The Settler and the Savage

“Peace with the Kafirs,” said Jerry.

“Peace wi’ the Kawfirs!” echoed Sandy, in a slightly contemptuous tone. “H’m! they should never hae had war wi’ them, Jerry, my man.”

“But ’aving ’ad it, ain’t it well that it’s hover?” returned Jerry.

“It’s cost us a bonnie penny,” rejoined Black.

“Nae doot Glen Lynden has come off better than ither places, for we’ve managed to haud oor ain no’ that ill, but wae’s me for the puir folk o’ the low country! An’ I’ll be bound the Imperial Treasury’ll smart for’t.5 But it’s an ill wind that blaws nae gude. We’ve taken a gude slice o’ land frae the thievin’ craters, for it’s said Sir Benjamin D’Urban has annexed all the country between the Kei and the Keiskamma to the colony. A most needfu’ addition, for the jungles o’ the Great Fish River or the Buffalo were jist fortresses where the Kawfirs played hide-an’-seek wi’ the settlers, an’ it’s as plain as the nose on my face that peace wi’ them is not possible till they’re driven across the Kei—that bein’ a defensible boundary.”

“So, they say that peace is proclaimed,” said Stephen Orpin to a pretty young woman who had recently put it out of his power to talk of his “bachelor home at Salem.” Jessie McTavish had taken pity on him at last!

“Indeed!” replied Jessie, with a half-disappointed look; “then I suppose you’ll be going off again on your long journeys into the interior, and leaving me to pine here in solitude?”

“That depends,” returned Orpin, “on how you treat me! Perhaps I may manage to find my work nearer home than I did in days gone by. At all events I’ll not go into Kafirland just now, for it’s likely to remain in an unsettled state for many a day. It has been a sad and useless war, and has cost us a heavy price. Think, Jessie, of the lives lost—forty-four of our people murdered during the invasion, and eighty-four killed and thirty wounded during the war. People will say that is nothing to speak of, compared with losses in other wars; but I don’t care for comparisons, I think only of the numbers of our people, and of the hundreds of wretched Kafirs, who have been cut off in their prime and sent to meet their Judge. But there has been one trophy of the war at which I look with rejoicing; 15,000 Fingoes rescued from slavery is something to be thankful for. God can bring good out of evil. It may be that He will give me employment in that direction ere long.”

These various remarks, good reader, were uttered some months after the events recorded in the last chapter, for the death of the great chief of Kafirland did not immediately terminate the war. On the contrary, the treaty of peace entered into with Kreli, Hintza’s son and successor, was scouted by the confederate chiefs, Tyali, Macomo, etcetera, who remained still unsubdued in the annexed territory, and both there, and within the old frontier, continued to commit murders and wide-spread depredations.

It was not until the Kafirs had been hunted by our troops into the most impregnable of their woody fortresses, and fairly brought to bay, that the chiefs sent messengers to solicit peace. It was granted. A treaty of peace was entered into, by which the Kafirs gave up all right to the country conquered, and consented to hold their lands under tenure from the British Sovereign. It was signed at Fort Wilshire in September.

Thereafter Sir Benjamin D’Urban laid down with great wisdom and ability plans for the occupation and defence of the annexed territory, so as to form a real obstruction to future raids by the lawless natives—plans which, if carried out, would no doubt have prevented future wars, and on the strength of which the farmers began to return to their desolated farms, and commence re-building and re-stocking with indomitable resolution. Others accepted offers of land in the new territory, and a few of the Dutch farmers, hoping for better times, and still trusting to British wisdom for protection, were prevailed on to remain in the colony at a time when many of their kindred were moving off in despair of being either protected, understood, or fairly represented.

Among these still trusting ones was Conrad Marais. Strongly urged by Hans and Considine, he consented to begin life anew in the old home, and went vigorously to work with his stout sons.

But he had barely begun to get the place into something like order when a shell was sent into the colony, which created almost as much dismay as if it had been the precursor of another Kafir invasion.

