by L. T. Meade
*Chapter XI.*
*THE BERG DAMARAS.*
It was, indeed, a strange, wild-looking creature that lay there beforethem in the full blaze of the fire, in its face a beast-like, huntedlook, and its eyes glancing fiercely yet furtively at its captors. Itwas a black boy, that was certain. It was stark naked, and its skin wasvery dark. The head, covered with kinky wool, rather long for anaverage African, was big, and the forehead round and prominent.Poeskop, who knew more about the native races of this part of SouthAfrica than any man present, pronounced it to be a Berg Damara boy, andits age somewhere about seven or eight. It had manifestly beenconsorting with the baboons for a considerable time, for its knees werehard and horny from much contact with the ground, as also were its handsand feet. Evidently it had been running on all fours for many months,if not for a year or two. It had no power of human speech, but gruntedand chattered like the baboons it had consorted with. Even in its faceit seemed to have acquired something of the savage nature of itscomrades, and at times there was a hideous, ape-like expression which,as Tom expressed it, "made one feel quite uncomfortable."
They offered the wild boy food, which he refused. Then fastening himsecurely to a wagon wheel, and covering him with a blanket, they retiredto rest. Poeskop, who was much interested in the capture, woke severaltimes in the night, and saw that the wild boy had not tampered with hisfastenings.
When Mr. Blakeney awoke next morning and looked out from his wagon, hesaw before him a curious and most laughable scene. Tom was sitting bythe wild boy, having in front of him a large bowl of mealie-porridge,sweetened with sugar, into which had been poured some condensed milk andwater. With this savoury mess Tom was evidently trying his hand uponthe wild creature. To his father's astonishment, he had apparentlyalready met with some success. The wild boy seemed pretty sharp-set,and having seemingly convinced himself that his captors meant him noimmediate injury, was more at his ease than the terrified,hunted-looking creature of the previous night. Still there wassomething very bestial and uncanny about him.
"Now," said Tom, holding a spoonful of porridge and milk close to thewild boy's face, "say _skorf_."
The wild boy made a wry face, and lunged with open mouth at the spoon.Evidently he had tasted the food and wished for more. Tom drew back thespoon. "_Skorf_," he repeated. "_Skorf, skorf, skorf._" With eachrepetition of the word he held the spoon a little closer, and at last,to Mr. Blakeney's astonishment, the wild boy grunted out some soundresembling very distantly the word Tom was waiting for. After this featTom rewarded the strange-looking black imp with several spoonfuls of theporridge. Then again he made him repeat the word, or grunt out somekind of equivalent. The whole scene was so ludicrous that, as Tomfinished up the basin and administered to the wild boy the lastspoonful, Mr. Blakeney could no longer contain himself, but burst into ashout of laughter.
"You two are getting on splendidly," he said, as soon as he could gatherspeech. "How long have you been at your lesson, Tom?"
"About twenty minutes, pater," returned Tom. "He was awfully annoyed atfirst, and wouldn't buck up a bit. I could see he was very hungry,though, and took time, and in a little while he saw my meaning, andbegan to grunt out some kind of imitation of the word I was repeating.Do you know, pater, I believe the creature has spoken before. I can'ttell you quite why. But there was a queer, knowing look in his eyes, asif he had heard people speak at some time or other, no doubt long ago,and was just trying to call to memory something. I wonder how long he'sbeen living with the baboons."
"Wait a bit, Tom," said his father; "this is very interesting. I shookmyself so much laughing just now at you two that I hurt my shoulder.Here, Guy," he went on, as his nephew came in with his shot-gun and acouple of brace of francolin, "give me a hand with this wound. Thatbite the old man baboon gave me last night is very painful, and we mustdress it again."
Guy ran for some clean water and carbolic, and, his uncle having takenoff his flannel shirt, unfastened the dressing put on the night before.The wound was very angry and inflamed, and the shoulder was swollen andpuffy.
"My word, uncle," said Guy, as he gently sponged the wound with carbolicand water, and then applied a fresh dressing, "that brute gave you ahorrid bite."
