off to the highlands and black snakes in the bush.

while the settlers of this section were thus scattering far and wide, in more or less numerous groups, over the fertile plains of lower albany, the scotch party was slowly, laboriously, toiling on over hill and dale, jungle and plain, towards the highlands of the interior.

the country through which the long line of waggons passed was as varied as can well be imagined, being one of the wildest and least inhabited tracts of the frontier districts. the features of the landscape changed continually from dark jungle to rich park-like scenery, embellished with graceful clumps of evergreens, and from that again to the sterility of savage mountains or parched and desert plains. sometimes they plodded wearily over the karroo for twenty miles or more at a stretch without seeing a drop of water. at other times they came to a wretched mud hovel, the farm-house of a boer, near a permanent spring of water. again, they were entangled among the rugged, roadless gorges and precipices of a mountain range, through which no vehicle of european construction could have passed without absolute demolition, and up parts of which the cape-waggons were sometimes compelled to go by means of two teams,—that is, from twenty to thirty or more oxen,—being attached to each. at other times they had to descend and re-ascend the precipitous banks of rivers whose beds were sometimes quite dry and paved with mighty boulders.

“it’s an unco’ rough country,” observed sandy black to charlie considine, as they stood watching the efforts of a double team to haul one of their waggons up a slope so rugged and steep that the mere attempt appeared absolute madness in their eyes.

considine assented, but was too much interested in the process to indulge in further remark.

“gin the rope brek,” continued sandy, “i wadna gie muckle for the waggon. it’ll come rowin’ an’ stottin’ doon the hill like a bairn’s ba’.”

“no fear of the rope,” said hans marais, as he passed at the moment to render assistance to ruyter, jemalee, booby, and some others, who were shouting at the pitch of their voices, and plying the long waggon-whips, or the short sjamboks, with unmerciful vigour.

hans was right. the powerful “trektow” stood the enormous strain, and the equally powerful waggon groaned and jolted up the stony steep until it had nearly gained the top, when an unfortunate drop of the right front wheel into a deep hollow, combined with an unlucky and simultaneous elevation of the left back wheel by a stone, turned the vehicle completely over on its side. the hoops of the tilt were broken, and much of the lading was deposited in a hollow beside the waggon, but a few of the lighter and smaller articles went hopping, or, according to sandy black, “stottin’” down the slope, and were smashed to atoms at the bottom.

ruyter, booby, and jemalee turned towards hans marais with a shrinking action, as if they expected to feel the sjambok on their shoulders, for their own cruel master was wont on occasions of mischance such as this to visit his men with summary punishment; but hans was a good specimen of another, and, we believe, much more numerous class of cape-dutchmen. after the first short frown of annoyance had passed, he went actively to work, to set the example of unloading the waggon and repairing the damage, administering at the same time, however, a pretty sharp rebuke to the drivers for their carelessness in not taking better note of the form of the ground.

that night in talking over the incident with ruyter, considine ventured again to comment on the wrongs which the former endured, and the possibility of redress being obtained from the proper authorities.

“for i am told,” he said, “that the laws of the colony do not now permit masters to lash and maltreat their slaves as they once did.”

ruyter, though by nature a good-humoured, easy-going fellow, was possessed of an unusually high spirit for one of his race, and could never listen to any reference to the wrongs of the hottentots without a dark frown of indignation. in general he avoided the subject, but on the night in question either his wonted reticence had fled, or he felt disposed to confide in the kindly youth, from whom on the previous journey from capetown he had experienced many marks of sympathy and good-will.

“there be no way to make tings better,” he replied fiercely. “i knows noting ’bout your laws. only knows dey don’t work somehow. allers de same wid me anyhow, kick and cuff and lash w’en i’s wrong—sometimes w’en i’s right—and nebber git tanks for noting.”

“but that is because your master is an unusually bad fellow,” replied considine. “few cape farmers are so bad as he. you have yourself had experience of hans marais, now, who is kind to every one.”

