Read Ebook: Life in Afrikanderland as viewed by an Afrikander A story of life in South Africa based on truth by CIOS

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Ebook has 1308 lines and 98677 words, and 27 pages

'Well done, Steve,' cried Gus; 'do it again.'

But he had no time to do it again, for at that moment one of the teachers appeared on the scene and put a stop to further fighting. But M'Murphy had not done with him yet; a black eye was not to be taken tamely by an Englishman from a Boer!

That night, when Steve went home from the evening preparation class at school, he was surprised to see a crowd of street arabs outside the school door. These youngsters were composed of Kaffirs, Hottentots, and bastards of all colours. To explain their presence, we must state that M'Murphy's father kept a grocery store; among other good things, he retailed sugar sticks. Jim M'Murphy was his fathers' assistant when not in school, and thus had full access to his father's stock of sugar sticks, and he used these sugar sticks as payment to his regiment of young ragamuffins, who were to assist him in having his revenge on Steve for the black eye given him. What he really intended doing with Steve, when he had captured him, has never been revealed; but as soon as Steve had walked a few paces from the school door, pushing his way through the crowd with the assistance of Gus Turner, and wondering what in the world was up to call such a crowd together, he felt his jacket pulled violently from behind and heard M'Murphy's voice calling out,--

'Here he is.' In a moment two or three more had hold of him before he knew any evil was intended him. But when he saw how the wind lay, he wrenched his arms free and struck out right and left, always seconded by Gus Turner, who stuck to his friend like a man. But although Steve's arms were now free, M'Murphy still had hold of his jacket, and he could not reach behind himself to strike at the coward behind his back. But he was not at a loss yet. He spun round and round as fast as he could, and here was M'Murphy revolving round him, standing straight out behind Steve's back, somewhat like the snake that had hold of Paddy's clothing when Paddy was running round the house.

Going round at the speed that Steve was spinning, even M'Murphy had to let go! and the sudden cessation from his circular motion caused him to lose his balance, and sent him squirming on the ground. M'Murphy's army was now closing up to take Steve and his companion prisoners by force of numbers, when the teacher once more appeared on the scene, being attracted by the noise, and scattered M'Murphy's army with his great knobby stick.

Steve and Gus took advantage of this diversion in their favour to clear round the first corner, but soon found the whole crowd on their track once more. There was nothing for it now but to run to avoid being captured. But the enemy could run too, and half-a-dozen of the best runners amongst the enemy were soon overtaking the two fugitives. The foremost one was just laying hold of Steve's coat, when Gus Turner dropped down right in front of him, tripped him, and sent him head over heels to the ground, and two more of the enemy, being just behind, followed suit. But Gus was up again in a moment, and once more he and Steve ran for it. Gaining a good few paces by the confusion caused by the tripped enemy, Gus Turner's home, which was the nearest, was soon reached. Once protected by the shadow of his castle, and sure of a safe retreat, the two fugitives stood at bay, and taking out their catapults, a boy's most offensive weapon, sent a shower of buckshot into the ranks of the approaching enemy, who first halted in a crowd at a short distance, but finding themselves thus bombarded by the hidden battery of the two boys standing in the dark shadow, the enemy soon scattered and dispersed, leaving Gus and Steve in possession of the battlefield.

YOUTHFUL PRANKS

It is not our purpose to give a full history of the boyhood of our hero. We would rather hurry on to give an account of his life as a man. But we hope our readers will not think it tedious, if we give an episode or two of his boyhood's life, which will enable the reader the better to understand and sympathise with him in his aspirations and ambitions.

A dark coloured strip of cloth is obtained in the shape and size of a fine large healthy snake. To one end of this artificial snake the end of a thin and almost invisible string is tied. The longer the string the safer the operation is.

Steve and his friends had one grand playground. It was on the edge of the town on the river bank. There they would congregate of an afternoon and indulge in all the different kinds of games dear to a boy's heart. Steve was one of the youngest of the boys who met here, and therefore was not as yet initiated into all the crafts of the band. One night, while playing cricket at this spot, Steve's cousin and namesake--a boy easily led astray and into mischief, vacillating and weak principled, of which more will be seen further on--came to him, and, after leading him on one side, said in English .

'I say, Steve, do you want to smoke?'

'Smoke? Smoke? What is that?'

'Rook, rook!' replied his cousin.

'Oh, rook! I don't know. Is it nice?'

'Oh, yes; come and try.'