Conrad was seated in a friend’s house in Somerset when the said shell exploded. It came in the form of a newspaper paragraph. He looked surprised on reading the first line or two; then a dark frown settled on his face, which, as he read on, became pale, while his compressed lips twitched with suppressed passion.

Finishing the paragraph, he crushed the newspaper up in his hand, and, thrusting it into his pocket, hastened to the stable, where he saddled his horse. Leaping on its back as if he had been a youth of twenty, he drove the spur into its flanks and galloped away at full speed—away over the dusty road leading from Somerset to the hills: away over the ridge that separates it from the level country beyond; and away over the brown karroo, until at last, covered with dust and flecked with foam, he drew up at his own door and burst in upon the family. They were concluding their evening meal.

“Read that!” he cried, flinging down the paper, throwing himself into a chair, and bringing his fist down on the table with a crash that set cups and glasses dancing.

“There!” he added, pointing to the paragraph, as Hans took up the paper—“that despatch from Lord Glenelg—the British Colonial Secretary—at the top of the column. Read it aloud, boy.”

Hans read as follows:—

“‘In the conduct which was pursued towards the Kafir nation by the colonists and the public authorities of the colony, through a long series of years, the Kafirs had ample justification of the late war; they had to resent, and endeavour justly, though impotently, to avenge a series of encroachments; they had a perfect right to hazard the experiment, however hopeless, of extorting by force that redress which they could not expect otherwise to obtain, and the claim of sovereignty over the new province must be renounced. It rests upon a conquest resulting from a war in which, as far as I am at present enabled to judge, the original justice is on the side of the conquered, not of the victorious party.’”

“Mark that!” cried Conrad, starting to his feet when Hans had finished, and speaking loud, as if he were addressing the assembled colony instead of the amazed members of his own family,—“mark that: ‘the claim of sovereignty over the new province must be renounced.’ So it seems that the Kafirs are not only to be patted on the back for having acted the part of cattle-lifters for years, but are to be invited back to their old haunts to begin the work over again and necessitate another war.”

He stopped abruptly, as if to check words that ought not to be uttered. There was a momentary silence in the group as they looked at each other. It was broken by Conrad saying to his youngest son, in a voice of forced calmness—

“Go, lad, get me a fresh horse. I will rouse the Dutch-African farmers all over the colony. The land is too hot to hold us. We cannot hope to find rest under the Union Jack!”

We can sympathise strongly with the violent indignation of the honest Dutchman, for, in good truth, not only he and his kindred, but all the people of the colony, were most unjustly blamed and unfairly treated by the Government of that day. Nevertheless Conrad was wrong about the Union Jack. The wisest of plans are open to the insidious entrance of error. The fairest flag may be stained, by unworthy bearers, with occasional prostitution. A Secretary of State is not the British nation, nor is he even, at all times, a true representative of British feeling. Many a deed of folly, and sometimes of darkness, has unhappily been perpetrated under the protection of the Union Jack, but that does not alter the great historical fact, that truth, justice, fair-play, and freedom have flourished longer and better under its ample folds than under any other flag that flies on the face of the whole earth.

But Conrad Marais was not in a position to consider this just then. The boy who is writhing under the lash of a temporarily insane father, is not in a position to reflect that, in the main, his father is, or means to be, just, kind, loving, and true. Conrad bolted a hasty supper, mounted the fresh steed, and galloped away to rouse his kindred. And he proved nearly as good as his word. He roused many of them to join him in his intended expatriation, and many more did not need rousing. Some had brooded over their wrongs until they began to smoulder, and when they were told that the unprovoked raid of the Kafir thieves was deemed justifiable by the Government which ought to have protected their frontier, but had left them to protect themselves, the fire burst into a flame, and the great exodus began in earnest. Thus, a second time, did Conrad and his family, with many others, take to the wilderness. On this occasion the party included Hans and Charlie Considine, with their families.

There was still wanting, however, that last straw which renders a burden intolerable. It was laid on at the time when slavery was abolished.

