The Settler and the Savage, R. M. Ballantyne [best way to read ebooks .txt] 📗

Chapter Seventeen. Treats of Hopes, Fears, and Prospects, besides describing a Peculiar Battle.

Mounted on a pair of sturdy ponies Hans Marais and Charlie Considine galloped over the plains of the Zuurveld in the direction of Grahamstown. The brothers Skyd had preceded them, Edwin Brook was to follow.

It was a glorious day, though this was nothing unusual in that sunny clime, and the spirits of the young men were high. Excitement has a tendency to reproduce itself. Hans and his friend did not feel particularly or personally interested in the arrival of the Royal Commissioners, but they were sympathetic, and could not resist surrounding influences. Everywhere they overtook or passed, or somehow met with, cavaliers on the road—middle-aged and young—for old men were not numerous there at that time—all hastening to the same goal, the “city of the settlers,” and all had the same tale to tell, the same hopes to express. “Things are going to be put right now. The Commissioners have full powers to inquire and to act. We court investigation. The sky is brightening at last; the sun of prosperity will rise in the ‘east’ ere long!”

In Grahamstown itself the bustle and excitement culminated. Friends from the country were naturally stirred by meeting each other there, besides being additionally affected by the object of the meeting. Crowds gathered in the chief places of the fast rising town to discuss grievances, and friends met in the houses of friends to do the same and draw up petitions.

At last the Commissioners arrived and were welcomed by the people with wild enthusiasm.

Abel Slingsby, an impulsive youth, and a friend of Hans Marais, who had just been married to a pretty neighbour of Hans in the karroo, and was in Grahamstown on his honeymoon, declared that he would, without a moment’s hesitation, throw up his farm and emigrate to Brazil, if things were not put right without delay.

“No, you wouldn’t,” said his pretty bride, with an arch look; “you’d take time to think well over it and consult with me first.”

“Right, Lizzie, right; so I would,” cried Slingsby, with a laugh. “But you must admit that we have had, and still have, great provocation. Just think,” he added, with returning indignation, “of free-born British subjects being allowed no newspaper to read except one that is first revised by a jealous, despotic Governor, and of our being obliged to procure a ‘pass’ to entitle us to go about the country, as if we were Kafirs or Hottentots—to say nothing of the insolence of the Jacks-in-office who grant such ‘passes,’ or the ridiculous laws regarding the natives—bah! I have no patience to recount our wrongs—Come, Hans, let’s go out and see what’s doing; and don’t forget, Liz, to have candles ready for the illumination, and tell the Tottie to clean my gun. I must be ready to do them honour, like other loyal subjects.”

The young men sallied forth and found that the Commissioners had been received by the authorities with sullen courtesy.

“A clear sign that the authorities know themselves to be in the wrong,” said Considine, “for honest men always court open investigation.”

“This attitude looks like rebellion against the British Government on the part of the colonial authorities,” said Hans. “I shouldn’t wonder if we were to get a surprise from them while in such a mood.”

Evening drew on apace, and crowds of people moved about to witness the illumination and other evidences of rejoicing, while some of the more enthusiastic sought to express their sentiments by firing a volley with small arms. According to an eye-witness, (see Note 1) the signal was taken up at once, and, the example spreading like wildfire, the hills soon resounded on all sides with a noise that might have been mistaken for the storming of the town. This was a demonstration the authorities could not brook. The necessary orders were given and soon the bugles of the garrison sounded the assembly at Scott’s Barracks, while the trumpets of the Mounted Rifles at Fort England sent squadrons of horse thundering up Bathurst Street to assist in the terrible emergency caused by blank cartridges and joyous hurrahs! Parties of infantry patrolled the streets, making prisoners in all directions, and the people assembled in Church Square to see the illuminations were surrounded by troops. The leading men there, foreseeing the advantage that would result so their cause by such a style of repressing public opinion, advised those around them to keep quiet and be true to their principles.

