In those days the European was quite unknown to the Bantu of South-Eastern Africa. Rumour had vaguely told of the advent of strange men with white, bearded faces, who had conquered the "Amalawu"--the Hottentots--by means of the thunder and lightning, over which they had command. This was, however, regarded simply as one of the many semi-mythical tales which are always current among uncivilised people.

Now and then, at long intervals, strange, white-winged monsters had been seen by the Tshomane gliding over the ocean, but these appearances had been cla.s.sed with meteors, eclipses of the sun and moon, and other unexplainable phenomena. Among savages the unprecedented does not occasion nearly so much astonishment as among civilised men, for the reason that the former have but a very rudimentary idea of the laws governing cause and effect. Like the early Christians, to whom the miraculous was the normal, savages a.s.sign all the many things they do not understand to the category of the magical.

The explanation of the nature and the advent of the little white waif as given by the soothsayers was fully accepted. The fair-skinned, blue-eyed child with the long, shining, yellow locks was looked upon as a gracious gift from the undefined but dreadful powers that rule the world from the realm of the unseen, a creature to be fostered and cherished as a pledge of favour,--to be reverenced as an emanation from something that had its dwelling where the sea and the sky met, and that swayed the destinies of ordinary men from afar, something the less known the more awful. It must be borne in mind that the brandy-seller, the gun-runner, and the loafer had not as yet nearly destroyed all respect on the part of the native for the European.

Little Gquma took with strange kindness to her new surroundings. She must have possessed one of those natures--more common among women than men--which can easily a.s.similate themselves to new surroundings. She was apparently about seven years of age. She talked freely, but of course her language could not be understood. One word she repeated over and over again--pointing the while to herself: "Bessie, Bessie." This was supposed to be her name, but the one given by the soothsayers quite superseded it.

Gquma remained at the kraal of Gambushe, whither all the things saved from the wreck had been carried--two large store-huts having been built for their reception. One day when one of the boxes was opened, the child caught sight of a pair of hairbrushes and a large mirror. These she at once seized, bursting into tears at the same time. She carried them away with her, and was soon afterwards seen to place the mirror standing against the side of one of the huts. Then she sat down before it, and began brushing out her long, yellow hair, speaking softly to herself the while. Every day thereafter she spent some time before the mirror, brushing her hair and sometimes weeping. In some of the other boxes other brushes were found, and these were put aside for Gquma's use.

Three white cows had been a.s.signed from the chief's herd for Gquma's support, and soon afterwards a law was enacted in terms of which all pure white calves born in the Tshomane herds were regarded as "Gquma's cattle," and had to be delivered, when a year old, at Gambushe's kraal.

This tribute was submitted to cheerfully by the people, and it was considered a token of good fortune when a cow gave birth to a white calf. In those days virulent cattle diseases were unknown, and in a few years "Gquma's cattle" had increased to a herd of several hundreds. The fame of "the child of the sea" spread far and wide, and people used to come great distances to see her and her wonderful herd of white cattle.

The property salved from the wreck soon became destroyed by moths and damp, consequent on bad storage. In the course of a few years nothing whatever of the textile fabrics was left. At first some attempt was made to clothe Gquma in garments selected from the salved stores, but these were mostly of an ill fit, and soon she came to prefer the untrammelled nakedness of her little native companions. These always paid her the greatest deference, and acknowledged her authority without question. She quickly picked up the language of the tribe, and she appeared to be perfectly happy in her new surroundings.

In the eighteenth century some of the best ideals of the age of chivalry were realised among the Bantu tribes of South-Eastern Africa. Battles were fought for honour and not for plunder; in warfare the lives of women and children were respected--prisoners were never put to death, but were held at ransom. After a battle the young men of one side would often send home their shields and spears by the attendant boys, and proceed as honoured guests to the kraals of their late adversaries. It was an age of gentle manners and generous deeds, which withered for ever when the butcher Tshaka turned the land into a shambles.

The uneventful years slipped by, and the white waif grew in stature and beauty. Her favourite ornaments were cowrie and other sea-sh.e.l.ls.

Being always regarded as the child of the sea, her fondness for bathing was looked upon as appropriate and natural. On the level sandy beach which stretched for miles to the north from the reef on which the ship had been wrecked, the great rollers of the Indian Ocean swept in, thundering, and here on sunny days, Gquma with her body-guard of boys and girls would sport and swim, diving through the combers, and then looking back to see them curl over and dash with a thud on the hard smooth sand. On summer days, when the sun beat fiercely on the beach, they would spend hours on the banks of one of the many streams that trickled down through the forest, plunging every now and then into some crystal-clear, fern-fringed pool.

