Jacoba Steyn’s father was one of those sturdy emigrant Boers who crossed the Vaal River towards 1837, defeated that terror of the north, Moselikatse, and his fierce Matabele warriors, drove them beyond the Limpopo, and took possession of the vast countries now known as the Orange Free State and Transvaal. Jan Steyn was, until the verge of old age, one of those restless frontier-men who are never content to settle down entirely to the pastoral life of the average Dutch farmer. He was a great hunter, and during the first ten years of his career beyond the Vaal he found almost as much occupation as he needed within the boundaries of the newly formed republic. But after that time elephants began to grow scarce within the Transvaal, and the ivory-hunters had to push their way farther afield. Moselikatse’s country—which we now call Matabeleland—was a sealed book for the Boers; the old Zulu lion seldom allowed them to enter it, and then only on payment of an extortionate tribute. Some of the hunters gradually thrust their way through Zoutpansberg eastward into the low countries (rich in game, but terribly feverish and unhealthy), towards Delagoa Bay; others gained permission from the Bamangwato chief, Sekhomi, and followed the ivory into the wild deserts towards Lake N’gami and the Zambesi. Among these last was to be found Jan Steyn. Jan had settled, after the final defeat of Moselikatse and his hordes, in that magnificent district of the western Transvaal now known as Marico. He had had hard times during the war with the Matabele, and had lost more than half his cattle. However, he consoled himself by selecting a 6,000 acre farm of rich and well-watered land, which he appropriately christened “Beter laat dan Nooit,” (“Better late than never”). His friend Jan Viljoen, the famous elephant-hunter, was his nearest neighbour. Viljoen had named his farm “Vär Genoog,” (“Far Enough”), not by any means a bad name for a trekking farmer who had wandered in search of a home from the Knysna, on the extreme southern littoral of Cape Colony, to the far Marico River.
Well, Jan Steyn built himself a house of Kaffir bricks, beaconed off his farm, and settled down for a year or two to get things into shape. After that time the wandering spirit overcame him again, and, leaving his farm in charge of a near relation, he put his family into the big tent-wagon and trekked away each season of African winter into the hunting veldt. Jan Viljoen and other neighbours followed the same plan. Elephants were inordinately plentiful, tusks were magnificently heavy, and a good trade in ivory could, in those days, be done with native chiefs. Jan Steyn’s wife and family—six in all—always accompanied him on these expeditions. The tough vrouw refused to be left behind, and where she went the family went also. So that from her earliest years the little Jacoba remembered always the strange, wild life of the hunting veldt, the voice of lions and hyaenas by night, the great camp-fire, the return of the hunters laden with the hard-won spoils of chase, the dark groups of Kaffirs carrying in the long gleaming tusks of ivory. Like her mother, Jacoba as she neared her teens, could load a gun, and upon occasion, even knew how to discharge it.
By the year 1855, the Transvaal elephant-hunters were trekking very far afield in search of ivory. Livingstone’s discovery of Lake N’gami in 1849 had opened up a new region, teeming with the great tusk-bearing pachyderms, and a few Boer hunters began to filter gradually into the deserts towards the Lake and the Chobe River. Among these were Jan Viljoen, Piet Jacobs, and Jan Steyn. And so it happened that in 1859 the Steyn family for the fourth season had reached the south bank of the Botletli, better known as the Lake River, which runs south-east from Lake N’gami.
They had had a terrible struggle across the thirst-land lying between Shoshong, the Bamangwato Stadt, and the Lake River. More than once it seemed that they must have left their wagons behind in the desert; but they had somehow battled through, with the loss of three good trek oxen.
It was within an hour of sundown when they rose the little swelling of the plain, just where you strike the river, and drew up their wagons by the big thorn tree for the night N’gamiland hunters will know that tree; it bears the initials of most of the wanderers who have passed that way. Jacoba Steyn was but a girl of seventeen then, but she will never, to her dying hour, forget the scene that lay before her. Boer women are not, as a rule, impressionable; they give little heed to the sights that surround them, and have no eye for the picturesque. But this evening, of all others, will, for a particular reason, remain imprinted deep in the tablets of Jacoba’s remembrance. Below the wagons lay the Lake River, now somewhat shrunk within its low banks, and teeming with bird life. Just here the tall reeds had been burnt down, and there was a clear view. Flamingoes, ibises, coots, great gaudy geese, thousands of wild-duck, widgeon, and teal thronged the shallows and darkened the river surface. Elegant jacanas flitted brilliantly upon trembling islets of floating weed. Noisy spur-winged plovers clamoured with sharp metallic voices. Aloft soared a great fishing-eagle or two. And from afar, following one another slowly and solemnly in even, single-file procession, long lines of monstrous pelicans filled the sky. Their soft, melancholy whistling sounded clear, even amid the lowing of the parched oxen, now frantic and well-nigh dead with thirst. To the right the vast reed-beds of the Komadau marsh filled the view for miles. In front, outlined clear against the flaming sunset, stood up here and there a few tall palm trees, marking the course of the river. Beyond these the dry plains stretched to the north and west in illimitable monotony.