Of course the policy of his elder companions in asking Steve to join them was to make him participate in their stealthy practice, and thus incriminate him, to prevent him from getting them into trouble by telling anyone about it, by which means their parents might come to hear of it, which, of course, would mean severe punishment to them. Steve's cousin led him into a dense bush on the river bank, which he had never explored as yet, therefore he was surprised to see his cousin part the bushes and lead him into a large but thoroughly concealed opening among the bushes. The overhanging branches made it a nearly rainproof retreat. Here Steve found about half-a-dozen members of the secret smoking club. After a look round, our hero was offered a smoke, which he accepted, and was soon puffing away at--what does the uninitiated reader think?--a piece of ratan, which was one of the first stages in learning the art of smoking in this particular band; the porous wood of the ratan, or cane, serving as a good conductor of the smoke from the burning end. Of the whole band gathered here, only one was advanced enough to indulge in the real article, viz., tobacco; the rest were all smoking one, or another, of the different substitutes for tobacco known to the rising generation. I suppose the manly reader who has been brought up in a proper and an enlightened manner has learned to smoke with the usual cigarette, made up of Turkish, or mixed tobacco. But these youths, sons of more or less poor parents, being allowed no pocket money, had to satisfy themselves with the best substitutes for tobacco they could discover; and they showed a rare genius in discovering different cheap articles to serve their purpose, amongst which were such things as pumpkin stalk, cane, leaves of various trees, and various similar rubbish. All this is vulgar is it not? Yet I can assure you it is not as bad as it sounds. It produces plenty of the chief thing desired--smoke!

But to resume. Steve did not remain satisfied for many days with these insipid and weak substitutes; so when his cousin, who was the only one who smoked tobacco regularly, offered to allow him a few puffs at the real thing, he accepted readily enough, and smoked like all novices generally do, viz., smoked as if his life depended upon his finishing the pipe as fast as possible. All went well until he had finished the pipe, for while he was yet smoking, he had thought it not at all as nasty as it had been described to him. But when he had put the pipe down he began to feel the effects. He felt as if the world were whirling round and round on purpose to make him sick. He made his way to some water the best way he could, plunged his head therein and washed out his mouth, but nothing would take away that awful feeling which most readers who are also smokers know to be the effect of the first pipe of tobacco. It was only after having lain down on the grass for an hour or so, with closed eyes, vowing innumerable vows never to touch tobacco again, that he got well enough to go home, amid the teasings and jokes of his companions. But I must state here that Steve did not keep his vow never to touch tobacco again. Who does not make these vows when learning to smoke, and who does not break them? Steve tried again and again, and after having broken his pipe and renewed his vow not to smoke again for some dozen times, he succeeded at last in smoking without getting sick, and to-day he can smoke his pipe against any man.

A CHARACTER SKETCH OF OUR HERO

Steve was not fond of school. He liked studying and learning, but he wanted to select his own studies, and hated to be forced to learn what he did not wish to study. He was passionately fond of books, with hardly any distinction. He would never allow a book to pass out of his hand without first reading it, if he could help it. If he got hold of a book he would read it. If he had no time, he would make time. While walking in the street, he would be holding the book in front of his nose, while carefully feeling his steps, or while taking his hurried meals, or when other people were soundly sleeping at night, and even in school he would find time to read; and read books, too, which no teacher of any self-respect would have tolerated. But what did Steve care for the opinion of his teacher as to what books he should read? A book was a book to him, to be used and to be made the most of possible. He would smuggle the book into school under his coat, and while his teacher was thinking that Steve was studying his lessons most diligently, that young man would be deeply interested in some book of travels, or something of the kind. Not that Steve did not learn his lessons. He did learn them, but it did not take him long to do so; reading his task over once or twice was quite sufficient for him to know as much of it as he cared to know. His object was not to be at the top of his class. No, his nature was too retiring to allow him to render himself as conspicuous as all that. If he did happen to come up top by accident, he made his way down to the bottom again as fast as he could. His friend, Gus Turner, was also fond of being at the bottom of the class, but not from choice, but perforce because his mental abilities did not allow him to get up higher, and he always did his best to keep Steve near him, for he found Steve useful to prompt him when his own knowledge of questions asked, failed him. Steve always obliged his friend as best he could, both in supplying answers as well as in keeping near him at the bottom of the class. One day he was caught in the act. The teacher had come down with a question right from the top of the class, and no one could answer the question asked, until he had come to Steve, who thoughtlessly answered it correctly. 'Go up top,' said the teacher. But Steve quietly kept his seat. He was not going to leave his friend at the bottom while he went to the top! The teacher soon noticed this, and asked him why he did not go up. He replied that he did not care to do so. 'Go to the bottom then,' commanded the angry teacher. Steve did so. What did he care? His friend was at the bottom; he had been just above him, now he was just below him. What difference did it make?

THOUGHTS AND FLOWERS

Speaking about flowers--that was another of his passions. He was never so happy as when tending his few flowers. He was famous for the beauty of the wild flowers he generally gathered in the mountains when he had time. He used to think a half-holiday well spent if he could take a walk into the mountains to gather a beautiful bouquet of his favourite wild flowers. As has been suggested before, he was of a retiring nature, and greatly disliked crowds. At any festival in town, when everybody, including his own family, would all eagerly gather together to enjoy themselves by seeing and being seen, he would rather go for a walk in the veld, where his thoughts were his only company--and good company he always found them. Or he would find a comfortable nook and read a book, during which occupation he would forget the rest of the world and be happy.

