At daylight we were awakened by the jolting of the wagon, and found that our bodyguard had inspanned, and, having dug us out of the muddy prison, had succeeded in getting us under way. Hastily making our toilets with difficulty, we were thrown from side to side of the wagon at every lurch; we jumped out and walked, finding the exercise preferable to the jarring of the vehicle. Indeed, we walked most of the journey, and were better for it. Enjoying an excellent breakfast, which again put us in good spirits, we were beginning to think we should have a clear day, but another spell of rain at ten o'clock came on. It continued raining all day, with short intervals of sunshine. These were taken advantage of to make short treks.

At four o'clock, as we were sitting in the fore part of our chariot looking out at the drizzling rain, the front wheels slowly sank and nearly disappeared in a deep mud hole, bringing the steaming oxen to a full stop. In vain the driver cracked his long whip and yelled; we were hopelessly stuck. I was sitting in front when the accident occurred, and jumped out, landing in a deep mud hole. We slept that night at an angle of nearly forty-five degrees, and when morning broke it was welcome, as it brought with it some bright sunshine and prospect of clearing weather.

It took five hours and the effort of the combined lungs of the party upon the oxen, together with the inventive genius and experience of all the members of our staff, to get us out of that mud hole. They outspanned and inspanned three times before the wagon stirred, and a hole had been dug big enough to bury us all in before the wheels were released. At last, with a whoop and a yell and a groan, it was hoisted out of its oozy prison and drawn onto the veldt, when the oxen were outspanned and breakfast was eaten.

During several successive days, while travelling in the Orange Free State, we pa.s.sed hundreds of huge ant-hills. One might say there are villages of these; they are formed together in thousands, they disappear for a s.p.a.ce, and are again met with. Some of them measure ten feet and more in circ.u.mference, and are between three and four feet high, and are filled with black and yellow ants. The clay becomes hard from the sun's rays. An ox-wagon driver hews out an ant-hill forming an oven, in which he cooks his bread, the clay burning like a slow fire, and with an intense heat.

From this time on the weather was delightful; with the exception of one thunderstorm it continued so during the six weeks we remained in the wagon. We soon forgot the unpleasant experiences of the first few days.

In forty-eight hours the sun had dried the road, so that travelling was comparatively easy, and we pa.s.sed over the level plain, arriving in Smithfield on the fifth morning after leaving Bloemfontein, where we outspanned on a plateau adjoining the village. We here met with a lady friend from the diamond fields, who invited us to visit her for a few days; but we had now become attached to our gypsy life, and preferred our own fireside.

Smithfield is a fair-sized village of the usual Free State kind, possessing a few fine churches, a few streets of one-storey roomy houses, and several stores. When our tented home began to move along the road away from the village we trudged alongside of it as happy and healthy as school-girls, and feeling as free from restraint as the birds.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

Three miles from Smithfield we came to the banks of the Caledon River, which we found greatly swollen by the rains, and did not consider prudent to cross until two of the boys had waded through. The water came up above their waists, and we climbed into our places, and descended the steep bank leading to the drift (or ford). It requires management and considerable shouting and activity on the part of the wagon drivers to cross a river. The bank is always precipitous, and the break has to be screwed up hard to make the descent, and released immediately the water is reached. At times the oxen stick in the middle of the drift, which is often rocky and full of great boulders, and it is difficult to get them on.

When we reached the bottom of the slope, the leading oxen were already in the middle of the stream, with the water nearly over their backs.

With a plunge the wagon took the water, and we were glad to find that the drift had a tolerably firm, sandy foundation, so that we were not tumbled about much. The leaders were now half-way up the opposite bank, and the driver, mounting the footboard in front of the wagon, gave one of his banshee howls and a simultaneous crack of his whip over the heads of the team. This started them into a trot, and the impetus was not lost until we were all high and dry on the farther bank.

The water had come up to the floor of the wagon, but for only a moment, so that nothing was injured. The only casualty sustained was the loss of a bright tin pail which had been floated off its hook, and went sailing down with a jaunty air to the tune, "Won't have to work any more."

