The Cape Government selected natives of reputed skill as cattle doctors, and sent them up to where the rinderpest was raging, so as to give them an opportunity of testing their remedies where the appliances of the profoundest science had failed. Upon the return of these men to their homes meetings of natives were called, and addresses embodying an account of the observed ravages of the pest were made to them. Thus the native mind became familiarised with the danger, and familiarity bred contempt. Magistrates urged upon their people the extreme danger of keeping all their wealth locked up in such a dangerously threatened item as cattle, and tried to induce them to make use of the market which existed at Johannesburg for the purpose of realising at all events a portion of their stock; but all in vain. “The ‘red-water’ came,” they said; “we have had war, drought, lung-sickness, and other misfortunes. We will, no doubt, lose many cattle, but with what remains we will again get rich. Of what use is money to us?”
Nearer and nearer came the plague; closer and closer were drawn in the coils of that deadly chain, the links of which were flung over the desolated earth in white heaps. The demand for meat became greater and greater at Johannesburg, and agents were sent down by the different butchering firms to endeavour to purchase slaughter stock. A few sheep they managed to obtain, but no cattle.
Makalipa tried hard to persuade her husband to sell at all events some of his “ngqoma” cattle, but not a single head would he dispose of. A local trader persuaded him of what was partly true, namely—that his flock of sheep, which had increased considerably during the past few years, and of which Makalipa was joint owner, was damaging the pasturage which he required for his cattle. It was, therefore, not difficult to persuade Noquala to dispose of the sheep, which he did, much to Makalipa’s dissatisfaction.
The money remained in the trader’s hands, Noquala fearing to bring it home lest his wife should get hold of it. He meant to give her her share of it, but the largest portion he intended to reinvest in cattle as soon as the rinderpest danger should be at an end.
A few days later Noquala had occasion to visit the shop of another trader who lived some miles away. This man had heard of the sheep transaction and had laid his plans accordingly.
Soon after Noquala arrived a herd of cattle was driven up and shown to him. Among this herd were several most beautiful dun-coloured cows—dun being a colour in cattle which Noquala was particularly partial to. After hesitating for a few minutes he asked the trader whether the cattle were for sale or not. The trader, feigning reluctance, consented to discuss the matter. Eventually a bargain was struck. The trader, having ascertained how much of a balance lay to Noquala’s credit at the other shop, drew out an order for it in his own favour, to which document Noquala affixed his mark in the presence of witnesses. Then Noquala drove home to his kraal the dun-coloured cows which, with several other cattle slightly inferior, although of fairly good quality, had now become his property.
Makalipa fell into a rage when she learnt what her husband had done. The rinderpest danger was very imminent to her, and she felt, rightly, that her husband had been guilty of stark madness in investing money in more cattle. She felt this the more keenly as the sheep had been disposed of against her strongest wishes.
“And you have even spent that portion of the money which belonged to me in buying beasts that will disappear like burning grass when the sickness comes!” she said, almost in tears.
“Whatever is the good of money to you?” he replied. “Cows have calves, but the money you bury in the earth brings nothing forth.”
“The money I bury in the earth will not get the rinderpest. After the sickness has swept over the land and your kraal has been emptied, my money will still be there.”