Chapter Seven.

Chapter Seven.“Well, Mr Rivers,” began Farmer Baylen, “I don’t know why I shouldn’t gratify your fancy. It is certain that I and mine have been a long time in the colony, and know pretty well all that has happened in it during this century. And what has happened there during this century is pretty nearly all the history it has. Between the time when my mother’s ancestors first settled at the Cape, and the time when the English captured it, it can hardly be said to have had any history at all.”“It was a period of a hundred and fifty years, though, wasn’t it?” suggested George.“Yes, but one day was just like another day, and one year like another year, and one generation like another generation all that time. The Dutch occupied the land, and made the natives work for them; and when more land was wanted, they took more land, and enslaved more natives. So they went on, spreading farther into the country, until the English came.“My father—I believe his name was Andrew Bailey—was a ship’s carpenter on board one of the line-of-battle ships in Sir Home Popham’s fleet. There was very little resistance offered to the English. It was generally believed that when the European wars came to an end the colony would be restored to Holland, as it had been before. Consequently the Dutch regarded the English as visitors, rather than masters.“A good many men got their discharge after the fighting was over, and among them my father. He liked the country, and found plenty of employment, and higher wages than he could get at home. He was a skilled workman, particularly clever at house-building. An English settler wanted a house built at Stellenbosch, and my father undertook the job. He lodged, while employed in the work, in the house of a Dutch farmer named Van Schuylen, and there he soon became very intimate. The farmer was a kind and hospitable old man, as the old Hollanders for the most part were.”“Kind to the whites, that is,” interpolated Redgy.“Ay, Mr Margetts, I understand what you mean, and I am afraid there is too much truth in it. There is a prejudice against ‘black blood,’ which, with all the years that I’ve lived in this land, I cannot understand. ‘Black blood!’ the very words to me seem to be a denial of what the Bible says, that ‘God has made ofoneblood all the nations of the earth.’ Yes, you are right about Farmer Van Schuylen. He’d make no more of putting a native to do the most unwholesome work, that might kill him outright, than he would of pitching a stone into a pond. And if they were fractious or lazy, he’d stand by and see them flogged with the jamboks—the rhinoceros whips, that is—till their backs were cut to ribbons. But my father was a free man and an Englishman, and Van Schuylen had none but friendly words for him.“Well, as I’ve said, my father became intimate with his family, and by and by fell in love with Rose, the only daughter, and she with him. The old man did not object, but Cornelius Van Schuylen, her brother, did not like the match. He was an out-and-out Hollander. He thought the English had no business in the colony. They were interlopers, he said, and jeered at our ways. He and my father had had some high words, I fancy, about the natives, very soon after they came to Stellenbosch. But Rose, though she was very fond of her brother, took my father’s part. He was a handsome and well-made man of five-and-twenty, and she would have had him, I believe, even if her father had objected. Fortunately Cornelius lived ten or twelve miles away. I say fortunately, for there certainly would have been a hot quarrel between him and his brother-in-law, if he had had any share in the business. My father became a great favourite with the old man, and in a few years nearly the whole management of the farm was left to his son-in-law, who persisted in showing favour to the blacks. He wouldn’t overwork them, and wouldn’t allow them to be flogged. What was worse, he allowed them to attend the church services, and to have their children baptised.”“That was no offence, I suppose, sir,” said Redgy.“On the contrary, it was one of the greatest he could commit,” said Baylen. “By the Dutch law, all baptised Christians were free. Therefore baptising a native was the same thing as setting him free, and the presence of free blacks in the colony was what they could not endure. There had been differences with the English authorities on this subject; but little had come of them, because the English were only holding the colony for a time. Two or three years after my father’s marriage, however, there came the downfall of Napoleon, and a general peace. To the surprise and indignation of the Dutch, the colony was not restored to Holland, but given permanently over to the English.”“Well,” said George, “I must say they had some right to complain of that. I heard what Moritz said about it, and I couldn’t help agreeing with him.”“I think the English would have acted more wisely if they had retained simply a naval station, with a fort or two to guard it,” said the farmer. “Well, when it was seen that the occupation of the English was to be permanent, and that the English discouraged slavery, and allowed the baptism of the natives, there was great discontent, which occasionally broke out into rebellion. Cornelius was among those who were hottest against the English. It was with the greatest difficulty he was kept from joining the rebels. But his father sent for him, and threatened him with his curse if he did, and the Dutch mind what their fathers say, more than any people I know. In 1834, however, when the English Government made a proclamation absolutely forbidding slavery, he could bear it no longer.”“1834,” repeated George. “That was the year, was not it, when they put down slavery in the West Indies?”“Yes, and it lowered the value of the property there as well as here. I don’t say the English Government oughtn’t to have done it. Slavery is wrong, beginning, middle, and end, in my eyes. But it might have been done gradually, instead of all at once. Any way, the Dutch wouldn’t have it, and they resolved to leave the country rather than submit. Great numbers emigrated: some northwards, into what is now the Orange Free State, and the Transvaal, but more into Natal. Cornelius was one of those who removed to Natal, and my father went there too. He didn’t want to go, but my mother had been always so attached to Cornelius, that he saw it would break her heart if they were parted. So, like a good husband, he went too.”“Wasn’t it rather rash, sir?” suggested George. “Why, to say nothing of the loss of money, Natal must be a good seven hundred miles from Stellenbosch, and it was at that time quite a new country.”“It is more than eight hundred, I believe, for the matter of that, and there were very few whites in it; but the state of things wasn’t so bad as you suppose. In the first place, my father took his time in selling his land. As he wasn’t a Dutchman, people knew that he wasn’t one of those who were mad to go, and would take anything that was offered for it. He got a very good price for it. Then, again, he knew a great deal about Natal. Lieutenant Farewell, who had obtained a large grant of land from King Chaka, came to Stellenbosch, and made large offers to the farmers there. My father closed with him, and got a large farm, and very good land, where my son is now living, for very little money.”“Who was Lieutenant Farewell?” asked Margetts.“I believe he was an English officer, who had been sent to survey the country, and had a fancy for founding a colony at Natal. He had been murdered by the natives before we went there; but my father had got all his information from him the previous year. Then, again, his move to Natal was well managed. His farm lay on the south side of Stellenbosch, only a short distance from Simon’s Bay. A large vessel was lent him by one of his friends, which took him and his family, his waggons, his household furniture, and such of his stock as he wished to take with him, to Natal, at a small cost, and in a few days.”“Your father knew what he was about, Mr Baylen.”“I think he did, sir. I remember well our arrival at Hakkluyt’s Kloof. We lived in the waggons till he and his men had run up the house and farm buildings. We soon found we had made a very good bargain.”“That was in King Chaka’s time, wasn’t it, father?” asked Walter Baylen.“No, Walter. It was Chaka who granted the land, or rather, leave to settle on the land, to Lieutenant Farewell. But he had been dead a year or two, and his brother Dingaan was king when we arrived there.”“I have heard a good deal about Chaka,” observed Margetts, “and I should like to hear more. I suppose you know all about him, Mr Baylen?”“More than I can tell you to-night, sir,” answered the farmer with a smile. “You shall hear all about it another time if you like it. But it’s getting late. We must go to sleep now, as we shall be stirring early to-morrow.”At daybreak the journey was resumed. The ground was still soft from the heavy rain in some places, but a few hours’ hot sun dried it. The air was fresh and balmy. It was with a sense of exhilaration that George and Redgy mounted their horses, and scented the fresh morning air. Nothing could be more delicious than their journey in the early hours of the day. Aromatic shrubs, graceful sugar bushes, delicate heaths, wild-flowers of every imaginable colour, such as in England would be accounted the rare beauties of the conservatory, grew in profusion on either side of the track they followed. The air was rich with a thousand fragrant scents. In the middle distance, Kaffir hovels or white-gabled farmhouses occasionally presented themselves, each surrounded by orange or palm groves; and the white-peaked mountains, set in their frame of the richest blue, formed a perfect background to the lovely picture.Notwithstanding the heat, several casualties occurred, in consequence of the recent rains. Sometimes they descended into dongas, where the sun’s rays had not penetrated, and there the wheels would sink several inches into the ground, and it needed all the strength of the party to extricate them. Levers had to be applied on both sides, and the unlucky oxen were lashed with rhinoceros whips, until they presented a pitiable spectacle. On one occasion, as they were passing along a gully between two steep rocky banks, they came upon another ox-waggon journeying in the opposite direction. There was not room to pass by two or three feet. At first it seemed as if there was no mode of overcoming the difficulty, except by taking one waggon to pieces. But at this juncture they were met by a man, who came up riding a stout Cape horse, and who seemed to be well known to the farmer and his sons.“Ah, Hardy,” exclaimed Baylen, “you have come just in time to help us! We’ve neglected to keep a bright look-out, and have got into this mess.”The newcomer dismounted, and, joining the rest of the party, made a careful examination of the banks on both sides of the pathway. Presently Hardy’s voice was heard.“Here you are!” he cried. “Here, Baylen, Matamo, here’s a soft place in the bank which we can dig out, and it will be deep enough to hold the waggon. Bring the picks and spades here.”All the party, more than a dozen in number, went to work with a will, and presently a hollow place of three or four feet deep was dug out, into which Baylen’s waggon was drawn, just sufficient room being obtained in this manner to allow the other waggon to go by. Thiscontretempscaused a delay of several hours, and instead of outspanning on the bank of the Mooi river, as they had intended, they were obliged to stop some miles short of it.It was not a bad place, though, for a halt. The oxen were outspanned, and turned out to graze on the veldt, care being taken to prevent their straying. The fires were lighted and supper for nine got ready, Hardy having agreed to join the party.As they sat down, George took a good view of the newcomer. He was a strong, weather-beaten fellow, not much short of fifty, but still in the full vigour of life, with a face expressing sense and resolution. He had a good deal of the soldier in his appearance and demeanour; and George learned from Ernest Baylen that he had served in India, and under Lord Napier and Sir Garnet Wolseley. He had settled in South Africa as a land-surveyor and architect, though he combined some farming with it. He was a friend and frequent visitor of the Baylens, who were evidently pleased at his arrival. As soon as the supper was finished, and the pipes lighted, Margetts asked the farmer to give him the promised account of King Chaka.