STEP-CHILDREN

Steve's mother had married again a few years after his father's death. She would have preferred remaining unmarried, as she considered it would have been more faithful to the memory of her dead husband; but she found herself too poor to educate her children unaided, and bring them up as she would like to do. It was not a happy marriage, which is usually the case where there are step-children to cause jealousy--the more so when the step-parent is not of the best-natured and gentlest character. Steve's stepfather respected and, in his way, loved his wife; but he disliked Steve, because that youngster was a manly and proud little fellow, and rebelled against his stepfather when the latter treated him unjustly, or ill-treated his little sisters: which his stepfather often did, more out of spite to Steve than from any other reason.

He used to make Steve work in the garden, chop wood, carry water, and, in fact, he invented work for the poor boy if there was no work really wanting to be done. Poor Steve did all this most patiently and dutifully, even though he lost his play hours; for he did not really care much for the usual boyish games of his companions. All he cared for was to secure a candle end to read his beloved books by at night, when everybody else was sleeping, or to take his walk into the veld on Sundays, after church time. Amidst the beauties of Nature, which he loved with the love of a true child of Nature, he was happy. He was patient and enduring amidst the petty persecutions of his stepfather, for his mother's sake, while it only concerned himself. He did not even complain when his stepfather one day found him stealing a glimpse into a new book which he had borrowed from a friend and cruelly took it from him and cast it into the fire. His stepfather could not have done him greater personal injury if he had tried for a month to find the way. But Steve took it quietly and patiently, even though it was a borrowed book and it would take some of his few most-treasured books to satisfy his friend from whom he had borrowed the volume. Steve was accustomed to these daily persecutions from his stepfather.

But there were times when even his stepfather was awed into fear of him--that was when Steve considered his sisters ill-treated. To give an instance.

Steve's mother had a son by her second husband, seven years old at this time--a child who, perhaps, would have been a good boy if he had been left to his mother's care and training. But his father utterly spoiled him by giving him his desires and wishes unstinted, no matter at what sacrifice or how foolish those wishes were. If it was the most precious article belonging to his stepbrother or sisters, if he asked for it, he was to have it. Steve had long rebelled against this, especially on behalf of his sisters, but always to no effect. In fact, he made himself only the more hated by his stepfather. He did not dislike his little half-brother; he wished to treat and love him as his mother's child, but the child's father made this an impossibility for Steve, through his continual injustice. The result was that the boy was perfectly spoiled, and, whenever he saw his brother or sisters have anything new, he used to cry for it until his father made them give it up to him.

One evening the whole family was sitting round the table, waiting for evening prayers, at which the mother always insisted that everyone should be present. Steve's sister, Dora, had that day secured at school a pretty little picture book; she was sitting looking at this when her little stepbrother, who was sitting next to her, snatched at the book and tore a leaf. She, of course, pulled the book away from him, which made the spoiled child set up a fearful howling. His father got up and gave poor, innocent little Dora a severe slap on the cheek, which made the poor child turn blue from pain in a moment. Steve could not stand this. He was now sixteen years of age, and could not quietly see his little sister treated in such a cruel and unjust way.

He rose, pale from anger, and, striking his fist on the table, which made the different articles thereon jump again, said in a voice hard and firm,--

FAVOURITE HEROES

When Steve was fifteen years of age he was taken from school and placed in an office at a small--very small--salary.

The history of his own country he simply devoured. He never lost an opportunity of getting hold of a book which treated in any way of South Africa. If the book spoke favourably of his country and people, he was pleased and happy. If the book libelled his country--as so many books really do--he was grieved, but treated it with the contempt it deserved, and took his revenge by extracting any information he found in it.

OUT OF SCHOOL

As we stated in the last chapter, Steve was taken from school before his education was at all fairly completed and placed in an office. This was done against the wishes of his mother; but his stepfather said he could not have him eating the roof off the house and live a lazy, good-for-nothing life any longer--he must work and earn his living.

Steve knew his education was by no means complete, but he did not mind leaving school, for he ardently desired to earn his own living and to be independent; besides, he did not intend to leave off studying, only now he could choose his own subjects for study. History--political and natural--astronomy, geography, books on agriculture, horticulture, tree culture, apiculture, all were welcome to him; he would as readily read and study the one as the other, and on many a night, when his stepfather sent him hungry and starving to bed as a punishment for doing nothing in particular, he would console himself and forget his hunger in reading some book or other. It was nothing unusual for him to be caught by the daybreak stealing into his little room, his candle still burning, and he deeply immersed in his book.

