“Peace at last!” said Edwin Brook1 to George Dally2, on arriving at his ravaged3 and herdless farm in the Zuurveld, whither George had preceded him.
“Peace is it, sir? Ah, that’s well. It’s about time too, for we’ve got a deal to do—haven’t we, sir?”
“You see, sir, we’ve got to go back pretty well to where we was in 1820, and begin it all over again. It is somewhat aggrawatin’! Might have been avoided, too, if they’d kep’ a few more troops on the frontier.”
“Well, Jack5, the treaty is signed at last,” said Robert Skyd to his brother, as he sat on his counter in Grahamstown, drumming with his heels.
“Not too soon,” replied John Skyd, taking a seat on the same convenient lounge. “It has cost us something: houses burnt all over the settlement, from end to end; crops destroyed; cattle carried off, and, worst of all, trade almost ruined—except in the case of lucky fellows like you, Bob, who sell to the troops.”
“War would not have broken out at all,” returned Bob, “if the Kafirs had only been managed with a touch of ordinary common sense in times past. Our losses are tremendous. Just look at the Kafir trade, which last year I believe amounted to above 40,000 pounds,—that’s crushed out altogether in the meantime, and won’t be easily revived. Kafirs in hundreds were beginning to discard their dirty karosses, and to buy blankets, handkerchiefs, flannels6, baize, cotton, knives, axes, and what not, while the traders had set up their stores everywhere in Kafirland—to say nothing of your own business, Jack, in the gum, ivory, and shooting way, and our profits thereon. We were beginning to flourish so well, too, as a colony. I believe that we’ve been absorbing annually7 somewhere about 150,000 pounds worth of British manufactured articles—not to mention other things, and now—Oh, Jack, mankind is a monstrous8 idiot!”
“Peace comes too late for us, Gertie,” said Hans Marais to his wife, on their return to the old homestead on the karroo, which presented nothing but a blackened heap of dry mud, bricks, and charred9 timbers; herds10 and flocks gone—dreary silence in possession—the very picture of desolation.
“Better late than never,” remarked Charlie Considine sadly. “We must just set to work, re-stock and re-build. Not so difficult to do so as it might have been, however, owing to that considerate uncle of mine. We’re better off than some of our poor neighbours who have nothing to fall back upon. They say that more than 3000 persons have been reduced to destitution11; 500 farm-houses have been burnt and pillaged12; 900 horses, 55,000 sheep and goats, and above 30,000 head of cattle carried off, only a few of which were recovered by Colonel Smith on that expedition when Hintza was killed. However, we’ll keep up heart and go to work with a will—shan’t we, my little wife!”
Bertha—now Bertha Considine—who leaned on Charlie’s arm, spoke not with her lips, but she lifted her bright blue eyes, and with these orbs13 of light declared her thorough belief in the wisdom of what ever Charlie might say or do.
“They say it’s all settled!” cried Jerry Goldboy, hastily entering Kenneth McTavish’s stable.
“What’s all settled?” demanded Sandy Black.
“Peace with the Kafirs,” said Jerry.
“Peace wi’ the Kawfirs!” echoed Sandy, in a slightly contemptuous tone. “H’m! they should never hae had war wi’ them, Jerry, my man.”
“It’s cost us a bonnie penny,” rejoined Black.
“Nae doot Glen Lynden has come off better than ither places, for we’ve managed to haud oor ain no’ that ill, but wae’s me for the puir folk o’ the low country! An’ I’ll be bound the Imperial Treasury15’ll smart for’t. (See Note 1.) But it’s an ill wind that blaws nae gude. We’ve taken a gude slice o’ land frae the thievin’ craters16, for it’s said Sir Benjamin D’Urban has annexed17 all the country between the Kei and the Keiskamma to the colony. A most needfu’ addition, for the jungles o’ the Great Fish River or the Buffalo18 were jist fortresses19 where the Kawfirs played hide-an’-seek wi’ the settlers, an’ it’s as plain as the nose on my face that peace wi’ them is not possible till they’re driven across the Kei—that bein’ a defensible boundary.”
“So, they say that peace is proclaimed,” said Stephen Orpin to a pretty young woman who had recently put it out of his power to talk of his “bachelor home at Salem.” Jessie McTavish had taken pity on him at last!
“Indeed!” replied Jessie, with a half-disappointed look; “then I suppose you’ll be going off again on your long journeys into the interior, and leaving me to pine here in solitude20?”
