Hair-Breadth Escapes: The Adventures of Three Boys in South Africa

They now resumed their journey, resolving to camp for the night at the first spot where shade and water were to be found. But their quest was not fortunate. The afternoon was unusually scorching and dry; and though they came to several patches of trees and shrubs, they could find neither fount nor pool. At length the sun had declined so low in the horizon, that it was plain that scarcely more than an hour of daylight remained; and they would have to pass the night without having quenched their thirst, unless water should very speedily be discovered.

Under these circumstances they were greatly rejoiced to see Lion, who had been trotting along soberly by Frank’s side ever since they left the ant-hills, suddenly throw up his head and snuff the air, which were his modes of indicating that there was a spring at no great distance.

“Hurrah! old fellow,” shouted Frank; “off then, and find it. We’ll have a race, Nick, which shall reach it first.”

They started off, the other two following at a somewhat slower pace. Lion soon went ahead, directing the course of the boys towards a small kloof, visible about a mile off, containing a grove of palms and date trees, with a thick belt of underwood surrounding it. Heedless of the heat, which by this time, however, was a little tempered by the cool breeze that had sprung up at sunset, they bounded gaily along, and presently reached the kloof. It appeared to Frank – who, closely following Lion, was the first of the four to enter it – quite a little Paradise. Under the shade of the palms, surrounded by delicious verdure, was a large spring bubbling up from the ground, and stealing away in a brook, which ran babbling through the thicket, until lost to sight.

“Hurrah!” he shouted. “Now for a jolly drink! What is the matter, old boy?” he added a moment afterwards, as Lion instead of plunging into the cool water, as was his ordinary habit, stood still on the brink, looking up into Frank’s face, with a perplexed and wistful look. “What’s the matter, Lion, why don’t you drink? I suppose, poor beast,” he added, “he hasn’t quite recovered even yet. Get out of the way, Lion; what are you about? If you are not thirsty, at all events I am!”

He pushed the mastiff out of the way as he spoke, and throwing himself on his hands and knees, took a long and delicious draught. “You don’t know what is good, Lion,” he said. “It’s a rum colour, and there is an odd sort of taste about the water; but it is beautifully cool and refreshing. Come, drink, old chap; it will do you a heap of good.”

The dog, however, persistently refused to touch the water; and Nick, who by this time had reached the grove, was so struck by the animal’s demeanour, that he paused before stooping to the waterside, and eyed it with mingled doubt and curiosity. The next minute Lavie’s voice was heard —

“Don’t any of you touch the water till I come.”

“I am afraid that warning comes rather late in the day for me,” said Frank, laughing, though he felt, nevertheless, a little uneasy. “I’ve had a delicious draught already. Why isn’t one to touch it, Charles?” he continued, as the doctor approached.

“I came upon a gnu, a minute or two ago, lying dead in the thicket. It had no wound, and I suspected it had been poisoned. I know it is very often the practice of the Bushmen to mix poisons of one kind or another with the wells, and so kill the animals that drink at them. But very likely the water is all right; only I had better examine it before – stay, what is this? Won’t Lion drink it?”

“No, he won’t,” said Frank; “and, Charles, I am sorry to say, I have drunk a good deal of it before you called out I am afraid there is something wrong. I feel very queer, anyhow.”

“How do you feel?” asked Lavie, taking his pulse.

“I feel a giddiness in my head, and a singing in the ears, and am very shaky on my legs. I had better lie down. I dare say it will go off presently.” He sank, as he spoke, rather than lay down, on the bank.

“Put your fingers down your throat, and try if you can’t bring the water off again,” said the doctor. “Unluckily, I have no emetic in my knapsacks. The Hottentots emptied out all the drugs, while they had possession of our things.”

Frank obeyed his directions, but with very little effect. He became presently very drowsy, and Lavie, making a bed for him under a mimosa, covered him up with all the spare garments of the rest of the party, and some heaps of long dry grass. In a few minutes Frank seemed to be asleep.

“Do you think he is very bad?” inquired Warley earnestly.