In cold weather Gquma wore for clothing a kaross made of otter-skins, which had been tanned to the softness of silk, and sewn together cunningly with strands of sinew by an old refugee from one of the inland tribes, which excel as workers in peltries.

Gquma grew to be a most lovely woman. Her skin had browned to a rich glowing tint, and the healthy, natural life she led developed her form to the highest degree of symmetry. She was never asked or expected to perform labour of any description, the Tshomane people regarding her as one who should be left to follow her own devices. Those who sent her would show her what it was good that she should do.

The one conventional practice which she continued was the brushing of her hair. Before the wreck she had evidently been taught to take care of her locks, for from the day on which she wept at seeing the hairbrushes and the mirror, she had each night and morning brushed her hair carefully. At night, before sleeping, she would twist it together, and then coil it around her neck. In the morning when she arose she would shake it out until it fell over her shoulders to below her waist.

Gquma's brushing of her hair was looked upon as a sort of rite, and the function was regarded with the deepest respect, more especially as she often wept softly during its performance.

The Tshomane clan, which is located in the 'Mqanduli district, Tembuland, is now of comparative insignificance, but in the eighteenth century it stood at the head of a tribe of considerable strength and importance. At the advent of Gquma, Sango had been chief for about four years. His "great son" was 'Ndepa, who afterwards became the husband of Gquma. Sango was a man of wisdom, who loved peace, and who kept his clan as much as possible within its own territory. 'Ndepa took after his father in character. He was about five years older than Gquma, and he married her shortly after she arrived at womanhood.

At the marriage feast of Gquma the whole tribe a.s.sembled. By advice of the soothsayers the great dance took place at the sea sh.o.r.e, and instead of following the custom in terms of which the bride should have been led to her husband's dwelling, Gquma and her maidens stationed themselves midway in the cleft of the black reef, where she had been tenderly delivered by the destroying waves, and thither the bridegroom went to ask his bride of the Ocean. Gifts of meat, milk, and beer were cast into the foam, and the soothsayers read the signs of the murmuring water as propitious to the union.

Within a few years of the marriage Sango died, and 'Ndepa became "great chief"; but Gquma, rather than he, was looked upon as the head of the tribe.

Gquma lived only for about eighteen years after her marriage. She bore to her husband two sons, the eldest of whom was called Begela, and a daughter, who was called Bessie. Begela inherited the chieftainship after the death of his father. During the lifetime of Gquma, 'Ndepa did not take another wife.

Gquma died of a mysterious disorder which baffled the skill of several renowned doctors. She lay almost speechless on her mat for many days, and she became more and more emaciated. Then her mind began to wander, and her speech was ever of the sea. On the day she died she was, at her own request, carried down to the cleft in the reef. Just before she breathed her last, she called for Bessie, her daughter. The child was brought and placed at her side. The dying mother strove to speak, but was unable to do so. She partly lifted herself, and pointed across the sea with her right hand; then she turned, clasped the child to her bosom, and gave out her life with a long-drawn sigh. In the night a terrible storm arose, and the sh.o.r.e afterwards was found to be strewn with myriads of dead fish.

When the storm subsided, Gquma's body was carried at low tide to the extreme outside verge of the black reef. After being heavily weighted, it was cast into the sea, as also were the hairbrushes and the mirror.

It was noticed that soon after Gquma returned, as all the people believed, to the ocean that had given her birth, good fortune seemed to have departed from the tribe which had acknowledged her as its honoured and beloved chief, and the insignificant remnants of which venerate her memory even at the present unromantic day.

CHAPTER FOUR.

THE TRAMP'S TRAGEDY.

"Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine."--_Matthew_ VII, 6.

"From Durban, sir. Been a matter of three weeks on the road. Left my mate at Kokstad, where he 'listed in the Cape Mounted Rifles. Wouldn't have me because I was half-an-inch too short, and a matter of fifteen years too old.

"Yes, looking for a job now, same as lots of others. You're right, sir, times _is_ mortal hard. I tramped all the way down to Durban from Johannesburg. No one, barring a black, can get taken on there now.

Twenty years ago this was something of a white man's country;--'tisn't no more.

"Yes, it's my own fault; 'most everything that happens to man is, barring good luck, and that's often sent special by the devil for the sake of what comes afterwards. Drink? well, _that_ of course. When a man has been tramping all day long in the hot sun, and then lies down so tired and blistered that he can't sleep, but lies thinking of the chances he has lost and the things he has done, small blame to him if he buys threepenn'orth of forgetfulness, even if it _is_ another nail in his coffin. Another nail! As if any more were wanted. I tell you, sir, most of us tramps are dead and d.a.m.ned long ago, and any parson will tell you that when a man's d.a.m.ned there's no hope for him.