"Yes," answered Mr. Blakeney cheerfully, "It's a nasty place. The oldman baboon got his teeth right through my thick, elephant-cord coat asif it had been tissue paper, and fastened well on to my shoulder. Inanother second, if Poeskop hadn't fired and killed him, he would havehad a mouthful of my flesh clean out. A baboon's bite is far worse thanany dog's; in fact, I've seen an old man baboon tear out the throat of abig hound, and kill him without giving him the ghost of a chance ofretaliation. The brute went at my throat last night. It's a luckything I fended him off, and he only got me by the shoulder. I shall beall right in a few days. I'll take it quietly, and sit in the wagon andeat slops."
They sat down to breakfast, and then, calling Poeskop up, heldconsultation as to the baboon boy. Poeskop, who knew the Berg Damaratongue, tried the child in various ways, repeating simple sentencesslowly. The boy made no reply, save by curious grunts and ape-likecontortions of the face; if he had ever possessed the power of speech,he seemed to have for the present quite lost it. Still, as the Bushmanspoke to him, there was at times a strange glimmer of perception abouthis eyes, as if his mind were striving to recover some lost memory.Once even he opened his mouth, and seemed upon the very verge of speech.They all waited breathlessly for what was to follow, but the boy closedhis mouth with a snap, assumed the ape-like expression, which he had nodoubt borrowed from his friends the baboons, and they could get no moreout of him.
Tom gazed long and earnestly at the odd-looking little creature.
"I think," he said presently, "we'll call you 'Peter.' I rememberreading once a most curious story about a German lad who was foundwithout power of speech and as wild as a savage. He was called Peterthe Wild Boy, and there was some strange mystery about his birth. Iforget what became of him, but the mystery of his birth was, I fancy,never cleared up. Now, Peter," he continued, getting up, "I mean to makeyou a respectable member of society. And, first of all, I'm going toput you into a decent pair of breeks. Clothed, and associating withhigh-toned folk like ourselves, by degrees we may get you into yourright mind."
So speaking, he went to the wagon, found an old pair of trousers, whichhe cut off at the knees, and brought them back to the group. They triedto make the wild boy understand what was wanted of him. It was a mostabsurd scene, and they all laughed till they ached again and the tearsran down their cheeks. At first Peter thought some injury was about tobe attempted on him. He showed his teeth, and as Tom and Poeskop laidhold of him, fought, scratched, and tried hard to bite his would-bebenefactors. They ceased for a few minutes, and then Guy took up thebreeches, held them up, patted his own knee-breeches, and tried to makethe wild creature understand what was wanted.
"The little Juggins!" said Tom angrily; "he ought to have more sense."
Peter at once caught the angry look in Tom's eyes, and grinned andchattered at him angrily in response. They all shrieked again withlaughter; and then Tom, as if to apologize, sat down by the little wildcreature, patted him on the back, stroked him, and gave him a piece ofbread and marmalade. Peter appreciated this peace offering, and calmeddown rapidly.
"Poor little beggar," said Tom apologetically; "we must go quietly withhim. After all, we can't make a Christian of him in a morning."
Meanwhile Poeskop bethought himself of a plan. Undoing his belt, he tookoff his old trousers full in front of Peter, held them out in anexplanatory way, sat down and put them on again. Then coming to thelad's side, he took the cut-down breeches and gently insinuated, firstone, then the other, of his feet into them. Peter seemed now dimly tocomprehend what was required of him. They hoisted him gently to hisfeet, pulled the garments up, buttoned them, pulled the buckle tight atthe back, and the trick was done. Tom, in h
is delight, patted the boyon the back and drew his attention to the nether garments of all theparty, finally stroking Peter's new breeches admiringly. The littlecreature seemed suddenly to comprehend the whole business. His faceexpanded into a broad smile--by far the most human-like expression thathad yet appeared there--and he looked down at his new garments with realcontentment. Thus was his first step towards civilization successfullyaccomplished.
