CHAPTER III
BLAAUWILDEBEESTEFONTEIN
The Pilgrim's Progress had been the Sabbath reading of my boyhood, andas I came in sight of Blaauwildebeestefontein a passage ran in my head.It was that which tells how Christian and Hopeful, after many perils ofthe way, came to the Delectable Mountains, from which they had aprospect of Canaan. After many dusty miles by rail, and a wearifuljourney in a Cape-cart through arid plains and dry and stony gorges, Ihad come suddenly into a haven of green. The Spring of the BlueWildebeeste was a clear rushing mountain torrent, which swirled overblue rocks into deep fern-fringed pools. All around was a tableland oflush grass with marigolds and arum lilies instead of daisies andbuttercups. Thickets of tall trees dotted the hill slopes and patchedthe meadows as if some landscape-gardener had been at work on them.Beyond, the glen fell steeply to the plains, which ran out in a fainthaze to the horizon. To north and south I marked the sweep of theBerg, now rising high to a rocky peak and now stretching in a levelrampart of blue. On the very edge of the plateau where the road dippedfor the descent stood the shanties of Blaauwildebeestefontein. Thefresh hill air had exhilarated my mind, and the aromatic scent of theevening gave the last touch of intoxication. Whatever serpent mightlurk in it, it was a veritable Eden I had come to.
Blaauwildebeestefontein had no more than two buildings of civilizedshape; the store, which stood on the left side of the river, and theschoolhouse opposite. For the rest, there were some twenty nativehuts, higher up the slope, of the type which the Dutch call _rondavels_.The schoolhouse had a pretty garden, but the store stood bare in apatch of dust with a few outhouses and sheds beside it. Round the doorlay a few old ploughs and empty barrels, and beneath a solitary bluegum was a wooden bench with a rough table. Native children played inthe dust, and an old Kaffir squatted by the wall.
My few belongings were soon lifted from the Cape-cart, and I enteredthe shop. It was the ordinary pattern of up-country store--a bar inone corner with an array of bottles, and all round the walls tins ofcanned food and the odds and ends of trade. The place was empty, and acloud of flies buzzed over the sugar cask.
Two doors opened at the back, and I chose the one to the right. Ifound myself in a kind of kitchen with a bed in one corner, and alitter of dirty plates on the table. On the bed lay a man, snoringheavily. I went close to him, and found an old fellow with a baldhead, clothed only in a shirt and trousers. His face was red andswollen, and his breath came in heavy grunts. A smell of bad whiskyhung over everything. I had no doubt that this was Mr Peter Japp, mysenior in the store. One reason for the indifferent trade atBlaauwildebeestefontein was very clear to me: the storekeeper was a sot.
I went back to the shop and tried the other door. It was a bedroomtoo, but clean and pleasant. A little native girl--Zeeta, I found theycalled her--was busy tidying it up, and when I entered she dropped me acurtsy. 'This is your room, Baas,' she said in very good English inreply to my question. The child had been well trained somewhere, forthere was a cracked dish full of oleander blossom on the drawers'-head,and the pillow-slips on the bed were as clean as I could wish. Shebrought me water to wash, and a cup of strong tea, while I carried mybaggage indoors and paid the driver of the cart. Then, having cleanedmyself and lit a pipe, I walked across the road to see Mr Wardlaw.
I found the schoolmaster sitting under his own fig-tree reading one ofhis Kaffir primers. Having come direct by rail from Cape Town, he hadbeen a week in the place, and ranked as the second oldest whiteresident.
'Yon's a bonny chief you've got, Davie,' were his first words. 'Forthree days he's been as fou as the Baltic.'
I cannot pretend that the misdeeds of Mr Japp greatly annoyed me. Ihad the reversion of his job, and if he chose to play the fool it wasall in my interest. But the schoolmaster was depressed at the prospectof such company. 'Besides you and me, he's the only white man in theplace. It's a poor look-out on the social side.'