"Drink? all sorts. 'Cape Smoke' is bad, and Natal rum is worse, but of all the brews to rot the inside out of a man, Transvaal brandy takes the cake. But I will say this for it: a bottle goes mortal far. I've seen more than one man killed by a single bottle, through drinking it too quick on an empty stomach. But I'm too tough; that sort of thing won't finish me.

"Let's see. I first took to the road twenty years ago, just after the alluvial petered out at old 'Pilgrim's,' and I've been on it ever since pretty well, except for a few years in the Transvaal when I was working on the Boers' farms before the war, helping them to build. I'm a mason by trade; leastwise I never was in my articles, but I picked it up natural like. I used to get a job that would keep me on a farm sometimes for two or three months, and when I got my money, swag it to the nearest town. Then drunk for a fortnight, and the road again until I'd found another job."

["Pilgrim's Rest," an alluvial gold-field in the north of the Transvaal, rushed in 1873.]

"Well, I suppose 'most every man has something special to look back upon; mine, I never talk about. However, you've given me a good feed and a shake-down, and you don't seem to suspect I'm going to try and steal your spoons or cut your throat, so I don't see why I shouldn't tell you about it; anyhow I'll try. Just let me light my pipe, and then you sit sideways so's you can't see my face, and I'll be able to talk better.

"It came about this way: me and a mate left 'Pilgrim's' together, meaning to tramp to Kimberley, but of course we had to get work on the road. I was just twenty-four years old, and as strong as a horse. I'd not been drinking long, and you couldn't see by me that I'd ever touched a drop.

"At Lydenburg we met a Dutchman who told us of a farm about two days'

journey away, where there was some building wanting to be done, so for there we started. The place was a little way off our course to the right, but that didn't matter. Well, we reached it on the second day, and we were at once taken on. The Boer wanted a 'lean-to' built, and the bricks and mortar were ready. The man who'd agreed to do the job had hurt his hand and been obliged to go away to a doctor, so the Boer was right glad to see us.

"You know, sir, what life is like on a Boer's farm--coffee and biscuit first thing in the morning, early dinner of meat and pumpkin, and late supper of bread and dripping; lots of coffee, of course, in between.

This Boer was a good sort and treated us well. We took the job on as a piece, so we worked hard. We grubbed with the family, listened without understanding a word when the old man read the Bible and prayed, and helped them (leastwise I did) to sing hymns. I soon began to pick up a little of their lingo, learning a few words every day, but my mate didn't know a word of it, and wouldn't learn.

"There were lots of children, mostly small, and a young nephew of the old woman's who lived in the house. His name was Jacob, and he'd long, black hair and a c.o.c.k-eye. The two eldest children were boys, and the next one was a girl of twelve. She and I became great chums. She used to come out and sit near where I was at work, asking questions about the bricks and mortar, and teaching me Dutch words. She used to laugh like the d.i.c.kens at my way of saying them. Often, when visitors came, or when the old woman made coffee between meals, as she did three or four times a day, Hessie (that was her name) would bring me out a cup, and watch me drink it. She didn't like my mate, who was a surly old bear, so she would never bring him any, and if I gave him a swig out of mine, she'd get as mad as cats, and swear she'd never bring me any more.

"Sometimes she'd ask me all about my people, and get me to describe the place I'd come from. To hear me describing Manchester in my Dutch would have made a cow laugh. She'd want to know all sorts of things, whether I'd any sisters, and what they were like, and if I'd a sweetheart, and whether I'd ever come back again to the farm after the job was finished.

She always used to call me 'Vellum.'

"Well, the job was finished at last, and me and my mate left the farm with about ten pound each, meaning to go straight to Kimberley. Hessie took on a powerful lot when I said good-bye to her, crying and sobbing.

I was very sorry to say good-bye too, and I sent her back a present of a red leather belt with a big steel buckle from Middleburg, where we dossed down the first night after leaving the farm.

"I don't know how it was, but although I met four or five of my old chums, I never touched a drop of drink at Middleburg, and what's more, I didn't want to. My mate wanted to, sure enough, but I wouldn't let him; and to be quite safe we went and slept just outside the town, where we couldn't see the lights in the bars, nor hear the boys shouting.

"Next morning we started for Pretoria, and there we both got on the bend. In a week all our money was spent, and we were then kicked out of the hotel. Next day me and my mate got blaming each other, and it ended in my giving him a most almighty hammering, after which we parted.

"I hung about Pretoria for a while, loafing mostly, and doing odd jobs.

