CHAPTER THREE.
DESCRIBES THE SOMEWHAT CURIOUS BEGINNING OF SETTLER-LIFE IN SOUTHAFRICA.
Leaping over time and space with that hilarious mental bound which is soeasy and enjoyable to writers and readers, let us fold our wings atearly morn in the month of May, and drop down on the heights in thevicinity of Algoa Bay.
The general aspect of the bay is sandy and sterile. On its blue watersmany large vessels lie at anchor. Some of them are trim, with furledsails and squared yards, as if they had been there for a considerabletime. Others have sails and spars loose and awry, as if they had justarrived. From these latter many an emigrant eye is turned wistfully onthe shore. The rising ground on which we stand is crowned by a littlefortress, or fortified barrack, styled Fort Frederick, around which arethe marquees of the officers of the 72nd regiment. Below, on the rangeof sandhills which fringe the beach, are pitched a multitude of canvastents, and among these upwards of a thousand men, women, and childrenare in busy motion. There are only one or two small wooden housesvisible, and three thatched cottages. Down at the water's edge, anddeep in the surf, crowds of soldiers, civilians, and half-naked nativesare busy hauling on the ropes attached to the large surfboats, which arecovered to overflowing with human beings. Those in the boats, as wellas those in the surf and on the beach, are in a state of highexcitement, and more or less demonstrative, while the seamen from aneighbouring sloop of war, who manage the boats, shout to the people atthe ropes. The replies of these are drowned, ever and anon, by the roarof falling "rollers." These rollers, or great waves, calm though themorning be, come in with giant force from the mighty sea. They are themere termination of the ocean-swell.
Reader, the scene before you marks an epoch of vast importance in SouthAfrican history. It is the "landing of the British Settlers" in theyear 1820. The spot is that on which now stands the flourishingcommercial town of Port Elizabeth, styled, not inappropriately, by itsinhabitants, the "Liverpool of South Africa."
Standing near the stern of one of the surf-boats, his strong right handgrasping the gunwale, and his grave eyes fixed on the shore, one of theexiles from Scotland lifted his voice that day and said--
"Hech, sirs! it's but a puir, ill-faur'd, outlandish sort o' country. Iwad fain hope the hieland hills of our location inland are mairpleasant-lookin' than this."
"Keep up your spirits, Sandy Black," observed a sturdy Highlander whostood at his side; "those who know the country best say that ourlocation is a splendid one--equal to Scotland itself, if not superior."
"It may be so, Mr McTavish," replied Sandy, in a doubtful tone ofvoice, "it _may_ be so."
"Hallo!" suddenly and loudly exclaimed a dapper little man, whose voicebetokened him English.
"What is't, Jerry?" demanded Sandy Black, turning his eyes seaward, inwhich direction Jerry was gazing.
The question needed no reply, for Sandy, and indeed all the variouspeople in the barge who stood high enough on its sides or lading to beable to look over the gunwale, observed a mighty wave coming up behindthem like a green wall.
"Haul hard!" roared the seamen in charge.
"Ay, ay," shouted the soldiers on shore.
As they spoke the billow lifted the boat as if it had been a cork, fellunder it with a deafening roar and bore it shoreward in a tumult ofseething foam. Next moment the wave let it down with a crash andretired, leaving it still, however, in two or three feet of water.
"Eh, man, but that _was_ a dunt!" exclaimed Sandy, tightening his holdon the gunwale, while several of his less cautious or less powerfulneighbours were sent sprawling into the bottom of the boat amongterrified women and children.
All was now bustle and tenfold excitement, for the soldiers on the beachhurried waist-deep into the sea for the purpose of carrying the futuresettlers on shore.
Thomas Pringle, the leader of the Scotch party, and who afterwardsbecame known as the "South African poet" had previously landed in a gig.He gave an opportune hint, in broad Scotch, to a tall corporal of the72nd Highlanders to be careful of his countrymen.
"Scotch folk, are they?" exclaimed the corporal, with a look of surpriseat Pringle. "Never fear, sir, but we sal be carefu' o' _them_."