“I don’t like the look of things, I must say,” was the answer; “we don’t know what the poison is which the Bushmen have mixed with the water, and therefore it would be difficult to apply the antidote, even if it could be found here. Generally these poisons work very slow in the instance of men, whatever they may do in animals. The best chance, I think, would be to give him large draughts of fresh wholesome water, if we could find it. It would probably dilute the poison and carry it off, and it would anyway be good for him, as his pulse shows him to be very feverish.”

“We’ll go and hunt for water,” said Warley, “Nick and I; you stay with Frank.”

They took their guns, and went off in different directions. Warley directed his steps towards another kloof, about two miles off, between two high and stony hills. Trees and grass seemed to be growing in it almost as abundantly as in that which he had just left, and if so, there was probably either a brook, or water underground, which might be obtained by digging. He hurried on as fast as he could, for the darkness was fast coming on, and was within a hundred yards of the kloof, when a fine gemsbok, with its tall upright horns, came bounding down the narrow path at its utmost speed. The creature checked itself the moment it saw Ernest. The hills on either side were too steep to be mounted, unless at a foot-pace, and the gemsbok’s instinct taught it that this would place it at the mercy of an enemy. As soon therefore as it could stop itself, it turned short round and galloped back into the kloof. Warley fired after it, but his nerves were discomposed, and the light was so bad that he could hardly have hoped to hit. He could hear the bok rushing along with unabated speed, the sound of its feet dying off in the gorge of the mountain; but two minutes afterwards there came another sound, which seemed like the crack of a ride, though at a considerable distance.

If this was so, there must be some person, beside their own party, somewhere about; for the shot could not have been fired by either Lavie or Nick. At another time, Warley would have hesitated before going in search of a stranger in so wild a region as that of the Kalahari. The shot might have come from a party of Bushmen or Bechuanas; some few of whom, he knew, had possessed themselves of European firearms. In that case, himself and his whole party would run a very imminent risk of being seized and murdered for the sake of their rifles. And even if the person should prove to be a European, it was as likely as not, that he was an escaped convict from the Cape prisons, who might be even more dangerous to encounter than the savages of the desert. But Frank’s situation forbade any considerations of this kind. To secure even the chance of obtaining help for him, was enough to overpower all other calculations.

He hurried on accordingly in the direction whence the sound had come as fast as possible, and after half an hour’s exertion, was rewarded by seeing a long way off the figure of a man carrying a gun over his shoulder. Even at that distance, and in spite of the uncertain light, Ernest could perceive that he was a European. Somewhat assured by this, he shouted at the top of his voice, and presently saw the stranger stop, and look behind him. The sight of Ernest seemed to surprise him, for after looking fixedly at him for a few moments, he walked rapidly down the glen to meet him. As they approached nearer, Warley could distinguish that the new comer was a man advanced in life, but of a hardy frame, and his features showed traces of long exposure to the extremes of cold and heat His dress was peculiar. It consisted of a hunting-coat of some dark woollen material, with breeches and gaiters to match, and a broad leather belt, in which were stuck a variety of articles, which might be needed in crossing the desert: – a drinking-cup of horn, a flint and steel, a case containing apparently small articles of value, together with a powder-flask and shot-case. His long gun he carried slung over his shoulder; and a large broad brimmed hat, the roof of which was thick enough to resist the fiery rays of even an African sun, completed his attire. He was not a hunter, that was plain. He could hardly be a farmer or an itinerant trader, and tourists in those days were persons very rarely to be met with. Moreover, his first address showed him to be a man of superior education to any of these.

“I wish you good day, sir,” he said in correct English, though with something of a foreign accent. “I did not know that there was any other traveller in this neighbourhood, or I should have sought his society. May I ask your name, and whether you are alone, or one of a party?”

“There are four of us,” answered Warley, “we are Englishmen, who have been wrecked on the western coast, and are now trying to make our way to Cape Town.”

“Indeed,” returned the stranger, “but you are aware, I presume, that this is not the nearest way from the west coast to the town you name. You have come a long distance out of your way and chosen a very undesirable route.”