Then I got work in the country again, and when it was finished, went back to Pretoria and drunk out what I'd made. This sort of thing went on for about five years--a few months' work at which I'd earn a bit of money--then a couple of weeks' spree. After this a loaf around looking for jobs and picking up whatever I could get.

"You're right, sir, sometimes I was in very low water. I've lived with the n.i.g.g.e.rs in the locations at the lower end of Pretoria, and I've seen some queer sights. I lay ill in a hut there once for three months, and never had a doctor near me; a woman just physicked me with roots, and did me a power of good. When I got better I swore off drink for the twentieth time, and then, as luck would have it, I dropped on a Dutchman who wanted a house built. He lent me a couple of pound to buy clothes with, and then loaded me up on his wagon and took me to his farm, which was not very far from Middleburg.

"After the job, which took me four months, was finished, instead of going back to Pretoria I thought I'd drop round and see how little Hessie and the others on the farm where I'd got my first job over five years ago, were getting on. I'd more than twenty pound in my pocket, and as I'd nearly died through spreeing after I was sick a few months back, I made up my mind to keep on the straight, at all events for some little time to come.

"So I bought an old pony and a secondhand saddle from the man I'd been working for, and then I rode into Middleburg, where I got a bran-new rig-out at one of the stores. Next day I went on to Hessie's farm. The old man and the old woman were away visiting, and the children, who were nearly all standing outside, had grown so that I hardly knew one of them. It seemed funny that none of them knew me from a crow.

"I just hitched my horse on to a stake, and went straight up to the front door. Not one of the children had recognised me, so they just lolled about and took no notice, same as Dutch children pretty nigh always does. The door was open, but I knocked, meaning to ask for Hessie, and after I'd seen her and got a cup of coffee, to go back to Middleburg. Just then, after I'd knocked, there came down the pa.s.sage a tall, strapping young woman with the prettiest face I'd ever seen. She shook hands same as the Dutch always do with strangers that come on horseback, and asked me to come inside, so inside I came. I sat down on the old 'bank' (sofa) with the straight back and the bottom of crossed thongs, that looked just as if no one had sat on it since I'd left the farm, and then I began to ask the young woman about Hessie. When she heard my voice she gave a start, and then jumped up and called out in her own language: 'Why it's Vellum,' so it turned out to be Hessie after all. She just ran at me, holding out both her hands, and laughing and blushing. Well, in less than no time I was talking to her about all sorts of things, and drinking cups of coffee as hard as ever I could. I could now speak Dutch quite well, but she'd hardly give me a chance to speak at all, being so full of questions, and asking another before I'd had time to answer the one. She was a wonderful pretty girl--very plump, with brown eyes and hair, and rosy cheeks. I'd never have known her again. She kept saying she wondered how it was she'd not known me, and then she'd get quite sad like, and say she thought I looked terrible old, and asked me if I'd had lots of trouble. I said yes, and then she pressed me to tell her what my trouble was. I told her a long yarn about my father and mother having died, and myself having been laid up for three months with fever (which was my name for the 'rats,' and worse). I felt so bad at deceiving her, that I was sorry I'd come back.

All at once she jumped up and ran out of the room. When she returned her cheeks were very red, and her eyes bright. After a while I noticed that she had put on the belt I'd sent her long ago as a good-bye gift, and then that it was still nearly new. Then she called in her brothers and sisters, and we all shook hands, and they made me welcome all round.

"Well, she made me off-saddle my horse, and would hear of nothing but that I must stay for the night. It was just a piece of luck my finding any one at the farm, because the old man was preparing to shift to another farm up near Lydenburg, which he had bought. That evening we sat up late in the 'voorhuis' (parlour), and talked to one another long after every one else had gone to bed. Hessie told me all about herself, how she had missed me, and how she used to wonder where I was, and whether we'd ever meet again.

"I lay that night, not in the little outside room that I'd used before, but in the big strangers' room, where there was a four-poster with a feather-bed so thick and soft that a bigger man than me might have got lost in it. Will you believe me, sir, when I tell you that I didn't sleep a wink? I just lay awake thinking of the life I'd been leading and the things I'd done, and feeling as if I'd made everything I touched dirty. Then the way I'd had to lie to the girl made me feel so hot that I'd to kick off all the blankets, and that ashamed, that if I'd known where to find my saddle and bridle I'd have stole out and cleared.

"Next day the old man and the old woman turned up, and right glad they were to see me, too. They said I must stay on for a spell. Then the old man remembered that he wanted some building done at the other farm, so he asked me to go there with them and take on another job. This I agreed to do, and Hessie was that glad, her eyes just danced.