Chapter Eight.
The Luck of Tobias De La Rey.
Tobias De la Rey was one of those pastoral, hunting Boers who are still to be found in some numbers in the remoter parts of the North and East Transvaal. His farm was a poor one, he had no great head of stock, sheep did very ill upon that veldt, and Tobias, like others of his class, finding it hard to make ends meet, was in the habit annually, as his father had been before him, of making a hunting trip beyond the Transvaal during the season of winter and bringing back as much ivory and as many skins of giraffe, hippopotamus and the larger antelopes as he could get together during six months’ hunting. This cargo he took down to Zeerust, in the Marico district, and sold there. Once or twice he had been led so far afield in search of elephants that he and the other Boers hunting with him had remained away two seasons. But still Tobias was a poor man. He had no luck with his stock, his land was not good enough to grow tobacco, and now at the age of twenty-four, when most good Boers are married and have children about them, he remained in single wretchedness; for in the judgment of the uxorious Boer, by the age of twenty-two, every Dutch Afrikander, if he is worth his salt, ought to be married and settled. It was not De la Rey’s fault by any means. He had more than once offered himself for the hand of some well-to-do neighbour’s stout daughter, but his advances had, hitherto, purely by reason of his poverty, been civilly declined.
The South African winter season was just now setting in—it was the month of April—and Tobias, who meant having another hunt this year, had already made all his preparations. His waggon was refitted and overhauled, his trek oxen were ready and his servants at hand. His hunting horses, three of them—two unsalted—including his old, salted, ewe-necked garron “Blaauwbok,” a gaunt, knowing old “blaauw-schimmel” (blue roan), which had carried him already four seasons in the hunting veldt, were pastured near the house and fed occasionally with mealies, to give them heart and condition for the hard life that lay before them.
And Tobias himself had this year obtained permission from Khama, chief of Bamangwato, to pass through his country—following the route of the Trek Boers, who had gone through two seasons before—and had determined to hunt in the wild and little known country far to the north-west of Lake Ngami.
But before setting forth, Tobias had a visit to pay. He had viewed with increasing favour this last year or two Gertruey Terblans, niece of Mevrouw Joanna Terblans, with whom she lived. Truey was an orphan and had some land and stock of her own. She was a dark, brown-eyed, sturdy girl of sixteen, and Tobias De la Rey regarded her and her farm and stock as highly desirable acquisitions. This morning, therefore, he saddled up his best looking nag and trippled briskly off, with that curious ambling gait—something between a trot and a canter—so greatly affected by the Dutch Afrikanders. Tobias had dressed himself with some care. He wore a new broad-brimmed hat, decked with a couple of short white ostrich feathers. He had struggled with immense difficulty into a collar, and was resplendent in a blue satin necktie. And he wore a suit of new corduroy store clothes, purchased for his hunting outfit. His spurs, too, were new and shining. Tobias meant to make a bit of a splash to-day, and although he was not prepared for the solemnity of an “opsitting” (that all-night form of courtship, dear to the heart of the Boer), and had therefore no candle in his saddle-bag, he wished to leave upon the minds of Truey and her aunt, on this leave-taking, the most favourable impression possible. Tobias himself was a huge, loose-limbed Boer, standing six feet two in his velschoons. He was a rough, unkempt-looking fellow, even at his best to-day. His straggling beard and moustache and long shaggy hair were of a fiery red. His broad, freckled face and smallish grey eyes were vacant and expressionless in all ordinary affairs of life—even in presence of the fair Truey herself. Only the excitement of hunting could rouse the man. Then he was, like most of his fellows, a different being, transformed from a dull, listless, stupid-looking giant to a man of action, alert, active and energetic even as an Englishman. The horse he bestrode was the youngest and best looking of his stud, a not bad-looking bay five-year-old, which to-day was resplendent in a new cheap curb bridle of that frightfully severe pattern always affected by the South African Dutch. His saddle was not new, but a gorgeous red and yellow saddle-cloth, in De la Rey’s eyes, fully atoned for that defect.
Tobias rode steadily north up the Nylstroom River, and in three hours’ time came in sight of the Terblans homestead, “Vogelstruisfontein” (ostrich fountain), an ordinary Dutch farmhouse, built of Kaffir bricks and whitewashed, and backed by goat and cattle kraals, a grove of fruit trees—peach, apricot and quince—and a weeping willow or two. Sitting in the shade of the stoep was old Jan Terblans, now turned seventy, and, from fevers and privations of early days, long past work. The old man still had the use of his eyes, however, and, catching sight of De la Rey, he called to him to off-saddle and come in. Tobias obeyed, and, after shaking hands with Terblans and chatting a few minutes, went at his host’s request indoors. In the living room, at the top of the table, by the coffee urn, sat Tant’ Joanna Terblans, second wife of the old man outside, an enormous matron of five-and-forty, whose eighteen solid stones of flesh filled to overflowing the capacious armchair that supported her. Tant’ Terblans had been a little taken by surprise, it is true, but she had had time to send for her best apron, and had smoothed her dull brown hair, and her great, full-moon face was now turned inquiringly towards Tobias as he entered.
Tobias held out his hand, took the Vrouw’s fat paw in his own, and returned her greeting with a “Dag, Tant’.”
“Why, bless the man,” remarked the matron, “how smart you are to-day. And what may you have come over about? No ‘opsitting’ mind, Tobias! Remember what I told you six months ago. Truey with her fortune is to make a good match, and a wandering elephant hunter like yourself need never think of her. We are glad to see you over, of course, in a neighbourly way, but not with any ideas of Truey.”
Tobias meekly replied that he had but come to say farewell before starting on a long hunting trip. “And perhaps,” he added, “if I have luck this time and bring back a waggon-load of ivory you may see things differently, Tant’? Remember I have more stock than I used to have. Another trip or two, with luck, should set me up fairly.”
“Nay, nay,” rejoined the Vrouw, as she handed him his second cup of coffee and pushed the tobacco towards him, “’tis not to be thought of—unless indeed you can come back from your hunt a thousand pound better man than you are now, which is not likely.” Tobias shook his head sadly, as if that tremendous sum were utterly beyond hope, and at that moment the door opened and Truey herself came in.