This little matter attended to, the three Englishmen breakfasted. Then, having put together their small kits, their horses were brought round, and they quitted Mossamedes. Their route lay along the main road running from the seaport to Humpata, and there was no difficulty in finding their way. The road, if road it could be called, was rough and uneven, and the country parched, hilly, and uninteresting. They overtook the wagon at one o'clock, and found it outspanned till the heat of the day was past. At four they trekked, and made fair progress till nine, when they outspanned again. For nearly a week the expedition pushed on steadily eastward, through sterile and mountainous country, until they had reached the Trek Boer settlement at Humpata, by the Portuguese sometimes called San Januario. Here they halted for a couple of days to rest the oxen and take in some further stores, including poultry, meal, and other produce grown by the Boers in this neighbourhood.
The Dutch people of this curious little settlement, so remote from the Transvaal, whence they had trekked years before, interested Mr. Blakeney and the boys not a little. They knew the pathetic history of these people: of their long wanderings, and of the terrible sufferings they had sustained before attaining this region. They found them, as a rule, kindly and hospitable folk, if rough and primitive. So soon as the Trek Boers discovered that the newcomers spoke Cape Dutch, and came from Bechuanaland, so near to the Transvaal border, they were only too anxious to render them hospitality, and make inquiries about the country they themselves had quitted years before. The English travellers, on their part, had many little returns to make for such kindnesses as were thus shown them. They had Cape and Transvaal papers to give away; a spare bag of excellent coffee to exchange; and they won the hearts of several families by the gift of tins of Morton's jams, marmalade, and ginger, which to the sweet-toothed Dutch, who seldom met with such rare luxuries, were as manna in the desert.
"Alle wereld!" said Mevrouw Van der Merwe, a stout, good-natured old Boer dame, living in one of the best houses in the little settlement. "'Tis a pleasure to set eyes on fresh-looking folk again from South Africa, with news of the Transvaal, and the Free State, and the Old Colony. One gets tired of seeing nothing but these little yellow-faced Portuguese, who to my mind are, after all, no better than Griquas and Bastards. I always say to our people here, 'There are English and English, just as there are Boers and Boers. You get good and bad of every race of mankind.' For my part, I have met many good English, and have received many kindnesses from them, just as I have from you, Menheer Blakeney, and your son and nephew. And so they are getting more gold than ever out of the Transvaal?"
"Yes," answered Mr. Blakeney. "They are getting enormous quantities--something like thirteen millions of pounds sterling during the year."
"Is it possible!" ejaculated the vrouw, pushing the tobacco canister over to Mr. Blakeney, and pouring him out another cup of coffee. "Ah, well! I always say that gold will be the ruin of the Dutch in the Transvaal; and Paul Kruger is a great fool to allow so much mining. If I were president I would close down every gold mine, and let the country be used only for farming. The Heer Gott never meant people to dig and claw into the bowels of the earth after gold, like a lot of greedy baboons after ground nuts. But I knew Paul Kruger well in the old days. He was a greedy fellow always; greedy for power, greedy for money. I hear he is rich as a Jew man, and spends £400 a year in coffee money, for which the burghers pay him--entertaining a pack of useless folk that come flattering and fawning about him. But it will be his downfall. I know it, I know it. I always told him so. Love of money, love of power. He had better have stuck to his farming, as his old father did before him.
"Your Jameson raid," she went on, "is a bad sign. It means that Paul Kruger is successful a second time. But you English can never forgive that or Majuba; and there will be a big row some day, and then Oom Paul will have to go, and we Transvaalers shall lose our country. I know it, and my husband knows it, though every one else here declares that the Boers can always beat the English. But, you see, I remember as a girl Zwart Kopjes and Boomplaats, when your folk beat ours; and I say that you have more men than we, and your turn will come some day."
"Well," rejoined Mr. Blakeney, after the old lady had finished her tirade, "your people are very warlike now. I'm sorry the raid happened. It was an idiotic business, and has done a good deal of mischief. I don't like the feeling that is rising between the two races in South Africa. I fear, with you, that it will come to a big fight some day; and when it does, the English will never rest till they have made all South Africa theirs. The Free State Boers say openly now that they will take part with the Transvaal if a struggle comes; and the gold-mining folk at Johannesburg, and Rhodes and the rest of them, are bent on forcing on a war, which I am afraid now will have to come."
"Yes," said the old lady. "It's just like a couple of boys who have bad blood between them. They will go on growling and being unpleasant to one another, and then all at once the fight begins and the blood flows. Still even that is better than perpetual miscalling and swearing at one another, for all the world like a pair of tom-cats. Better, I say, have the fight over and have done with it."
They spent two very pleasant days at Humpata, and then trekked. Before they left, Mevrouw Van der Merwe sent for Guy and Tom, and presented them with a quantity of dried fruits, peaches, quinces, and apricots. She added some of her precious apricot komfit, by which the Boers set much store. She had taken a great fancy to the two lads; they reminded her, she said, of two of her own sons, whom she had lost of fever at Debra and Vogel Pan on the trek thither. Guy and his cousin were perhaps not greatly flattered at being compared to Boer boys, for whom they cherished, like most English lads, a secret disdain. But the old lady was very kind, and they thanked her heartily for her gifts. They left her sawing through a big koodoo marrow bone with a hand saw. Her husband had lately come in from the veldt, and had brought her a quantity of biltong (dried flesh) and this dainty, of which she was inordinately fond.
"Farewell," she said again, pausing from her task and puffing hard for breath. "And, Tom, mind and tell your father once more to be on the lookout for Karl Engelbrecht. I am sorry they have had blows--though Karl was well served out, and your father was a right stark fellow to give him a thrashing. But Karl is a bitter bad enemy, and he will not forget. Be on the lookout, all of you, and if he comes troubling you"--here she lowered her voice to a tragic whisper--"don't be afraid to shoot! Tell your father that, and say that is my last word--Karl is a schepsel and a dangerous foe. Farewell."