The corporal was as good as his word, for he and his comrades carriednearly the whole party ashore in safety. But there were others therewho owned no allegiance to the corporal. One of these--a big sallowHottentot--chanced to get Jerry, surnamed Goldboy, on his shoulders,and, either by mischance or design, stumbled and fell, pitching Jerryover his head, just as another billow from the Indian Ocean was rushingto the termination of its grand career. It caught Jerry up in a lovingembrace as he rose, and pitched him with a noisy welcome on the shore.
"Weel done, Jerry!" cried Sandy Black, who had just been overturned bythe same wave from the shoulders of a burly Englishman--a previouslylanded settler--"you an' me's made an impressive landin'. Come, let'sgit oot o' the bustle."
So saying the stout Lowlander seized his little English friend by thearm and dragged him towards the town of canvas which had within a fewweeks sprung up like mushrooms among the sandhills.
Although wet from head to foot, each forgot his condition in theinterest awakened by the strange sights and sounds around him. Theirimmediate neighbourhood on the beach was crowded with emigrants, asparty after party was carried ashore shoulder-high by the soldiers, whoseemed to regard the whole affair as a huge practical joke.
The noise was indescribable, because compound. There was the boisteroushilarity of people who felt their feet once more on solid ground, aftera long and weary voyage; the shouting of sailors and bargemen in theboats, and of soldiers and natives on the beach; the talking andlaughing of men and women who had struck up sudden friendships onlanding, as well as of those who had crossed the sea together; thegambolling and the shrieking delight of children freed from therestraints of shipboard; the shouts of indignant Government officialswho could not get their orders attended to; the querulous demands ofpeople whose luggage had gone astray in process of debarkation; thebawling of colonial Dutch by gigantic Dutch-African farmers, inbroad-brimmed hats and leathern crackers, with big tobacco-pipes intheir mouths; the bellowing of oxen in reply to the pistol-shot cutsapplied to their flanks by half-naked Hottentots and Bushmen, whosewhips were bamboos of twenty feet or so in length, with lashes twice aslong; the creaking of Cape-waggons, the barking of dogs, and, as ameasured accompaniment to all, the solemn regular booming of therestless sea.
Disengaging themselves from the crowded beach, Sandy Black and JerryGoldboy proceeded towards the town of tents among the sandhills. Ontheir way they passed several large tarpaulin-covered depots ofagricultural implements, carpenter's and blacksmith's tools, andironware of all descriptions, which had been provided by Government tobe sold to the settlers at prime cost--for this grand effort atcolonisation was originated and fostered by the British Government.
"Weel, weel, did ever 'ee see the like o' that, noo?" observed SandyBlack, as he passed some sandhills covered with aloes and cactuses andrare exotics, such as one might expect to find in English greenhouses.
"Well, yes," replied Jerry Goldboy, "them _are_ hodd lookin' wegitables.I can't say that I've much knowledge of such-like myself, 'avin' binborn an' bred in London, as I've often told you, but they do seempecooliar, even to me.--I say, look 'ere; I thought all the people 'erewas settlers."
Sandy, who was a grave man of few words, though not without a touch ofsly humour, replied, "Weel, so they are--an' what than?"
"Why, w'at are them there?" demanded Jerry, pointing to several marqueespitched apart among some evergreen bushes.
"H'm! 'ee may ask that," replied the Scot; but as he did not add more,his companion was content to regard his words as a confession ofignorance, and passed on with the remark, "haristocrats."
Jerry was so far right. The marquees referred to belonged to the higherclass of settlers, who had resolved to forsake their native land andintroduce refinement into the South African wilds.
The position chosenby them on which to pitch their tents, and the neatness of everythingaround, evinced their taste, while one or two handsome carriagesstanding close by betokened wealth. Some of the occupants, elegantlydressed, were seated in camp-chairs, with books in their hands, whileothers were rambling among the shrubbery on the little eminences andlooking down on the bustling beach and bay. The tents of these,however, formed an insignificant proportion of the canvas town in whichSandy Black and his friend soon found themselves involved.