“I want to learn all I can about him,” he said; “I have heard some strange stories of him.”“I don’t know what the stories may have been, Mr Margetts,” rejoined Baylen, “but certainly enough might be told about him to startle any one. He was the first person who brought the Zulus into notice. I don’t know whose son he was, or who was king before him; nobody does seem to know. But it was about the year 1820 that he first began to attract attention. The Zulus had been an insignificant tribe before that. But soon after the beginning of his reign, he set about forming a large army, which he developed and disciplined in a manner that had been quite unknown to African chiefs before his time. There is a strange story as to what put this fancy into his head. If I don’t mistake, Hardy, it was you who told it to me.”“Very likely,” said Hardy. “I know what I heard from some French soldiers in India. They had been in Africa, and had known Chaka.”“What was it, Mr Hardy, if I might ask?” inquired Margetts.“Why, these men told me they had been the servants of some French officers, who, after the close of Napoleon’s wars, travelled in South Africa, and became King Chaka’s guests. Chaka was fond of inquiring about what had happened in Europe. One of the officers told him a good deal about the Emperor Napoleon—his splendid army, the vast number of men he had collected under his standard, the perfect discipline to which he had reduced them, and their unbounded devotion to his service. By their help, Napoleon had conquered nation after nation, until nearly the whole of Europe had been subjected by him. ‘That was something like a king,’ Chaka had remarked, and from that day he began forming his famous army.”“Well, I can believe that,” observed Baylen, “because his action corresponded very accurately to it. He got together a force of nearly a hundred thousand men, of whom fifteen thousand were always at his immediate command. He subjected his soldiers to severe and continual discipline. He built large barracks, in which they lived quite by themselves, not being allowed to marry until they were elderly men. The least hesitation in obeying his orders was instantly punished by the most cruel of all deaths, impalement. With this army he attacked and conquered his neighbours in all directions, until he became an object of universal terror.”“A black Napoleon, in fact,” returned Redgy,—“what he wanted to be.”“He was curiously like him,” remarked Baylen, “allowing for the differences of race. I have heard that Napoleon never spared any soldier who showed want of courage in carrying out an order. That was Chaka’s policy certainly, though he pursued it after a somewhat different fashion. After one of his campaigns, he would assemble his soldiers, and cause every regiment to pass before him. As it halted in front of his seat, he would call out, ‘Bring out the cowards,’ and any man who had not been as forward as the others was straightway dragged out and killed. The shrub, under which he usually sat in this manner to review his soldiers, was known as the ‘coward’s bush.’”“Didn’t he overrun Natal, father?” asked Wilhelm Baylen.“Yes, and made it a desert for the time. Before his invasion it was densely populated, and in a most thriving condition. But the carnage caused by his troops was so great, that the population was reduced, I believe, to a few hundreds. That was one reason, probably, why he was willing for the English to settle there.”“But he was dead before you arrived in Natal, wasn’t he?” asked Ernest.“Yes. I told you he had been dead some years, and his brother Dingaan was on the throne. Dingaan, who was quite as bloody, and even more treacherous than Chaka, caused him to be assassinated while he was sitting in his kraal, and then was made king in his place. But Dingaan was not his brother’s equal in ability or force of character, and he lost a great deal of the power which Chaka had acquired.”“Did you ever come into contact with him, sir?” asked Wilhelm.“He never sent his soldiers to attack us, but he was continually threatening us with his displeasure, and making demands, which we were obliged to comply with as well as we could. A Zulu Impi would have been no joke to encounter. We must have all fled for our lives, and our houses would have been burnt and our cattle driven off at the least.”“How long did he reign?” asked Redgy.“About twelve years. In the year 1836 the discontent of the Boers at Cape Town grew so great, that they too moved off to Natal—some five or six thousand of them. That, of course, made a great difference to our position. We could only have mustered a few hundreds to oppose Dingaan, if we had gone to war with him. But now it would be a few thousands.”“And men who knew how to fight the Zulus, too,” remarked Walter.“Yes. Dingaan found that out in 1837, when a war broke out between him and the Boers. Then the Zulus suffered for the first time a disastrous defeat. They rushed upon the Boers with their assegays, but the moment they came within range they were shot down like a flight of birds. They hardly got within hurling distance, and the stout leathern doublets of the Dutch repelled such assegays as did reach them. Not a single man, I believe, was so much as wounded. But it was an unfortunate victory in some ways. It caused Dingaan, instead of using force, to resort to treachery—treachery which was very nearly being the death of me, though in the end things turned out well.”“Ah, now you are going to tell us the story of how you first got acquainted with mother,” said Wilhelm, laughing.“Well, I daresay it will interest Mr Rivers to hear it,” said Baylen. “But, to be sure, it is a shocking history. It happened forty years ago, or one couldn’t speak so coolly of it.“I daresay, Mr Rivers, you have heard of Peter Retieff—any way you have, Hardy—the man, I mean, who founded Maritzburg. I knew him well. He was a brave, honest, kindly man—kindly even to the natives, which is not a common feature in a Dutchman’s character. There was a treaty with Dingaan which obliged us to send back to him all the natives, who had fled into Natal from his tyranny. There were great numbers that did this; and all who were so returned were instantly put to death with most barbarous cruelty. Peter Retieff would not consent to carry this out, and paid a visit to Dingaan, to try to get him to cede Natal to the Dutch as an independent kingdom. He knew the danger of such an attempt; but he was a brave man, and trusted to the justice of his cause. He invited several of his neighbours to take part in his mission. Among others, my father and myself agreed to go. I was a lad between seventeen and eighteen at the time.“We were received with unexpected civility, and my father and myself lodged at the house of Emilius Scheren, a Dutch missionary, whom Dingaan allowed to live at his kraal, but over whom he kept a very jealous watch—regarding him half as a spy on his actions, and half as a hostage for the good behaviour of his countrymen. He was a widower with one little girl, about twelve years old, named Wilhelmine. Mr Scheren told me some terrible stories of Dingaan’s cruelty and rapacity. He had himself, he said, long been anxious to escape from the country. But he was most closely watched, and were he to attempt flight, would most certainly be caught and put to death. He would not mind it so much if it were not for his motherless little girl.”“‘No one would hurt her surely,’ my father said.“‘Dingaan would hurt any one,’ Mr Scheren answered. But he was more afraid of his kindness than his cruelty. He feared that Wilhelmine’s beauty had attracted Dingaan’s notice, and before long he would insist on having her for one of his wives.“‘Why, she cannot be thirteen years old,’ my father observed.“‘No, she is little more than twelve. But they marry young in this country, and in another year or so she will be thought old enough.’“We comforted Mr Scheren as well as we could, promising him Dutch protection, if Retieff succeeded in his design. The next day we had our interview with Dingaan. He was extremely friendly, and complained of nothing but the theft of his cattle. ‘If these were restored,’ he said, ‘he would be willing to leave the Dutch settlers in possession of Natal, provided they did not interfere with him. But if they stole his cattle, and would not restore them, it was impossible for him to regard them as friends.’“This sounded reasonable enough, and good Peter Retieff was quite taken in by it. He agreed to recover the cattle, and we all went off with him, nearly two hundred in number, and soon succeeded in tracing the oxen, and obliging those who had stolen them to give them up. We returned in a kind of triumphal procession, driving the cattle before us. We were received with the greatest friendliness; all Retieff’s demands were conceded, and we were invited to a royal feast, to be given on the following day to the king’s Dutch allies.”“I think I have heard what was the issue of that feast,” remarked George. “But I had thought that all who attended it.”—He paused.“That all had been murdered, I suppose,” supplemented Baylen. “You heard right: all who attended that horrible feastweremurdered. But I and my father did not go. We were just setting out when Mr Scheren stopped us. He told us that throughout he had suspected treachery was intended. But half an hour ago one of his converts had warned him that all the white men would be shot or stabbed. He had returned in all haste; but it was too late to warn Retieff and his friends, who were already in the royal kraal. All he could do was to save us. To convince us of the truth of his story, he pointed out to us a large force of armed Zulus, creeping stealthily up and surrounding the kraal. There was nothing to be done but to escape. We went into his stable,—where most fortunately we had kept our horses, instead of the place provided by the king for Retieff’s train,—saddling and mounting with all possible expedition. We rode off without a moment’s pause, but had not cleared the village, when we heard yells and screams which made our blood run cold.”“None of Retieff’s party escaped, did they?” asked Hardy.“Not one, unless you count my father and myself, and we had the narrowest of narrow escapes. We were seen by an Induna, who was late in attending the feast, and he instantly told Dingaan. He at once sent half a dozen of his fleetest men after us. They were on foot, and our horses, though cumbered with two riders, at first left them a long way behind. But the Zulus are wonderfully swift of foot, and their powers of endurance are still more surprising. When we reached the Tugela, they were not a hundred yards behind us. The river was not high, but it was with the greatest difficulty that our jaded horses could cross it. The Zulus came up before we had reached the bank, and hurled their weapons at us. One of the assegays struck Mr Scheren, who was sitting behind my father, and he fell dead into the river. Another grazed my horse’s flank, while a third stuck in the saddle, nailing Wilhelmine’s gown to it. Fortunately for us, Dingaan’s order forbade any Zulu to pass into Natal, for we could have gone no farther, and could have offered no effectual resistance.”

