By Veldt and Kopje

by W. C. Scully

“The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men gang oft agley.”

One summer evening in the early fifties, three wagons, each drawn by a team of twelve oxen, might have been seen descending the Zuurberg Pass, on the road leading from Grahamstown to Port Elizabeth. The heavy thumping of the lumbering, springless vehicles and the wild yellings of the uncouth names of the individual members of the teams—without which no self-respecting wagon-driver feels that he does his duty to his responsible post—no doubt scared the bushbucks and the monkeys for miles along the bush-covered range.

Each turn-out had a festive appearance; the vehicles were newly-painted, the “tents” were of the whitest canvas, and a stick, surmounted by the tail of an ox, was fixed vertically to each front yoke. Even the Hottentot drivers and leaders showed signs of the prevailing smartness, for their clothes had evidently been recently washed and their hats and veldschoens were new.

The wagons were nearly empty. In fact, with the exception of one, each contained nothing but a provision chest, a portmanteau and some bedding. The exception contained, in addition, two gentlemen in their shirt-sleeves. Walking dejectedly some few yards behind it, was another gentleman, similarly denuded. It could be seen at a glance that all were ministers of the Gospel.

The pedestrian was the youngest of the three. He was a man of about thirty, with a somewhat tall and slight, but well-knit figure. His dark, handsome, clean-shaven face wore an expression of mingled sadness, apprehension and discontent. Of the two in the wagon the elder was apparently over forty-five. His smooth, red face had a jovial expression. The expanse of his forehead carried more than a suggestion of approaching baldness. With a figure short and rotund, his whole appearance was suggestive of the flesh-pots of Egypt.

His companion, who looked five or six years younger, was a spare-built man of middle height. He had thin lips, light-brown hair, steel-blue eyes and a reticent expression. He sat upright and gravely regarded the stout gentleman, who, comfortably propped by pillows, gave vent to the highest spirits and enlivened the situation by a succession of frivolous remarks and occasional snatches of song.

These clerics belonged to a religious body which has done much useful work among both Europeans and natives in South Africa. Severally bachelors, they were now on their way to Algoa Bay with the intention of forthwith entering into the bonds of holy matrimony—for the ship bearing the three ladies who had agreed to share their respective hearths and homes had, after a prosperous voyage, reached port.

It will, of course, be understood that the parties to these alliances were absolute strangers one to another. Half a century ago the daughters of the land suitable as helpmeets to men in the position of ministers were scarce, and it was not uncommon for several ministers to request their particular Mission Society to select and send out to them suitable partners. All the parties had to sign an undertaking to the effect that they, individually, would conform to certain regulations governing the apportionment. Judged from a purely sentimental standpoint, the system may have had its disadvantages; there is, however, reason to believe that the results were, as a rule, satisfactory. It was not so popular with the younger as with the older men. It may well be imagined that the former would have preferred doing their own love-making to having it done for them by the Mission Board; but the principal reason was that upon the arrival of each batch of brides seniority carried the privilege of first selection, and thus the youngest and prettiest girls were apt to fall to the older men, and the younger a man was the more danger there was of his being obliged to wed some elderly lady of comparatively unprepossessing appearance. This was the reason of the perturbation noticeable in the rather handsome face of the Reverend Mark Wardley, the young man walking behind the waggon. He knew that, being junior of the three, he would have last choice—or rather no choice at all, for he would have to content himself with the lady deemed least attractive by his companions. There was, however, a special reason in this particular instance why the youngest of the three postulants at Hymen’s shrine should feel the disadvantages of his position.

Similar conditions, no doubt, accounted for the exceedingly complacent and even radiant look which the rubicund countenance of the Reverend Peter Bloxam wore. He knew that as the eldest of the party he would have first pick, and he revelled in anticipation accordingly. Both he and Mr Wardley had been confidently informed, through letters received by the previous mail, that one of the three ladies selected was a girl of extremely well-favoured appearance; and the friends who wrote on the subject gave to each respectively a very warm inventory of her charms. Little was known of her antecedents, but this did not matter; the responsible position of a minister’s wife was the mould in which her character would be formed—if it required formation—and each was quite prepared to take whatever risks there were in the matter. She was the orphan daughter of a minister who had died in India, and she had been reared and educated at the expense and under the supervision of the Mission Society.

Mr Bloxam smiled to himself as he thought of how he had cheated old Time, and chuckled with the liveliest satisfaction over the fact that he was no longer a young man. He was, as a matter of fact, very much in love with the girl he had never seen, or rather with the ideal he had formed from the written description. Exactly the same might be said of Mr Wardley.