"Settlers' Camp," as it was called, consisted of several hundred tents,pitched in parallel rows or streets, and was occupied by the middle andlower class of settlers--a motley crew, truly. There were jolly farmersand pale-visaged tradesmen from various parts of England, watermen fromthe Thames, fishermen from the seaports, artisans from town and country,agricultural labourers from everywhere, and ne'er-do-weels from nowherein particular. England, Scotland, Ireland, were represented--in somecases misrepresented,--and, as character was varied, the expression ofit produced infinite variety. Although the British Government hadprofessedly favoured a _select_ four thousand out of the luckless ninetythousand who had offered themselves for emigration, it is to be fearedthat either the selection had not been carefully made, or drunkennessand riotous conduct had been surprisingly developed on the voyage out.Charity, however, requires us to hope that much of the excitementdisplayed was due to the prospect of being speedily planted in ruralfelicity in the wilds of Africa. Conversation, at all events, ranlargely on this theme, as our wanderers could easily distinguish--forpeople talked loudly, and all tent-doors were wide open.
After wandering for some time, Sandy Black paused, and looking down athis little friend with what may be called a grave smile, gave it as hisopinion that they had got lost "in Settlers'-toon."
"I do believe we 'ave," assented Jerry. "What's to be done?"
"Gang to the best hotel," suggested Sandy.
"But where _is_ the best 'otel?"
"H'm! 'ee may ask that."
A burst of noisy laughter just behind them caused the lost ones to turnabruptly, when they observed four tall young men of gentlemanly aspectsitting in a small military tent, and much amused apparently at theirmoist condition.
"Why, where did you two fellows come from?" asked one of the youths,issuing from the tent.
"From England and Scotland," replied Jerry Goldboy promptly.
"From the sea, I should say," returned the youth, "to judge from yourwet garments."
"Ay, we've been drookit," said Sandy Black.
"Bring 'em in, Jack," shouted one of the other youths in the tent.
"Come inside," said he who was styled Jack, "and have a glass of whisky.There's nothing like whisky to dry a wet skin, is there, Scotty?"
To this familiar appeal Sandy replied, "m-h'm," which word, we may addfor the information of foreigners, is the Scotch for "Yes."
"Sit down there on the blankets," said the hospitable Jack, "we haven'tgot our arm-chairs or tables made yet. Allow me to introduce my twobrothers, James and Robert Skyd; my own name is the less common one ofJohn. This young man of six feet two, with no money and less brain, isnot a brother--only a chum--named Frank Dobson. Come, fill up anddrink, else you'll catch a cold, or a South African fever, if there issuch a thing. Whom shall I pledge?"
"My name is Jerry Goldboy," said the Englishman; "your health,gentlemen."
"'Am Sandy Black," said the Scot; "here's t'ee."
"Well, Mr Black and Mr Coldboy"--Goldboy, interposed Jerry--"I speakfor my brothers and friend when I wish you all success in the new land."
"Do talk less, Jack," said Robert Skyd, the youngest brother, "and giveour friends a chance of speaking--Have you come ashore lately!"
"Just arrived," answered Jerry.
"I thought so. You belong to the Scotch party that goes to BaviaansRiver, I suppose?" asked Frank Dobson.
This question led at length to a full and free account of thecircumstances and destination of each party, with which however we willnot trouble the reader in detail.
"D'ee ken onything aboot Baviaans River?" inquired Sandy Black, after avariety of subjects had been discussed.
"Nothing whatever," answered John Skyd, "save that it is between one andtwo hundred miles--more or less--inland among the mountains, and thatits name, which is Dutch, means the River of Baboons, its fastnessesbeing filled with these gentry."
"Ay, I've heard as much mysel'," returned Sandy, "an' they say thecraters are gey fierce. Are there ony o' the big puggies in the Albanydistrict?"
"No, none. Albany is too level for them. It lies along the sea-coast,and is said to be a splendid country, though uncomfortably near theKafirs."
"The Kawfirs. Ay. H'm!" said Sandy, leaving his hearers to form theirown judgment as to the meaning of his words.
