grand, the lower declivities covered with good pasturage, the cliffs above, of freestone and trap, frowning in wild forms like embattled ramparts whose picturesque sides were sprinkled with various species of succulent plants and flowering aloes.

For five days did they struggle up this short glen; two of these days being occupied in traversing only three miles of a rugged defile, to which they gave the name of Eildon Cleugh. But “nothing is denied to well-directed labour.” They smashed two waggons, damaged all the others, half-killed their oxen, skinned all their knuckles, black-and-blued all their shins, and nearly broke all their hearts, till at length they passed through the last poort of the glen and gained the summit of an elevated ridge which commanded a magnificent view to the extremity of the vale.

“And now, Mynheer,” said the field-cornet in charge of their escort, “there lies your country.”

“At last!—thank God,” said the leader of the band, looking round on their beautiful though savage home with feelings of deep gratitude for the happy termination of their long and weary travels.

The toil of journeying was now succeeded by the bustle and excitement of settling down.

Their new home was a lovely vale of about six or seven miles in length, and varying from one to two in breadth, like a vast basin surrounded on all sides by steep and sterile mountains, which rose in sharp wedge-like ridges, with snow-clad summits that towered to an estimated height of five thousand feet above the level of the sea. The contrast between the warm peaceful valley and the rugged amphitheatre of mountains was very great. The latter, dark and forbidding—yet home-like and gladdening to the eyes of Scotsmen—suggested toil and trouble, while the former, with its meandering river, verdant meadows, groves of sweet-scented mimosa-trees, and herds of antelopes, quaggas, and other animals pasturing in undisturbed quietude, filled the mind with visions of peace and plenty. Perchance God spoke to them in suggestive prophecy, for the contrast was typical of their future chequered career in these almost unknown wilds of South Africa.

Left by their escort on the following day—as their English brethren had been left in the Zuurveld of Lower Albany—to take root and grow there or perish, the heads of families assembled, and their leader addressed them.

“Here, at last,” said he, “our weary travels by sea and land have come to an end. Exactly six months ago, to a day, we left the shores of bonny Scotland. Since then we have been wanderers, without any other home than the crowded cabin at sea and the narrow tent on shore. Now we have, through God’s great goodness and mercy, reached the ‘Promised Land’ which is to be our future home, our place of rest. We have pitched our tents among the mimosa-trees on the river’s margin, and our kind Dutch friends with the armed escort have left us. We are finally left to our own resources; it behoves us therefore, kindred and comrades, to proceed systematically to examine our domain, and fix our several locations. For this purpose I propose that an armed party should sally forth to explore, while the rest shall remain to take care of the women and children, and guard the camp.”

Acting on this advice, an exploration party was at once organised, and set forth on foot, as they had at that time no horses or live stock of any kind—save one dog, which had been purchased by the “Brute” (whose proper name, by the way, was Andrew Rivers) from Groot Willem on the way up.

They found the region most desirable in all respects. Open grassy pastures were interspersed everywhere with clumps and groves of mimosa-trees, while the river, a gurgling mountain-brook, meandered musically through the meadows. From grove and thicket sprang the hartebeest and duiker. From their lairs among the reeds and sedges of the river rushed the reitbok and wild hog; while troops of quaggas appeared trotting on the lower declivities of the hills.

“A magnificent region truly!” remarked Kenneth McTavish as they returned home at night.

“’Eaven upon earth!” said Jerry Goldboy, with quiet enthusiasm.

“What splendid scenery!” exclaimed Charlie Considine,—who was addicted to the pencil.

“What glorious sport!” cried his former antagonist, Rivers,—who was fond of the rod and gun.

“And what aboot the Kawfirs and Bushmen?” asked Sandy Black, who, to use his own language, “could aye objec’.”

“Time enough to think of them when they appear,” said Rivers.

“I don’t believe they’re half so bad as people say,” cried Goldboy stoutly.