The Abolition Act was carried into effect on the 1st December 1834, at which time the accursed system of slavery was virtually brought to an end in the colony, though the slaves were not finally freed from all control till 1838. But the glory of this noble work was sullied not a little by the unjust manner in which, during these four years, the details relative to the payment of compensation to slave-owners were carried out. We cannot afford space here to go into these details. Suffice it to say that, as one of the consequences, many families in the colony were ruined, and a powerful impulse was given to the exodus, which had already begun. The leading Dutch-African families in Oliphant’s Hock, Gamtoos River, along the Fish River, and Somerset, sold their farms—in many cases at heavy loss, or for merely nominal sums—crossed the border, and bade a final adieu to the land of their fathers. These were followed by other bands, among whom were men of wealth and education, from Graaff-Reinet, Uitenhage, and Albany, until a mighty host had hived off into the far north. Through many a month of toil and trouble did this host pass while traversing the land of the savage in scattered bands. Many a sad reverse befell them. Some were attacked and cut off; some defended themselves with heroism and passed on, defying the Kafirs to arrest their progress, until at last they reached the distant lands on which their hearts were set—and there they settled down to plough and sow, to reap and hunt and build, but always with arms at hand, for the savage was ever on the watch to take them at a disadvantage or unawares.

Thus were laid the foundations of the colony of Natal, the Orange Free State, and the Transvaal Republic.

Chapter Twenty Nine.

The Last

With peace came prosperity. This was not indeed very obvious at first, for it took a long time to reconcile the unfortunates of the eastern provinces to their heavy losses, and a still longer time to teach them to forget. Nevertheless, from this time forward the march of the settlers of 1820, commercially, intellectually, and religiously, became steady, regular, and rapid.

No doubt they suffered one or two grievous checks as years rolled on. Again and again they had to fight the Kafir savage and drive him back into his native jungles, and each time they had more trouble in doing so than before, because the Kafir was an apt pupil, and learned to substitute the gun for the assagai; but he did not learn to substitute enlightened vigour for blind passion, therefore the white man beat him as before.

He did more than that. He sought to disarm the savage, and, to a large extent, succeeded. He disarmed him of ignorance by such means as the Lovedale Missionary Institution near Alice; the Institution near Healdtown, and other seminaries,—as well as by mission stations of French, Dutch Reformed, Wesleyan, English, and Scotch churches scattered all over Kafirland; he taught the savage that “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom,” and that industry is the high-road to prosperity. Some of the black men accepted these truths, others rejected them. Precisely the same may be said of white men all over the world. Those who accepted became profitable to themselves and the community. Those who rejected, continued slaves to themselves, and a nuisance to everybody. Again we remark that the same may be said of white men everywhere. White unbelievers continued to pronounce the “red” Kafir an “irreclaimable savage,” fit for nothing but coercion and the lash. Black unbelievers continued to curse the white man as being unworthy of any better fate than being “driven into the sea,” and, between the two, missionaries and Christians, both black and white, had a hard time of it; but they did not give in, for, though greatly disheartened at times, they remembered that they were “soldiers” of the cross, and as such were bound to “endure hardness.”

Moreover, missionaries and Christians of all colours and kinds, doubtless remembered their own sins and errors. Being imperfect men, they had in some cases—through prejudice and ignorance, but never through design—helped the enemy a little; or, if they did not remember these errors and aims, they were pretty vigorously reminded of them by white opponents, and no doubt the thought of this humbled them to some extent, and enabled them to bow more readily to chastisement. Then they braced themselves anew for the gospel-fight—the only warfare on earth that is certain to result in blessing to both the victors and the vanquished.

If any of the missionaries held with Lord Glenelg in his unwise reversal of the good Sir Benjamin D’Urban’s Kafir policy, they must have had the veil removed from their eyes when that nobleman himself confessed his error with a candour that said much for his heart; reversed his own decrees, and fell back upon that very plan which at first he had condemned in such ungenerous terms. His recantation could not, however, recall the thousands of Dutch-African farmers whom he helped to expatriate. Perhaps it was well that it should be so, for good came out of this evil,—namely, the reclamation of vast tracts of the most beautiful and fertile regions of the earth from the dominion of darkness and cruelty.

But what of those whose fortunes we have been following, during this period of peace and prosperity?

