A Chain of Voices

by Andre Brink

  That the 2nd prisoner Abel however soon found an opportunity, while he saw Nicolaas van der Merwe endeavoring to reconnoitre through the window, to thrust in his gun and fire at him, which shot grazed the side of his head; upon which Van der Merwe opened the front door a little and begged and prayed the murderers to spare his life, but in vain, although the 2nd prisoner, who was within shot of him, hesitated a little, which caused the 1st prisoner Galant to call out to him with a curse: “Shoot, Abel!”; on hearing of which Nicolaas van der Merwe having shut the door, the 1st prisoner placed himself in such a situation that he could shoot his master himself when the door should again be opened; shortly after which Nicolaas van der Merwe, having first said prayers with his wife in the bedroom, opened the door, whereupon the 1st prisoner Galant gave him a shot in the head, of which he immediately fell dead. -

  That Hans Jansen, on seeing this, shut the front door and went to the kitchen whither Johannes Verlee likewise went, and to which the wounded Cecilia van der Merwe also made her escape from the bedroom, and endeavored to conceal herself in the oven; which the gang perceiving went round the house outside to the kitchen, when the prisoner Galant first broke a hole in the oven with an iron crow and thereupon together with the other prisoners fired, in consequence of which breaking of and firing into the oven, the widow of the late Nicolaas van der Merwe fell out of the oven on the ground covered with rubbish and clay; upon which the 1st prisoner Galant, having broken open the kitchen door with his crow, he and the other prisoners rushed in, just at the moment when Hans Jansen was employed to extricate Cecilia van der Merwe from under the rubbish. -

  That Jansen, seeing that his life was also aimed at, advanced towards the murderers and begged of them to spare him, saying that he was a stranger who had only spent the night on the farm, to which Galant answered that no Christian should have pardon, for that the report had been that the slaves were to have been free at the New Year, but that it not having been done they would make themselves free, upon which without hesitation Abel presented his gun at said Jansen and gave him a shot in the breast, the consequence of which was his immediate death. -

  That about the same time, Johannes Verlee, who had laid hold of the muzzle of Abel’s gun after he had fired at Jansen, received a shot in the left arm from the 1st prisoner Galant, through which he fell, and as it would appear left the prisoners in the idea that he was also killed, which gave them time to search round the kitchen and elsewhere, whereby they got possession of a pair of pistols and some powder and ball that they found there. -

  That after the pistols were found, the 6th prisoner Klaas having perceived and informed the others of the gang that Verlee was still alive, the 2nd prisoner Abel gave him another shot in the breast, but Verlee still retaining signs of life, the 1st prisoner Galant gave one of the pistols to the 3rd prisoner, the youth Rooy, with orders to shoot Verlee dead, in these words: “Shoot him with the pistol that you have right on the button, for he is not yet dead,” which order the said Rooy complied with. -

  That while this took place, Cecilia van der Merwe found an opportunity to conceal herself under a table in the front room, where however being sought for and found by Galant and Abel, she heard the former give orders to the latter to shoot her; on which she came out from under the table and begged of Galant to let her live, as she was already severely wounded, whereupon he allowed her to withdraw into her bedroom. -

  That the 1st prisoner Galant and his accomplices thereupon left the house, but returned shortly afterwards, during which intermediate time Cecilia van der Merwe made her escape out of the bedroom and round the house to a loft, where her children had earlier concealed themselves with Martha Verlee and her baby. -

  That the 10th prisoner Pamela, the second concubine of the prisoner Galant, who from the commencement of these murderous acts to the time that her mistress took refuge in the loft, was in the house, remained all the time entirely passive, without affording her mistress any assistance; but after her mistress made her escape to the loft, she went to Galant’s hut, where she met the abovementioned Bet (who that morning when Galant had first entered his Master’s house had likewise come in, and had assisted her mistress and helped to bind her wounds before returning to the hut), and having informed her that all the men were murdered and that Cecilia van der Merwe and Martha Verlee had made their escape to the loft with the children, said Bet thereupon returned to the house. -

