Swallow | Page 5

left to him, his hearing, and a little
power of wandering speech. It is strange to look at him, his white hair
hanging upon his shoulders, his eyes glazed, his chin sunk upon his
breast, his great hands knotted and helpless, and to remember that at the
battle of Vechtkop, when Moselikatse sent his regiments to crush us, I
saw those same hands of his seize the only two Zulus who broke a way
into our laager and shake and dash them together till they were dead.

Well, well, who am I that I should talk? For has not the dropsy got hold
of my legs, and did not that doctor, who, though an Englishman, is no
fool, tell me but yesterday that it was creeping up towards my heart?
We are old and soon must die, for such is the will of God. Let us then
thank God that it is our lot to pass thus easily and in age, and not to
have perished in our youth, as did so many of our companions, the
Voortrekkers, they and their children together, by the spear of the
savage, or by starvation and fever and wild beasts in the wilderness. Ah!
I think of them often, and in my sleep, which has grown light of late, I
see them often, and hear those voices that none but I would know
to-day. I think of them and I see them, and since Suzanne has the skill
to set down my words, a desire comes upon me to tell of them and their
deeds before God takes me by the hand and I am borne through the
darkness by the wings of God.
Also there is another reason. The girl, Suzanne Kenzie, my great-
granddaughter, who writes this, alone is left of my blood, since her
father and grandfather, who was our adopted son, and the husband of
our only child, fell in the Zulu war fighting with the English against
Cetywayo. Now many have heard the strange story of Ralph Kenzie,
the English castaway, and of how he was found by our daughter
Suzanne. Many have heard also the still stranger story of how this child
of ours, Suzanne, in her need, was sheltered by savages, and for more
than two years lived with Sihamba, the little witch doctoress and ruler
of the Tribe of the Mountains, till Ralph, her husband, who loved her,
sought her out and rescued her, that by the mercy of the Lord during all
this time had suffered neither harm nor violence. Yes, many have heard
of these things, for in bygone years there was much talk of them as of
events out of nature and marvellous, but few have heard them right.
Therefore before I go, I, who remember and know them all, would set
them down that they may be a record for ever among my descendants
and the descendants of Ralph Kenzie, my foster-son, who, having been
brought up amongst us Boers, was the best and bravest Englishman that
ever lived in Africa.

And now I will tell of the finding of Ralph Kenzie many years ago.

To begin at the beginning, my husband, Jan Botmar, is one of the well-
known Boer family of that name, the most of whom lived in the
Graafreinet district in the Old Colony till some of them trekked into the
Transkei, when I was still a young girl, to be as far as they could from
the heart of the British power. Nor did they trek for a little reason.
Listen and judge.
One of the Bezuidenhouts, Frederick, was accused of treating some
black slave of his cruelly, and a body of the accursed /Pandours/, the
Hottentots whom the English had made into a regiment, were sent to
arrest him. He would not suffer that these black creatures should lay
hands upon a Boer, so he fled to a cave and fought there till he was shot
dead. Over his open grave his brethren and friends swore to take
vengeance for his murder, and fifty of them raised an insurrection.
They were pursued by the /Pandours/ and by burghers more law
abiding or more cautious, till Jan Bezuidenhout, the brother of
Frederick, was shot also, fighting to the last while his wife and little
son loaded the rifles. Then the rest were captured and put upon their
trial, and to the rage and horror of all their countrymen the brutal
British governor of that day, who was named Somerset, ordered five of
them to be hanged, among them my husband's father and uncle.
Petitions for mercy availed nothing, and these five were tied to a beam
like Kaffir dogs yonder at Slagter's Nek, they who had shed the blood
of no man. Yes, yes, it is true,