Some of them remained in the colony, helped on these blessings, and enjoyed them. Others, casting in their lot with the wanderers, fought the battles and helped to lay the foundations of the new colonies.

First, Charlie Considine. That fortunate man—having come into the possession of a considerable sum of money, through the uncle who had turned out so much “better than he should be,” and having become possessed of a huge family of sons and daughters through that Gertie whom he styled the “sugar of his existence,”—settled in Natal along with his friends Hans and Conrad Marais. When that fertile and warm region was taken possession of by the British, he refused to hive off with the Marais, and continued to labour there in the interests of truth, mercy, and justice to the end of his days.

Junkie Brook, with that vigour of character which had asserted itself on the squally day of his nativity, joined Frank Dobson and John Skyd in a hunting expedition beyond the Great Orange River; and when the Orange Free State was set up by the emigrant Dutchmen, he and his friends established there a branch of the flourishing house of Dobson, Skyd, and Company. Being on the spot when South Africa was electrified by the discovery (in 1866-67) of the Diamond Fields of that region, they sent their sons, whose name was legion, to dig, and soon became diamond merchants of the first water, so that when Junkie visited his aged parents on the Zuurveld—which he often did—he usually appeared with his pockets full of precious stones!

“I’ve found a diamond this time, nurse,” he said, on the occasion of one of these visits, “which is as big—oh!—as—as an ostrich-egg! See, here it is,” and he laid on the table a diamond which, if not quite as big as the egg of the giant bird, was large enough to enable him, with what he had previously earned, to retire comfortably from the business in favour of his eldest son.

The sudden acquisition of riches in this way was by no means uncommon at that time, for the “Fields” were amazingly prolific, and having been discovered at a crisis of commercial depression, were the means, not only of retrieving the fortunes of South Africa, but of advancing her to a condition of hitherto unparalleled prosperity.

Mrs Scholtz—by that time grown unreasonably fat—eyed the diamond with a look of amused contempt; she evidently did not believe in it. Patting the hand of her former charge, she looked up in his laughing face, and said, with a shake of her head—

“Ah! Junkie, I always said you was a wonderful child.”

Sitting on a bench in front of the house—no longer domestics, but smoking their pipes there as “friends” of the family, who had raised themselves to a state of comparative affluence—George Dally and Scholtz, now aged men, commented on the same diamond.

“It’ll make his fortune,” said George.

“Zee boy vas always lucky,” remarked Scholtz; “zince I began to varm for myself I have not zeen so big a stone.”

“Ah! Scholtz,” returned his friend, “the hotel business has done very well for me, an I don’t complain, but if I was young again I’d sell off and have a slap at the ‘Fields.’”

“Zat vould only prove you vas von fool,” said Scholtz quietly.

“I believe it would,” returned George.

In regard to the Scotch party at Glen Lynden, we have to record that they continued to persevere and prosper. Wool became one of the staple articles of colonial commerce, and the hills of the Baviaans River sent a large contingent of that article to the flourishing seaport of the eastern provinces.

Of course the people multiplied, and the sturdy sons of the South African highlands did credit to their sires, both in the matter of warring with the Kafir and farming on the hills.

Sandy Black stuck to his farm with the perseverance of a true Scot, and held his own through thick and thin. He married a wife also, and when, in later years, the native blacks made a sudden descent on his homestead, they were repulsed by a swarm of white Blacks, assisted by an army of McTavishes, and chased over the hills with a degree of energy that caused them almost to look blue!

Andrew Rivers, being a man of progressive and independent mind, cast about him in a state of uncertainty for some years, devoting himself chiefly to hunting, until the value of ostrich feathers had induced far-sighted men to domesticate the giant bird, and take to “farming” ostriches—incubating them by artificial as well as natural means. Then Rivers became an ostrich-farmer. He was joined in this enterprise by Jerry Goldboy, and the two ultimately bought a farm on the karroo and settled down. Rivers had a turn for engineering, and set himself to form a huge dam to collect rain near his dwelling. From this reservoir he drew forth constant supplies, not only to water flocks and herds, but to create a garden in the karroo, which soon glowed with golden fruit.