“Well, Mr Rivers,” began Farmer Baylen, “I don’t know why I shouldn’t gratify your fancy. It is certain that I and mine have been a long time in the colony, and know pretty well all that has happened in it during this century. And what has happened there during this century is pretty nearly all the history it has. Between the time when my mother’s ancestors first settled at the Cape, and the time when the English captured it, it can hardly be said to have had any history at all.”

“It was a period of a hundred and fifty years, though, wasn’t it?” suggested George.

“Yes, but one day was just like another day, and one year like another year, and one generation like another generation all that time. The Dutch occupied the land, and made the natives work for them; and when more land was wanted, they took more land, and enslaved more natives. So they went on, spreading farther into the country, until the English came.

“My father—I believe his name was Andrew Bailey—was a ship’s carpenter on board one of the line-of-battle ships in Sir Home Popham’s fleet. There was very little resistance offered to the English. It was generally believed that when the European wars came to an end the colony would be restored to Holland, as it had been before. Consequently the Dutch regarded the English as visitors, rather than masters.

“A good many men got their discharge after the fighting was over, and among them my father. He liked the country, and found plenty of employment, and higher wages than he could get at home. He was a skilled workman, particularly clever at house-building. An English settler wanted a house built at Stellenbosch, and my father undertook the job. He lodged, while employed in the work, in the house of a Dutch farmer named Van Schuylen, and there he soon became very intimate. The farmer was a kind and hospitable old man, as the old Hollanders for the most part were.”

“Kind to the whites, that is,” interpolated Redgy.

“Ay, Mr Margetts, I understand what you mean, and I am afraid there is too much truth in it. There is a prejudice against ‘black blood,’ which, with all the years that I’ve lived in this land, I cannot understand. ‘Black blood!’ the very words to me seem to be a denial of what the Bible says, that ‘God has made ofoneblood all the nations of the earth.’ Yes, you are right about Farmer Van Schuylen. He’d make no more of putting a native to do the most unwholesome work, that might kill him outright, than he would of pitching a stone into a pond. And if they were fractious or lazy, he’d stand by and see them flogged with the jamboks—the rhinoceros whips, that is—till their backs were cut to ribbons. But my father was a free man and an Englishman, and Van Schuylen had none but friendly words for him.

“Well, as I’ve said, my father became intimate with his family, and by and by fell in love with Rose, the only daughter, and she with him. The old man did not object, but Cornelius Van Schuylen, her brother, did not like the match. He was an out-and-out Hollander. He thought the English had no business in the colony. They were interlopers, he said, and jeered at our ways. He and my father had had some high words, I fancy, about the natives, very soon after they came to Stellenbosch. But Rose, though she was very fond of her brother, took my father’s part. He was a handsome and well-made man of five-and-twenty, and she would have had him, I believe, even if her father had objected. Fortunately Cornelius lived ten or twelve miles away. I say fortunately, for there certainly would have been a hot quarrel between him and his brother-in-law, if he had had any share in the business. My father became a great favourite with the old man, and in a few years nearly the whole management of the farm was left to his son-in-law, who persisted in showing favour to the blacks. He wouldn’t overwork them, and wouldn’t allow them to be flogged. What was worse, he allowed them to attend the church services, and to have their children baptised.”

“That was no offence, I suppose, sir,” said Redgy.

“On the contrary, it was one of the greatest he could commit,” said Baylen. “By the Dutch law, all baptised Christians were free. Therefore baptising a native was the same thing as setting him free, and the presence of free blacks in the colony was what they could not endure. There had been differences with the English authorities on this subject; but little had come of them, because the English were only holding the colony for a time. Two or three years after my father’s marriage, however, there came the downfall of Napoleon, and a general peace. To the surprise and indignation of the Dutch, the colony was not restored to Holland, but given permanently over to the English.”

“Well,” said George, “I must say they had some right to complain of that. I heard what Moritz said about it, and I couldn’t help agreeing with him.”

“I think the English would have acted more wisely if they had retained simply a naval station, with a fort or two to guard it,” said the farmer. “Well, when it was seen that the occupation of the English was to be permanent, and that the English discouraged slavery, and allowed the baptism of the natives, there was great discontent, which occasionally broke out into rebellion. Cornelius was among those who were hottest against the English. It was with the greatest difficulty he was kept from joining the rebels. But his father sent for him, and threatened him with his curse if he did, and the Dutch mind what their fathers say, more than any people I know. In 1834, however, when the English Government made a proclamation absolutely forbidding slavery, he could bear it no longer.”

“1834,” repeated George. “That was the year, was not it, when they put down slavery in the West Indies?”

“Yes, and it lowered the value of the property there as well as here. I don’t say the English Government oughtn’t to have done it. Slavery is wrong, beginning, middle, and end, in my eyes. But it might have been done gradually, instead of all at once. Any way, the Dutch wouldn’t have it, and they resolved to leave the country rather than submit. Great numbers emigrated: some northwards, into what is now the Orange Free State, and the Transvaal, but more into Natal. Cornelius was one of those who removed to Natal, and my father went there too. He didn’t want to go, but my mother had been always so attached to Cornelius, that he saw it would break her heart if they were parted. So, like a good husband, he went too.”

“Wasn’t it rather rash, sir?” suggested George. “Why, to say nothing of the loss of money, Natal must be a good seven hundred miles from Stellenbosch, and it was at that time quite a new country.”

“It is more than eight hundred, I believe, for the matter of that, and there were very few whites in it; but the state of things wasn’t so bad as you suppose. In the first place, my father took his time in selling his land. As he wasn’t a Dutchman, people knew that he wasn’t one of those who were mad to go, and would take anything that was offered for it. He got a very good price for it. Then, again, he knew a great deal about Natal. Lieutenant Farewell, who had obtained a large grant of land from King Chaka, came to Stellenbosch, and made large offers to the farmers there. My father closed with him, and got a large farm, and very good land, where my son is now living, for very little money.”

“Who was Lieutenant Farewell?” asked Margetts.

“I believe he was an English officer, who had been sent to survey the country, and had a fancy for founding a colony at Natal. He had been murdered by the natives before we went there; but my father had got all his information from him the previous year. Then, again, his move to Natal was well managed. His farm lay on the south side of Stellenbosch, only a short distance from Simon’s Bay. A large vessel was lent him by one of his friends, which took him and his family, his waggons, his household furniture, and such of his stock as he wished to take with him, to Natal, at a small cost, and in a few days.”

“Your father knew what he was about, Mr Baylen.”

“I think he did, sir. I remember well our arrival at Hakkluyt’s Kloof. We lived in the waggons till he and his men had run up the house and farm buildings. We soon found we had made a very good bargain.”

“That was in King Chaka’s time, wasn’t it, father?” asked Walter Baylen.

“No, Walter. It was Chaka who granted the land, or rather, leave to settle on the land, to Lieutenant Farewell. But he had been dead a year or two, and his brother Dingaan was king when we arrived there.”

“I have heard a good deal about Chaka,” observed Margetts, “and I should like to hear more. I suppose you know all about him, Mr Baylen?”

“More than I can tell you to-night, sir,” answered the farmer with a smile. “You shall hear all about it another time if you like it. But it’s getting late. We must go to sleep now, as we shall be stirring early to-morrow.”

At daybreak the journey was resumed. The ground was still soft from the heavy rain in some places, but a few hours’ hot sun dried it. The air was fresh and balmy. It was with a sense of exhilaration that George and Redgy mounted their horses, and scented the fresh morning air. Nothing could be more delicious than their journey in the early hours of the day. Aromatic shrubs, graceful sugar bushes, delicate heaths, wild-flowers of every imaginable colour, such as in England would be accounted the rare beauties of the conservatory, grew in profusion on either side of the track they followed. The air was rich with a thousand fragrant scents. In the middle distance, Kaffir hovels or white-gabled farmhouses occasionally presented themselves, each surrounded by orange or palm groves; and the white-peaked mountains, set in their frame of the richest blue, formed a perfect background to the lovely picture.

Notwithstanding the heat, several casualties occurred, in consequence of the recent rains. Sometimes they descended into dongas, where the sun’s rays had not penetrated, and there the wheels would sink several inches into the ground, and it needed all the strength of the party to extricate them. Levers had to be applied on both sides, and the unlucky oxen were lashed with rhinoceros whips, until they presented a pitiable spectacle. On one occasion, as they were passing along a gully between two steep rocky banks, they came upon another ox-waggon journeying in the opposite direction. There was not room to pass by two or three feet. At first it seemed as if there was no mode of overcoming the difficulty, except by taking one waggon to pieces. But at this juncture they were met by a man, who came up riding a stout Cape horse, and who seemed to be well known to the farmer and his sons.

“Ah, Hardy,” exclaimed Baylen, “you have come just in time to help us! We’ve neglected to keep a bright look-out, and have got into this mess.”

The newcomer dismounted, and, joining the rest of the party, made a careful examination of the banks on both sides of the pathway. Presently Hardy’s voice was heard.

“Here you are!” he cried. “Here, Baylen, Matamo, here’s a soft place in the bank which we can dig out, and it will be deep enough to hold the waggon. Bring the picks and spades here.”

All the party, more than a dozen in number, went to work with a will, and presently a hollow place of three or four feet deep was dug out, into which Baylen’s waggon was drawn, just sufficient room being obtained in this manner to allow the other waggon to go by. Thiscontretempscaused a delay of several hours, and instead of outspanning on the bank of the Mooi river, as they had intended, they were obliged to stop some miles short of it.

It was not a bad place, though, for a halt. The oxen were outspanned, and turned out to graze on the veldt, care being taken to prevent their straying. The fires were lighted and supper for nine got ready, Hardy having agreed to join the party.

As they sat down, George took a good view of the newcomer. He was a strong, weather-beaten fellow, not much short of fifty, but still in the full vigour of life, with a face expressing sense and resolution. He had a good deal of the soldier in his appearance and demeanour; and George learned from Ernest Baylen that he had served in India, and under Lord Napier and Sir Garnet Wolseley. He had settled in South Africa as a land-surveyor and architect, though he combined some farming with it. He was a friend and frequent visitor of the Baylens, who were evidently pleased at his arrival. As soon as the supper was finished, and the pipes lighted, Margetts asked the farmer to give him the promised account of King Chaka.

“I want to learn all I can about him,” he said; “I have heard some strange stories of him.”

