Six Months at the Cape | Page 5

for
luncheon, and found shelter from the sun under a mimosa, which was
large enough to merit being styled a tree. Its thorns were from four to
six inches in length.
The party had now swelled to fourteen--all stout hardy descendants of
the English, Scotch, or Dutch settlers, who had originally peopled the
land; good rifle shots, and splendid horsemen. One of them was
conspicuous by his brawny arms, which were burnt to a deep brown in
consequence of his preferring to hunt and work at all times with shirt
sleeves rolled up above the elbows. Another struck me as having the
broadest pair of shoulders I ever saw in a man of his size.
"Capital water here," said Green to me, on alighting beside the
mimosa-thorn.
"Indeed," said I, thirsting for some, "where is it?"
"Here! come; I'll show you."
He led me to a spot among the bushes where lay a small pond of thin
mud the colour of weak tea with milk.
"There you are," said Green.
I looked at him inquiringly.

He looked at me and smiled.
I laughed.
Green grinned, and assured me that it was "first-rate water."
He dipped a cup, as he spoke, and drank it. So did his comrades, with
evident satisfaction, though the liquid was so opaque that I could not
see the bottom of a tea-cup when it was full.
There could be no further doubt on the point. These reckless and jovial
South Africans--European by extraction though they were, and without
a drop of black blood in their veins--had actually accommodated
themselves to circumstances so far as to consider liquid mud good
water! More than that, I found that most of the party deemed it a
sufficient beverage, for they were all temperance men, if not total
abstainers. Still further, I followed their example, drank of that yellow
pond, and actually enjoyed it. Subsequently I made the discovery that
there were small animals in it; after that I preferred it in the form of tea,
which was quickly infused by our active Hottentots.
The discovery above referred to was made when Green, (or Brownarms,
or Broadshoulders, I forget which), was quaffing a cup of the cold
element. Having drained it he spat out the last mouthful, and along with
it a lively creature like a small shrimp, with something like a
screw-propeller under its tail!
Enjoying our tea under the shade of the mimosa, we rested for an hour,
and then, saddling our steeds and slinging on rifles and
cartridge-pouches, we mounted, and sallied forth upon the plain.
A glorious sensation of freedom came over me as I felt my horse's
springy step,--a sensation which brought powerfully back the memory
of those days when I first galloped over the American prairies. Surely
there must be a sympathy, a mesmeric influence, between a horse and
his rider which sends a thrill through each. Hobson had lent me his own
favourite horse, Rob Roy. He was a charming creature; well made,
active, willing, and tender in the mouth, but, best of all, he "trippled"

splendidly.
Trippling is a favourite gait in South Africa, especially among the
Dutch farmers. It is something between pacing and ambling, a motion
so easy that one scarce rises at all from the saddle. We trippled off into
the vast plain towards the horizon, each horseman diverging a little
from his comrades, like a fleet of fishing-boats putting out to sea. Most
of the party rode without coats, for the sky was cloudless, and we
looked for a broiling day. Brownarms, I observed, had his sleeves
rolled up, as usual, to the shoulder. Six-foot Johnny rode a
cream-coloured pony, which, like himself, enjoyed itself intensely, and
seemed ready for anything. Each man grasped his rifle by the middle
with the right hand, and rested the stock on his thigh.
Being a stranger to the work, I had been supplied with a Hottentot as
well as a horse,--to guide me and carry my rifle; but I scorned to ride
without my weapon, and did not at first see the necessity of a guide in
the circumstances. Ultimately I was only too glad to avail myself of his
services!
The South Africans call Hottentots "boys," whatever their age or size
may be. My "boy" was named Michael. He was a small wiry man of
twenty or thirty,--more or less,--with a dirty brown face, dirty brown
garments, and a dirty brown horse. Though a bad one to look at, it was
a marvellous horse to go. Michael had a cavernous red mouth, and
magnificent white teeth. Likewise he was gifted with a strong sense of
the ludicrous, as I have reason to know.
We advanced slowly into the plain at first, and gradually scattered until
some of the party began to look