Hans Marais and his friends happened to be in Church Square at the time, and at once fell in with and acted on the peaceful advice, though the impulsive Slingsby found it difficult to restrain his British spirit.

“See,” he said, pointing to a gentleman who approached, “there goes the Reverend Mr Geary. Do you know him, Hans? He’s a man of the true sort. Let me tell you in your ear that I heard he has got into bad odour in high quarters for refusing to have anything to do with a ‘proscription list’ furnished by the Governor, which contains the names of persons who are to be shunned and narrowly watched—some of these persons being the best and most loyal in the colony.”

As he spoke the clergyman referred to was stopped by a friend, and they overheard him express much gratification at the arrival of the Commissioners, and a hope that abuses would soon be reformed, at the same time stating his determination not to be a party man.

Unfortunately for the clergyman there were minions of the Government within earshot at the time. His words were reported, and, shortly afterwards, he was summarily removed.

Just then some of the Cape Corps men charged part of the crowd and scattered it. At the same time various persons were arrested. Among these was the indignant Slingsby. Unable to restrain his ire he called out “Shame!” and was instantly pounced upon by a serjeant and party of infantry. Immediately becoming sensible of his folly, after a momentary struggle he suffered himself to be led quietly away, but looked over his shoulder as he was marched off to the “tronk,” and said hurriedly—

“Console Lizzie, Hans!”

With a look of sympathy, Hans assured his friend that he would do so, without fail, and then, with Considine, proceeded to the house where poor Lizzie had already lit up the windows and got the gun in readiness.

“They dare not keep him long,” said Hans, in his vain attempts to comfort the weeping bride, “and depend upon it that the conduct of the authorities this evening will go a long way to damage their own cause and advance that of the settlers.”

Hans was right. Slingsby was liberated the following morning. The Commissioners turned out to be able men, who were not to be hoodwinked. True, a considerable period elapsed before the “report” afterwards made by them took effect, and for some time the settlers continued to suffer; but in the following year the fruits of the visit began to appear. Among other improvements was the creation of a Council to advise and assist the Governor—consisting of seven members, including himself,—whereby a wholesome check was put upon his arbitrary power. Trial by jury was also introduced, and the power of magistrates was modified. These and other more or less beneficial changes took place, so that there was reason to believe a time of real prosperity had at length dawned.

But the settlers were not yet out of the furnace.

Providence saw fit to send other troubles to try them besides unjust and foolish men in power. There was still another plague in store.

One day Charlie Considine rode towards the farm which had now for several years been his home.

The young members of the Marais family had grown learned under his care, and he was now regarded as a son by old Marais and his wife, while the children looked on him as an elder brother. Charlie had not intended to stay so long, and sometimes his conscience reproved him for having given up his profession of medicine, but the longer he stayed with those sweet-tempered Dutch-African farmers with whom his lot had been cast the more he liked them, and the more they liked him. What more natural then that he should stay on from day to day, until he became almost one of themselves? When people are happy they desire no change.

But it must not be supposed that the youth’s office was a sinecure. The young Marais were numerous, and some of them were stupid,—though amiable. The trouble caused by these, however, was more than compensated by the brightness of others, the friendship of Hans, and the sunshine of Bertha. The last by the way, had now, like Gertrude Brook, sprung into a woman, and though neither so graceful nor so sprightly as the pretty English girl, she was pre-eminently sweet and lovable.

Well, one day, as we have said, Charlie Considine rode towards the farm. He had been out hunting alone, and a springbok tied across the horse behind him showed that he had been successful.

Rousing himself from a reverie, he suddenly found himself in the midst of a scene of surpassing beauty. In front lay a quiet pond, whose surface was so still that it might have been a sheet of clear glass. On his left the familiar mountain-range beyond the farm appeared bluer and nearer than usual, owing to the intense heat. To the right the undulating karroo, covered with wild-flowers, and dotted with clumps of mimosa-bush, terminated abruptly in a lake which stretched away, in some places like a sea, to the