“Maybe no,” rejoined Black. “The place is paradise to-day, as you sagaciously remarked, Jerry, but if the Kawfirs come it’ll be pandemonium to-morry. It’s my opinion that we should get oursel’s into a defensible camp as soon as we can, an’ than gae aboot our wark wi’ easy minds. Ye mind what Goliath and Hans Marais said before they left us, aboot keepin’ a sharp look-oot.”

As no one replied to this, the Scot changed the subject by asking Considine when he meant to leave.

“Not till Hans Marais comes over the hills to fetch me,” was the reply. “He has taken upon himself to give me extended leave of absence. You know, Sandy, that I fill the office of Professor in his father’s house, and of course the Marais sprouts are languishing for want of water while the schoolmaster is abroad, so I could not take it on myself to remain longer away, if Hans had not promised to take the blame on his own shoulders. Besides, rain in Africa is so infrequent, that the sprouts won’t suffer much from a week, more or less, of drought. Your leader wishes me to stay for a few days, and I am anxious to see how you get on. I’ll be able to help a bit, and take part in the night-watches, which I heard Mr Pringle say he intends to institute immediately.”

On the day following a site was fixed for the commencement of the infant colony, and the tents, etcetera, were removed to it. The day after being Sunday, it was unanimously agreed to “rest” from labour, and to “keep it holy.”

It was an interesting and noteworthy occasion, the assembling of the Scotch emigrants on that Sabbath day to worship God for the first time in Glen Lynden. Their church was under the shade of a venerable acacia-tree, close to the margin of the stream, which murmured round the camp. On one side sat the patriarch of the party with silvery locks, the Bible on his knee, and his family seated round him,—the type of a grave Scottish husbandman. Near to him sat a widow, who had “seen better days,” with four stalwart sons to work for and guard her. Beside these were delicate females of gentle blood, near to whom sat the younger brother of a Scotch laird, who wisely preferred independence in the southern wilds of Africa to dependence “at home.” Besides these there were youths and maidens, of rougher though not less honest mould—some grave, others gay, but all at that time orderly and attentive, while their leader gave forth the beautiful hymn which begins:

“O God of Bethel! by whose handThy people still are fed,”

and followed it with a selection of prayers from the English Liturgy, and a discourse from a volume of sermons.

While they were singing the last Psalm a beautiful antelope, which had wandered down the valley,—all ignorant of the mighty change that had taken place in the prospects of its mountain home,—came suddenly in sight of the party, and stood on the opposite side of the river gazing at them in blank amazement.

Andrew Rivers, who sat meekly singing a fine bass, chanced to raise his head at the time. Immediately his eyes opened to their full extent, and the fine bass stopped short, though the mouth did not close. With the irresistible impulse of a true sportsman he half rose, but Sandy Black, who sat near, caught him by the coat-tails and forced him firmly though softly down.

“Whist, man; keep a calm sough!”

The young man, becoming instantly aware of the impropriety of his action, resigned himself to fate and Sandy, and recovered self-possession in time to close the interrupted line with two or three of the deepest notes in the bass clef.

The innocent antelope continued to listen and gaze its fill, and was finally permitted to retire unmolested into its native jungle.

Chapter Eleven.

Explorations and Hunting Experiences

Oh, they were happy times, these first days of the infant colony, when every man felt himself to be a real Robinson Crusoe,—with the trifling difference of being cast on heights of the mainland, instead of an islet of the sea, and with the pleasant addition of kindred company!

So rich and lovely was their domain that some of the facetious spirits, in looking about for sites for future dwellings, affected a rollicking indifference to situations that would have been prized by any nobleman in making choice of a spot for a shooting-box.