“That depends,” returned Orpin, “on how you treat me! Perhaps I may manage to find my work nearer home than I did in days gone by. At all events I’ll not go into Kafirland just now, for it’s likely to remain in an unsettled state for many a day. It has been a sad and useless war, and has cost us a heavy price. Think, Jessie, of the lives lost—forty-four of our people murdered during the invasion, and eighty-four killed and thirty wounded during the war. People will say that is nothing to speak of, compared with losses in other wars; but I don’t care for comparisons, I think only of the numbers of our people, and of the hundreds of wretched Kafirs, who have been cut off in their prime and sent to meet their Judge. But there has been one trophy21 of the war at which I look with rejoicing; 15,000 Fingoes rescued from slavery is something to be thankful for. God can bring good out of evil. It may be that He will give me employment in that direction ere long.”
These various remarks, good reader, were uttered some months after the events recorded in the last chapter, for the death of the great chief of Kafirland did not immediately terminate the war. On the contrary, the treaty of peace entered into with Kreli, Hintza’s son and successor, was scouted22 by the confederate chiefs, Tyali, Macomo, etcetera, who remained still unsubdued in the annexed territory, and both there, and within the old frontier, continued to commit murders and wide-spread depredations23.
It was not until the Kafirs had been hunted by our troops into the most impregnable of their woody fortresses, and fairly brought to bay, that the chiefs sent messengers to solicit24 peace. It was granted. A treaty of peace was entered into, by which the Kafirs gave up all right to the country conquered, and consented to hold their lands under tenure25 from the British Sovereign. It was signed at Fort Wilshire in September.
Thereafter Sir Benjamin D’Urban laid down with great wisdom and ability plans for the occupation and defence of the annexed territory, so as to form a real obstruction26 to future raids by the lawless natives—plans which, if carried out, would no doubt have prevented future wars, and on the strength of which the farmers began to return to their desolated27 farms, and commence re-building and re-stocking with indomitable resolution. Others accepted offers of land in the new territory, and a few of the Dutch farmers, hoping for better times, and still trusting to British wisdom for protection, were prevailed on to remain in the colony at a time when many of their kindred were moving off in despair of being either protected, understood, or fairly represented.
Among these still trusting ones was Conrad Marais. Strongly urged by Hans and Considine, he consented to begin life anew in the old home, and went vigorously to work with his stout28 sons.
But he had barely begun to get the place into something like order when a shell was sent into the colony, which created almost as much dismay as if it had been the precursor29 of another Kafir invasion.
Conrad was seated in a friend’s house in Somerset when the said shell exploded. It came in the form of a newspaper paragraph. He looked surprised on reading the first line or two; then a dark frown settled on his face, which, as he read on, became pale, while his compressed lips twitched30 with suppressed passion.
Finishing the paragraph, he crushed the newspaper up in his hand, and, thrusting it into his pocket, hastened to the stable, where he saddled his horse. Leaping on its back as if he had been a youth of twenty, he drove the spur into its flanks and galloped31 away at full speed—away over the dusty road leading from Somerset to the hills: away over the ridge32 that separates it from the level country beyond; and away over the brown karroo, until at last, covered with dust and flecked with foam33, he drew up at his own door and burst in upon the family. They were concluding their evening meal.
“Read that!” he cried, flinging down the paper, throwing himself into a chair, and bringing his fist down on the table with a crash that set cups and glasses dancing.
“There!” he added, pointing to the paragraph, as Hans took up the paper—“that despatch34 from Lord Glenelg—the British Colonial Secretary—at the top of the column. Read it aloud, boy.”
Hans read as follows:—
“‘In the conduct which was pursued towards the Kafir nation by the colonists35 and the public authorities of the colony, through a long series of years, the Kafirs had ample justification36 of the late war; they had to resent, and endeavour justly, though impotently, to avenge37 a series of encroachments; they had a perfect right to hazard the experiment, however hopeless, of extorting38 by force that redress39 which they could not expect otherwise to obtain, and the claim of sovereignty over the new province must be renounced40. It rests upon a conquest resulting from a war in which, as far as I am at present enabled to judge, the original justice is on the side of the conquered, not of the victorious41 party.’”
“Mark that!” cried Conrad, starting to his feet when Hans had finished, and speaking loud, as if he were addressing the assembled colony instead of the amazed members of his own family,—“mark that: ‘the claim of sovereignty over the new province must be renounced.’ So it seems that the Kafirs are not only to be patted on the back for having acted the part of cattle-lifters for years, but are to be invited back to their old haunts to begin the work over again and necessitate42 another war.”
He stopped abruptly43, as if to check words that ought not to be uttered. There was a momentary44 silence in the group as they looked at each other. It was broken by Conrad saying to his youngest son, in a voice of forced calmness—
“Go, lad, get me a fresh horse. I will rouse the Dutch-African farmers all over the colony. The land is too hot to hold us. We cannot hope to find rest under the union Jack!”