“No doubt,” said Ernest, “but we could not help ourselves. We fell in with a Hottentot tribe, and have had a narrow escape from their hands. But we are in a great strait now. One of our party has incautiously drunk a quantity of water at a fountain near here, which we have since discovered to be poisoned; and none of us – ”

“What the spring in the kloof, about two miles back, I suppose,” interrupted the stranger. “I passed it two or three hours ago. I noticed that it had been poisoned – poisoned by euphorbia juice. Your friend cannot have had much experience of the Kalahari, or he would have detected it at once. You may always know water poisoned in that manner by its clay-like appearance. How much did he drink?”

“A long draught, I am afraid,” said Ernest. “I was not present, but he said so.”

“How long ago?”

“I should think two hours.”

“There is no time to be lost, if his life is to be saved,” observed the unknown. “Happily, the antidote is easily found in these parts. When, indeed, are God’s mercies ever wanting in the hour of need!”

He spoke the last sentence to himself, rather than to his companion. Drawing forth his flint and steel, he struck a light, by which he kindled a small lantern, which was one of the articles appended to his belt. By the help of these, he began searching among the herbage which grew thickly on either side of the path. Presently he lighted on the plant of which he was in quest. It was shaped something like an egg, which it also nearly resembled in size. He pulled up two or three specimens of this, and shook the dirt from the roots. Then he again addressed Warley.

“Where is your friend?” he said. “At the kloof, where he drank the water, I suppose? You had better take me to him as quickly as possible.”

Warley complied in silence. Lost in wonder at the strangeness of the adventure, he led the way down the glen, up which he had mounted an hour or so before.

The elder man seemed as little inclined for conversation as himself. They proceeded in almost unbroken silence until they had arrived within a quarter of a mile of their destination. Warley stepped on a little in advance as they approached the kloof, and Charles came out to meet him.

“How is Frank?” asked Warley in a low tone.

Lavie shook his head. “Nick has found water, but we cannot get any quantity down his throat I have tried everything I can think of, but in vain.”

“I have fallen in with a man who seems to understand the matter, and thinks he can save him.”

“A man – what, here in the Kalahari? What do you mean?”

Warley hurriedly related what had occurred. “Of course, Charles,” he said, “I can’t answer for his knowledge and skill But hadn’t we better let him try what he can do?”

“Yes, I suppose we had,” said Lavie, after a pause. “I can do nothing for him; and though it is true that the poison is slow in its action, yet it is fatal unless its effects are checked. I’ll go and speak to the man.”

He stepped up to the stranger, and in a few hurried words described the condition of his patient. The newcomer nodded his head.

“Euphorbia poison,” he said; “but I trust we shall be in time. Have you any means of heating water?”

“I have some water nearly boiling in the iron pot here.”

“That is well. Be so good as to put some into this cup; rather more than half full, if you please.”

He took one of the egg-shaped fruits, and pounded it in the hot water. When it had been reduced to a fluid state, he signed to Lavie to lift Frank’s head, and then poured the mixture down the lad’s throat. Then covering him up as warmly as he could, he sat down by his side, and took his hand.

He sat there, without speaking, for nearly three-quarters of an hour; then he looked up and said —

“Let us give thanks to God. The boy’s life will be spared. He is beginning to sweat profusely. We have now only to keep him warmly covered up, and the effects of the poison will pass off.”

Chapter Fourteen

The Stranger’s Story – George Schmidt – Important News – The Commando System – The Root of the Matter – A Band of Marauders

“Have you practised your profession in this country for very long?” asked Nick of their visitor, as they sat over their supper an hour or two later in the evening.

The latter smiled. “Yes,” he answered, “for nearly fifteen years. But are you sure you know what my profession is?”

“Are you not a doctor?” rejoined his questioner.

“Well, I suppose I may call myself a doctor,” was the reply, “but a physician of the soul, not of the body – though, as you have seen, I have picked up a little knowledge of body-curing too, in the course of my travels.”

“A missionary!” exclaimed Warley. “I am so glad. I have been so hoping that we might fall in with one. But we were told that there had never been more than a very few in Southern Africa, and even they had now left it.”

“I am sorry to say you heard no more than the truth,” said the stranger. “But I trust there is a better prospect now.”