“Come now, McTavish,” said Considine, on one of their exploring expeditions, “you are too particular. Yonder is a spot that seems to have been made on purpose for you—a green meadow for the cattle and sheep, when you get ’em; stones scattered here and there, of a shape that will suit admirably for building purposes without quarrying or dressing; a clump of mimosa-trees to shelter your cottage from winds that may blow down the valley, and a gentle green slope to break those that blow up; a superb acacia standing by itself on a ready-made lawn where your front door will be, under which you may have a rustic seat and table to retire to at eventide with Mrs McTavish and lovely young Jessie, to smoke your pipe and sip your tea.”

“Or toddy,” suggested Sandy Black.

“Or toddy,” assented Considine.

“Besides all this, you have the river making a graceful bend in front of your future drawing-room windows, and a vista of the valley away to the left, with a rocky eminence on the right, whence baboons can descend to rob your future orchard at night, and sit chuckling at you in safety during the day, with a grand background of wooded gorges,—or corries, as you Scotch have it, or kloofs, according to the boers—and a noble range of snow-clad mountains to complete the picture!”

“Not a bad description for so young a man,” said McTavish, surveying the spot with a critical eye; “quite in our poetical leader’s style. You should go over it again in his hearing, and ask him to throw it into verse.”

“No; I cannot afford to give away the valuable produce of my brain. I will keep and sell it some day in England. But our leader has already forestalled me, I fear. He read to me something last night which he has just composed, and which bears some resemblance to it. Listen:—

“‘Now we raise the eye to rangeO’er prospect wild, grotesque, and strange;Sterile mountains, rough and steep,That bound abrupt the valley deep,Heaving to the clear blue skyTheir ribs of granite bare and dry.And ridges, by the torrents worn,Thinly streaked with scraggy thorn,Which fringes Nature’s savage dress,Yet scarce relieves her nakedness.But where the Vale winds deepbelow,The landscape hath a warmer glowThere the spekboom spreads its bowersOf light green leaves and lilac flowers;And the aloe rears her crimson crest,Like stately queen for gala drestAnd the bright-blossomed bean-tree shakesIts coral tufts above the brakes,Brilliant as the glancing plumesOf sugar-birds among its blooms,With the deep-green verdure blendingIn the stream of light descending.’

“Something or other follows, I forget what, and then:—

“‘With shattered rocks besprinkled o’er,Behind ascends the mountain hoar,Where the grin satyr-faced baboonSits gibbering to the rising moon,Or chides with hoarse or angry cryTh’intruder as he wanders by.’

“There—I can’t remember the rest of it,” said Considine, “and I’m not even sure that what I’ve quoted is correct, but you see Mr Pringle’s mind has jumped before mine,—and higher.”

“Man, it’s no’ that bad,” observed Black, with emphasis. “Depend on’t—though I mak’ nae pretence to the gift o’ prophecy—he’ll come oot as a bard yet—the bard o’ Glen Lynden maybe, or Sooth Afriky.—Hech, sirs!” added Sandy, pointing with a look of surprise to a tree, many of the pendent branches of which had peculiar round-shaped birds’-nests attached to them, “what’s goin’ on there, think ’ee?”

The tree to which the Scot directed attention overhung the stream, and down one of its branches a snake was seen twining itself with caution. It evidently meant to rob one of the nests, for the little owner, with some of its companions, was shrieking and fluttering round the would-be robber. This kind of bird has been gifted with special wisdom to guard its home from snakes. It forms the entrance to its pendent nest at the bottom instead of the top, and hangs the nest itself at the extreme point of the finest twigs, so that the snake is compelled to wriggle downwards perpendicularly, and at last has to extend part of its body past the nest, in order to be able to turn its head upwards into the hole. Great, unquestionably, is a snake’s capacity to hold on by its tail, but this holding on as it were to next-to-nothing is usually too much for it. While the explorers were watching, the snake turned its head upwards for the final dive into the nest, but its coils slipped, and it fell into the water amid triumphant shrieks from the little birds. Nothing daunted, however, the snake swam ashore and made another attempt—with the same result. Again it made the trial; a third time it failed, and then, in evident disgust, went off to attack some easier prey.