by L. T. Meade
*Chapter IV.*
*THE GOLD SPOOR.*
"There is another matter I want to speak to you about, Guy," continuedMr. Blakeney, "which has been perplexing me a good deal. It is this:When your father wrote me the first of the two last letters he sent mebefore his death, he sent also a short statement, sealed in a packet andmarked 'Important.' This statement concerns a very rich discovery ofgold in a far-away part of the interior of South-west Africa, somewhereon the border of the Portuguese territory of Benguela. I have worriedover this problem for many weeks past, and the conclusion I have come tois that I ought to tell you about the whole business. The shortest andbest plan is, I think, to show you your father's letter. Here it is;I'll read it to you:--
"'ABAQUESSA, GOLD COAST, _March_ 19, 1896.
"'MY DEAR CHARLIE,--You will see from the letter I have already writtenyou that I am in a very precarious state of health, and that I doubtgreatly if I shall get over these repeated attacks of fever. In caseanything happens to me, I must unburden my mind on one other matter,which seems to me, though it may not to you, very important. A yearago, as you know, I was making some mineral explorations for copper inthe mountains behind Mossamedes, Portuguese West Africa. There waslittle copper to be found worth speaking of, and this business came toan end. One day towards the finish of this work, a Bushman in myservice, named Poeskop, came to me and said he thought he could show mesomething better than copper; that he had once found gold, and that hewould show me the place where he had found it. Poeskop was a Bushmanfrom the country north-east of Ovampoland, in German territory. He hadworked for Germans and others, and had afterwards drifted into theservice of one of the Trek Boers who came to the Mossamedes countryfifteen or sixteen years before. He had been brutally treated by thisBoer, and, running away from him, came to me. I treated him kindly, andhe became exceedingly attached to me, and would do anything for me. Hespeaks Boer Dutch and one or two native languages of his own country,besides a smattering of German. Well, I asked Poeskop what he meant,and where was the gold he spoke of. He took from the bottom of a dirtyold pouch he always wore a piece of skin sewn up with sinew. Cuttingthis open, he took out four small nuggets of gold, manifestlywater-worn. He said that where they came from there were plentymore--plenty. He had come across the place years before as a lad, andhe had discovered what gold was, and its value, when he was working forsome German prospectors in Damaraland. He knew now also the worth ofgold money in English, and German, and Portuguese. I asked him how longit would take us to reach the place. He said more than a month. I wasthen under contract for this work at the Gold Coast, and it wasimpossible to throw it up, or to spare the time--about three months inall, reckoning the return journey to Mossamedes. I told the man I wouldreturn, if possible, the following year (1897), or, if not that year, in1898, in the month of June, which is their healthy season, and go withhim to the place. Meanwhile, would he promise not to say a word to anyother person? Poeskop replied that he cared for no other white man butme; that he would wait till I came, and would meet me in Mossamedes inJune the next year (1897), and the year after, and the year after that;and that each year he would wait for me a month. "But," I said,"supposing I can't come, and wish to send some one else in my place? Imay be ill, or dead, or anything may have happened to me." "Well, mybaas," replied Poeskop, his little drooping eyes twinkling in the oddestkind of way, "if you can't come, and send any one in your place, let himshow me that funny _steenje_ which you wear on your watch-chain, and Ishall know he is your man, and will do what he asks me." The _steenje_,I must tell you, was nothing else than a piece of New Zealand jade,carved rather curiously in the shape of a fish. Well, there's the endof my yarn. I am dead tired, and feeling very ill. The ague is comingon again, as you can see by my handwriting."
"Here," interjected Mr. Blakeney, "as you can see, Guy, your poorfather's writing has become very shaky. But he has underscored theremaining lines of his letter, and they run thus:--
"'My dear Charlie, _I consider this discovery is very important.Poeskop, who was in my service five months, is a most shrewd andreliable little chap. I know he is not lying. I know he has found aplace very rich in gold. Of this I am absolutely confident. If I'mright, there is a fortune for all of us. If I get through this bout offever I shall ask you to give up your ranching for six months, and comeand join me at Mossamedes in June. If I go under--and something tellsme I shall--I beg you to go on my behalf. Take with you a good andreliable mining engineer; and if Guy is with you, take him. If youcannot go this year, go next_. I can't finish ... what I meant to say.This fever is too much for me. _You and Guy are to go shares if thegold is right_.--From yours ever,
"'J. S. HARDCASTLE.'