HOPES

For the first couple of years Steve's earnings all went into the pockets of his stepfather. But during the third year Steve simply refused to give up more than three-quarters of his salary, for his father supplied him only with the barest necessities in clothing, and he considered he was entitled to a small portion of his earnings to buy such things as he wished for, such as books, etc.

The first thing Steve did, when he found himself absolute owner of a portion of his earnings, was to subscribe to the local library, even though he sadly wanted a new suit and a new pair of boots. But to be able to select his own books to read from such a stock of books as the library contained, he would have sacrificed almost anything.

THE TRANSVAAL IN PROSPECTIVE

Steve had always watched with absorbing interest the progress of events in the Transvaal. He had seen with intense pity the struggle of the Republican Government to make ends meet, and to prevent financial ruin. But he always trusted that all would come right; and it was with a joy almost greater than if his own fortune was in question that he--at last--saw the rising fortunes of the South African Republic. He saw the reported discoveries of gold at Barberton; which already gave a great stimulus to commerce and trade; and then, as if Providence had determined at last to make the Transvaal prosperous and rich, far beyond the dreams of avarice, the grand discoveries at the Witwatersrand followed those of Barberton, which in turn were augmented by further discoveries all over the district. Miles of main reef were traced out, companies with enormous capitals were promoted, and a time of great prosperity and successful speculation followed. Fortunes were made and lost in a week, a day, an hour. The Government revenues rose by leaps and bounds, and they had no longer to almost beg for the loan of a few thousands. Capitalists were only too eager to advance money on such safe securities as could be offered.

Government officials, who before had to work for the love of country and people only, now received their rewards; from the highest to the lowest they were able to now receive their salaries at the end of the month. And when the finances of the country were placed on a sound and safe footing, the Volksraad did the right thing at the right time by advancing salaries all round.

The reported rich finds, so marvellous and so rich at the Witwatersrand, were soon noised all over the world; and people flocked from all quarters of the globe to the goldfields. They came, saw, and were satisfied--even as the Queen of Sheba was--that all the riches of the Rand had not been reported to them.

A township was laid out and given a name--Johannesburg. Who has not heard of it? Johannesburg became the ninth wonder of the world. It rose, as if in one night, and became a great and well-built city, such as can be found no where else in South Africa, and, in certain senses, nowhere else in the world!

Beautiful buildings, strong and lasting, rose, as if by enchantment, one after the other, proving that confidence was not wanting in the stability of the goldfields.

Johannesburg differed greatly from other goldfields in other countries. In Australia and California, when a goldfield was first rushed, tents and tin shanties prevailed. Here, buildings in brick and stone were prominent everywhere. In the former, law and order was noted for its absence; here, everything was done most orderly and lawfully, which showed once more the ability of the Boer Government to govern even such a community, and that not by display of force. Comparatively few police were kept; only sufficient for watching the individual criminal and vagabond that even such a law-abiding goldfield will attract.

It was, and is, a marvel to many how order and law were kept and administered by such a weak show of police. I believe it was simply the conscious strength and stability of the Government which was felt, if not seen, by all parties, combined by the promptness of the Government to remove all just causes of complaints, and to give aid where aid was required. No honest and just memorial was ever refused by Government. The only request which could not be granted was the Franchise, the justness and fairness of which is open to question, and appears altogether in a different view when seen either by the one side or the other. But of this we shall see more anon.

THE NESTLING PREPARING FOR FLIGHT

Well, Steve thought these things all tended to realise his dream of becoming a Transvaaler.

One thing only troubled him; would it be right for him to desert his mother and sisters? After long thinking, he decided to leave it to his mother to decide for him, so he went to her and said,--

'My son, the thought of losing you is dreadful, and that alone could induce me to keep you here; but my love for you is above being selfish; I can only wish for what is best for you, and if you think you can do better in the Transvaal, let not the thought of me or your sisters, keep you back. We can get on, and we shall write to you every week, and if we need you, or aid from you, we shall not fail to let you know. I would not thus give you up so easily, but I know your heart is set upon going; I have expected it for a long time. I believe I can trust you to keep your name and heart pure even thus far away from me; and God will watch over you.' She wept. Even though she appeared to give him up so easily, to go far away from her, not to see him again, perhaps for years, perhaps never again on earth, her heart was torn to the very roots. But she was an unselfish mother, and would not sacrifice her son's well-being and future prospects to her love.

'But, mother, will father be as good to you and sisters when I am away as when I am here, for, without vanity, I may say I think he fears me just enough to forbear from ill-treating my sisters, and when I am away he may feel no such restraint.'

'Better, I think,' replied his mother, 'for I really believe it is the antagonism he feels for you that makes him bad-tempered and cruel sometimes. I think if you are away, and ceased to irritate him, he will be a better stepfather and wife to us.'

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