“I don’t know what the stories may have been, Mr Margetts,” rejoined Baylen, “but certainly enough might be told about him to startle any one. He was the first person who brought the Zulus into notice. I don’t know whose son he was, or who was king before him; nobody does seem to know. But it was about the year 1820 that he first began to attract attention. The Zulus had been an insignificant tribe before that. But soon after the beginning of his reign, he set about forming a large army, which he developed and disciplined in a manner that had been quite unknown to African chiefs before his time. There is a strange story as to what put this fancy into his head. If I don’t mistake, Hardy, it was you who told it to me.”

“Very likely,” said Hardy. “I know what I heard from some French soldiers in India. They had been in Africa, and had known Chaka.”

“What was it, Mr Hardy, if I might ask?” inquired Margetts.

“Why, these men told me they had been the servants of some French officers, who, after the close of Napoleon’s wars, travelled in South Africa, and became King Chaka’s guests. Chaka was fond of inquiring about what had happened in Europe. One of the officers told him a good deal about the Emperor Napoleon—his splendid army, the vast number of men he had collected under his standard, the perfect discipline to which he had reduced them, and their unbounded devotion to his service. By their help, Napoleon had conquered nation after nation, until nearly the whole of Europe had been subjected by him. ‘That was something like a king,’ Chaka had remarked, and from that day he began forming his famous army.”

“Well, I can believe that,” observed Baylen, “because his action corresponded very accurately to it. He got together a force of nearly a hundred thousand men, of whom fifteen thousand were always at his immediate command. He subjected his soldiers to severe and continual discipline. He built large barracks, in which they lived quite by themselves, not being allowed to marry until they were elderly men. The least hesitation in obeying his orders was instantly punished by the most cruel of all deaths, impalement. With this army he attacked and conquered his neighbours in all directions, until he became an object of universal terror.”

“A black Napoleon, in fact,” returned Redgy,—“what he wanted to be.”

“He was curiously like him,” remarked Baylen, “allowing for the differences of race. I have heard that Napoleon never spared any soldier who showed want of courage in carrying out an order. That was Chaka’s policy certainly, though he pursued it after a somewhat different fashion. After one of his campaigns, he would assemble his soldiers, and cause every regiment to pass before him. As it halted in front of his seat, he would call out, ‘Bring out the cowards,’ and any man who had not been as forward as the others was straightway dragged out and killed. The shrub, under which he usually sat in this manner to review his soldiers, was known as the ‘coward’s bush.’”

“Didn’t he overrun Natal, father?” asked Wilhelm Baylen.

“Yes, and made it a desert for the time. Before his invasion it was densely populated, and in a most thriving condition. But the carnage caused by his troops was so great, that the population was reduced, I believe, to a few hundreds. That was one reason, probably, why he was willing for the English to settle there.”

“But he was dead before you arrived in Natal, wasn’t he?” asked Ernest.

“Yes. I told you he had been dead some years, and his brother Dingaan was on the throne. Dingaan, who was quite as bloody, and even more treacherous than Chaka, caused him to be assassinated while he was sitting in his kraal, and then was made king in his place. But Dingaan was not his brother’s equal in ability or force of character, and he lost a great deal of the power which Chaka had acquired.”

“Did you ever come into contact with him, sir?” asked Wilhelm.

“He never sent his soldiers to attack us, but he was continually threatening us with his displeasure, and making demands, which we were obliged to comply with as well as we could. A Zulu Impi would have been no joke to encounter. We must have all fled for our lives, and our houses would have been burnt and our cattle driven off at the least.”

“How long did he reign?” asked Redgy.

“About twelve years. In the year 1836 the discontent of the Boers at Cape Town grew so great, that they too moved off to Natal—some five or six thousand of them. That, of course, made a great difference to our position. We could only have mustered a few hundreds to oppose Dingaan, if we had gone to war with him. But now it would be a few thousands.”

“And men who knew how to fight the Zulus, too,” remarked Walter.

“Yes. Dingaan found that out in 1837, when a war broke out between him and the Boers. Then the Zulus suffered for the first time a disastrous defeat. They rushed upon the Boers with their assegays, but the moment they came within range they were shot down like a flight of birds. They hardly got within hurling distance, and the stout leathern doublets of the Dutch repelled such assegays as did reach them. Not a single man, I believe, was so much as wounded. But it was an unfortunate victory in some ways. It caused Dingaan, instead of using force, to resort to treachery—treachery which was very nearly being the death of me, though in the end things turned out well.”

“Ah, now you are going to tell us the story of how you first got acquainted with mother,” said Wilhelm, laughing.

“Well, I daresay it will interest Mr Rivers to hear it,” said Baylen. “But, to be sure, it is a shocking history. It happened forty years ago, or one couldn’t speak so coolly of it.

“I daresay, Mr Rivers, you have heard of Peter Retieff—any way you have, Hardy—the man, I mean, who founded Maritzburg. I knew him well. He was a brave, honest, kindly man—kindly even to the natives, which is not a common feature in a Dutchman’s character. There was a treaty with Dingaan which obliged us to send back to him all the natives, who had fled into Natal from his tyranny. There were great numbers that did this; and all who were so returned were instantly put to death with most barbarous cruelty. Peter Retieff would not consent to carry this out, and paid a visit to Dingaan, to try to get him to cede Natal to the Dutch as an independent kingdom. He knew the danger of such an attempt; but he was a brave man, and trusted to the justice of his cause. He invited several of his neighbours to take part in his mission. Among others, my father and myself agreed to go. I was a lad between seventeen and eighteen at the time.

“We were received with unexpected civility, and my father and myself lodged at the house of Emilius Scheren, a Dutch missionary, whom Dingaan allowed to live at his kraal, but over whom he kept a very jealous watch—regarding him half as a spy on his actions, and half as a hostage for the good behaviour of his countrymen. He was a widower with one little girl, about twelve years old, named Wilhelmine. Mr Scheren told me some terrible stories of Dingaan’s cruelty and rapacity. He had himself, he said, long been anxious to escape from the country. But he was most closely watched, and were he to attempt flight, would most certainly be caught and put to death. He would not mind it so much if it were not for his motherless little girl.”

“‘No one would hurt her surely,’ my father said.

“‘Dingaan would hurt any one,’ Mr Scheren answered. But he was more afraid of his kindness than his cruelty. He feared that Wilhelmine’s beauty had attracted Dingaan’s notice, and before long he would insist on having her for one of his wives.

“‘Why, she cannot be thirteen years old,’ my father observed.

“‘No, she is little more than twelve. But they marry young in this country, and in another year or so she will be thought old enough.’

“We comforted Mr Scheren as well as we could, promising him Dutch protection, if Retieff succeeded in his design. The next day we had our interview with Dingaan. He was extremely friendly, and complained of nothing but the theft of his cattle. ‘If these were restored,’ he said, ‘he would be willing to leave the Dutch settlers in possession of Natal, provided they did not interfere with him. But if they stole his cattle, and would not restore them, it was impossible for him to regard them as friends.’

“This sounded reasonable enough, and good Peter Retieff was quite taken in by it. He agreed to recover the cattle, and we all went off with him, nearly two hundred in number, and soon succeeded in tracing the oxen, and obliging those who had stolen them to give them up. We returned in a kind of triumphal procession, driving the cattle before us. We were received with the greatest friendliness; all Retieff’s demands were conceded, and we were invited to a royal feast, to be given on the following day to the king’s Dutch allies.”

“I think I have heard what was the issue of that feast,” remarked George. “But I had thought that all who attended it.”—He paused.

“That all had been murdered, I suppose,” supplemented Baylen. “You heard right: all who attended that horrible feastweremurdered. But I and my father did not go. We were just setting out when Mr Scheren stopped us. He told us that throughout he had suspected treachery was intended. But half an hour ago one of his converts had warned him that all the white men would be shot or stabbed. He had returned in all haste; but it was too late to warn Retieff and his friends, who were already in the royal kraal. All he could do was to save us. To convince us of the truth of his story, he pointed out to us a large force of armed Zulus, creeping stealthily up and surrounding the kraal. There was nothing to be done but to escape. We went into his stable,—where most fortunately we had kept our horses, instead of the place provided by the king for Retieff’s train,—saddling and mounting with all possible expedition. We rode off without a moment’s pause, but had not cleared the village, when we heard yells and screams which made our blood run cold.”

“None of Retieff’s party escaped, did they?” asked Hardy.

“Not one, unless you count my father and myself, and we had the narrowest of narrow escapes. We were seen by an Induna, who was late in attending the feast, and he instantly told Dingaan. He at once sent half a dozen of his fleetest men after us. They were on foot, and our horses, though cumbered with two riders, at first left them a long way behind. But the Zulus are wonderfully swift of foot, and their powers of endurance are still more surprising. When we reached the Tugela, they were not a hundred yards behind us. The river was not high, but it was with the greatest difficulty that our jaded horses could cross it. The Zulus came up before we had reached the bank, and hurled their weapons at us. One of the assegays struck Mr Scheren, who was sitting behind my father, and he fell dead into the river. Another grazed my horse’s flank, while a third stuck in the saddle, nailing Wilhelmine’s gown to it. Fortunately for us, Dingaan’s order forbade any Zulu to pass into Natal, for we could have gone no farther, and could have offered no effectual resistance.”