"Well now, Guy," added his uncle, "there's the yarn. Look over theletter yourself."
Guy read the letter again, with a serious face, from beginning to end.
"Poor pater!" he said, as he concluded, the tears standing in his eyes;"he was ill indeed when he wrote and underscored these last lines. Oh,that he could have been with us now!"
"Would that he could have been, Guy!" said his uncle feelingly; "wouldthat he could! Having read that letter, you will understand somethingof my anxiety. If your father's surmises are correct, there is a fortunefor us all. And yet any ordinary business man would say the whole thingis a mere wild-goose chase, a will-of-the-wisp. I am bothered awfully;I hardly know what to say, what to do."
Guy Hardcastle sprang to his feet.
"Uncle Charles!" he exclaimed, "I'm certain this is no wild-goose chase!My father had a great knowledge of men and things, especially wherenatives and mining were concerned. He wasn't a mad enthusiast; in fact,I always looked upon him as a very long-headed and cautious man. I'monly a boy; but that was my impression. Let us go. I'm certain thatour search will be a success!"
"Well, Guy," rejoined Mr. Blakeney, smiling at the lad's enthusiasm, "Ihalf believe you are right. Your father was no hunter of wild geese; hewas, as you thought him, a man of good judgment and much knowledge. Yetthere are many difficulties to be surmounted. I don't like leaving thisplace just now. Still, there's George Forster to look after matters inmy absence--as he did two years ago, when I was in England.
"I might do this," he went on, speaking as if to himself. "Some yearsago I trekked across the Kalahari, by way of Lake Ngami, to Damaraland,and traded and brought back a thousand head of cattle. I have sometimesthought of repeating the trip; but it's a tough business, and a long andanxious one. If I go with you, we might kill two birds with one stone:go round by sea, and so save much time; and after we have had a hunt forthe treasure, pick up a lot of cattle and bring them overland.Meanwhile I'll have a talk with your aunt, and hear what she thinksabout it all."
Mrs. Blakeney was a great believer in her brother; and her vote went forthe expedition, little as she liked the prospect of parting from herhusband for five or six months. Finally Mr. Blakeney's mind was madeup: he determined to go, at all events, as far as Mossamedes. If Poeskopwere found, well and good: they would go on with the search. If he werenot found, they would go south, buy cattle in Damaraland and Ovampoland,and take them across to Bechuanaland by the Trek Boer route, _via_ LakeNgami. No sooner was the expedition settled upon than Guy begged hisuncle to let Tom accompany them. This Mr. Blakeney refused; Tom, hesaid, must remain at home to look after his mother and sisters. But, asthe lads pointed out, Mr. Blakeney's partner and cousin, George Forster,was coming across to live at Bamborough and take up the management ofaffairs during his absence. For weeks the lads moved heaven and earthto accomplish their purpose. They at length won over Mrs. Blakeney; andafter she had joined for a few days in the siege, Mr. Blakeney gave way.It was settled that Tom was to go, and the two cousins were overjoyed.After much consideration, Mr. Blakeney decided not to take a miningengineer, as suggested by his brother-in-law. He himself had spent twoyears on the Lydenburg goldfields, in the Eastern Trans
vaal, in hisyounger days, and had a fair knowledge of gold and gold formations; hehad learned assaying also. On the whole, they all deemed it wiser notto impart the secret to any one out of their own family.
Towards the middle of May the party went down by rail to Cape Town, andthence by sea to Mossamedes. Ostensibly they were on a cattle-tradingexpedition; even George Forster was not let into the secret of the goldsearch. It would be too ridiculous if the quest turned out anunsuccessful one, and the gold vanished into thin air. Moreover, Mr.Blakeney deemed it unwise to make any mention of gold at all; the merestwhisper of it might get about, and set others upon the alert. They keptthe secret, therefore, severely to themselves. In pursuance of hisexpressed intention of bringing home some cattle, Mr. Blakeney took withhim as wagon-drivers and herds four of his most reliable natives. Thesewere--Jan Kokerboom, a Koranna; Seleti and Mangwalaan, two Bechuanas ofthe Barolong clan; and September, a Zulu. They were all good herdsmenand horse-masters, fair shots, and, barring various idiosyncrasies andprejudices peculiar to their tribes, steady and reliable men. JanKokerboom was a capital cook, a generally handy man, a good rider andshot, and a first-class hunter. After a fairly prosperous voyage of aweek, during the early part of which the natives suffered a good dealfrom sea-sickness, the ship dropped anchor in Little Fish Bay, offMossamedes, and the party landed. Their hunting ponies, four in all,which they had brought with them from Bamborough, were safely gotashore.