“ja, he is good master—an’ so’s him’s fadder, an’ all him’s peepil—but what good dat doos to me!” returned the hottentot gloomily. “it is true your laws do not allow us to be bought and sold like de slaves, but dat very ting makes de masters hate us and hurt us more dan de slaves.”

this was to some extent true. at the time we write of, slavery, being still permitted in the british colonies, the dutch, and other cape colonists, possessed great numbers of negro slaves, whom it was their interest to treat well, as being valuable “property,” and whom most of them probably did treat well, as a man will treat a useful horse or ox, though of course there were—as there always must be in the circumstances—many instances of cruelty, by passionate and brutal owners. but the hottentots, or original natives of the south african soil, having been declared unsaleable, and therefore not “property,” were in many cases treated with greater degradation by their masters than the slaves, were made to work like them, but not cared for or fed like them, because not so valuable. at the same time, although not absolute slaves, the hottentots were practically in a state of servitude, in which the freedom accorded to them by government had, by one subterfuge or another, been rendered inoperative. not long before this period the colonists possessed absolute power over the hottentots, and although recent efforts had been made to legislate in their favour, their wrongs had only been mitigated,—by no means redressed. masters were, it is true, held accountable by the law for the treatment of their hottentots, but were rarely called to account; and the hottentots knew too well, from sad experience, that to make a complaint would be in many cases worse than useless, as it would only rouse the ire of their masters and make them doubly severe.

“you say de hottentots are not slaves, but you treat us all de same as slaves—anyhow, jan smit does.”

“that is the sin of jan smit, not of the british law,” replied considine.

ruyter’s face grew darker as he rejoined fiercely, “what de use of your laws if dey won’t work? besides, what right hab de white scoundril to make slave at all—whether you call him slave or no call him slave. look at jemalee!”

the hottentot pointed with violent action to the malay, who, with a calm and sad but dignified mien, stood listening to the small-talk of booby, while the light of the camp-fire played fitfully on their swarthy features.

“well, what of jemalee!” asked considine.

“you know dat him’s a slave—a real slave?”

“yes, i know that, poor fellow.”

“you never hear how him was brought up here?”

“no, never—tell me about it.”

hereupon the hottentot related the following brief story.

abdul jemalee, a year or two before, had lived in capetown, where his owner was a man of some substance. jemalee had a wife and several children, who were also the property of his owner. being an expert waggon-driver, the malay was a valuable piece of human goods. on one occasion jan smit happened to be in capetown, and, hearing of the malay’s qualities, offered his master a high price for him. the offer was accepted, but in order to avoid a scene, the bargain was kept secret from the piece of property, and he was given to understand that he was going up country on his old master’s business. when poor jemalee bade his pretty wife and little ones goodbye, he comforted them with the assurance that he should be back in a few months. on arriving at smit’s place, however, the truth was told, and he found that he had been separated for ever from those he most loved on earth. for some time abdul jemalee gave way to sullen despair, and took every sort of abuse and cruel treatment with apparent indifference, but, as time went on, a change came over him. he became more like his former self, and did his work so well, that even the savage jan smit seldom had any excuse for finding fault. on his last journey to the cape, smit took the malay with him only part of the way. he left him in charge of a friend, who agreed to look well after him until his return.

even this crushing of jemalee’s hope that he might meet his wife and children once more did not appear to oppress him much, and when his master returned from capetown he resumed charge of one of the waggons, and went quietly back to his home in the karroo.

“and can you tell what brought about this change?” asked considine.

“oh ja, i knows,” replied ruyter, with a decided nod and a deep chuckle; “jemalee him’s got a powerful glitter in him’s eye now and den—bery powerful an’ strange!”

“and what may that have to do with it?” asked considine.

ruyter’s visage changed from a look of deep cunning to one of childlike simplicity as he replied— “can’t go for to say what de glitter of him’s eye got to do wid it. snakes’ eyes glitter sometimes—s’pose ’cause he can’t help it, or he’s wicked p’raps.”

considine smiled, but, seeing that the hottentot did not choose to be communicative on the point, he forbore further question.

