The distinction was appropriate, for he looked very tall and slim, though it might be the contrast with his wife's massive build that gave him a false presentment. He was more proud of her bulk than of his own height, and used to jeer at his Hottentot leader for the scraggy appearance of his weaker half, possibly with the kindly intention of reducing the number, or severity, of the poor creature's beatings.
I do not believe Jan ever beat his wife, though I think she was as lazy a woman as could be found. Perhaps he got most of his rations provided from the house, and was not dependent on her for his comfort.
However, he seemed to me to have a Mark Tapley temper; the more unendurable the weather got, the cheerier he grew with his guttural and yet limpid cries to the oxen, and his brisk steps by their side.
There was one thing, however, he could not see in patience—an amateur who had borrowed his whip with the proud intention of "helping to drive" letting the end of four yards of lash draggle over the dewy karoo, thereby making it limp and reducing its power to clack in the approved fashion.
An Early Start
"We had better sleep in the wagon, then we shall not be disturbed so early," cried one of the children; but we older people preferred the idea of half a night's rest indoors to lying awake on the cartels in the wagon listening to the tossings and complaints of others.
We had been staying by the sea, and were now to journey homewards. Long before daylight, the noise of the oxen and clank of trek-chain told that inspanning was begun, and those of us who were to form the wagon party sprang out of bed and made a hurried toilet, while the Kafir women carried off the feather-beds and blankets, to stow in their allotted places in the wagon.
Mr. Gilbert and his wife, with the younger children, were to follow in a four-horse Cape-cart.
"Isn't it too dark to be trekking?" he called from his window.