Mossamedes is, compared with other Portuguese towns on the Africancoast, rather a pleasant little place. It is built of white stone, andhas a picturesque esplanade, lined with palm trees, running along thefrontage to the bay. The country surrounding is not very inviting, thatto the east and south being, like the littoral of Damaraland andNamaqualand, almost completely desert.
Having passed their baggage at the Custom House with somewhat greaterease than they expected--thanks mainly to a judicious use by Mr.Blakeney of palm oil--they went up the town, and found fairlycomfortable quarters at the principal hotel. Here they remained for aweek without being able to find any trace of the native known asPoeskop. At the hotel, the proprietor remembered Mr. Hardcastle, whohad stayed with him. He remembered also his Bushman servant Poeskop,but neither he nor any of his people had seen him lately in the town.While they were thus waiting, Mr. Blakeney was by no means idle. Hespoke with various Trek Boers who were in the place; bought an excellenttent-wagon for L80; four fairly good horses, wiry, but in lowcondition--a useful addition to their stud; and a span of serviceableoxen. These would in any case be necessary to them, even if Poeskopfailed to put in an appearance. The native servants were thendispatched to the commonage outside the town, where a camp was formed,and the horses and cattle were turned out for grazing. The wagon wasthoroughly cleaned out, repaired, and painted, and various cookingutensils necessary for the trek were purchased.
On the evening of the seventh day of their stay in Mossamedes the littleparty of English were sitting, half an hour before dinner, near thelanding-place. Mr. Blakeney spent much time there; for he had an ideathat if the Bushman, Poeskop, came to Mossamedes at all, he would makehis way to the shore, and be on the lookout for his old master.
"Pater," said Tom, kicking his heels against the low wall on which hesat, "I begin to think the man Poeskop is a solar myth, and I amrevolving in my mind a theory by which he can be explained away."
The lad had a roguish smile on his face, at which his father in turncould not help laughing.
"Well, fire away!" replied Mr. Blakeney. "What's your theory?"
"Well, I'll shortly explain," went on Tom. "I consider you and Guy havebrought me out here under false pretences. The whole thing is a Barney.I've been thinking it all out for days past. Poeskop is clearly anon-existent person; and here is my theory of his non-existence!"
At this instant, from behind a great pile of stores which lay stacked onthe landing-place, there appeared, just in front of them, the shortfigure of a native. He was a queer, dwarfish-looking little man, withhigh cheek-bones, a narrow chin, and yellowish skin. His eyes slantedupwards like a Chinaman's; curious, dark, bloodshot eyes they were, witha singular droop of the lids and innumerable wrinkles at the corners.This odd figure was dressed in an old store suit of faded moleskin, aragged shirt, and a very battered, broad-brimmed hat. A pair ofvelschoens covered the man's feet. Before Tom, who stared open-mouthedat the apparition, could proceed with his theory, the little man's sharpeyes had run rapidly over the group before him. He looked, as it wereexpectantly, into the countenance of each. His eyes lingered longest onthe face of Guy, and then fell instantly to the middle of the boy'swaist. Stretching out his right forefinger, he pointed, with a gestureof strange energy and earnestness, at the watch-chain which Guy wore: itwas his father's, and the green jade ornament depended from it.
Mr. Blakeney had watched the man keenly.
"Poeskop?" he said quietly.
"Ja; Poeskop," returned the native instantly, looking furtively abouthim. "Vaar is de baas--Baas Hartcassel?"
Mr. Blakeney could not refrain from his little triumph over Tom, who satutterly confounded.
"Tom, my boy!" he said, with a hearty laugh, "your solar myth isinstantly exploded. Here is the essential man, Poeskop himself!"