For the next few days they trekked on steadily through beautifulcountry. Tom and Poeskop attended untiringly to the wild boy'seducation, Mr. Blakeney occasionally rendering them assistance. Inanother day's time Tom had induced the child to wear an old flannelshirt. He showed no inclination to run away. Still they took theprecaution to fasten him up with a cord fixed to a broad piece ofleather, which Tom sewed round his waist. And at night Tom--who wasbecoming really interested in the little creature, and had no intentionof losing him again--gave up sleeping in the tent with Guy, and lay downunder his sheepskin kaross by the fire, with a blanket under him, Petermeanwhile sleeping at the length of his cord two or three yards away.They had washed the little fellow thoroughly with carbolic soap andwater, and made him clean. And Poeskop now washed him daily. As amatter of fact, he was not objectionably dirty when first captured.Baboons in the wild state keep themselves remarkably clean, and thechild evidently was not afraid of fresh water.
For two days Peter still ran about on all fours, much to Tom'sannoyance. On the third day the force of example began to tell, and heattempted to walk after the manner of the other human beings he sawabout him. He had so long shambled along like a baboon on his hands andfeet, that his attempts at walking upright were not at first completelysuccessful. Still he persevered, and was occasionally rewarded by Tomwith bits of sugar or a piece of bread and jam. It was a matter of somevexation to Tom that, as they strolled around the camp at outspanplaces, Peter still chose to avail himself of the strange veldt fare towhich he had been accustomed. He would pull up and devour certain rootsand bulbs. Once he caught and ate a small lizard, rejecting only thehead. And he would eat spiders, caterpillars, and even scorpions--afterhe had carefully and most deftly torn away the sting--and otherunpleasant trifles. Tom's annoyance at these habits was extreme.
"Here I'm feeding him on Christian fare three times a day," he wouldsay, "and the little beast must go and make me sick by devouring allthese filthy things which he picks up in the veldt."
"My dear Tom," replied Guy chaffingly, "the poor beggar must have hisdessert! Even we Christians enjoy nuts, ginger, raisins, wine, andother things, after dinner, when we're living in a state of completecivilization. And, after all, what's the difference between poor Peterwolfing down a lizard, or a caterpillar, or a chrysalis, while we whitefolk delight in oysters, and periwinkles and whelks, lobsters andprawns, which are nothing but marine insects; frogs, eels, spawn (I'mthinking of cod's roe), the livers and lights of various beasts--I meanwhat we call 'fry'--kidneys, tripe, and other things of that sort. TheFrench eat snails. The whole thing is only a matter of individual tasteand environment, as scientific folk call it."
"That's all very fine, Guy," retorted Tom, "but we ought to draw theline somewhere. And Peter, now that he is becoming a respectable biped,has got to draw it at lizards and scorpions and caterpillars."
After the very next meal the two cousins and Peter went for a strollthrough some timber just outside the camp. Peter, ranging at the end ofhis cord, suddenly turned aside at a tree, pulled off with two littlehorny fingers a piece of bark, and drawing forth a huge fat grub fromits hole, devoured it instantly, with manifest gusto. Even Guy, who hadjust enjoyed an excellent dinner, as had Peter, was disgusted at thisperformance.
"Nasty little beggar!" he exclaimed angrily, jerking at Peter by hiscord. "You ought to know better. Come out of it, and don't do thatagain!"
Peter grinned angrily, and showed his white teeth. He knew he was beingscolded, and he resented it. Tom laughed heartily.
"I'm glad you're convinced at last," he said. "Now you'll agree with methat Peter needs reform, and that he must be broken off his baboonpropensities."
"I'm convinced, absolutely," answered Guy, with a disgusted look stillon his face. "It's enough to make one sick. I'll help you all I knowto wean the little beggar of these disgusting practices.--Peter, youlittle beast," he added, again plucking the wild boy by the cord,"you're not to do it. Here, come and take my hand, and walk like agentleman."
The little, wild creature, after looking intently into Guy's face, andseeing a smile of good humour replace the frown of disgust, came up, puthis black paw into Guy's strong, sunburnt hand, and together the threewandered back to the wagon.