“what a funny man jerry goldboy is!” said jessie mctavish, as she sat that same evening sipping a pannikin of tea in her father’s tent.

from the opening of the tent the fire was visible.

jerry was busy preparing his supper, while he kept up an incessant run of small-chat with booby and jemalee. the latter replied to him chiefly with grave smiles, the former with shouts of appreciative laughter.

“he is funny,” asserted mrs mctavish, “and uncommonly noisy. i doubt if there is much good in him.”

“more than you think, mopsy,” said kenneth (by this irreverent name did the highlander call his better-half); “jerry goldboy is a small package, but he’s made of good stuff, depend upon it. no doubt he’s a little nervous, but i’ve observed that his nerves are tried more by the suddenness with which he may be surprised than by the actual danger he may chance to encounter. on our first night out, when he roused the camp and smashed the stock of his blunderbuss, no doubt i as well as others thought he showed the white feather, but there was no lack of courage in him when he went last week straight under the tree where the tiger was growling, and shot it so dead that when it fell it was not far from his feet.”

“i heard some of the men, papa,” observed jessie, “say that it was dutch courage that made him do that. what did they mean by dutch courage?”

jessie, being little more than eight, was ignorant of much of the world’s slang.

“cape-smoke, my dear,” answered her father, with a laugh.

“cape-smoke?” exclaimed jessie, “what is that?”

“brandy, child, peach-brandy, much loved by some of the boers, i’m told, and still more so by the hottentots; but there was no more cape-smoke in jerry that day than in you. it was true english pluck. no doubt he could hardly fail to make a dead shot at so close a range, with such an awful weapon, loaded, as it usually is, with handfuls of slugs, buckshot, and gravel; but it was none the less plucky for all that. the old flint-lock might have missed fire, or he mightn’t have killed the brute outright, and in either case he knew well enough it would have been all up with jerry goldboy.”

“who’s that taking my name in vain?” said jerry himself, passing the tent at the moment, in company with sandy black.

“we were only praising you, jerry,” cried jessie, with a laugh, “for the way in which you shot that tiger the other day.”

“it wasn’t a teeger, miss jessie,” interposed sandy black, “it was only a leopard—ane o’ thae wee spottit beasts that they’re sae prood o’ in this country as to ca’ them teegers.”

“come, sandy,” cried jerry goldboy, “don’t rob me of the honour that is my due. the hanimal was big enough to ’ave torn you limb from limb if ’e’d got ’old of you.”

“it may be sae, but he wasna a teeger for a’ that,” retorted black.—“d’ee know, sir,” he continued, turning to mctavish, “that mr pringle’s been askin’ for ’ee?”

“no, sandy, but now that you’ve told me i’ll go to his tent.”

so saying the highlander rose and went out, to attend a council of “heads of families.”

hitherto we have directed the reader’s attention chiefly to one or two individuals of the scotch party, but there were in that party a number of families who had appointed mr pringle their “head” and representative. in this capacity of chief-head, or leader, mr pringle was in the habit of convening a meeting of subordinate “heads” when matters of importance had to be discussed.

while the elders of the party were thus engaged in conclave at the door of their leader’s tent, and while the rest were busy round their several fires, a man with a body much blacker than the night was secretly gliding about the camp like a huge snake, now crouching as he passed quickly, but without noise, in rear of the thick bushes; now creeping on hands and knees among the waggons and oxen, and anon gliding almost flat on his breast up to the very verge of the light thrown by the camp-fires. at one and another of the fires he remained motionless like the blackened trunk of a dead tree, with his glittering eyes fixed on the settlers, as if listening intently to their conversation.

whatever might be the ultimate designs of the kafir—for such he was—his intentions at the time being were evidently peaceful, for he carried neither weapon nor shield. he touched nothing belonging to the white men, though guns and blankets and other tempting objects were more than once within reach of his hand. neither did he attempt to steal that which to the kafir is the most coveted prize of all—a fat ox. gradually he melted away into the darkness from which he had emerged. no eye in all the emigrant band saw him come or go in his snake-like glidings, yet his presence was known to one of the party—to ruyter the hottentot.

soon after the kafir had taken his departure, ruyter left his camp-fire and sauntered into the bush as if to meditate before lying down for the night. as soon as he was beyond observation he quickened his pace and walked in a straight line, like one who has a definite end in view.

