Chapter Twenty Four.
The Last.
The bullock-waggons which had attracted Frank Jamieson’s attention, when approaching the kraal, belonged to a certain Mr Abraham Shipp, who was engaged in the adventurous and not unprofitable occupation of trading with the natives in the interior of South Africa, bartering a great variety of British hard goods—principally of “Brummagem” manufacture—for elephants’ tusks, valuable skins and horns, and ostrich feathers. Mr Shipp, after many months’ sojourn amongst the up-country tribes, had come down south, and was now hastening on to Natal, where he hoped to dispose of the ivory, skins, and plumes that he had collected, to some of the British and Dutch traders, who had branch houses in the fast-rising town of D’Urban, or else make arrangements to ship them off to Cape Town in one of the small coasting vessels plying regularly (more or less!) between Port Natal and Table Bay.
But apart from his desire to “trade,” Abraham Shipp had another and more important reason for wishing to reach D’Urban as quickly as possible.
He had with him a sick companion, a young man of four—and—twenty, Oliver Maurice by name. Young Maurice was an Oxford man of good family and fortune, but having “gone the pace” whilst at college, and plunged into the dubious pleasure of what Captain Costigan was wont to call “poloit societee” with rather too much enthusiasm when reading for the bar, he had damaged his fortune and lost all taste for what is termed “life,” and so came out to South Africa to seek enjoyment amidst “fresh woods and pastures new.” Meeting with Abraham Shipp, Maurice had arranged to accompany him on his trading expedition, but whilst up country far north of the Gareep River, he had been seized with sickness, and now it was only too evident that his days were numbered. He suffered no pain, but lay all day in one of the waggons in a state of apathy. Still Mr Shipp clung to the hope that if Oliver Maurice could only be placed under a doctor’s care he might “pull round.”
Shipp, though somewhat brusque-mannered and rough-tongued, was a right good-hearted fellow, and when he heard Frank’s story he at once proposed that they should join company.
“Look you now, my lad,” cried he, slapping Frank’s shoulder with a hand half as big as a fair-sized leg of mutton, “just you give up your mad idea of tramping to Cradock, and make up your mind to come with me. Your chum can share the waggon with poor Noll Maurice; it’s plenty big enough for both, and they’ll cheer one another up; and I’ve got a spare nag—rather a rum ’un, but I can see you won’t mind that!—which you can ride. I’ll find you in meat, baccy, and grog, and rig you out in fresh togs into the bargain. We inspan at daybreak to-morrow, and I hope to be at D’Urban by Tuesday week. Come now, what d’ye say?”
We need hardly add that Frank accepted this generous offer without hesitation.
Early next morning Shipp’s waggons were got on the move, and having taken a friendly leave of Ntlororo—upon whom Frank bestowed Waishlahla’s gun and ammunition—the party left the kraal en route for Natal.
Oliver Maurice seemed very pleased to have Tom as his companion, and before they had known one another four-and-twenty hours they were on friendly terms.