The Settler and the Savage by R. M. Ballantyne (great books to read txt) 📕

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