“Yes, I know that, poor fellow.”
“You never hear how him was brought up here?”
“No, never—tell me about it.”
Hereupon the Hottentot related the following brief story.
Abdul Jemalee, a year or two before, had lived in Capetown, where his owner was a man of some substance. Jemalee had a wife and several children, who were also the property of his owner. Being an expert waggon-driver, the Malay was a valuable piece of human goods. On one occasion Jan Smit happened to be in Capetown, and, hearing of the Malay’s qualities, offered his master a high price for him. The offer was accepted, but in order to avoid a scene, the bargain was kept secret from the piece of property, and he was given to understand that he was going up country on his old master’s business. When poor Jemalee bade his pretty wife and little ones goodbye, he comforted them with the assurance that he should be back in a few months. On arriving at Smit’s place, however, the truth was told, and he found that he had been separated for ever from those he most loved on earth. For some time Abdul Jemalee gave way to sullen despair, and took every sort of abuse and cruel treatment with apparent indifference, but, as time went on, a change came over him. He became more like his former self, and did his work so well, that even the savage Jan Smit seldom had any excuse for finding fault. On his last journey to the Cape, Smit took the Malay with him only part of the way. He left him in charge of a friend, who agreed to look well after him until his return.
Even this crushing of Jemalee’s hope that he might meet his wife and children once more did not appear to oppress him much, and when his master returned from Capetown he resumed charge of one of the waggons, and went quietly back to his home in the karroo.
“And can you tell what brought about this change?” asked Considine.
“Oh ja, I knows,” replied Ruyter, with a decided nod and a deep chuckle; “Jemalee him’s got a powerful glitter in him’s eye now and den—bery powerful an’ strange!”
“And what may that have to do with it?” asked Considine.
Ruyter’s visage changed from a look of deep cunning to one of childlike simplicity as he replied— “Can’t go for to say what de glitter of him’s eye got to do wid it. Snakes’ eyes glitter sometimes—s’pose ’cause he can’t help it, or he’s wicked p’raps.”