On the sixth day after the adventure with the baboons, they reached along range of hills, among which Poeskop's sharp eyes soon detectedsigns of native life. He informed Mr. Blakeney that the last time hehad travelled that way the place was uninhabited. Entering a broad, openvalley, here and there littered with boulders and adorned with patchesof bush, they outspanned not far from a stream of water that ran by.Then Poeskop, accompanied by Mr. Blakeney and the boys, all fully armed,went up the slope of a low hill towards some huts that nestled amongtrees and rocks. It was manifest that natives were about, and that thelittle settlement was a good deal perturbed at the advent of thetravellers. Black figures flitted hither and thither, and cries couldbe heard.
"What are they, Poeskop?" asked Mr. Blakeney.
"Berg Damaras, I think, baas," replied the Bushman; "but I don't quiteunderstand the place. They seem to have houses up in the trees. I'llgo forward and see what they have to say. I don't think they'll harmus; but if they try to, do you and the young baases shoot."
They moved on together for another hundred and fifty yards, and thenPoeskop went ahead, and keeping about a hundred yards in front nearedthe village. The commotion became yet louder, shrill female voices wereheard, and men appeared, armed with bows and arrows and assegais; theaspect of affairs looked by no means peaceful. Still advancing, andwithout betraying an atom of fear or suspicion, the Bushman movedconfidently forward till he was within earshot. Then, raising hisvoice, he addressed the natives. As he had supposed, they were BergDamaras, a wild, miserable, down-trodden people, who are infamouslytreated by other tribes, and shelter themselves in the remotest placesthey are able to find among the wide and unpeopled deserts of this partof Africa.
Poeskop soon calmed their apprehensions and established friendlyrelations with them. They had a curious tale to tell. They had been inthis place no more than a few months, having been driven from theirprevious locality by the assaults of lions, which had destroyed a goodmany of their clan and created a terror among them. The lions hadeither followed them to this valley, or they had stumbled upon a freshband of man-eaters, and their lives were rendered a burden to them bythe night attacks of these dangerous Carnivora. They had at lastresorted to the expedient of building huts among the trees, where theypassed their nights, and, as lions cannot climb, managed to escapeannihilation.
Poeskop having opened up amicable relations with these unfortunates, Mr.Blakeney and the boys came up and were introduced. The Berg Damarasseemed miserably poor. They numbered not more than seventy or eightysouls, men, women, and children, and evidently lived a harassed,shuddering kind of existence. Occasionally stronger tribes, such as theOvampo and Ganguellas, raided them, murdered such of them as theycaught, and carried off their women and children as slaves. The lionsseemed to have completed their dejection, and they had little spiritleft in them. These people speak a pure Hottentot tongue, and have manyancient Hottentot manners and customs. Yet, unlike the yellow-skinnedHottentots, their skins are black. They are supposed to have been afeeble, aboriginal negroid race, who became enslaved by the NamaquaHottentots, and, acquiring the tongue of their conquerors, lost theirown language.
Having given the headman of these miserable people some tobacco andbeads, and gained his confidence, Mr. Blakeney and the boys strolledround the kraal. They we
re especially interested in the sleeping huts,placed among the foliage of some tallish trees. These had been veryingeniously devised, platforms of stout poles serving for floors. Thewalls were composed of ant-hill clay and branches, the whole beingcovered by deep thatches of reeds and grass.
"Well," said Mr. Blakeney, "I've heard of such a thing before, but Inever expected to see natives driven by lions to make their huts amongthe branches of trees. Many years ago, when Moselikatse, father ofLobengula, swept over a great part of South Africa and destroyed wholekraals of Basutos and Bechuanas, the people were so reduced, and thelions, from feeding on human flesh, became so bold, that some of thetribesfolk were compelled for a time to roost among the trees in thisway. But they must be poor creatures to put up with such a terrorism. Akraal, even a little one, of Zulus or Kaffirs, or indeed even Bechuanasand Basutos, would in ordinary circumstances never submit to such astate of things. They would just sally out, hunt up the lions indaylight, and kill them with their assegais. They might lose a fewslain in the operation, but they would clear out the lions somehow."
"I suppose," said Guy, "these poor creatures are too weak and too few innumber to tackle a lion. They look far too depressed for anything ofthe kind."