"An' what may _your_ tred be, sir?" he added, looking at John Skyd.
The three brothers laughed, and John replied--
"Trade? we have no trade. Our _profession_ is that of clerks--knightsof the quill; at least such was our profession in the old country. Inthis new land, my brother Bob's profession is fun, Jim's is jollity, andmine is a compound of both, called joviality. As to our chum Dobson,his profession may be styled remonstrance, for he is perpetuallychecking our levity, as he calls it; always keeping us in order andsnubbing us, nevertheless we couldn't do without him. In fact, we maybe likened to a social clock, of which Jim is the mainspring, Bob theweight, I the striking part of the works, and Dobson the pendulum. Butwe are not particular, we are ready for anything."
"Ay, an' fit for nothin'," observed Sandy, with a peculiar smile andshrug, meant to indicate that his jest was more than half earnest.
The three brothers laughed again at this, and their friend Dobsonsmiled. Dobson's smile was peculiar. The corners of his mouth turneddown instead of up, thereby giving his grave countenance an unusuallyarch expression.
"Why, what do you mean, you cynical Scot!" demanded John Skyd. "Ourshoulders are broad enough, are they not? nearly as broad as your own."
"Oo' ay, yer shoothers are weel aneugh, but I wadna gie much for yerheeds or haunds."
Reply to this was interrupted by the appearance, in the opening of thetent, of a man whose solemn but kindly face checked the flow of flippantconversation.
"You look serious, Orpin; has anything gone wrong?" asked Frank Dobson.
"Our friend is dying," replied the man, sadly. "He will soon meet hisopponent in the land where all is light and where all disputes shall beended in agreement."
Orpin referred to two of the settlers whose careers in South Africa weredestined to be cut short on the threshold. The two men had beenearnestly religious, but, like all the rest of Adam's fallen race, weretroubled with the effects of original sin. They had disputed hotly, andhad ultimately quarrelled, on religious subjects on the voyage out. Oneof them died before he landed; the other was the man of whom Orpin nowspoke. The sudden change in the demeanour of the brothers Skydsurprised as well as gratified Sandy Black. That sedate, and literallyas well as figuratively, long-headed Scot, had felt a growing distasteto the flippant young Englishers, as he styled them, but when he sawthem throw off their light character, as one might throw off a garment,and rise eagerly and sadly to question Orpin about the dying man, hefelt, as mankind is often forced to feel, that a first, and especially ahasty, judgment is often incorrect.
Stephen Orpin was a mechanic and a Wesleyan, in virtue of which latterconnection, and a Christian spirit, he had been made a local preacher.He was on his way to offer his services as a watcher by the bedside ofthe dying man.
This man and his opponent were not the only emigrants who finished theircourse thus abruptly. Dr Cotton, the "Head" of the "Nottingham party,"Dr Caldecott and some others, merely came, as it were like Moses, insight of the promised land, and then ended their earthly career. Yetsome of these left a valuable contribution, in their children, to thefuture colony.
While Black and his f
riend Jerry were observing Orpin, as he conversedwith the brothers Skyd, the tall burly Englishman from whose shouldersthe former had been hurled into the sea, chanced to pass, and quietlygrasped the Scot by the arm.
"Here you are at last! Why, man, I've been lookin' for you ever sincethat unlucky accident, to offer you a change of clothes and a feed in mytent--or I should say _our_ tent, for I belong to a `party,' like everyone else here. Come along."
"Thank 'ee kindly," answered Sandy, "but what between haverin' wi' thaeEnglishers an' drinkin' their whusky, my freen' Jerry an' me's dryaneugh already."
The Englishman, however, would not listen to any excuse. He was one ofthose hearty men, with superabundant animal spirits--to say nothing ofphysique--who are not easily persuaded to let others follow their owninclinations, and who are so good-natured that it is difficult to feeloffended with their kindly roughness. He introduced himself by the nameof George Dally, and insisted on Black accompanying him to his tent.Sandy being a sociable, although a quiet man, offered little resistance,and Jerry, being a worshipper of Sandy, followed with gay nonchalance.
The Settler and the Savage Page 3