After crossing the river we branched off considerably to the right. Our way lay for some distance along the banks of the river, and the country was thickly studded with stunted thorn and furze bushes. Some doves, which always abound in these thorn bushes, were shot, and they formed a most welcome addition to our dinner that day. Outspanning nearly all the hot afternoon, we made a long trek in the lovely moonlight until nearly twelve o'clock before "tying up." This is a plan always adopted by transport riders, the wagon drivers who make it their business to carry goods from town to town. They lie to nearly all day, and travel late in the afternoon and night, finding, by following this plan, that their oxen can get through more work and keep in better condition.

The Hottentot and Kafir boys who lead them seem to be able to see in the dark. They will lead the oxen, without stopping, over dangerous roads where it is pitch dark. The wagon was often in motion before we awoke, but so accustomed had we become to the jolting of our bed that it did not wake us from our deep sleep. When we awoke we would find breakfast prepared in a pleasant, gra.s.sy country, and the fire blazing merrily.

It is not to be wondered at that the Kafirs are such happy, contented mortals, for the sun, of which they get so much, gives more life and vitality than any medicine. One afternoon the boys sighted a herd of spring-bok some distance away in the veldt. They were feeding in a depression in the plain about seven hundred yards away, and our hunter, sighting his rifle, carefully rested it on an ant-hill. At the sound of the rifle the whole troop started away with a bound, breaking into a gallop and disappearing in a cloud of dust far off in the veldt, leaving one of them lying on the ground with his feet in the air. But he was only wounded, and before the boys reached him he struggled to his feet and tried to limp off. Down went the rifleman on his knee, there was a moment of suspense and another report, and the buck was bowled over with a bullet in his neck. He was brought to the wagon in triumph, and slung by his feet underneath, we girls being as much excited as if a tiger had been slain.

Moving on one morning before daylight, and crossing a fine bridge over the Orange River, our oxen were unyoked hard by a number of transport wagons. When we arrived the transport riders and their boys were all asleep, but as day wore on they began to get about, and came over to our wagon, mightily curious to know who we were, where we were going, where we lived, and highly amused at the idea of any one travelling in an ox-wagon for pleasure.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

We soon settled down to the routine of our ox-wagon life, and very pleasant we found it. When the boys would outspan and get things in readiness for meals, our hunger from the open-air life would be so great that we could scarcely wait while they made the fire for coffee. Like all South African travellers, we consumed a prodigious quant.i.ty of coffee. Besides drinking it at every meal, it would be prepared several times during the day, as we wanted it.

The Dutch people drink it morning, noon, and night, keeping it always on the fire for their Dutch friends who pa.s.s near them. The manner in which coffee is made in the veldt is: first to boil the water in the kettle, then pour it on the coffee ready in another kettle; it is then pa.s.sed back and forth a few times and the coffee is made; a few drops of cold water poured into the kettle will soon settle the grounds. We found the Dutch coffee very good.

Our meals consisted of buck meat, cooked in all sorts of ways, and sometimes a pair of doves or partridges; we had our canned goods to fall back upon, and we had also the vegetables of the country, which were carried in the wagon. We lived most contentedly. One day we suffered greatly from want of water. We travelled many hours, hoping to find a stream and fill the water-cans.

A Kafir will find a spring of water in places where a white man would never think of looking for it, but that day there was no water to be found, and we positively suffered from thirst. The sun beat down on us all fiercer than ever, it seemed, and it was not till late in the afternoon that we came to a small muddy stream. The mud did not frighten us, and we hurried the boys into making the coffee.

