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

the same calibre. Some, of small means, had commenced modestly with a shoulder-bundle and went through the new land, as peddlers and packmen in older lands had done before them. Others, with more means, had set up the horse-pack, or the cart, and all aspired, while some had attained, to the waggon. These penetrated to every part of the frontier, supplying the Dutch boers with luxuries hitherto undreamed of, which, ere long, became necessities, obtaining from them sheep and cattle in exchange, with a fair proportion of their hoarded rix-daalers. The traders then returned to the towns, sold their stock, purchased fresh supplies, and went back to the interior. Thus was laid the foundation of a commerce which was destined in future years to become of great importance not only to the colony but to the world.

The opening of trade with the Kafirs had added materially to the prosperity of the traders, and those assembled at Fort Wilshire represented all the different classes.

Among the crowds who encamped under the fort guns, Stephen Orpin, the Wesleyan, represented those who stood on the first round of the mercantile ladder. Orpin was stout of limb, broad of shoulder, strong of heart, and empty of pocket; he therefore carried a pack in which were to be found not only gloves, neckerchiefs, and trinkets for the women, as well as gaudy waistcoats, etcetera, for the men, but New Testaments, tracts, and little books in the Dutch language wherewith Stephen hoped to do good to the souls of his customers. Orpin had come to the “fair” with the double view of trading and holding intercourse on spiritual things with the Kafirs. He longed to preach Christ, the crucified Saviour, to the heathen. Of such men, thank God, there always have been, and we believe always will be, many in the world—men in regard to whom bigots are apt to say, “Lord, forbid him, for he followeth not with us,” but of whom the Lord said, “Forbid him not, for he that is not against us is on our part.”

Among those who had attained to the enviable ox-waggon were our friends John Skyd and Frank Dobson. Possessing a remnant of their means when they gave up farming, two of the brothers, James and Robert, established a small general store in Grahamstown, while John and Frank set up a joint waggon and took to hunting and trading on a large scale. Of course they bought all their supplies of brass-wire, beads and buttons, powder and shot etcetera, from the Skyd store, and sold their ivory, etcetera, at the same place, with mutual benefit.

It was a strange and stirring sight to behold the long files of Kafir women, straight and graceful as Venus in body, ugly almost as baboons in visage, coming to the fair from all parts of the land with enormous loads on their heads of ox-hides, horns, gum, and elephants’ tusks. Threading the narrow bush-paths in long single files, they came from hillside and thicket towards the great centre of attraction. Gradually the crowd thickened. Kafir chiefs with leopard-skins thrown over their otherwise naked bodies stalked about with an assumption of quiet dignity which they found it difficult to maintain amid the excitement and temptations of the fair. Swarthy groups found shelter among the trees that fringed the Keiskamma below the post—the women resting after having gladly laid down their burdens; their lords sitting on their heels with knob-kerrie in hand, jealously guarding their property. The great chief himself was there, laying seignorial taxation on his people, and even condescending to beg for the white man’s brandy.

“Come with me,” said Orpin to a newly made Dutch friend; “I’m told you understand Kafir, and I want you to interpret for me. Will you?”

The Dutchman said “Ja,” and went, for Orpin had a persuasive tongue and pleasant manner which induced all sorts of men to aid him. And so they two went down into the bush among the dark-skinned crew, and Stephen preached in their wondering ears the “old, old story” of the Cross—a story which is never told entirely in vain, though many a time it does seem as if the effect of it were woefully disproportioned to the efforts of those who go forth bearing the precious seed.

Meanwhile Skyd and Dobson were driving lucrative bargains in another part of the field, speaking wonderful Kafir in the midst of a Babel of Dutch and English that was eminently suggestive of the ancient “tower” itself.

Besides the difficulties of language there were troubles also in reference to trade, for Kafirs, although savage, are fastidious. The men were as particular about their necklaces as any beau could be about the cut of his coat and the women were at times very hard to please in the matter of turban-covers and kaross back-stripes. But after much haggling the contending parties came to terms, to their mutual benefit and satisfaction.

In another part of the market there seemed to be a tendency to riot. Either bargaining was more hotly carried on there, or spirits of a pugnacious tendency were congregated. Among them was a tall powerful Kafir, who had been evidently treated to a glass of something stronger than water. He was not tipsy, he was only elevated, but the elevation roused his ire to such an extent that he began to boast loudly that he could fight any one, and flourished his sticks or kerries in a defiant manner. Kafirs always fight with two sticks, one to hit with, the other to guard.

A trader from the Green Isle chanced to pass this man, and to be jostled by him. Every one knows of the world’s opinion of the Irishman’s love for fighting. Pat became nettled.

“Arrah!” says he, “yer mighty fond o’ swagger, but I’ll tache you manners, you black baste! Come on!”