And indeed it was Poeskop. Speaking in Dutch, Mr. Blakeney explained tothe strange little figure before them what had happened. The Bushmanfollowed the story closely, nodding his head, and throwing in a "Ja,ja!" now and again, as it were rounding off the various points. WhenMr. Blakeney ceased, he spoke.
"Ja," he said, "I am Poeskop. I came here to meet my Baas Hartcassel,and I am sad because of the news I hear. Never mind; if I cannot be his'boy' longer, I will be his son's 'boy.' And I will tell you all Iknow, and take you to the place where--" [here he glanced suspiciouslyround him, with eyes that searched keenly beneath their droop] "--wheremy baas wanted me to take him. I see that the young baas is truly theson of my old baas: he has the same blue eyes, and the same look, andthe same coloured hair, and though he is young he walks just as walkedhis father. I saw him yesterday, and watched him; and again to-day Iwatched him; and now I have seen the _steenje_--the little stone of thefish--and I am sure. Well, I am glad indeed. I will be the youngbaas's 'boy,' and wait upon him and hunt for him, as I did for hisfather. Is it not so?" he asked, looking inquiringly first at Mr.Blakeney, then at Guy.
"Yes," said Guy quickly, his colour heightened with the interest andexcitement of the discovery; "it is so. You shall be my 'boy,' and Iwill be your baas, and try to be a good baas to you, as my father was.What wages did he give you?"
"He gave me one pound a month and my _skorf_ [food], baas," repliedPoeskop, "and sometimes some old clothes when I wanted them."
"Well, I'll do the same," returned Guy cheerfully; "and I am sure weshall be good friends."
Poeskop smiled a huge smile at this speech, showing a set of splendidteeth, which for the moment strongly illuminated his quaint anddecidedly ugly visage.
"That is very good, my young baas," he said, his face still beaming withpleasure; "and I shall show you what I promised to show to yourfather"--he glanced round again, as if fearing to be overheard--"theGold Kloof. It is there!" He stretched a forefinger into the air,pointing north-eastward. "And you will find plenty gold, enough for youall; and you will make Poeskop rich too, and buy him cattle, and set himup as a farmer."
It was now arranged that the Bushman should at once join the outfit.They walked with him to the wagon outside the town, and introduced himto the other servants. Had he a gun? asked Mr. Blakeney. Yes; he had agun, concealed not far away. He would get it that night, and put it inthe wagon. It was a Martini carbine, given to him by Baas Hardcastle,and in good condition; but he wanted ammunition. This Mr. Blakeneypromised to procure for him; and they left the little man at his supperas happy as a king.
Next morning Poeskop turned up at the hotel in good time, as Mr.Blakeney had told him to do. It was after breakfast; and they wer
etalking in front of the place, the three Englishmen asking the littleBushman all sorts of questions as to their route, the kind of countrythey would pass through, the prospects of game (which Poeskop told themwere first-rate), and so forth.
"Poeskop," presently queried Mr. Blakeney, "how long will it take us,trekking steadily and with good oxen (which I have got), to reach thekloof?"
"About six weeks, baas," replied the Bushman. "It is far, and the wayis hard."
"I had thought of getting another wagon," continued Mr. Blakeney. "Itwill be rather a squeeze for myself and the two young masters here toget into one at night. What say you, Poeskop? Can we manage with twoeasily?"
"Baas," replied the Bushman, "I would not take two wagons, if you canhelp it. It is a hard trek, and we have to cross a piece of_doorst-land_ [thirst-land], which takes more than a week to getthrough: two days' and two nights' trek, then water, but not much; thentwo days and a night without water; then a water-pit; and then threedays' and three nights' thirst. It will be hard to get across this withone wagon; much harder with two. If I were the baas, I would take theone wagon only and some spare oxen. We may lose some beasts on the trekfrom lions, or thirst, or hard work; and it will be safer."
"I'm glad you told me of this, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney. "You arequite right; we will take one wagon only. I can buy a small tent in thetown; that will do for the young baases to sleep in, and I can have my_kartel_ [bed-frame] to myself in the wagon. In the daytime the tentcan be lashed along the buck-rail."