Chapter Eight.“What is to be our next halting-place?” asked George of Ernest Baylen, as they rode out in the rear of the party on the following morning, having waited behind to see that none of the articles removed from the waggons on the previous day had been forgotten. “We have a long day’s journey before us, I expect.”“We shall stop at Colenso,” replied Ernest, “rather a neat little town, and growing fast in size and importance. It stands near the Little Tugela. After that our next halting-places will be Helpmakaar, then Dundee, and lastly Newcastle. We might go farther to-day, but I expect we shall have some trouble in passing the Mooi. It is a good deal swollen by the heavy rain and the overflow of the Tugela. The flood, as yet, has fallen but very little.”He pointed as he spoke to the river, which lay at the distance of a mile or two. George drew his rein for a moment, quite entranced by the varied features of the landscape before him. There was a stretch of green veldt, reaching almost from the point where they had bivouacked to the river’s banks, which were densely fringed with mimosas and willow-trees, through which its waters glanced, here and there, bright in the sunshine. To the right and left the ground was broken into declivities, clothed in many places with brushwood, in others presenting picturesque outlines of rock and shrub, while in the far distance towered the range of the Drakenbergs, the grandest mountains of Southern Africa.“What are those dark objects I see floating about in the water?” inquired George, pointing with his whip to a broad bend in the river, which for some distance in both directions was free from wood on either side.“Sea-cows! what you call hippopotamuses, I declare!” cried Ernest in some surprise. “They are not often to be seen in the Mooi; but I suppose they have come down from the Tugela. Yes, they are hippopotamuses; I can see them clearly now. If we can spare the time, we may have a hippopotamus hunt; there are few things that are better fun. It requires caution, though, or there may be an ugly accident.”“What, from an attack of the animals?” suggested George. “I should have thought they were too large and unwieldy for there to be any danger from them.”“Ah, but there is. The banks of the river are for the most part covered very thickly with reeds or rushes, among which these creatures are accustomed to lie. When they think that an enemy is at hand, they will rush out suddenly from their covert, and their weight is so great that a blow from them would probably be fatal. Matamo here had a narrow escape from one of them once, which I daresay he will relate to you, if you like to hear it. He speaks very good English, better than you would expect; and there is nothing that he likes better than relating his adventures, which sometimes border on the marvellous. Shall I call him?”“By all means,” said George. “He is there, riding on your father’s left hand.”The Bechuana was accordingly summoned, and he at once expressed his readiness to gratify George’s curiosity.“A scrimmage with a sea-cow?” he said. “Oh yes, I remember it. It was when I was a boy. I went out fishing, and I had no gun, only an assegay with me. I caught lots of fish, but by and by I was tired, and went to sleep on the long grass. Presently I was woke up by a great noise close to me, and I saw a big sea-cow coming out of the river with his mouth wide open. I thought perhaps he was going to eat the fish, or perhaps he was going to eat me. I jumped up and ran off, and the sea-cow ran after me. I was in such a fright that I didn’t see where I was running to, until I found I had got into a swamp, and was sinking in it. These swamps are sometimes ever so deep, and there is nothing to hold to, to keep you from going down. The more you struggle, the faster you go down. I was already up to my ankles, and should soon have been up to my knees, when I heard the sea-cow flounder in after me.Hecouldn’t stop himself either. He was heavier than I was, and went down faster. I caught him by his great big ear and scrambled on to his back. He grunted, but he couldn’t help it. Then I stood on his head, gave a great jump, and just reached the bank. He grunted louder than before, and went down into the swamp. Ho, ho, ho!—I dessay he is still going down, and hasn’t got to the bottom yet.”“But I suppose,” said George, after bestowing due praise on Matamo’s story, “there is no real danger if care is taken.”“No, sir, no danger if you take care. There are some fine sea-cows there. Your father sees them too, Mr Ernest.”Mr Baylen now rode up and asked George whether he and his friend would like to take part in a hippopotamus hunt. George expressed his obligations, and presently the necessary preparations were made. All the party dismounted, leaving their horses in charge of the waggon-drivers, and took their rifles, which they carefully loaded. Then they separated into two companies. One of these mounted to the top of a rocky ledge covered with creepers, among which they carefully concealed themselves; while the other, consisting of Ernest, George, and one or two followers, crept stealthily through the long weeds and grass, until they had reached a point beyond that at which the animals were lying. Some of these were basking in the sun, some standing in the water with their heads above it; others were half concealed by the long rushes, which grew thickly on the bank.“She will be our best mark,” whispered Ernest, as he pointed to a huge female, whose carcase was half in, half out, of the river. “It will be very difficult, as she is lying now, to kill her on the spot. But as soon as she feels the shot, she will probably rush away into the reeds or into the water. In either case my father and Matamo, not to speak of the others, will get a good aim at her as she rises up, and will be pretty safe to kill her. Any way, you will get your shot at her, and mind you aim at her ear or her eyes.”George promised acquiescence, and he and Ernest gradually crept nearer, until they were within tolerably easy distance. Then George fired, but apparently did not greatly injure the beast. The whole herd sprang up with loud snortings, and those lying on the edge of the stream plunged into it. The female whom George had wounded rushed away under cover of the rocky ledge, which at that part bordered the stream, encountering, as Ernest had anticipated, the fire of the party stationed above, and the farmer’s ball finished the business. The animal fell dead almost immediately at the foot of the rock, and Redgy and the others crowded to the edge to get a sight of the huge carcase. The farmer calmly reloaded, and it was well that he did so; for almost immediately afterwards there came a rushing noise from the bank above, and he caught sight of a huge male hippopotamus rushing down upon them. It was in all likelihood the mate of the female that had just been killed, and he was charging down to avenge its slaughter. With the instinctive readiness which long habit had produced, Baylen raised his rifle and fired. The bullet was happily aimed. It pierced the heart of the monster, and was instantly fatal. The muscular force carried it on for a few yards, and it fell dead only just short of the spot where the party was standing. Another moment or two, and its blind fury would have carried it and them over the edge of the precipice, on to the rocky ledge beneath.“A near thing that!” exclaimed old Baylen coolly. “Lads, you should be always on the look-out for this kind of thing in hippopotamus-hunting. You are never safe from a charge.”This exciting adventure would naturally have been the topic of a good deal of discussion; but so much of the morning had now passed, that the farmer told them they had no time to bestow on talking. Prime pieces were cut off from both the slain beasts, and put into the cart, Matamo assuring George that they would be regarded by their friends at Colenso as rare delicacies. The whole party then returned to the waggons, and prepared to cross the river; which, in its present swollen condition, it would be no easy matter to accomplish. The quantity of sand brought down by the flood, it should be remarked, presented a more serious difficulty than the depth of the stream, and all the more so because the extremely turbid state of the water made it impossible to see what the depth of the sand was.The farmer and his sons, aided by Matamo and the other servants, undertook the convoy of the larger waggon first, arguing that if that could be got across without difficulty, the smaller and slighter one in which Mrs Baylen and Clara were located would follow easily enough. Both spans of oxen were fastened to it, one in front of the other; it was hoped that the line of oxen would thus become so long that the foremost ox would reach the opposite bank before the hindmost yoke had entered it. But the river was so greatly swollen that this could not be accomplished. Matamo had to cross, with a long rope tied to the front bullock’s horns, and thus guided the team, nearly all of which were swimming, to the bank. Then with great difficulty the oxen struggled up the opposite shore, and the big waggon was safely landed, though its contents had been completely wetted through.Men and oxen now returned across the river to undertake the transport of the second waggon. But here a terrible misfortune took place. Just as they were approaching the water, the disselboom broke in half, and rendered the waggon quite unmanageable. Until this disaster was remedied, it became impossible for the oxen to draw; and, as they had not the means of mending the breakage on the spot, the waggon must necessarily remain there all night, until the damage could be repaired by workmen from Colenso. Mrs Baylen and her daughter had the option of either remaining on the bank of the river all night, or being conveyed across the river on horseback. They chose the latter; and the two young Englishmen, riding up, volunteered their services. They placed the ladies in their saddles and swam by their sides, drawing their horses after them. After this fashion Mrs Baylen and Clara reached the bank, though almost as completely soaked through as their cavaliers. A consultation was now held. It was proposed to procure a change of clothes for the ladies; but it appeared that all their wardrobe was in a smaller waggon; and even if they could have allowed the young men a second time to encounter the stream on their account, it would have been next to impossible to bring the clothes across in a dry condition. It was presently agreed that the best course would be for the four who had been soaked through to ride straight into Colenso, with Matamo as their guide, and there procure a change of clothes, while the large waggon followed at a slower pace. The riders accordingly set off, and arrived in due time at the Swedish pastor’s house.Mr Bilderjik and his wife, who were old friends of the Baylens, and were in expectation of their arrival, were in readiness to receive them. The ladies and the young men were soon supplied with dry clothes. Carpenters were despatched to the banks of the Mooi to repair the damage done to the waggon, and a message sent up to the hotel in the main street of Colenso to provide beds for Hardy, George, and Redgy, for whom the house of the Swedish pastor could not supply sufficient accommodation.A few hours afterwards Farmer Baylen arrived with the larger waggon, and he and his sons, as well as Hardy, who was also an old acquaintance, were hospitably welcomed. In an hour or two after their arrival, the whole party sat down to a comfortable repast, at which, as Matamo had before assured George would be the case, the hippopotamus steaks formed the chief delicacy.There was nevertheless, independently of these, a very appetising meal provided. Sago soup was served up, fish from the Little Tugela river, which ran close to the town; fowls, and pancakes, as well as abundance of ripe fruits,—loquots, oranges, peaches, bananas, and nectarines—all of them from the missionary’s garden,—which could only be tasted in their perfection in the climates of which they are the natives.All the party appeared to be contented with their quarters, except the indefatigable Matamo, who insisted on returning to the Mooi, where he said his presence would be needed to look after the workpeople who had been sent to execute the repairs, and who, as he affirmed, were never to be trusted. As soon as he had finished his dinner, he mounted his horse and rode off.“You have a valuable servant in that Kaffir,” remarked George. “It would not be easy to find his match, even in England.”