We can sympathise strongly with the violent indignation of the honest Dutchman, for, in good truth, not only he and his kindred, but all the people of the colony, were most unjustly blamed and unfairly treated by the Government of that day. Nevertheless Conrad was wrong about the union Jack. The wisest of plans are open to the insidious45 entrance of error. The fairest flag may be stained, by unworthy bearers, with occasional prostitution. A Secretary of State is not the British nation, nor is he even, at all times, a true representative of British feeling. Many a deed of folly46, and sometimes of darkness, has unhappily been perpetrated under the protection of the union Jack, but that does not alter the great historical fact, that truth, justice, fair-play, and freedom have flourished longer and better under its ample folds than under any other flag that flies on the face of the whole earth.
But Conrad Marais was not in a position to consider this just then. The boy who is writhing47 under the lash48 of a temporarily insane father, is not in a position to reflect that, in the main, his father is, or means to be, just, kind, loving, and true. Conrad bolted a hasty supper, mounted the fresh steed, and galloped away to rouse his kindred. And he proved nearly as good as his word. He roused many of them to join him in his intended expatriation, and many more did not need rousing. Some had brooded over their wrongs until they began to smoulder, and when they were told that the unprovoked raid of the Kafir thieves was deemed justifiable49 by the Government which ought to have protected their frontier, but had left them to protect themselves, the fire burst into a flame, and the great exodus50 began in earnest. Thus, a second time, did Conrad and his family, with many others, take to the wilderness51. On this occasion the party included Hans and Charlie Considine, with their families.
There was still wanting, however, that last straw which renders a burden intolerable. It was laid on at the time when slavery was abolished.
The Abolition52 Act was carried into effect on the 1st December 1834, at which time the accursed system of slavery was virtually brought to an end in the colony, though the slaves were not finally freed from all control till 1838. But the glory of this noble work was sullied not a little by the unjust manner in which, during these four years, the details relative to the payment of compensation to slave-owners were carried out. We cannot afford space here to go into these details. Suffice it to say that, as one of the consequences, many families in the colony were ruined, and a powerful impulse was given to the exodus, which had already begun. The leading Dutch-African families in Oliphant’s Hock, Gamtoos River, along the Fish River, and Somerset, sold their farms—in many cases at heavy loss, or for merely nominal53 sums—crossed the border, and bade a final adieu to the land of their fathers. These were followed by other bands, among whom were men of wealth and education, from Graaff-Reinet, Uitenhage, and Albany, until a mighty54 host had hived off into the far north. Through many a month of toil55 and trouble did this host pass while traversing the land of the savage56 in scattered57 bands. Many a sad reverse befell them. Some were attacked and cut off; some defended themselves with heroism58 and passed on, defying the Kafirs to arrest their progress, until at last they reached the distant lands on which their hearts were set—and there they settled down to plough and sow, to reap and hunt and build, but always with arms at hand, for the savage was ever on the watch to take them at a disadvantage or unawares.
Thus were laid the foundations of the colony of Natal59, the Orange Free State, and the Transvaal Republic.
Note 1. The war of 1884-6 cost the Treasury 800,000 pounds, and the colonists lost in houses, stock, etcetera, 288,625 pounds.
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1
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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dally
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| v.荒废(时日)，调情 | |
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ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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destitution
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| n.穷困，缺乏，贫穷 | |
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pillaged
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| v.抢劫，掠夺( pillage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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orbs
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| abbr.off-reservation boarding school 在校寄宿学校n.球，天体，圆形物( orb的名词复数 ) | |
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hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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craters
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| n.火山口( crater的名词复数 )；弹坑等 | |
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annexed
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| [法] 附加的，附属的 | |
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buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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fortresses
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| 堡垒，要塞( fortress的名词复数 ) | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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scouted
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| 寻找，侦察( scout的过去式和过去分词 )； 物色（优秀运动员、演员、音乐家等） | |
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depredations
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| n.劫掠，毁坏( depredation的名词复数 ) | |
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solicit
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| vi.勾引；乞求；vt.请求，乞求；招揽(生意) | |
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tenure
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| n.终身职位；任期；(土地)保有权，保有期 | |
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obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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desolated
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| adj.荒凉的，荒废的 | |
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precursor
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| n.先驱者；前辈；前任；预兆；先兆 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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colonists
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| n.殖民地开拓者，移民，殖民地居民( colonist的名词复数 ) | |
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justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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extorting
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| v.敲诈( extort的现在分词 )；曲解 | |
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redress
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| n.赔偿，救济，矫正；v.纠正，匡正，革除 | |
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renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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necessitate
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| v.使成为必要，需要 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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insidious
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| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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justifiable
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| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
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50
exodus
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| v.大批离去，成群外出 | |
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51
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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abolition
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| n.废除，取消 | |
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53
nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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54
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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56
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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natal
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| adj.出生的，先天的 | |
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