One of our boys had been in the jail at Smithfield, for some petty misdemeanour, and was discharged in order that he might come with our staff. He was a raw Kafir about fourteen years of age, with a comical, laughing face, which peered up at us oddly as he sat on the footboard of the wagon. He had a funny little squeaking voice which at times would play him tricks; when apparently about to come forth in a manly roar, it would suddenly result in a shrill, piping sound, which would throw all the servants into fits of laughter. He used to perch himself surrept.i.tiously on the disselboem, against the orders of "the baas," in the cool of the evening, as we jolted along in the moonlight, and croon out in Kafir, awfully out of tune, "Sweet bye and bye," a favourite song of the Sunday-school Kafirs. The missionaries' service with the Kafir, it may be said, is mostly a service of song. We soon became tired of his one tune, and sang it for him correctly; but he evidently considered that our musical education had been neglected, for directly we had finished he started again, singing it in his own way.

On very hot days we used to contrive an awning on the shady side of the wagon, under which we would sit and read or make lazy attempts at sewing. But the silence of the stilly veldt, broken only by the hum of some buzzing insect, would more often put us to sleep. If our existence was not one of contentment, then there is no such thing. We became enamoured of the life and had no desire to hasten on our journey. Some of the happiest days of our lives were spent during this trip, free from society, anxiety, and propriety. There was no one to dress for, nor to come suddenly upon us and disturb our calm existence. When three girls make up their minds to be contented under all difficulties, difficulties disappear. They can make their surroundings pretty and can make the rough fare attractive. If they have been blessed with a good mother, who has trained them for domestic life, they know how to contrive little accessories which will give a relish to the plainest fare.

Little trouble was experienced with our servants. They were always laughing and looking at our mode of life with the interest of a big dog; they were ludicrously stupid, but they were never sulky or impudent.

Our wagon owner and servants slept on the ground wrapped in blankets or "karosses," infinitely preferring that to sleeping on a cartel under the wagon. When we suggested snakes, they only laughed. These fur robes or "karosses" are light, and when thrown on the ground prevent the ants from reaching those asleep on them. They are brought from the interior, beyond the Zambesi River, by the traders. They are beautifully sewed together by the natives, with thread made from the sinews of wild animals. These furs are beautiful, being the skins of leopard, silver fox, jackal, and wolf, and many other animals. They are very comfortable for travelling on cool nights.

This peaceful region is filled with reptiles and wild animals, but we saw very few of them.

Our boys would often hold wayside receptions for natives in twos and threes, coming from goodness knows where, and others, appearing from the shadows beyond, would surround them, talking rapidly in vowels and strange sounds, and looking on hungrily at the meals being prepared.

As we outspanned near by a farm during the journey, a farm Kafir, with a look and bearing of a prince of the soil, dressed to the knees in a coffee sack, with holes made for arms and head, approached. He stood talking to the boys in an att.i.tude of utter grace. His calm scrutiny of us all was very amusing; just as observing and curious as any city-bred man. He went over to the cactus hedge and cut a pailful of cactus apples. We could not handle one without having our hands pierced with hundreds of the little briers found on them. This Kafir sharpened the end of a long stick, and then stuck it into an apple, and after dexterously peeling it with a sharp knife, he offered it to us, as if it had been a bonbon. We were very thirsty, and we found these cactus apples delicious.

The boys had two dogs with them. One, "Satan," a forbidding-looking brute, was the remains of what had been a fine Russian water dog, but life in Africa had not agreed with either his appearance or temper. He was a disagreeable brute, but after a time got amiable enough to approach the wagon. Poor little "Stumpy," the other dog, was the queerest, quaintest little mongrel that ever lived. He would wriggle his little body most absurdly in vain attempts to wag the apology for a tail which had given him his name. If we took any notice of him, he would go mad with delight. He did not know whether to bark, or jump, or gallop, or dance, or stand on his head, and he would try to do them all at once.

One lazy, hot afternoon Eva and I made a wager as to which of us could coax Stumpy to come to her; we went in opposite directions and called him. The poor little dog's pitiable embarra.s.sment as to which he should follow, his evident dread of losing either or both his friends by favouring one or neither, was very funny. He would go a little way to Eva, then back to me, then stop, then to Eva, then to me, until finally, after attempting to split himself into halves and go to both, he gave it up in despair, and just lay down midway between us and howled, refusing at last to attempt, what so many men have failed to do, to please two women at the same time.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

Leaving the Orange River at Bethulie Bridge, we continued on the main road till the morning, when we struck off in a northeasterly direction for Ahival North, which was reached in a few days. The town is built close to the Orange River, and promises to be a place of much importance, being on the high road between all eastern ports of the Free State, the diamond fields, and the interior. It is a pretty town, a great number of the houses having gardens around them filled with trees.