Just beyond where the Steyns had outspanned was the wagon of another traveller. And as Jacoba Steyn stood, stretching herself a little after the long wagon journey, and gazing about her, the owner of it walked up from the river. He was an Englishman, that was perfectly clear. His smart, erect carriage, short, neatly trimmed dark beard and moustache, and the cut of his breeches, gaiters, and boots, at once proclaimed the fact. He looked to be about the middle height; he was strong and well set up; an air of careless grace sat well upon him. He had dark and very handsome grey eyes, and a most pleasant smile, and his face, throat, and bare arms were deeply tanned by the sun. He wore a broad-brimmed felt hat for head-gear, and his grey flannel shirt was open at the throat, and had the sleeves rolled up. On his shoulder rested a double-barrelled shot-gun. At his heels followed a pointer dog, and a young native boy, the latter carrying several couple of duck and geese. As the stranger approached the wagons and doffed his hat, something in Jacoba’s heart told her that she had never seen so completely good-looking a man. She stared hard with all her eyes as the Englishman advanced towards her. As he drew near and held out his hand, and said, in a clear, pleasant voice, “Dag, juffrow,” Jacoba’s eyes fell beneath the steady gaze of his, and she whispered bashfully, as she put her palm into his, “Dag, meneer.”
That, as well as I can describe it, is the picture that even now, thirty years after, is constantly before the mind’s eye of Jacoba Steyn.
Captain Meredith had soon introduced himself to the Steyn family. He was heartily received; for the Transvaal Boers, even in those days, had no grudge against individual Englishmen. Their dislike was for the British Government and British officialism, which, from their point of view, had driven them to trek from the old colony. While the oxen and horses were being watered at the river, a bottle of the captain’s brandy was produced, and Dutch and Englishman pledged one another in soupjis of right “French.”
Meanwhile, the Steyns proceeded to unburden their wagons and prepare for the night. The sailcloth was spread between the two wagons; Jacoba’s fowls and chickens, and her cat Tina and the kittens were set loose. The captain invited them all to his wagon to supper. He had the flesh of a fat cow eland all ready, and it would save much trouble to the tired trekkers if they took their evening meal with him. In an hour’s time they all sat down together, a jovial party, to sup by the light of two blazing camp-fires. The Kaptein, as the Steyns already called Meredith, was an English officer spending his leave on a hunting trip. It was his second expedition; he had been to the Lake two years before; and he spoke Cape Dutch. That was well for all parties; they could converse freely; and as all were interested in the life of the hunting veldt, there was plenty to talk about Meredith, too, had fought in the Crimean war four years before; and although these homely Boer folk had the vaguest ideas as to Russia and its whereabouts, they were interested in hearing of fighting, especially of warfare and siege amid the deep snows of the frozen North. And so, after pipes and coffee, the gathering separated, and Jacoba went to her kartel bed and dreamt of the alert, brisk Engelschmann and his handsome face and grey eyes.
It was settled next day that the two parties should trek up the river and hunt together for a time. Meredith was not sorry to make this arrangement. He had left Natal with an English hunting friend. A severe attack of fever on the Crocodile River had, however, driven his comrade south; and, after a lonely hunt in the country about the Great Salt Pan, north of the Lake River, he was not disinclined to have the companionship of white folk again, rough Boers though they were. The wagons stood for another two days at this outspan, while the Steyns’ oxen rested and refreshed themselves after their desperate trek across the “thirst”. On the last evening, Meredith was down at the river with his fishing-rod, catching “cat-fish,” of which there were quantities. The Steyns were busied about their wagons, preparing for the evening meal; the men-folk were sitting here and there, some on the dissel-boom, some on wagon-chairs, smoking contentedly. Little Hans, the youngest of the family, a sturdy imp of eight years, who had already formed a strong attachment for the English captain, had run down towards the water after his new acquaintance. Suddenly Jacoba glanced in that direction and uttered a choking cry. The rest of the family, hearing her exclamation, looked up, and were instantly horror-struck like herself. A hundred and fifty yards away, little Hans was standing close to the edge of a dense mass of reed-bed. Fifteen yards away from him crouched a big yellow-maned lion, its tail twitching very softly from side to side, its gaze fixed intently on the youngster’s face. Hans had seen the brute, and stood spellbound. Fifty paces away behind the boy was Captain Meredith, who too had that instant caught sight of the lion, and comprehended the whole terrible situation. He was armed only with his fishing-rod. For one brief instant all the gazers at that terrible picture were rivetted where they stood, frozen with apprehension.