By Veldt and Kopje

by W. C. Scully

Benson possessed a good constitution and a keen sense of humour. He was a clean-built man of middle height and dark complexion, with features of a slightly Jewish cast. His object in going to Rossdale was the acquirement of the Bantu language spoken in the vicinity. Moreover, he had no intention of staying more than a short time should the life there prove uncongenial.

Allister was a big, raw-boned Scotsman with a strong, clean-shaven face. His usual expression was extremely morbid, but now and then a very sweet smile would light up his rugged features. His speech had always a strong Scotch twang, and he occasionally—especially when excited—broke into the very broadest Doric.

Benson and Allister became very good friends during the course of the journey. From the railway terminus they travelled for a couple of days and nights in the post-cart, which delivered them at a village some twenty miles from their destination. At this village a trap from Rossdale, driven by a Kaffir who was quite ignorant of any but his mother-tongue, met them.

Allister, like Benson, had no missionary zeal. In fact he was absolutely without religious convictions of any kind, a circumstance which he had carefully concealed from the Mission Board. A weakness of the chest had rendered it highly advisable that he should leave Scotland for a year or two and seek some warmer clime. But his intention was to return to Scotland as soon as he should have saved enough money to admit of a continuance of his studies.

A fine autumn evening was drawing to its golden close when the rickety cart bearing the two strangers descended the hillside at the foot of which Rossdale lay. The vehicle, far too light for its springs, had shaken the inmates cruelly; nevertheless they had been able to extract a good deal of enjoyment from the incidents of the journey. Their course lay through an undulating, grassy country thickly dotted over with little villages composed of beehive-shaped huts, among which numbers of naked children were playing. Every now and then they passed groups of men and women. The former had lost much of their picturesqueness owing to being dressed mainly in shoddy European clothing, but each carried at least one long, strong stick, and stalked along with a look of dignified disdain. The women were all draped in ochre-coloured blankets, fastened under the arm-pits and reaching to below the knee. But they held themselves erect and walked with a gait duchesses might have envied.

The Institution was an important one and employed a large staff. The Industrial Arts were important items in the curriculum. It lay more or less in the centre of a hollow about a mile in circumference. The buildings were massive and extensive. Around them lay a large plantation of blue-gum and oak trees, with here and there patches of orchard. On every side the landscape showed gently-swelling hills of inconspicuous height, thickly dotted with groups of huts. Herds of cattle browsed contentedly on the rich grass. The gracious autumn gloaming shed a soft radiance over the settlement. It looked like a spot consecrated to civilisation and peace—an oasis in the desert of savagery. Benson drew a deep breath of satisfaction; something seemed to whisper to him that life here might include compensations other than humorous ones. He communicated this thought to his companion, who, however, cynically replied to the effect that appearances were apt to be deceitful.

The vehicle drew up in front of the large central building, one wing of which was used as a dormitory for the boys, the other as quarters by most of the European staff. A neat-looking native servant-maid received the strangers and conducted them to their rooms upstairs. Soon afterwards, the ringing of a very discordant bell sounded through the premises. Benson and Allister then descended to the refectory, where, they had been informed, tea would be served.

Large tables were ranged across the room, and at these the native boys, each with a plate and a large tin mug before him, were seated. A small table in one of the corners was reserved for the Europeans; at this Mr Duncan Mactavish, the boarding-master, Miss Mellish, the matron, and Miss Angus, the assistant matron, were seated. Benson and Allister, upon introducing themselves, were greeted with a reserve which, on the part of any but Scotch people, would hardly have been civil.

Mr Mactavish was a tall, dark, dour-looking man of about forty-five. Miss Mellish was stout, light-haired, pallid, and severe-looking. Miss Angus was a little, dark, withered-visaged woman; she had a nervous habit of winking her eyes continually when spoken to or when speaking. When Miss Mellish made a remark, as she seldom did, her mouth closed immediately afterwards with a kind of snap. Mr Mactavish being a bachelor, these ladies attended to the domestic arrangements of this branch of the Institution, under his supervision. They considered him a very great man indeed; he considered them women of discrimination.

A hymn was sung, a prayer was said (extempore) and a very lengthy blessing invoked upon the food; then all sat down to supper. The two strangers seemed to be looked upon with a certain amount of suspicion. Mr Mactavish applied himself with systematic diligence to the food and did not utter a word until his robust appetite had been assuaged. Benson and Allister were too hungry to mind the lack of conversation.