the hottentot fancied that he had got away unperceived, but in this he was mistaken. hans marais, having heard considine’s account of his talk with ruyter about jemalee, had been troubled with suspicions about the former, which led to his paying more than usual attention to him. these suspicions were increased when he observed that the hottentot went frequently and uneasily into the bushes, and looked altogether like a man expecting something which does not happen or appear. when, therefore, he noticed that after supper, ruyter’s anxious look disappeared, and that, after looking carefully round at his comrades, he sauntered into the bush with an overdone air of nonchalance, he quietly took up his heavy gun and followed him.

the youth had been trained to observe from earliest childhood, and, having been born and bred on the karroo, he was as well skilled in tracking the footprints of animals and men as any red savage of the north american wilderness. he took care to keep the hottentot in sight, however, the night being too dark to see footprints. lithe and agile as a panther, he found no difficulty in doing so.

in a few minutes he reached an open space, in which he observed that the hottentot had met with a kafir, and was engaged with him in earnest conversation. much however of what they said was lost by hans, as he found it difficult to get within ear-shot unobserved.

“and why?” he at length heard the savage demand, “why should i spare them for an hour?”

he spoke in the kafir tongue, in which the hottentot replied, and with which young marais was partially acquainted.

“because, hintza,” said ruyter, naming the paramount chief of kafirland, “the time has not yet come. one whose opinion you value bade me tell you so.”

“what if i choose to pay no regard to the opinion of any one?” demanded the chief haughtily.

ruyter quietly told the savage that he would then have to take the consequences, and urged, in addition, that it was folly to suppose the kafirs were in a condition to make war on the white men just then. it was barely a year since they had been totally routed and driven across the great fish river with great slaughter. no warrior of common sense would think of renewing hostilities at such a time—their young men slain, their resources exhausted. hintza had better bide his time. in the meanwhile he could gratify his revenge without much risk to himself or his young braves, by stealing in a quiet systematic way from the white men as their herds and flocks increased. besides this, ruyter, assuming a bold look and tone which was unusual in one of his degraded race, told hintza firmly that he had reasons of his own for not wishing the scotch emigrants to be attacked at that time, and that if he persisted in his designs he would warn them of their danger, in which case they would certainly prove themselves men enough to beat any number of warriors hintza could bring against them.

lying flat on the ground, with head raised and motionless, hans marais listened to these sentiments with much surprise, for he had up to that time regarded the hottentot as a meek and long-suffering man, but now, though his long-suffering in the past could not be questioned, his meekness appeared to have totally departed.

the kafir chief would probably have treated the latter part of ruyter’s speech with scorn, had not his remarks about sly and systematic plunder chimed in with his own sentiments, for hintza was pre-eminently false-hearted, even among a race with whom successful lying is deemed a virtue, though, when found out, it is considered a sin. he pondered the hottentot’s advice, and apparently assented to it. after a few moments’ consideration, he turned on his heel, and re-entered the thick jungle.

well was it for hans marais that he had concealed himself among tall grass, for hintza chanced to pass within two yards of the spot where he lay. the kafir chief had resumed the weapons which, for convenience, he had left behind in the bush while prowling round the white man’s camp, and now stalked along in all the panoply of a savage warrior-chief; with ox-hide shield, bundle of short sharp assagais, leopard-skin robe, and feathers. for one instant the dutchman, supposing it impossible to escape detection, was on the point of springing on the savage, but on second thoughts he resolved to take his chance. even if hintza did discover him, he felt sure of being able to leap up in time to ward off his first stab.

fortunately the kafir was too much engrossed with his thoughts. he passed his white enemy, and disappeared in the jungle.

meanwhile the hottentot returned to the camp—assuming an easy-going saunter as he approached its fires—and, soon after, hans marais re-entered it from an opposite direction. resolving to keep his own counsel in the meantime, he mentioned the incident to no one, but after carefully inspecting the surrounding bushes, and stirring up the watch-fires, he sat down in front of his leader’s tent with the intention of keeping guard during the first part of the night.