“Are you speaking of Matamo?” said Mr Baylen. “Yes, he is a good servant—good at farm labour, and better at hunting; but he is not a Kaffir, nor a Hottentot either, but a Bechuana, though a very dark-skinned one. You haven’t been long enough in the country to be aware of the difference, but we old residents see it easily enough.”“A Bechuana!” said George. “I think I know where their country is—on the other side of the Transvaal, isn’t it, three or four hundred miles away from here? What brought him into these parts?”“Well, I brought him,” was the answer. “I brought him to Natal about five-and-thirty years ago.”“Five-and-thirty years!” remarked Margetts. “He couldn’t have been very old then.”“No; he was an infant,” said the farmer. “I was a young fellow of four or five-and-twenty myself, and we hadn’t been so very long settled in Natal ourselves. My mother, who had been brought up a Presbyterian, though she conformed to her husband’s form of belief, had once heard David Livingstone preach, and had been so impressed by him that she had never forgotten it. After my father’s death she fell into low spirits, and there was no one near about us who could give her any comfort. Nothing would satisfy her but that Mr Livingstone must come and see her. We tried to pacify her by telling her that Mr Livingstone, who was a great traveller, would some day come our way. You have heard of him, I suppose, gentlemen?”“All the world has heard of him,” remarked Rivers. “I should think there is hardly an Englishman but knows his history.”“I am not surprised to hear it. But he was a young man at the time I speak of, and was but little known. My mother, however, was bent on seeing him. She had heard that he was living at Barolong, and she was sure that he would come to visit her, and she would die if he didn’t. At last I saw there was no help for it; I must travel across the country, and find Mr Livingstone out.”“And you went?” inquired George, as he paused.“Yes, I went; and a terrible journey I had; and after all I couldn’t find the gentleman. He had gone up the country, and it was impossible to say, they told me, when he would come back. But that has nothing to do with Matamo; and my story was to be about him. Well, I took a good stout horse, and rode through what is now called the Orange Free State. It was almost wild in those days. Native tribes were living here and there, with whom I sometimes got a lodging; though, to be sure, their kraals were not the pleasantest places in the world, even to me. Once or twice I came across the house of a Dutchman, who had emigrated thither from the Cape.”“I don’t expect you got much of a welcome from them,” remarked Hardy.“As an Englishman, I did not expect that I should,” said the farmer. “But you see my grandfather, old Fieter Van Schuylen, had been a leading man among the Dutch, and so was my brother-in-law, Cornelius. I had only to mention their names, and they were ready to do anything for me. I got on well enough until I was within a day or two’s ride of the village where Mr Livingstone was believed to be living; but there a misfortune befell me. My horse, which had carried me well up to that time,—indeed, was as quiet a beast as ever I remember to have ridden,—suddenly reared and plunged violently, and very nearly threw me. I got off and tried to quiet him; but he continued to struggle, and would not let me remount.”“He had been bitten, I expect,” remarked Hardy.“That is my opinion too; indeed, there was a swelling on his fore-leg, which looked very like the bite of a snake. But I was not sure even of that, and had no remedy at hand, even if I had known how to apply it. I soon saw that, whatever had been the cause of his illness, there was little or no hope of his recovery. His restlessness soon gave way to a kind of dull stupor. He presently lay down, stretched out his limbs, stark and rigid, and was dead in less than two hours from the time when he had been bitten.“I was quite at a loss what to do. There were no trees near at hand into which I might have climbed and slept in safety. I did not know what wild animals there might be about. Remember this was five-and-thirty years ago, before the settlers had driven the lions and rhinoceroses away. The country consisted of long undulating downs, covered with tall grass, which might shelter any number of poisonous snakes; and a bite from any one of them could hardly help being fatal, seeing how far I was from any place where a remedy could be applied. So I resolved to keep on. The darkness was rapidly gathering, and the moon wouldn’t rise, I knew, for several hours. But there was just enough of a glimmer in the sky to enable me to distinguish the track. So I went on, holding my double-barrelled rifle ready cocked.”“Dangerous work,” remarked Margetts.“No doubt; but it was the least danger of the two. Well, I went on, walking slowly and cautiously, and by and by I got clear of the jungle, and came into some high rocky land, in the midst of which there was a Bechuana village. If it had been daylight, I should have gone in at once and claimed their hospitality as an Englishman, whom I knew they would receive kindly. But by that light I was afraid of being mistaken for a Boer, and then my reception would have been very different. It was as likely as not that I should have been speared, before I could explain the mistake they had made. I resolved to find a shelter somewhere for the night, and make my appearance among the Bechuanas in the morning.“After looking carefully about, I took up my quarters in a cavern in the side of a long ridge of rock which overhung the village. It was December, and the night was warm, so I did not hesitate to lie down as I was on a heap of dead leaves, with which the cave was half filled.“I was tired out, and soon fell asleep, and, I suppose, must have lain for two or three hours, when I was awakened by the noise of guns firing and men shouting immediately over my head. I started up and looked out. The dawn had just broken, and diffused a light which made it almost as easy to distinguish anything as if it had been broad day. I perceived that the village was surrounded by an armed enemy, and on a high bank on the opposite side of the village I could see a line of men armed with the long gun which the Boers then carried, while at the two ends of the village strong parties—also of Boers, for they had no black allies with them—were stationed. These, too, were armed to the teeth. I knew in a moment what had happened. The Boers had attacked the village by night, and were shooting the men down as they rushed in alarm out of their huts. There was no possibility of resistance or escape. The rocky ridge over my head was too high to have been stormed, even by trained soldiers, and these poor naked half-armed savages could not approach within ten yards of it. The bank opposite was almost as impossible to attack; but I did see two or three of the Bechuana warriors make the attempt. Some spears were flung, but they did no execution. It was simple wholesale murder, and lasted, I should think, fully an hour; by which time every male Bechuana in the village was either dead or mortally wounded. It was the most shocking sight I have ever witnessed.”“Horrible indeed, sir?” exclaimed Redgy. “What provocation do you suppose they had given the Dutchmen?”“Most likely none at all,” was the answer. “The Bechuanas in general are peaceable enough, but the Dutch—the Boers, that is—are bent on having slaves to work for them; and if they can’t get them by what they consider fair means, will get them by foul.”“What do they call fair means?” asked Redgy.“Buying them of their parents,” answered Baylen. “They will go to a village and demand the help of a number of women to work in their fields or gardens. These women, who dare not refuse, take their children with them, and then they will try to bargain for these, in order to make slaves of them. But the Bechuanas are a very affectionate people, and can very seldom be induced to sell their children. Therefore, as the Boers would tell you, they are obliged to take them by force.”“You are joking with us, sir, are you not?” said George.“Indeed I am not. They think that not only is it fair and right that the natives should work without pay for them, but that it is their duty to oblige them so to work.”“On what possible grounds, Mr Baylen?”“Because they are an inferior race, over whom the Boers have a natural right. This is no pretence. They really think so. The Boers are, after their fashion, a very religious people. They believe Almighty God has given the black races to be their servants, and that they are only carrying out His will when they reduce them to slavery. Some of them even believe that it is their mission to kill all except those who are thus kept in bondage. They liken themselves to the Israelites when they entered the Promised Land, and the natives to the Canaanites, whom they were to exterminate.”“And their quarrel with us really is that we won’t allow them to carry out this idea?” asked Margetts.“At the bottom I am not sure it is not,” replied Baylen. “It is certain that they would carry it out, if it were not for the English. Their usual practice is to do what they did on the occasion I have been telling you about. They circulate a rumour that an attack is going to be made upon them by some tribe. The rumour is almost certain to be false, for the Bechuanas are a very peaceable people. But as soon as the report has taken wind, they march out in force, generally taking with them a number of native allies. These surround the village, keeping the men back with their assegays, while the Boers fire in safety over their heads, until all the males have been destroyed. They then carry off the women, children, and cattle.”“Horrible!” exclaimed Redgy. “I shall hate these Boers like poison. Why, they must be the most awful cowards, as well as hypocrites!”“I don’t know about that, Redgy,” remarked George. “They don’t want to encounter danger, if they can help it, no doubt. But it doesn’t follow that they wouldn’t fight, if there was the necessity for doing so. They are like Wilkin Flammock inThe Betrothed; you remember what he says. He was ‘ready to fight for life or property, if it was needed; but a sound skin was better than a slashed one, for all that.’ But I thought you told us, sir, that the Boers in your story attacked the Bechuana village without allies.”“So I did,” answered the farmer. “But they knew the ground, and were aware that it would be impossible for the Bechuanas to attack them, so that there was no need for the natives to accompany them on that occasion. But to go on with my story. I told you it was a bright morning, and so it continued for nearly an hour. But after that thick clouds came up, and it grew almost dark. The Boers remained in the position they had taken up till the forenoon. But about half an hour after the firing had ceased, I heard a noise as if some one was moving somewhere near me. I looked out, and could just make out that a Bechuana woman, who had been mortally wounded by a bullet, had crawled to that spot, with an infant of a year old in her arms. I suppose she had some idea of concealing herself in the hollow of the rocks, not knowing that her hurt was to death. I crept down and took the child from her arms. She was just at the last gasp, but I think she gave it over to me willingly, fancying that I should treat it kindly. I took it back with me into the cave, and remained in concealment until the Boers had departed, which they did about the middle of the next day. I was fortunate enough to reach the farm of a friendly Hollander, who sold me another horse, and provisions enough to carry me through the most dangerous parts of the journey. The infant (which I called Matamo, from the name of the Bechuana village which I had seen destroyed) proved strong and healthy and we both reached Hakkluyt’s Kloof safe and sound.”“And your mother?” asked Margetts.“My mother was at first terribly disappointed about Mr Livingstone. But when she heard the tale of the destruction of the Bechuana village, and the rescue of the infant, she was so moved by pity for it, that I think she forgot everything else. She took it under her special charge. Up to the time of her death, three years afterwards, Matamo was her chief care and delight. The boy grew up strong and healthy, and has, as I told you, been an invaluable servant to us.”“And you have well deserved that he should,” remarked Mr Bilderjik. “You have had him baptised and educated, and brought up in the Christian faith; you should add that. I would that many masters in South Africa could say the same.”

