The Bush Boys | Page 3

where he had fixed himself for a time, was a miniature oasis; and he rejoiced day after day, as his eyes rested upon the ripening aspect around him. Once more he began to dream of prosperity-- once more to hope that his evil fortunes had come to an end.
Alas! It was a false hope. A series of trials yet awaited him--a series of misfortunes that deprived him of almost everything he possessed, and completely changed his mode of existence.
Perhaps these occurrences could hardly be termed misfortunes, since in the end they led to a happy result.
But you may judge for yourself, boy reader, after you have heard the "history and adventures" of the "trek-boor" and his family.
CHAPTER TWO.
THE "KRAAL."
The ex-field-cornet was seated in front of his kraal--for such is the name of a South African homestead. From his lips protruded a large pipe, with its huge bowl of meerschaum. Every boor is a smoker.
Notwithstanding the many losses and crosses of his past life, there was contentment in his eye. He was gratified by the prosperous appearance of his crops. The maize was now "in the milk," and the ears, folded within the papyrus-like husks, looked full and large. It was delightful to hear the rustling of the long green blades, and see the bright golden tassels waving in the breeze. The heart of the farmer was glad as his eye glanced over his promising crop of "mealies." But there was another promising crop that still more gladdened his heart--his fine children. There they are--all around him.
Hans--the oldest--steady, sober Hans, at work in the well-stocked garden; while the diminutive but sprightly imp Jan, the youngest, is looking on, and occasionally helping his brother. Hendrik--the dashing Hendrik, with bright face and light curling hair--is busy among the horses, in the "horse-kraal;" and Truey--the beautiful, cherry-cheeked, flaxen-haired Truey--is engaged with her pet--a fawn of the springbok gazelle--whose bright eyes rival her own in their expression of innocence and loveliness.
Yes, the heart of the field-cornet is glad as he glances from one to the other of these his children--and with reason. They are all fair to look upon,--all give promise of goodness. If their father feels an occasional pang, it is, as we have already said, when his eye rests upon the cherry-cheeked, flaxen-haired Gertrude.
But time has long since subdued that grief to a gentle melancholy. Its pang is short-lived, and the face of the field-cornet soon lightens up again as he looks around upon his dear children, so full of hope and promise.
Hans and Hendrik are already strong enough to assist him in his occupations,--in fact, with the exception of "Swartboy," they are the only help he has.
Who is Swartboy?
Look into the horse-kraal, and you will there see Swartboy engaged, along with his young master Hendrik, in saddling a pair of horses. You may notice that Swartboy appears to be about thirty years old, and he is full that; but if you were to apply a measuring rule to him, you would find him not much over four feet in height! He is stoutly built however, and would measure better in a horizontal direction. You may notice that he is of a yellow complexion, although his name might lead you to fancy he was black--for "Swartboy" means "black-boy." You may observe that his nose is flat and sunk below the level of his cheeks; that his cheeks are prominent, his lips very thick, his nostrils wide, his face beardless, and his head almost hairless--for the small kinky wool-knots thinly-scattered over his skull can scarcely be designated hair. You may notice, moreover, that his head is monstrously large, with ears in proportion, and that the eyes are set obliquely, and have a Chinese expression. You may notice about Swartboy all those characteristics that distinguish the "Hottentots" of South Africa.
Yet Swartboy is not a Hottentot--though he is of the same race. He is a Bushman.
How came this wild Bushman into the service of the ex-field-cornet Von Bloom? About that there is a little romantic history. Thus:--
Among the savage tribes of Southern Africa there exists a very cruel custom,--that of abandoning their aged or infirm, and often their sick or wounded, to die in the desert. Children leave their parents behind them, and the wounded are often forsaken by their comrades with no other provision made for them beyond a day's food and a cup of water!
The Bushman Swartboy had been the victim of this custom. He had been upon a hunting excursion with some of his own kindred, and had been sadly mangled by a lion. His comrades, not expecting him to live, left him on the plain to die; and most certainly would he have perished had it not been for our field-cornet. The latter, as he was "trekking" over the plains, found the