Robert Michael Ballantyne - The Settler and the Savage

“Come, Gertie, your mother can spare you now; let’s go over and listen to them.”

Gertie complied with alacrity, and took her father’s arm.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, with a little scream, as a thorn full five inches long gave her a wicked probe on the left shoulder.

Hans Marais sprang up and gallantly raised the branch which had touched her.

“It is only Kafirs who can run against mimosa thorns with impunity,” said the handsome young Dutchman.

Gertie laughed, remarked that mimosa thorns, like South African gentlemen, were unusually long and sharp, and passed on.

Hans sat down on the ground, filled his large pipe, and gazed dreamily into the fire, with something of the sensation of a hunter when he makes a bad shot.

“Now then, Goliath,” said the ever busy George Dally; “move your long legs out o’ that. Don’t you see the pot’s about to bile over?”

Hans quietly obeyed.

“If I chanced to be alongside o’ that Tottie over there just now,” continued George, “I’d be inclined to stop his noise with a rap on his spotted pate.”

“You’d have to make it a heavy rap, then, to produce any effect,” said Hans, taking a long draw at his pipe, “for he belongs to a hard-headed race.”

The truth of the young farmer’s words was verified just then in a way that was alarming as well as unexpected.

One of the heavy waggons, which had been delayed behind the others by some trifling accident, came lumbering up just as Hans spoke. There was a softish sandy spot in advance of it, into which one of the front wheels plunged. The tilt caught on part of the waggon to which Ruyter belonged. To prevent damage the active Hottentot sprang forward. In doing so he tripped and fell. At the same instant a tremendous crack of the whip and a shout produced a wrench at the waggon, the hind wheel of which went over Ruyter’s head and crushed it into the ground!

A roar of consternation followed, and several eager hands carefully dug out the poor man’s head. To the surprise of all, the five-ton waggon had not flattened it! The sand was so soft that it had not been squeezed at all—at least to any damaging extent,—a round stone having opportunely taken much of the pressure on itself, so that the Hottentot soon revived, and, beyond a headache, was little the worse of the accident. He returned to his place at the fire, but did not resume his part in the discussions, which were continued as noisily as before.

In strong contrast with the other groups were those of the Dutch-African boers who had brought the waggons to the Bay. Most of them were men of colossal stature. They sat apart, smoking their huge pipes in silent complacency and comfort, amused a little at the scenes going on around them, but apparently disinclined to trouble themselves about anything in particular.

Supper produced a lull in the general hum of conversation, but when pipes were lit the storm revived and continued far into the night. At last symptoms of weariness appeared, and people began to make arrangements for going to rest.

These arrangements were as varied as the characters of the emigrants.

Charlie Considine and Hans Marais, now become inseparable comrades, cleared and levelled the ground under a mimosa-bush, and, spreading their kaross thereon, lay down to sleep. George Dally, being an adaptable man, looked at the old campaigners for a few minutes, and then imitated their example. Little Jerry Goldboy, being naturally a nervous creature, and having his imagination filled with snakes, scorpions, tarantulas, etcetera, would fain have slept in one of the waggons above the baggage—as did many of the women and children—if he had not been laughed out of his desire by Dally, and induced to spread his couch manfully on the bare ground.

It must not be supposed, however, that Jerry, although timid, was cowardly. On the contrary, he was bold as a lion. He could not control his sensitively-strung nervous system, but instead of running away, like the coward, he was prone to rush furiously at whatever startled him, and grapple with it.

Some families pitched their tents, others, deeming curtains a needless luxury in such magnificent weather, contented themselves with the shelter of the bushes.

Meanwhile the Hottentot attendants replenished the fires, while the boers unslung their huge guns and placed them so as to be handy; for, although elephants and lions were not nearly so numerous as they once had been in that particular locality, there was still sufficient possibility of their presence, as well as of other nocturnal wanderers in the African wilds, to render such precaution necessary. The whole scene was most romantic, especially in the eyes of those who thus bivouacked for the first time in the wilderness. To them the great waggons; the gigantic Cape-oxen—which appeared to have been created expressly to match the waggons as well as to carry their own ponderous horns; the wild-looking Hottentots and Bushmen; the big phlegmatic Dutchmen; the bristling thorns of the mimosas, cropping out of comparative darkness; the varied groups of emigrants; the weird forms of the clumps of cactus, aloes, euphorbias, and other strange plants, lit up by the fitful glare of the camp-fires, and canopied by the star-spangled depths of a southern sky—all seemed to them the unbelievable creations of a wild vision.

Poor Jerry Goldboy, however, had sufficient faith in the reality of the vision to increase his nervous condition considerably, and he resolved to lie down with his “arms handy.” These arms consisted of a flint-lock blunderbuss, an heirloom in his father’s family, and a bowie-knife, which had been presented to him by an American cousin on his leaving England. Twice during that day’s march had the blunderbuss exploded owing to its owner’s inexperience in fire-arms. Fortunately no harm had been done, the muzzle on each occasion having been pointed to the sky, but the ire of the Dutch driver in front of Jerry had been aroused, and he was forbidden to reload the piece. Now, however, observing the preparations above referred to, he felt it to be his duty to prepare for the worst, and quietly loaded his bell-mouthed weapon with a heavy charge of buckshot.

“What’s that you’re after, boy?” asked George Dally, who was making some final arrangements at the fire, before lying down for the night.

“Oh, nothing,” replied Jerry, with a start, for he had thought himself unobserved, “only seein’ to my gun before turnin’ in.”

“That’s right,” said George. “Double-load it. Nothin’ like bein’ ready for whatever may turn up in a wild country like this. Why, I once knew a man named Snip who said he had been attacked one night in South America by a sarpint full forty feet long, and who saved his life by means of a blunderbuss, though he didn’t fire at the reptile at all.”

“Indeed, how was that?” asked Jerry.

“Why, just because his weapon was bell-mouthed an’ loaded a’most to the muzzle. You see, the poor fellow was awoke out of a deep sleep and couldn’t well see, so that instead o’ firin’ at the brute, he fired his blunderbuss about ten yards to one side of it, but the shot scattered so powerfully that one o’ the outside bullets hit a stone, glanced off, and caught the sarpint in the eye, and though it failed to kill the brute on the spot, the wound gave it such pain that it stood up on its tail and wriggled in agony for full five minutes, sending broken twigs and dry leaves flying about like a whirlwind, so Snip he jumped up, dropped his weapon, an’ bolted. He never returned to the encampment, and never saw the big snake or his blunderbuss again.”

“What a pity! then he lost it?” said Jerry, looking with some anxiety at a decayed branch, to which the flickering flame gave apparent motion.