Our Little Boer Cousin

by Luna May Ennis

All Boer boys are trained to ride from the time they can walk. Petrus could even "out-spann"[3] a team of his uncle's oxen. He was fond of all animals—especially of his sturdy little Basuto pony, which he had christened "Ferus." Ferus meant "fearless." He prized him above everything he possessed. He was trained to obey the slightest turn of the reins, or to come to a full stop at the sound of one low whistle from his master. Through storm or sunshine he carried his young rider swiftly to school and home again—always with little five-year-old brother Theunis holding tightly on behind.

"Jump, Theunis!" affectionately called Petrus to the child. Theunis, his only brother, was very dear to him.

Still clutching a dog-eared copy of "Steb-by-Steb"[4] in one small hand, Theunis slid off and hurried after his big brother into the little room.

Soon it was crowded with noisy children, all busily buzzing over their English lessons, and answering "Ek-weit-nie"[5] to the teacher's questions. It was a government farm-school. Only one hour a day was allowed for Dutch.

Petrus would be ready for the High School at Johannesburg in the fall. He was one of the brightest boys in the school. Not only did he head his classes, but he had read the Bible and "Steps of Youth"—two books all Boer boys study—well—twice through. Also, he was perfectly familiar with the "Stories from Homer" and the "History of the United States of America." This last book, like his Bible, he never could read enough. Its story of the struggle for liberty, by a brave people like his own, against the same hostile power his ancestors for generations had had to combat, fascinated him.

In the Transvaal's mild, sub-tropical climate, with its wonderful health-giving air, the Boer youth develops early into self-reliant manhood. At thirteen Petrus was nearly as tall as his Uncle Abraham, and was more than the physical equal of his English or American cousins of sixteen or seventeen. Living a healthy outdoor farm-life, he had become a great broad-shouldered lad of strong stalwart build, with the resolute forward tread of his "voor-trekking" ancestors.

One could see that Petrus was a true "Hollander-Boer"—from his corduroy trousers and the large home-made "veldt-schoens" on his feet, to the broad-brimmed hat that shaded his fair hair and blue eyes from the African sun. Yet there was a certain French-Huguenot cast to his features. It came from the Jouberts on his father's side of the family. Some of the brightest pages of the Transvaal's history had been written by a brave soldier uncle of his—Petrus Joubert[6]—whose great-great-grandfather had fled from France to South Africa with hundreds of his persecuted countrymen for freedom to read his Bible and to worship among the Dutch Boers of the Transvaal. He became one of them, fought in their wars, was made their president, and later they appointed him commandant-general of all the Boer forces when hostilities began against England. Petrus was his namesake. Of this he was very proud. His family called him "Koos" for short.

From his school desk near the window, Petrus kept a wolf-like eye on his pony as he grazed about. Sometimes Ferus wandered entirely out of sight. This always distressed Petrus greatly.

As he gazed across the high veldt for miles about, Petrus could almost see the outskirts of his uncle's vast farm of six thousand acres. First, beyond a few scattered red-brown kopjes, there was the blue pan—then, just beyond—through a small plantation of Scotch firs and poplars—he could see the plain little Dutch Reformed Church, which his uncle had re-roofed after the war. Still farther beyond was Johannesburg, the "Golden City," where he had been promised he might attend High School next winter. The thought thrilled him. How good his uncle had always been to him, he thought. There on the farm, with his uncle and Aunt Johanna, his grandfather and great-grandfather, he had lived ever since he could remember. His own dear father had been killed in the war. His mother had scarcely survived the hardships of the terrible time when their house and everything they owned had been burned to the ground by British soldiers. Then his kind Uncle Abraham—his mother's brother, who was an Elder in the Church—had welcomed them to his great place, "Weltefreden," the only home Petrus had ever known.