They discussed many other points connected with the trek, concerning allof which the little Bushman gave them copious information. Suddenly, ashe glanced down the sandy street, his countenance changed; he trembled;fear unmistakably seized him.
"Baas," he said, in a hoarse voice, "there comes Karl Engelbrecht; I amafraid!"
"Who is Karl Engelbrecht?" asked Guy; "and why are you afraid?"
"He is the Trek Boer in whose service I used to be," returned theBushman. "He beat me often with his sjambok, and treated me cruelly;and so I ran away. But I fear him still. He is a bad man--_schelm_!"
"You need have no fear, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney; "I will look afteryou. Put on a bold face, and stick to me; I'll see that your friendEngelbrecht plays no tricks upon you. Remember that you are in myservice, and that we are in Portuguese and not Boer country."
They watched the two tall figures, on which Poeskop's eyes werefastened, coming up the street. The Bushman whispered that KarlEngelbrecht was the bigger of the two--the man on the right. TheBoers--for they were manifestly both Dutchmen--were now close to thehotel. Karl Engelbrecht, of whom Poeskop stood in so much terror, was atypical Boer of Boers--a big, heavy, slouching fellow, six feet inheight, powerfully made, very strong, but slack and loose-limbed. Hewore the usual Boer clothing--short jacket and loose trousers ofmoleskin, a flannel shirt, velschoens (field-shoes) of untanned hide,and a big slouch-hat, ornamented with a single short black-and-whiteostrich plume. His long hay-coloured hair ran over his ears and partlycovered his neck, and he wore a huge untrimmed beard and moustache ofthe same dull hue. His hard, pale blue eyes were set deep above broad,sunburnt, fleshy cheeks. It was an unpleasant face; something in thelowering brows, the hard, furtive eyes, gave the beholder instantly anunpleasant impression; and about the man's whole demeanour there was anundefinable yet unmistakable air of menace and brutality. The Dutchmanaccompanying him was of a much milder and less aggressive type--a big,dark-bearded, slouching fellow, of dull and heavy countenance, withnothing much to differentiate him from scores of his fellows of theTransvaal, Orange Free State, and Cape Colony.
As Karl Engelbrecht strode up to the hotel, his eyes suddenly fell uponPoeskop. He started, frowned evilly, glowered at the three white menstanding near, and then, taking a step or two forward, seized theBushman by the collar of his jacket.
"So, my fine fellow, I have caught you, have I?" he said, in a deepguttural and manifestly angry voice. As he spoke, he cuffed theunfortunate Bushman heavily on the head with his huge hand.
Mr. Blakeney was a strong and determined man, and in no mood to stand byand see his servant knocked about. His blood rose instantly at theinsolent aggression of this bully.
"Let the man alone!" he said angrily in Dutch, snatching Poeskop away sosuddenly and with such force that he freed him from the Boer's grip."He is my servant!"
Karl Engelbrecht turned instantly upon the Englishman. His face wasinflamed with passion, and he struck a heavy blow with his right fist,which, if it had not been parried, would have caught Mr. Blakeney fairin the face. But the latter had been a good boxer in his young days,and had no difficulty in stopping the hit. He was an active man, hardas nails, and in the prime of life, and he was in no mood to take a blowfrom any man. He retorted by a swift left-hander, which crashed intothe middle of the Boer's broad, fleshy face like a kick from a horse.The blood instantly gushed from Engelbrecht's nose. With an oath inDutch the giant rushed upon his assailant, swinging at him somedangerous right-handers; but Mr. Blakeney, although angry enough, wasmuch too good a general to be overcome in this way. He fought verycoolly, parried the round-arm blows, and every now and again planted onthe Dutchman's face heavy and telling strokes that quickly told theirtale. Pausing to get breath, to spit the blood from his mouth, and towipe his streaming nose with the back of his hand, the Dutchman oncemore rushed in to the attack. This time he fought desperately, and Mr.Blakeney had some ado to repel the rush. Changing his tactics, hedelivered two or three heavy body-blows, under which the Dutchman wincedvisibly; the third of these took the Boer's wind, and doubled him up.As his head went forward, the Englishman let drive one vicious upper cutwhich took Engelbrecht on the point of the jaw and stretched himinstantly on the sand. The fight was over.