  That on coming into the kitchen, she found the 1st prisoner Galant there again, together with Thys and Klaas, to the last mentioned of whom Galant having given orders to go and see whether his Mistress and her children were not in the loft, said Bet interfered and begged of him to spare her, but with no other effect than that the 1st prisoner Galant threatened to shoot her because she spoke for her Mistress, in which however he was prevented by the 6th prisoner Klaas, who thereupon went to the loft, and seeing the situation in which Cecilia van der Merwe already was, told her not to be alarmed, for that nothing more would happen to her. -

  That the 4th prisoner Thys did not scruple on that occasion to threaten the daughters of the late Nicolaas van der Merwe with his sabre; while the 1st prisoner Galant threatened to fire at them, but in which he was again opposed by Bet. -

  That the 1st prisoner Galant prior to leaving the house of his murdered Master, broke open the drawer of the table, from which he took the lock of the gun that he had found without one, which having been screwed on, he gave the gun to the 5th prisoner Hendrik, and having drunk of his Master’s wine with his accomplices, he thereupon accompanied by Abel, Rooy, Thys, Hendrik and Klaas left the place, leaving behind the prisoners Achilles, Ontong and Pamela, the latter of whom saw the child at her breast beaten with a gun by Galant before his departure; and after the said prisoners had ridden off the prisoner Pamela fled into the mountains there presumably to await the return of Galant in accordance with some previous arrangement, whereas Achilles and Ontong remained on the farm and were apprehended when the Commando under Field-cornet Frans du Toit arrived later in the same day. -

  That the first six prisoners, armed with the four stolen guns and the two pistols, having ridden back to the habitation of Jean D’Alree with the intention to murder him also, found his house deserted (D’Alree having already left to summon the Field-cornet after having been alerted to the plot by Barend van der Merwe who had arrived there at daybreak); and that they thereupon rode forward to the place of Barend van der Merwe, which they had left the night before, for the purpose of murdering him likewise should he come home; where having arrived, they found he was not there, but met two Hottentots named Slinger and Wildsehut, with a slave named Moses, all in the service of old Piet van der Merwe of Lagenvlei (the father of Barend and Nicolaas), and belonging to a grazing place of said Piet van der Merwe, whither Hester van der Merwe had the night before made her escape; each of whom was armed with a gun, and who as it would appear were sent there by said Hester van der Merwe to assist her husband should it prove necessary. -

  That these three persons however, perceiving the superior strength of the gang, were induced to join them, and after drinking some brandy with the others at Barend van der Merwe’s place, they accompanied them to the grazing place of old Piet van der Merwe, where Moses having got away, he was pursued and found by the gang. -

  That about this time a number of Christians, who had placed themselves under the command of Field-cornet Frans du Toit, on the report of those wicked deeds having pursued and overtaken the gang, Slinger, Wildschut, Moses and Goliath immediately separated from them, while the first six prisoners having mounted their horses resisted the Commando, in consequence of which shots fell on both sides, Galant and Abel in particular having fired at the Commando, but without wounding anyone; upon which having taken flight they were pursued and dispersed by the Commando, and thereupon apprehended, first the 5th and 6th prisoners Hendrik and Klaas, and afterwards the other prisoners successively, some of them with considerable
delay, notably the 1st prisoner Galant who was apprehended on the thirteenth day after having wandered about in the mountains (spending some time in the company of the 4th prisoner Thys who, after first escaping to the Karoo, later returned to join his Leader), abusing his freedom to steal a sheep belonging to Jan du Plessis and firing a shot through the latter’s front door, before he was finally discovered in the Skurweberg near the place of the late Nicolaas van der Merwe, by a group of Hottentots to whom he delivered himself without offering any more resistance. -

  All of which crimes, and each of them, in proportion to the circumstances that have accompanied them, are punishable corporally and with death, according to the existing laws, as an example to others; and therefore require that all the prisoners in this case should be tried this day before the full Court conformably to the 6th Article of the Crown Trial.