"Yes," replied Mr. Blakeney, "no doubt that's the case. And, after all,one can hardly blame them. Even for a white man and a good shot, armedwith a modern rifle, a lion is by no means a pleasant beast to tackle.One is never quite sure how the affray is going to turn out. The Zulusmust have been hardy fellows indeed in the old days, in the time ofChaka and Dingaan, and Panda and Cetywayo. If a lion annoyed a kraaland killed oxen or goats, a number of young soldiers were told off tokill it. And kill it they had to, with their spears, and no otherweapon. Of course, on the other hand, they knew that if they didn'tkill the lion, their own lives were forfeit. Chaka and Dingaan, andeven Cetywayo, allowed of no failures of this kind. Cowardice meantdeath. Not that the Zulus ever feared death. A braver and bolder raceof savages never existed."
That afternoon the white man's camp was visited by a number of the BergDamaras. They were hospitably entertained, and regaled with coffee andsome small presents. One of them noticed Peter, the wild boy, and,drawing his comrades' attention to the child, they were soon engaged ina conversation of which the lad evidently was the main topic. Poeskopnoticed this, and asked them what the boy was. They at once said thathe was one of their own race, and asked the Bushman where the lad camefrom. Poeskop related the tale of his capture. This stirred muchdebate and interest among the group. They surrounded the child,examined him closely, handled him, and talked excitedly the while. Againthe headman held animated converse with Poeskop. Meanwhile the whitemen gathered round. They could see that something of interest waspassing.
Poeskop presently came up to Mr. Blakeney and told his story. The boywas a Berg Damara right enough, and had undoubtedly belonged to theirkraal. About a year and a half before, when they were making their wayfrom their last place of habitation thither, the child had strayed away,or in some way become missing, no one quite knew how. They had littletime or energy for prolonged search, being then half-starved and ingreat distress, and they went on their way without him. Undoubtedly hehad fallen among baboons, or been stolen by them; they had heard of suchthings before. They recognized the boy, not only by his likeness to thechild they had lost, but by certain tribal marks. Questioned further,they said the boy's mother was dead, killed and devoured by a lion a fewmonths before. The father was up at the kraal. At Mr. Blakeney'srequest he was sent for. He came shortly, was shown the child, whom heat once recognized, and was told the tale of its capture. This helistened to unmoved, rather as if he were listening to the tale of somedog that he had formerly owned. Presently he went up to Peter, lookedinto the child's face, and spoke to him--in fact, asked him a question.Peter looked up very eagerly, as if he knew the voice. The man went onto repeat his name, "Amral." This he spoke in a low, kindly voice,repeating the word several times. Again it was clear the boy recognizedthe voice and the name. Something in the intonation probably touchedsome chord of memory long forgotten. He opened his mouth, strovevisibly and painfully to find speech, and, failing, lowered his eyes.At that moment a shadow passed lightly over the group and rested for amoment upon the child. All looked up. Far above, between them and thesun, a great vulture swung in mid-air.
"_Tkoobi kanisi!_" said the man, his face turned now to the semblance ofa stone image, and, taking no further interest in the child, he movedaway.
"What does he mean?" asked Mr. Blakeney of Poeskop.
"When the shadow of the vulture rested upon the child," replied theBushman, in a serious voice, "the father took it as an evil sign.'Death sees thee!' he said, and you will find that he will have nothingfurther to do with the boy. I know these Berg Damaras. They are astrange people, stranger even than my own race."
Poeskop was right. The man, though he knew himself to be the father ofthe boy, would have nothing further to say to him. Probably, as Poeskopexplained, he was so poor and spiritless, so little desirous ofundertaking the further maintenance of a child upon his droopingshoulders, that he was not sorry to throw the blame upon the shadow ofill omen, and wash his hands of his long-lost offspring.
"Never mind," said Tom; "I'll be a father to Peter. I bring him up, lookafter him, make a decent Kaffir of him, and he shall work for me atBamborough when we get home again. I'm sure he'll make a smart lad anda good herd boy. He's got brains--look at his great bulging head; andthere's a knowing look in his funny baboon face, which tells me he'll beall there when the time comes. Won't you, Peter?"
Peter looked up, grinned at his young master--he really began to smilenow--and ejaculated a strange grunt which Tom quite comprehended.