We stayed here for a few days, and recommenced our journey down the country, soon exchanging the plains of the Free State and northern districts for the alternate mountain pa.s.ses and stretches of open karoo of the middle veldt. Pa.s.sing through the hamlet of Jamestown, with its one store and few straggling houses, we entered the mountain pa.s.ses which cross the Stromberg range. Soon after entering the first rocky defile we encountered another violent thunderstorm, which, though unattended by the disagreeable features of our first one, delayed us over a day. We travelled on through the hills, pa.s.sing through Dordrecht, a place which bears the reputation of being the coldest place in the country.

It is a straggling village of about eight hundred inhabitants, with a few stores and two or three churches. A resident remarked to us, as he pointed with pride to the village, "I have lived here for seventeen years, and seen this place grow up around me," in a similar tone of voice to that in which we had heard old Chicagoans say the same thing.

But there was a difference in the size of the villages!

The town lies on the northern slope of the Stromberg, and we had several days' mountain travelling after we left it.

An impression the traveller receives in South Africa, more especially in the mountain regions, is one of ghostly stillness. The wild, rocky hills rear themselves up all around, and often there is not a breath of wind stirring to break the awful quiet. Sometimes this silence is oppressive, and it is a relief to hear even the hideous chattering of a monkey or the unmusical cackle of a Kafir's laugh. The giant mountains in the background seem to look down reproachfully at the traveller for invading their solitudes, while the dark ravines and deep clefts, in their rocky sides, suggest all sorts of nameless horrors.

Tigers, or rather leopards, abound in these mountains, but are seldom seen except by the solitary farmers living in the hills, who are in perpetual warfare with these savage destroyers of their flocks. One morning we found a romantic glen on the side of the mountain, full of rare ferns, and with a beautiful stream of water dripping and echoing as it gushed out from the rocks. It was a lovely day, and we took our karosses and rugs to the spot, and picnicked there. We carried along "Nicholas Nickleby" to read aloud. Since that day I always a.s.sociate the Cheeryble Brothers with ferns, and think of Do-the-boys Hall as built on top of a precipitous mountain, with a smiling, sunshiny valley lying at its feet.

The nights were very cold in the Stromberg, and we required all the rugs and karosses we had to keep us warm at night, sunrise nearly always showing everything around us, from the tent of the wagon to the blankets of the slumbering boys, covered with a white h.o.a.r frost.

Our wagoner told us an experience of a cold night in the Free State. He said: "In the middle of June, two years ago, my partner Jim and myself started from Bloemfontein for Pretoria. As the shooting was good on that road and walking cheap, we decided to go on foot, taking with us a couple of boys to carry our traps, which were not very extensive, consisting, in fact, of a change of linen, or rather flannels, a pair of blankets each, the cooking utensils, and a spare gun. We had for our companion a young man whom we had met in Bloemfontein a few days previous to our departure, a young Scotchman but lately arrived in the country. As he wanted to go to Pretoria he proposed to join us. The nights during the winter are very cold on the elevated plateaus of the Free State and the Transvaal.

"Though the midday sun is almost as warm as in summer, one needs to be well provided with covering if they propose pa.s.sing the night on the veldt. To give some idea of the cold of the plains at night, I may tell you that a few winters ago several natives, members of a tribe called the k.n.o.b Noses, who were on their way to the fields, were frozen stiff and stark on the road from Pretoria to Potchefstrom. The road we followed was a fair sample of most of the Free State roads, a tolerably straight path across an uninteresting, unwooded, undulating plain.