  (Signed) D. DENYSSEN

  Part One

  Ma-Rose

  To know is not enough. One must try to understand too. There will be a lot of talking in the Cape these days, one man’s word against another’s, master against slave. But what’s the use? Liars all. Only a free man can tell the truth. In the shadow of death one should walk on tiptoe, for death is a deadly thing. Now I suppose it’s easy to say I’ve seen it coming a long way, as one sees the clouds coming from far off, over the Rough Mountains which they call the Skurweberge, and all along the ridges and the farms, the hills and valleys, over the vineyards and the wheatfields and the orchards, growing darker as they come closer, darker and darker all the way, until they break out in a storm that beats you down and strips you to the bone. Easy to say, and yet not so easy. For how far back must one go? To Galant’s childhood, or mine and old Piet’s, or my mother’s, or still further? The world is very old hereabouts. It was like this in my mother’s time, and in her mother’s, and I suppose in her mother’s too, how am I to know? In the beginning everything was stone. And from the stones the great god Tsui-Goab made us, the people, the Khoikhoin, the People-of-people. And here in the Bokkeveld you can see it very clearly, for we live surrounded by stone.

  If you go towards Tulbagh and climb the highest peak, you can see a long way in all directions. You can see fully seven days far, for that’s how long it takes to Cape Town by wagon. You can see the Table Mountain of the Cape, even though it’s so far you can’t really be sure it’s there, but it is; and you know that’s where the Gentlemen live and where the ships come and go and where the cannon booms from the Lion’s Rump; and you can see Paardeberg, and Contreberg, Riebeeck’s Castle, Huningberg, all of them, all the way to Saldanha where the sea draws a shiny line, and that’s shit-far, and. Piquetberg, and the whole country of the Four-and-Twenty Rivers that I’ve known since my baby days. If you look straight ahead between sunrise and sunset, it’s the Winterberg rising in front of you, with the green valley of Waveren behind, and to the right the narrow valley below the Witzenberg. That is the way to our mountains, the Skurweberge, as rough and fearsome as in the time of Tsui-Goab. Here the earth is a dark red as if it’s bleeding inside, growing more yellow as you dig into it; and it’s broken by the grey and black of rocks strewn about in the old days. There’s the yellowy green and the brown-green of the scrub, proteas and milkwood, and the ashen wagon-trees with their pitch-black trunks. Patches of heather among the cliffs. Now you know you’re coming the right way and no need to hurry. The grass turns harsh and tough and stubbly; with tufts and plumes in between, and the glow of red-grass against the sun, and rushes in the marshes. This is high country, and if you come up this way from Waveren it’s as if you’re moving right out of the world, and rising all the way. When at last the earth flattens the valleys remain narrow and spare, hemmed in with stone. Grey stone, a flaming red inside, broken from the cliffs and scattered about. Mottled with lichen, overgrown with coarse shrubs and bitter heather and sudden splashes of yellow or the tiniest blue starflowers; and high up in the mountains the black and the grey of the rocks are streaked with the white of thin waterfalls. Then it’s pure solid stone again. Stone grows old just like a tree, it seems to me, and as it grows old it turns black or grey. Deeper down, inside, it stays red, as if its guts are glowing, as if it’s still alive; but outside it is old and grey.

  Indeed, our mountains are old, stretching like the skeleton of some great long-dead animal from one end of the Bokkeveld to the other, bone upon bone, yet harder than bone; and we all cling to them. They’re our only hold. They shelter us from the sun and ward off the wind from the narrow valleys and inlets among the rocks, the fields and farms, the sudden whiteness of homesteads and walls, the grazing sheep and cattle. There is a settled look about the string of farms with their houses and outbuildings and kraals, Houd-den-Bek and Riet River and Wagendrift, Winkelhaale, Lagenvlei, Buffelshoek and Elandsfontein; but don’t be fooled by that. One single great gust of wind and it’s all gone as if it’s never been here. The White people, the Honkhoikwa, the Smooth-haired ones, are still strangers to these parts. They still bear in them the fear of their fathers who died on the plains or in the forbidding mountains. They do not understand yet. They have not yet become stone and rock embedded in the earth and born from it again and again like the Khoikhoin. One doesn’t belong before one’s body is shaped from the dust of one’s ancestors.

  They’re newcomers here, the White men, moving in from the Cape and the valley of Waveren, arriving in ones and twos through the years, since the days of Piet van der Merwe’s grandfather, from what I’ve heard; but by that time we, the Khoikhoin, had been coming and going for innumerable winters and summers. We’d come and gone as free as the swallows that arrive in the first warmth and depart in the first frost—here one evening and gone the next morning, and who can stop them? And here they found us, the White men did, when they came to tame the land as they, called it, digging themselves in, and building their stone walls. But it’s no use. They know nothing of these parts yet and already death has come in among their walls.