In this he set a good example, which has been followed with great success by many men of enterprise in those regions; and there is no doubt, we think, that if such dams were multiplied, Artesian wells sunk, and railways run into the karroos, those fine, though comparatively barren regions of South Africa, would soon begin to blossom like the rose.

Thus, what between ostrich feathers, wool, horses, cattle, and enterprise, Rivers and Goldboy made themselves comfortable. Like other men of sense, they married. Thereafter the garden had to be considerably enlarged, for the golden fruit created by the streams which had been collected and stored by Rivers, proved quite inadequate to the supply of those oceans of babies and swarms of Goldboys that flooded the karroo, and filled its solitudes with shouts and yells that would have done credit to the wildest tribe of reddest Kafirs in the land.

Some of these descendants, becoming men of energy, with roving dispositions like their sires, travelled into the far north, and west, and helped to draw forth the copper ore, and to open the mines of Great Namaqua-land—thus aiding in the development of South Africa’s inexhaustible treasure-house, while others of them, especially the sons of Jerry, went into the regions of the Transvaal Republic, and there proved themselves Goldboys in very truth, by successfully working the now celebrated gold-fields of that region.

Stephen Orpin did not give up trade, but he prosecuted it with less and less vigour as time went on, and at last merely continued it as a means of enabling him to prosecute the great object of his life, the preaching of the gospel, not merely to those whom men style par excellence the “heathen,” but to every one who was willing to listen to the good news—redemption from sin! Ah! there was great fervour in Stephen Orpin’s tones when he said, as he often did— “Men and women, I do not come here to make you good, which, in the estimation of more than one half of the so-called Christian world, means goody. My desire is to open your eyes to see Jesus, the Saviour from sin. Who among you—except the young—does not know the power of sin; our inability to restrain bad and vicious habits; our passionate desire to do what we know is wrong; our frequent falling from courses that we know to be right? It is not that hell frightens us; it is not that heaven fails to attract us. These ideas trouble us little—too little. It is present misery that torments. We long and desire to have, but cannot obtain; we fight and strive, but do not succeed, or, it may be, we do succeed, and discover success to be failure, for we are disappointed, and then feel a tendency towards apathetic indifference. If, however, our consciences be awakened, then the torment takes another form. We are tempted powerfully, and cannot resist. We cannot subdue our passions; we cannot restrain our tempers. No wonder. Has not God said, ‘Greater is he who ruleth his own spirit, than he who taketh a city?’ The greatest conqueror is not so great as he who conquers himself. What then? Is there no deliverance from sin? Yes, there is. ‘Sin shall not have dominion over you,’ are the words of Him who also said, ‘Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’”

“Stephen Orpin,” cried a sturdy sinner, in whose ears these words were preached, “do you know all that to be true? Can you speak from experience of this deliverance, this rest?”

“Yes,” cried Stephen, starting up with a sudden impulse, “I do know it—partly by some deliverances that have been wrought for me, partly from some degree of rest attained to, and much, very much, from the firm assurance I have that, but for God’s forbearing and restraining mercy, I should have been a lost soul long long ago. Man, wherein I have failed in obtaining deliverance and rest, it has been owing to my sin, not to failure in the Lord’s faithfulness.”

But Stephen did not travel so far or so long as had been his wont in days gone by. A wife and family, in the village of Salem, exercised an attractive influence, fastening him, as it were, to a fixed point, and converting his former erratic orbit into a circle which, with centripetal force, was always drawing nearer to its centre.

In the course of his early wanderings Orpin managed to search out Ruyter the Hottentot robber, and so influenced him as to induce him to give up his lawless career, and return to the colony. Ruyter drew with him Abdul Jemalee, Booby the Bushman, and one or two others, who settled down to peaceful occupations.

The Malay in particular—slavery being by that time abolished—returned to Capetown, and there found his amiable wife and loving children ready to receive him with open arms. It is true the wife was somewhat aged, like himself, and his children were grown up—some of them even married,—but these little matters weighed nothing in his mind compared with the great, glorious fact, that he was reunited to them in a land where he might call his body his own!