“What is to be our next halting-place?” asked George of Ernest Baylen, as they rode out in the rear of the party on the following morning, having waited behind to see that none of the articles removed from the waggons on the previous day had been forgotten. “We have a long day’s journey before us, I expect.”

“We shall stop at Colenso,” replied Ernest, “rather a neat little town, and growing fast in size and importance. It stands near the Little Tugela. After that our next halting-places will be Helpmakaar, then Dundee, and lastly Newcastle. We might go farther to-day, but I expect we shall have some trouble in passing the Mooi. It is a good deal swollen by the heavy rain and the overflow of the Tugela. The flood, as yet, has fallen but very little.”

He pointed as he spoke to the river, which lay at the distance of a mile or two. George drew his rein for a moment, quite entranced by the varied features of the landscape before him. There was a stretch of green veldt, reaching almost from the point where they had bivouacked to the river’s banks, which were densely fringed with mimosas and willow-trees, through which its waters glanced, here and there, bright in the sunshine. To the right and left the ground was broken into declivities, clothed in many places with brushwood, in others presenting picturesque outlines of rock and shrub, while in the far distance towered the range of the Drakenbergs, the grandest mountains of Southern Africa.

“What are those dark objects I see floating about in the water?” inquired George, pointing with his whip to a broad bend in the river, which for some distance in both directions was free from wood on either side.

“Sea-cows! what you call hippopotamuses, I declare!” cried Ernest in some surprise. “They are not often to be seen in the Mooi; but I suppose they have come down from the Tugela. Yes, they are hippopotamuses; I can see them clearly now. If we can spare the time, we may have a hippopotamus hunt; there are few things that are better fun. It requires caution, though, or there may be an ugly accident.”

“What, from an attack of the animals?” suggested George. “I should have thought they were too large and unwieldy for there to be any danger from them.”

“Ah, but there is. The banks of the river are for the most part covered very thickly with reeds or rushes, among which these creatures are accustomed to lie. When they think that an enemy is at hand, they will rush out suddenly from their covert, and their weight is so great that a blow from them would probably be fatal. Matamo here had a narrow escape from one of them once, which I daresay he will relate to you, if you like to hear it. He speaks very good English, better than you would expect; and there is nothing that he likes better than relating his adventures, which sometimes border on the marvellous. Shall I call him?”

“By all means,” said George. “He is there, riding on your father’s left hand.”

The Bechuana was accordingly summoned, and he at once expressed his readiness to gratify George’s curiosity.

“A scrimmage with a sea-cow?” he said. “Oh yes, I remember it. It was when I was a boy. I went out fishing, and I had no gun, only an assegay with me. I caught lots of fish, but by and by I was tired, and went to sleep on the long grass. Presently I was woke up by a great noise close to me, and I saw a big sea-cow coming out of the river with his mouth wide open. I thought perhaps he was going to eat the fish, or perhaps he was going to eat me. I jumped up and ran off, and the sea-cow ran after me. I was in such a fright that I didn’t see where I was running to, until I found I had got into a swamp, and was sinking in it. These swamps are sometimes ever so deep, and there is nothing to hold to, to keep you from going down. The more you struggle, the faster you go down. I was already up to my ankles, and should soon have been up to my knees, when I heard the sea-cow flounder in after me.Hecouldn’t stop himself either. He was heavier than I was, and went down faster. I caught him by his great big ear and scrambled on to his back. He grunted, but he couldn’t help it. Then I stood on his head, gave a great jump, and just reached the bank. He grunted louder than before, and went down into the swamp. Ho, ho, ho!—I dessay he is still going down, and hasn’t got to the bottom yet.”

“But I suppose,” said George, after bestowing due praise on Matamo’s story, “there is no real danger if care is taken.”

“No, sir, no danger if you take care. There are some fine sea-cows there. Your father sees them too, Mr Ernest.”

Mr Baylen now rode up and asked George whether he and his friend would like to take part in a hippopotamus hunt. George expressed his obligations, and presently the necessary preparations were made. All the party dismounted, leaving their horses in charge of the waggon-drivers, and took their rifles, which they carefully loaded. Then they separated into two companies. One of these mounted to the top of a rocky ledge covered with creepers, among which they carefully concealed themselves; while the other, consisting of Ernest, George, and one or two followers, crept stealthily through the long weeds and grass, until they had reached a point beyond that at which the animals were lying. Some of these were basking in the sun, some standing in the water with their heads above it; others were half concealed by the long rushes, which grew thickly on the bank.

“She will be our best mark,” whispered Ernest, as he pointed to a huge female, whose carcase was half in, half out, of the river. “It will be very difficult, as she is lying now, to kill her on the spot. But as soon as she feels the shot, she will probably rush away into the reeds or into the water. In either case my father and Matamo, not to speak of the others, will get a good aim at her as she rises up, and will be pretty safe to kill her. Any way, you will get your shot at her, and mind you aim at her ear or her eyes.”

George promised acquiescence, and he and Ernest gradually crept nearer, until they were within tolerably easy distance. Then George fired, but apparently did not greatly injure the beast. The whole herd sprang up with loud snortings, and those lying on the edge of the stream plunged into it. The female whom George had wounded rushed away under cover of the rocky ledge, which at that part bordered the stream, encountering, as Ernest had anticipated, the fire of the party stationed above, and the farmer’s ball finished the business. The animal fell dead almost immediately at the foot of the rock, and Redgy and the others crowded to the edge to get a sight of the huge carcase. The farmer calmly reloaded, and it was well that he did so; for almost immediately afterwards there came a rushing noise from the bank above, and he caught sight of a huge male hippopotamus rushing down upon them. It was in all likelihood the mate of the female that had just been killed, and he was charging down to avenge its slaughter. With the instinctive readiness which long habit had produced, Baylen raised his rifle and fired. The bullet was happily aimed. It pierced the heart of the monster, and was instantly fatal. The muscular force carried it on for a few yards, and it fell dead only just short of the spot where the party was standing. Another moment or two, and its blind fury would have carried it and them over the edge of the precipice, on to the rocky ledge beneath.

“A near thing that!” exclaimed old Baylen coolly. “Lads, you should be always on the look-out for this kind of thing in hippopotamus-hunting. You are never safe from a charge.”

This exciting adventure would naturally have been the topic of a good deal of discussion; but so much of the morning had now passed, that the farmer told them they had no time to bestow on talking. Prime pieces were cut off from both the slain beasts, and put into the cart, Matamo assuring George that they would be regarded by their friends at Colenso as rare delicacies. The whole party then returned to the waggons, and prepared to cross the river; which, in its present swollen condition, it would be no easy matter to accomplish. The quantity of sand brought down by the flood, it should be remarked, presented a more serious difficulty than the depth of the stream, and all the more so because the extremely turbid state of the water made it impossible to see what the depth of the sand was.

The farmer and his sons, aided by Matamo and the other servants, undertook the convoy of the larger waggon first, arguing that if that could be got across without difficulty, the smaller and slighter one in which Mrs Baylen and Clara were located would follow easily enough. Both spans of oxen were fastened to it, one in front of the other; it was hoped that the line of oxen would thus become so long that the foremost ox would reach the opposite bank before the hindmost yoke had entered it. But the river was so greatly swollen that this could not be accomplished. Matamo had to cross, with a long rope tied to the front bullock’s horns, and thus guided the team, nearly all of which were swimming, to the bank. Then with great difficulty the oxen struggled up the opposite shore, and the big waggon was safely landed, though its contents had been completely wetted through.

Men and oxen now returned across the river to undertake the transport of the second waggon. But here a terrible misfortune took place. Just as they were approaching the water, the disselboom broke in half, and rendered the waggon quite unmanageable. Until this disaster was remedied, it became impossible for the oxen to draw; and, as they had not the means of mending the breakage on the spot, the waggon must necessarily remain there all night, until the damage could be repaired by workmen from Colenso. Mrs Baylen and her daughter had the option of either remaining on the bank of the river all night, or being conveyed across the river on horseback. They chose the latter; and the two young Englishmen, riding up, volunteered their services. They placed the ladies in their saddles and swam by their sides, drawing their horses after them. After this fashion Mrs Baylen and Clara reached the bank, though almost as completely soaked through as their cavaliers. A consultation was now held. It was proposed to procure a change of clothes for the ladies; but it appeared that all their wardrobe was in a smaller waggon; and even if they could have allowed the young men a second time to encounter the stream on their account, it would have been next to impossible to bring the clothes across in a dry condition. It was presently agreed that the best course would be for the four who had been soaked through to ride straight into Colenso, with Matamo as their guide, and there procure a change of clothes, while the large waggon followed at a slower pace. The riders accordingly set off, and arrived in due time at the Swedish pastor’s house.

Mr Bilderjik and his wife, who were old friends of the Baylens, and were in expectation of their arrival, were in readiness to receive them. The ladies and the young men were soon supplied with dry clothes. Carpenters were despatched to the banks of the Mooi to repair the damage done to the waggon, and a message sent up to the hotel in the main street of Colenso to provide beds for Hardy, George, and Redgy, for whom the house of the Swedish pastor could not supply sufficient accommodation.

A few hours afterwards Farmer Baylen arrived with the larger waggon, and he and his sons, as well as Hardy, who was also an old acquaintance, were hospitably welcomed. In an hour or two after their arrival, the whole party sat down to a comfortable repast, at which, as Matamo had before assured George would be the case, the hippopotamus steaks formed the chief delicacy.

There was nevertheless, independently of these, a very appetising meal provided. Sago soup was served up, fish from the Little Tugela river, which ran close to the town; fowls, and pancakes, as well as abundance of ripe fruits,—loquots, oranges, peaches, bananas, and nectarines—all of them from the missionary’s garden,—which could only be tasted in their perfection in the climates of which they are the natives.

All the party appeared to be contented with their quarters, except the indefatigable Matamo, who insisted on returning to the Mooi, where he said his presence would be needed to look after the workpeople who had been sent to execute the repairs, and who, as he affirmed, were never to be trusted. As soon as he had finished his dinner, he mounted his horse and rode off.

“You have a valuable servant in that Kaffir,” remarked George. “It would not be easy to find his match, even in England.”

“Are you speaking of Matamo?” said Mr Baylen. “Yes, he is a good servant—good at farm labour, and better at hunting; but he is not a Kaffir, nor a Hottentot either, but a Bechuana, though a very dark-skinned one. You haven’t been long enough in the country to be aware of the difference, but we old residents see it easily enough.”