  We of the Khoin, we never thought of these mountains and plains, these long grasslands and marshes as a wild place to be tamed. It was the Whites who called it wild and saw it filled with wild animals and wild people. To us it has always been friendly and tame. It has given us food and drink and shelter, even in the worst of droughts. It was only when the Whites moved in and started digging and breaking and shooting, and driving off the animals, that it really became wild.

  Not that we had an easy life. My mother used to tell me how our people had been as numerous as the stones of the mountains, as countless as the swallows; but then, she said, there came a disease among us, in the time of my mother’s mother’s mother or thereabouts, when the Great Hunter Heitsi-Eibib was still young; and ever since we’ve been only a handful, and fewer with each new summer. And yet, until my mother’s time we still continued to come and go like the swallows or the wind. Winters are bad here, so my people would trek to other parts; in summer they might come back, depending on the rains—there were always old people in our midst who could tell exactly when and where to trek. We used to stay over on Piet’s farm, in the Low Valley he called Lagenvlei; but when the time came to go, no one would stop us from leaving; and then we would come back again. Only much later, after the death of my father and my mother, when there were very few left of us, I settled here for good. At first I lived on Lagenvlei, seeing Piet’s sons grow up in front of me, Barend and Nicolaas both; and suckling them when they were small. Afterwards I moved to Houd-den-Bek with Nicolaas. But in the time of the last harvest, when old Piet fell ill so suddenly and lay in the big bed staring at the ceiling, unable to move or speak, I went back to nurse him, to feed him and turn him over and wash him: for I’d known him since he was a young man and I knew his needs and likes. Only his wife, the old woman Alida, didn’t want me there—she’d always been jealous of me, and with reason—so she sent me back to Houdden-Bek. She knew only too well that I’d known his body even before she had. Now he’s small and wasted, lying in his bed li
ke an old sick vulture making noises no one can understand; his hands like talons; his body thin and almost transparent, just bones and folds of skin; and then that poor little limp thing with its blue head, like a small naked bird in a tattered nest, and the small eggs sunken into the wrinkled bag. Now it’s lifeless, but in his youth it stood up like the pole of a stallion, and whenever he got into me, neighing like a wild horse, I could feel the spasm coming right from the bottom of my spine all the way to my throat, and my eyes would turn up. He could pump away, all right. And I have a right to judge, I’ve had all the men of these parts and from far away; for when I was young they all heard about me and came to have their marrow drained. Now I’m old and they think I’m useless, but I swear I can still milk the lot of them.

  This is a hard land and women are scarce, and the men are lustful. And who am I to turn away from life? When the stallion approaches, quivering with stiffness, I open up. And the men need it, it keeps them sane; otherwise they get mixed up and mad and try to break down the world. Look at Nicolaas. Look at Galant.

  I can no longer be silent about him. I’ve tried to think about other things, but it’s Galant I have to come back to. For I was the one who brought him up, and in a way I suppose you might call him my child, even though he’s always had a streak of the devil in him.

  His mother was Lys, she was much younger than I, a mere child with apricot breasts; and she was a stranger in our Bokkeveld. They said she’d come from a land across the sea, from Batavia, like Ontong—so he also tried to comfort her in his own way, the old goat. Yet men will be men, and more so when women are hard to find. Same with old Piet. I often saw him stealing across the yard at night, mostly on his way to my own hut; but often to little Lys. And then she began to swell. She was the youngest ripe girl in our parts, and pretty too, although that cannot be seen in the dark, but she was; and she had something about her that seemed to lure the men, as Ontong said, by saying: Come, bruise me. And they couldn’t resist it—the way some people cannot enjoy a flower without plucking off its petals; the way they cannot pass a young anthill without kicking it to bits. That was how it was with Lys, Lys of the apricot tits; and all the men from far and wide came to pluck her, the way they used to come for me, except I didn’t mind; but it made her wild, and that made them desire her even more. She was a fruit, green but sweet, and they ate her. And so she began to swell.