Starting about two o'clock in the afternoon, we walked briskly with occasional halts for coffee until about ten o'clock at night, when the moon shone at its full, and we decided to turn in for the night. The wind was already blowing pretty fresh, and we looked about for the place in the veldt where the ant-hills were thickest so we might set fire to two of them to heat our kettles, and to keep us warm during the night.

After having had a cup of coffee, and sat round the fire until we were all thoroughly warmed, Jim and I slipped off our boots, and putting them under our heads for pillows, pulled our blankets over our heads and feet, and were soon fast asleep, of course imagining that Mac would do the same. About two o'clock, when the night was at its coldest, we were awakened by a dreadful groaning, and emerging from our coverings were astonished to see Mac huddled upon the ground with nothing over him but a _rubber overcoat_, shivering, chattering, and moaning piteously. The fire was out, an icy wind was sweeping around the veldt. 'Good gracious, Mac, what is the matter; where are your blankets?' 'I d-d-didn't bring any,' chattered the unfortunate youth. 'Didn't bring any; then what on earth was that big bundle the Kafir was carrying?'

'That is my b-best clothes,' moaned the sufferer.

"We were soon up and bundled the poor fellow into our blankets, and waking the boys we made up a roaring fire, and thawed him back to life.

The next day, on arriving at Wynberg, you should have seen Mac rushing into the first store, and regardless of 'siller,' buy two of the thickest blankets to be had. This man had never before slept outside four walls in his life, and had imagined that any place in Africa must needs be suffocatingly hot at all times.

"I don't think he made the same mistake again."

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

While making some purchases at a wayside store, we had an insight into the life of a wayside storekeeper. We found it, instead of monotonous, full of interest. The business requires technical knowledge enough to run a block of stores in a city.

He must be prepared to supply his customers with anything and everything they may ask for; he must be at home in extolling the best points of a plough, a gun, or a piece of calico; must know the market price of every sort of produce the farmer is likely to bring in for sale or barter, and be well informed in the current news of the day. He must possess an unlimited knowledge, as well as stock of liquors; for the Boer, who is abstemious, as a rule, always expects the man who supplies him with his "voerchitz" and his coffee to provide him also with plenty of stimulants. He must know where to place his hands on any article wanted, and be as ready to buy your cart and horses, or span of oxen, as to sell you a can of sardines or a yard of tape.

When a Boer comes into town, or visits the wayside "Negotic Winkel"

(store), he usually makes a day of it, sometimes accompanied by his wife and daughters, who a.s.sume, in honour of the occasion, their purple and fine linen in the shape of a "kappie" (sunbonnet), and the newest print gown. They will come in at six in the morning and remain till dusk, pricing articles whose value they always depreciate, now and then buying, but more often not, eating the while a prodigious quant.i.ty of candy "Lakkers," and a.s.suming for the time an air of proprietorship in the establishment. This is intensely annoying to the shopkeeper, who, however, always seems to be possessed of an inexhaustible fund of good humour, and to be ready at any time to exchange elephantine witticisms with his Boer customers. In their wordy conflicts they are politic enough to allow their opponent to get the best of it.

At dusk Dom Piet and Taute Meitje (every one is uncle or aunt) prepare to leave.

There is much hand-shaking with everybody, acquaintance or stranger, who are standing about at the time. The worthy couple then climb into their Cape cart, or spring wagon, and drive off home, where they vegetate until the low condition of the domestic stores compels them again to visit the store, or until a Nachtmaal is announced at the nearest church. The profits of such a store are very large, and, as a rule, amply sufficient to compensate the proprietor, often a man who has received his business training in a large wholesale house in England or Germany, for his eight or nine years of exile. He has the opportunity, living as he does in the midst of the farmers, of taking advantage of the many speculations which the fluctuations in the market prices of wool, skins, feathers, etc, offer.

The most successful of these shopkeepers are Jews; they seem to have a happy knack of acquiring the jaw-breaking patois of the country, an indispensable accomplishment to any one wishing to have successful dealing with the Boers.