“A Bechuana!” said George. “I think I know where their country is—on the other side of the Transvaal, isn’t it, three or four hundred miles away from here? What brought him into these parts?”

“Well, I brought him,” was the answer. “I brought him to Natal about five-and-thirty years ago.”

“Five-and-thirty years!” remarked Margetts. “He couldn’t have been very old then.”

“No; he was an infant,” said the farmer. “I was a young fellow of four or five-and-twenty myself, and we hadn’t been so very long settled in Natal ourselves. My mother, who had been brought up a Presbyterian, though she conformed to her husband’s form of belief, had once heard David Livingstone preach, and had been so impressed by him that she had never forgotten it. After my father’s death she fell into low spirits, and there was no one near about us who could give her any comfort. Nothing would satisfy her but that Mr Livingstone must come and see her. We tried to pacify her by telling her that Mr Livingstone, who was a great traveller, would some day come our way. You have heard of him, I suppose, gentlemen?”

“All the world has heard of him,” remarked Rivers. “I should think there is hardly an Englishman but knows his history.”

“I am not surprised to hear it. But he was a young man at the time I speak of, and was but little known. My mother, however, was bent on seeing him. She had heard that he was living at Barolong, and she was sure that he would come to visit her, and she would die if he didn’t. At last I saw there was no help for it; I must travel across the country, and find Mr Livingstone out.”

“And you went?” inquired George, as he paused.

“Yes, I went; and a terrible journey I had; and after all I couldn’t find the gentleman. He had gone up the country, and it was impossible to say, they told me, when he would come back. But that has nothing to do with Matamo; and my story was to be about him. Well, I took a good stout horse, and rode through what is now called the Orange Free State. It was almost wild in those days. Native tribes were living here and there, with whom I sometimes got a lodging; though, to be sure, their kraals were not the pleasantest places in the world, even to me. Once or twice I came across the house of a Dutchman, who had emigrated thither from the Cape.”

“I don’t expect you got much of a welcome from them,” remarked Hardy.

“As an Englishman, I did not expect that I should,” said the farmer. “But you see my grandfather, old Fieter Van Schuylen, had been a leading man among the Dutch, and so was my brother-in-law, Cornelius. I had only to mention their names, and they were ready to do anything for me. I got on well enough until I was within a day or two’s ride of the village where Mr Livingstone was believed to be living; but there a misfortune befell me. My horse, which had carried me well up to that time,—indeed, was as quiet a beast as ever I remember to have ridden,—suddenly reared and plunged violently, and very nearly threw me. I got off and tried to quiet him; but he continued to struggle, and would not let me remount.”

“He had been bitten, I expect,” remarked Hardy.

“That is my opinion too; indeed, there was a swelling on his fore-leg, which looked very like the bite of a snake. But I was not sure even of that, and had no remedy at hand, even if I had known how to apply it. I soon saw that, whatever had been the cause of his illness, there was little or no hope of his recovery. His restlessness soon gave way to a kind of dull stupor. He presently lay down, stretched out his limbs, stark and rigid, and was dead in less than two hours from the time when he had been bitten.

“I was quite at a loss what to do. There were no trees near at hand into which I might have climbed and slept in safety. I did not know what wild animals there might be about. Remember this was five-and-thirty years ago, before the settlers had driven the lions and rhinoceroses away. The country consisted of long undulating downs, covered with tall grass, which might shelter any number of poisonous snakes; and a bite from any one of them could hardly help being fatal, seeing how far I was from any place where a remedy could be applied. So I resolved to keep on. The darkness was rapidly gathering, and the moon wouldn’t rise, I knew, for several hours. But there was just enough of a glimmer in the sky to enable me to distinguish the track. So I went on, holding my double-barrelled rifle ready cocked.”

“Dangerous work,” remarked Margetts.

“No doubt; but it was the least danger of the two. Well, I went on, walking slowly and cautiously, and by and by I got clear of the jungle, and came into some high rocky land, in the midst of which there was a Bechuana village. If it had been daylight, I should have gone in at once and claimed their hospitality as an Englishman, whom I knew they would receive kindly. But by that light I was afraid of being mistaken for a Boer, and then my reception would have been very different. It was as likely as not that I should have been speared, before I could explain the mistake they had made. I resolved to find a shelter somewhere for the night, and make my appearance among the Bechuanas in the morning.

“After looking carefully about, I took up my quarters in a cavern in the side of a long ridge of rock which overhung the village. It was December, and the night was warm, so I did not hesitate to lie down as I was on a heap of dead leaves, with which the cave was half filled.

“I was tired out, and soon fell asleep, and, I suppose, must have lain for two or three hours, when I was awakened by the noise of guns firing and men shouting immediately over my head. I started up and looked out. The dawn had just broken, and diffused a light which made it almost as easy to distinguish anything as if it had been broad day. I perceived that the village was surrounded by an armed enemy, and on a high bank on the opposite side of the village I could see a line of men armed with the long gun which the Boers then carried, while at the two ends of the village strong parties—also of Boers, for they had no black allies with them—were stationed. These, too, were armed to the teeth. I knew in a moment what had happened. The Boers had attacked the village by night, and were shooting the men down as they rushed in alarm out of their huts. There was no possibility of resistance or escape. The rocky ridge over my head was too high to have been stormed, even by trained soldiers, and these poor naked half-armed savages could not approach within ten yards of it. The bank opposite was almost as impossible to attack; but I did see two or three of the Bechuana warriors make the attempt. Some spears were flung, but they did no execution. It was simple wholesale murder, and lasted, I should think, fully an hour; by which time every male Bechuana in the village was either dead or mortally wounded. It was the most shocking sight I have ever witnessed.”

“Horrible indeed, sir?” exclaimed Redgy. “What provocation do you suppose they had given the Dutchmen?”

“Most likely none at all,” was the answer. “The Bechuanas in general are peaceable enough, but the Dutch—the Boers, that is—are bent on having slaves to work for them; and if they can’t get them by what they consider fair means, will get them by foul.”

“What do they call fair means?” asked Redgy.

“Buying them of their parents,” answered Baylen. “They will go to a village and demand the help of a number of women to work in their fields or gardens. These women, who dare not refuse, take their children with them, and then they will try to bargain for these, in order to make slaves of them. But the Bechuanas are a very affectionate people, and can very seldom be induced to sell their children. Therefore, as the Boers would tell you, they are obliged to take them by force.”

“You are joking with us, sir, are you not?” said George.

“Indeed I am not. They think that not only is it fair and right that the natives should work without pay for them, but that it is their duty to oblige them so to work.”

“On what possible grounds, Mr Baylen?”

“Because they are an inferior race, over whom the Boers have a natural right. This is no pretence. They really think so. The Boers are, after their fashion, a very religious people. They believe Almighty God has given the black races to be their servants, and that they are only carrying out His will when they reduce them to slavery. Some of them even believe that it is their mission to kill all except those who are thus kept in bondage. They liken themselves to the Israelites when they entered the Promised Land, and the natives to the Canaanites, whom they were to exterminate.”

“And their quarrel with us really is that we won’t allow them to carry out this idea?” asked Margetts.

“At the bottom I am not sure it is not,” replied Baylen. “It is certain that they would carry it out, if it were not for the English. Their usual practice is to do what they did on the occasion I have been telling you about. They circulate a rumour that an attack is going to be made upon them by some tribe. The rumour is almost certain to be false, for the Bechuanas are a very peaceable people. But as soon as the report has taken wind, they march out in force, generally taking with them a number of native allies. These surround the village, keeping the men back with their assegays, while the Boers fire in safety over their heads, until all the males have been destroyed. They then carry off the women, children, and cattle.”

“Horrible!” exclaimed Redgy. “I shall hate these Boers like poison. Why, they must be the most awful cowards, as well as hypocrites!”

“I don’t know about that, Redgy,” remarked George. “They don’t want to encounter danger, if they can help it, no doubt. But it doesn’t follow that they wouldn’t fight, if there was the necessity for doing so. They are like Wilkin Flammock inThe Betrothed; you remember what he says. He was ‘ready to fight for life or property, if it was needed; but a sound skin was better than a slashed one, for all that.’ But I thought you told us, sir, that the Boers in your story attacked the Bechuana village without allies.”

“So I did,” answered the farmer. “But they knew the ground, and were aware that it would be impossible for the Bechuanas to attack them, so that there was no need for the natives to accompany them on that occasion. But to go on with my story. I told you it was a bright morning, and so it continued for nearly an hour. But after that thick clouds came up, and it grew almost dark. The Boers remained in the position they had taken up till the forenoon. But about half an hour after the firing had ceased, I heard a noise as if some one was moving somewhere near me. I looked out, and could just make out that a Bechuana woman, who had been mortally wounded by a bullet, had crawled to that spot, with an infant of a year old in her arms. I suppose she had some idea of concealing herself in the hollow of the rocks, not knowing that her hurt was to death. I crept down and took the child from her arms. She was just at the last gasp, but I think she gave it over to me willingly, fancying that I should treat it kindly. I took it back with me into the cave, and remained in concealment until the Boers had departed, which they did about the middle of the next day. I was fortunate enough to reach the farm of a friendly Hollander, who sold me another horse, and provisions enough to carry me through the most dangerous parts of the journey. The infant (which I called Matamo, from the name of the Bechuana village which I had seen destroyed) proved strong and healthy and we both reached Hakkluyt’s Kloof safe and sound.”

“And your mother?” asked Margetts.

“My mother was at first terribly disappointed about Mr Livingstone. But when she heard the tale of the destruction of the Bechuana village, and the rescue of the infant, she was so moved by pity for it, that I think she forgot everything else. She took it under her special charge. Up to the time of her death, three years afterwards, Matamo was her chief care and delight. The boy grew up strong and healthy, and has, as I told you, been an invaluable servant to us.”

“And you have well deserved that he should,” remarked Mr Bilderjik. “You have had him baptised and educated, and brought up in the Christian faith; you should add that. I would that many masters in South Africa could say the same.”

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