“I am glad to hear it,” observed Lavie. “I guessed what your employment was, and was afraid you might be in trouble, if not in danger. When I left Cape Town two years ago – ”

“Ah, you have resided in Cape Town. Then you will know something of what our trials and discouragements have been. But no one but the missionaries themselves can really enter into them.”

“I wish you would give us your experiences,” said Lavie. “As you say, in the colony there is a very confused and imperfect knowledge of your proceedings: and there is, besides, so large an amount of prejudice on the subject, that even those most favourably inclined towards you, have heard, I doubt not, a most unfair version of it.”

Warley eagerly seconded this proposal, and the stranger, who seemed willing enough to comply with their wishes, began his recital.

“I should tell you first,” he said, “what perhaps you have guessed – that I am, by descent, half English and half Dutch. Our family name was Blandford, and we were owners of large property in one of the southern counties; but it was forfeited in consequence of our determined adherence to the house of Stuart. After the unfortunate issue of the attempt in 1745, we were obliged to leave England, and took up our residence in Holland; where my father married the daughter of a Dutch merchant, named De Walden, whose name he thenceforth adopted.

“As the hopes of the restoration of the exiled family grew ever less and less, my father entered with more interest into his father-in-law’s business. The latter carried on a brisk trade with the Cape of Good Hope, and thither I was sent, when barely twenty-one, as one of the junior partners in the house. I resided for many years at Stellenbosch, occasionally passing months together at Klyberg, a large farm in the north of the colony, not far from the Gariep, or the Orange river, as it has since been named.”

“Not very far from where we are now, in fact,” observed Lavie.

“It was nearer to the west coast than this,” said De Walden, “by some hundreds of miles, and the country was very fertile. Both at Stellenbosch and Klyberg we employed a great number of Hottentots as slaves. Our treatment of them I shall remember with shame and grief to the last day of my life!” He paused from emotion. And Lavie said —

“You were not different, I suppose, in your treatment of them from your neighbours?”

“Unhappily, no. But that is small comfort. It seems wonderful to me now, with my present feelings, how I could have accepted without questioning, as I did, the opinions of those about me on the subject. We entertained the notion that the natives were an inferior race to ourselves, intended by Providence to be kept in a condition of servitude, as the sheep and oxen were; to be kindly treated if they were docile and industrious; to be subdued and punished if refractory.”

“That is, of course, a perverted view,” said the doctor, “but still no one, who has seen much of these races, can doubt their inferiority, or the necessity of their being instructed and kept in control by the whites.”

“Granted,” said the missionary. “The whites had, in fact, a mission of love and mercy entrusted to them. They ought to have taught the natives, and raised them gradually to a level with themselves. But we never taught or raised them. On the contrary, our persistent determination was to keep them down. We dreaded their acquiring knowledge; and looked with jealousy and dislike upon some earnest and devoted men, who had come from Europe for the purpose of enlightening them.”

“Did you come across George Schmidt, sir?” inquired Warley, with an eagerness of manner which attracted De Walden’s attention. “I have read about him, and have been anxious to meet some one who knew him.”

“Yes,” said De Walden, “to my shame, I did. One of the first things I remember, after my arrival at Klyberg, was an outburst of anger because the good and holy man you name had baptised one of his converts. You may well look surprised, but so it was. By the law of the Cape, no baptised person could be a slave; so that the baptism of a Hottentot had the effect of manumitting him. Of course the law was a mistake, and ought to have been altered. A slave, as Saint Paul has emphatically taught us, may be as true a Christian as his master. But the Dutch had no thought of altering the law, and were resolved rather to keep their slaves in heathen darkness than lose their services.”

“That is much what I read,” said Warley; “and Schmidt was obliged to leave the colony, was he not?”

“He was, and never returned to it, though he earnestly longed and prayed that he might. His prayer was heard after his death, and his spirit returned in the faithful band of servants, who were raised up to carry on his work. I never saw George Schmidt while in Africa. I had no wish to do so. His name was a by-word of reproach on my lips. But afterwards, while I was in Holland, during a three years’ absence from the colony, I did encounter him.”