The big Kafir came on at once, and made a blow at Pat’s head with his knob-kerrie that would have ended the fight at once if it had taken effect, but the Irishman, well trained in the art, guarded it neatly, and returned with a blow so swift and vigorous that it fell on the pate of the savage like a flail. As well might Pat have hit a rock. If there is a strong point about a black man, it is his head. The Irish man knew this, but had forgotten it in the first flush of combat. He became wiser. Meanwhile a crowd of excited traders and Kafirs gathered round the combatants and backed them.

The Kafir made another wild swoop at his enemy’s skull, but the blow was easily turned aside. Pat returned with a feint at his foe’s head, but came down with terrible force on the inside of his right knee. The Kafir dropped his sticks, seized his knee with both hands, stood on one leg, and howled in agony.

Scorning to strike a defenceless foe, Paddy gave him a dab on the end of his already flat nose, by way of reminding him that he was off his guard. The Kafir took the hint, caught up his sticks and sprang at his opponent with the yell of a hyena, whirling aloft both sticks at once. The Irishman had to leap aside, and, as he did so, drew from the Kafir a shriek of pain by hitting him sharply on the left shin, adding to the effect immediately by a whack under the right eye that might have finished an average ox. The Kafir fell, more, however, because of the pain of the double blow, than because of its force, for he rolled about bellowing for a few seconds. Then, jumping up, he renewed the fight. There is no saying how long it might have lasted had not a party of troops chanced to pass just then, who separated the combatants and dispersed the crowd.

The “fair,” however, was made use of not only as an occasion for trading, preaching, and fighting, but for plotting. Chiefs met there in peace, who might otherwise have failed to meet except in battle, and these, with chiefs of banditti from the mountains, and malcontents from all quarters, concocted and hatched designs against the well-being of individuals and of the public at large.

At this time the colonists, besides being troubled by savage thieves, were threatened with disturbance from the inter-tribal feuds of the savages themselves. One tremendous Zulu monster of the name of Chaka—who excelled Nero himself in cruelty—was driving other tribes of Kafirs down into the colony, and designing chiefs were beginning to think or hope that the opportunity had arrived for carrying out their favourite idea of driving the white man into the sea.

In a dark forest glade, not far from the fort, and within hearing of its bugle-calls, Stephen Orpin walked up and down with one of the malcontents.

“I tell you, Ruyter, it is in vain to join with the Kafirs,” said Orpin. “If all the Hottentots in Africa were to unite with them, you would not be strong enough to crush the white man.”

“Why not?” demanded the Hottentot angrily, in his broken English; “we be strong as you, and brave.”

“But you are not so well armed,” said Orpin.

“Fact,” returned the freebooter, “but time vill make dat all squaar. Smugglers bring guns to we, an’ pooder. Ver’ soon be all right.”

“Listen, Ruyter, you are like a child. You know nothing. The land from which the white man comes will never suffer him to be driven out of Africa. England is rich in everything, and will send men to fill the places of those who fall. Besides, I think God is on the white man’s side, because the white man in the main intends and tries to do good. Just think of the ‘fair.’ The black man wants beads and brass wire and cotton, and many other things—the white man brings these things from over the sea. On the other hand the white man wants hides, horns, ivory—the black man can supply these things. They meet to exchange, good is done by each to the other. Why should they fight?”

“For revenge,” said Ruyter darkly.

“No doubt revenge is sweet to you, but it is sinful,” returned Orpin. “Besides, the sweetness does not last long; and will it, let me ask, make the black man happier or the white man more sorrowful in the long-run? You should think of others, not only of yourself, Ruyter.”

“Does Jan Smit ever tink of oders—of anybody but hisself?”

“Perhaps not, but Conrad Marais does, and so do many other men of like mind. God, the Father of all men, is a God of peace, and does not permit His children to gratify feelings of revenge. Jesus, the Saviour of lost man, is the Prince of peace; He will not deliver those who wilfully give way to revenge.”

“I no want deliverance,” said the robber chief sternly.

“I know that,” replied Orpin, “and it was to deliver you from that state of mind that Jesus came. Think, Ruyter, think—”

He was interrupted at this point by the sound of an approaching ox-waggon. Ruyter, being a well-known outlaw, did not dare to show himself at the fair, although not a whit worse in any respect than most of the Kafir chiefs who walked openly there unchallenged. He shrank back into the shelter of the jungle while the trader awaited the coming up of the waggon.

“Aha, here you are, Orpin—not kept you waiting long, I hope?” said John Skyd as he followed his waggon into the glade.

“Not long,” answered the trader; “but we must make the most of our time now, for the day is far spent.”

“It is, but I could not manage to get away sooner. We had to lay in a supply of powder and lead for the hunt, besides many other things. Dobson will be here with the other waggon immediately—he’s not fifty yards behind,—and then we shall start fair for the elephant-ground. You’re quite sure that you know the way, I suppose?”

“I would not undertake to guide you if I