The speaker paused for a few minutes, and then resumed. “I shall never forget our meeting. I was passing through one of the towns on the Rhine, when I saw a notice that George Schmidt would deliver a discourse about South African Missions, and endeavour to raise funds for carrying them on. I determined to go to the meeting, expose the falsehood and calumnies which I should be sure to hear, and raise such a tumult as would put a stop to him and his doings. I went and I heard him. What we read in the Bible of men forsaking all and following Christ – which had always seemed so difficult to be believed – came home to me in all its vividness. I was carried away by his simple eloquence. I was humbled, conscience-stricken, filled suddenly and for ever with a new purpose in life. I went to him as soon as the meeting was over, told him who I was, and asked his forgiveness for what I and mine had done to thwart and grieve him.”

“And he welcomed you kindly, doubtless?” said Lavie.

“Yes, like himself I remained in Holland, and used every means in my power to obtain the leave to renew his mission, which he was seeking from the Government. My family remonstrated against the course I was pursuing, and finding that I was not to be moved, renounced all connection with me. I cared little for that; but the failure of my applications to the authorities distressed me much more than it did Schmidt; who closed his eyes, in extreme old age, fully assured that the prayer of his life would soon be granted.”

“And it was, was it not?” asked Warley.

“Yes. In 1792 we obtained the long-desired permission. I was one of those who accompanied Marsveld and his colleagues to South Africa. I well remember the day when we visited Bavian’s kloof, which had been the scene of George Schmidt’s labours, broken off nearly fifty years before. There were the remains of the school he had built, and the cottage in which he had dwelt – all in ruins, but sacred in our eyes as the homes in which we had been born. There was the pear tree which he had planted, now a strong and lofty tree. Above all, there were the remains of the flock he brought into the Redeemer’s fold – one or two aged servants of Christ whom he had instructed in the faith, and who had retained the memory of his lessons through fifty years of darkness!”

“The Dutch did not interfere with you any further, did they, sir?” asked Ernest.

“Not as they had done before, but they discouraged us indirectly in every possible way. They would never suffer us to build a church, in which to carry on our worship; and it was not until the English took possession of the Cape that we were able to do so.”

“You were not interfered with during the time of the English occupation, I believe,” said Lavie.

“No, if anything, helped and encouraged. When the colony was restored to the Dutch three years ago, another attempt was made to turn us out of the colony. But English rule had produced its effect on public opinion, and nothing open was attempted. The system pursued by the Dutch farmers was, nevertheless, so obstructive, that I thought it better to give up my mission to the Hottentots, and betake myself to a different part of the colony, where I have been living for the last two years.”

“And where are you going now?” asked Warley.

“Back to the Hottentots. The English Government will protect me, doubtless, as it did before, and I shall have every reasonable hope of succeeding.”

“The English Government!” repeated Nick, hastily. “Have the English retaken the colony!”

De Walden looked at him with surprise. “Do you not know,” he said, “that on the 10th of January last, Cape Town was surrendered to the English? By this time, I should imagine, the whole of the Dutch troops have left the colony.”

“No,” said Lavie, “we did not know it, though we are not much surprised to hear it. When we left England, there was some talk of sending out an expedition to recover the Cape. But the Government kept their intentions very secret. The Hottentots, among whom we have been living for several weeks, had heard of the approach of a British fleet, but knew nothing as to the issue of the expedition. So the Dutch have lost the colony again, have they?”

“Yes,” said the missionary; “and they will never regain it. The trust has been reposed in their hands for many generations, and they have betrayed it, and the colony is handed over to another people. For their own sakes, may they fulfil it better!”

“You are right,” said Lavie; “as the New World was given to Spain, and when Spain abused the gift, it was taken from her; so have the Dutch received, and so have they forfeited, their South African dominions.”

“You speak well,” said De Walden. “The parallel you suggest is very much to the purpose. One’s blood boils when one reads of the barbarities practised on the defenceless Indians by Cortez and his fellows; on the monstrous violations of justice, mercy, and good faith which Pizarro displayed in his dealings with the simple-hearted Peruvians. But neither Cortez nor Pizarro ever perpetrated more unjust or inhuman deeds, than have the Dutch boors during the century and a half of their possession.”