The school, it appeared, was the merest farce. There were only fivewhite children, belonging to Dutch farmers in the mountains. Thenative side was more flourishing, but the mission schools at thelocations got most of the native children in the neighbourhood. MrWardlaw's educational zeal ran high. He talked of establishing aworkshop and teaching carpentry and blacksmith's work, of which he knewnothing. He rhapsodized over the intelligence of his pupils andbemoaned his inadequate gift of tongues. 'You and I, Davie,' he said,'must sit down and grind at the business. It is to the interest ofboth of us. The Dutch is easy enough. It's a sort of kitchen dialectyou can learn in a fortnight. But these native languages are a stiffjob. Sesuto is the chief hereabouts, and I'm told once you've got thatit's easy to get the Zulu. Then there's the thing the Shangaansspeak--Baronga, I think they call it. I've got a Christian Kaffirliving up in one of the huts who comes every morning to talk to me foran hour. You'd better join me.'
I promised, and in the sweet-smelling dust crossed the road to thestore. Japp was still sleeping, so I got a bowl of mealie porridgefrom Zeeta and went to bed.
Japp was sober next morning and made me some kind of apology. He hadchronic lumbago, he said, and 'to go on the bust' now and then was thebest cure for it. Then he proceeded to initiate me into my duties in atone of exaggerated friendliness. 'I took a fancy to you the first timeI clapped eyes on you,' he said. 'You and me will be good friends,Crawfurd, I can see that. You're a spirited young fellow, and you'llstand no nonsense. The Dutch about here are a slim lot, and theKaffirs are slimmer. Trust no man, that's my motto. The firm knowthat, and I've had their confidence for forty years.'
The first day or two things went well enough. There was no doubt that,properly handled, a fine trade could be done inBlaauwildebeestefontein. The countryside was crawling with natives,and great strings used to come through from Shangaan territory on theway to the Rand mines. Besides, there was business to be done with theDutch farmers, especially with the tobacco, which I foresaw could beworked up into a profitable export. There was no lack of money either,and we had to give very little credit, though it was often asked for.I flung myself into the work, and in a few weeks had been all round thefarms and locations. At first Japp praised my energy, for it left himplenty of leisure to sit indoors and drink. But soon he grewsuspicious, for he must have seen that I was in a fair way to oust himaltogether. He was very anxious to know if I had seen Colles inDurban, and what the manager had said. 'I have letters,' he told me ahundred times, 'from Mr Mackenzie himself praising me up to the skies.The firm couldn't get along without old Peter Japp, I can tell you.' Ihad no wish to quarrel with the old man, so I listened politely to allhe said. But this did not propitiate him, and I soon found him sojealous as to be a nuisance. He was Colonial-born and was alwaysairing the fact. He rejoiced in my rawness, and when I made a blunderwould crow over it for hours. 'It's no good, Mr Crawfurd; you newchums from England may think yourselves mighty clever, but we men fromthe Old Colony can get ahead of you every time. In fifty years you'llmaybe learn a little about the country, but we know all about it beforewe start.' He roared with laughter at my way of tying a _voorslag_, andhe made merry (no doubt with reason) on my management of a horse. Ikept my temper pretty well, but I own there were moments when I camenear to kicking Mr Japp.
The truth is he was a disgusting old ruffian. His character was shownby his treatment of Zeeta. The poor child slaved all day and did twomen's work in keeping the household going. She was an orphan from amission station, and in Japp's opinion a creature without rights.Hence he never spoke to her except with a curse, and used to cuff herthin shoulders till my blood boiled. One day things became too muchfor my temper. Zeeta had spilled half a glass of Japp's whisky whiletidying up the room. He picked up a sjambok, and proceeded to beat herunmercifully till her cries brought me on the scene. I tore the whipfrom his hands, seized him by the scruff and flung him on a heap ofpotato sacks, where he lay pouring out abuse and shaking with rage.Then I spoke my mind. I told him that if anything of the sort h
appenedagain I would report it at once to Mr Colles at Durban. I added thatbefore making my report I would beat him within an inch of his degradedlife. After a time he apologized, but I could see that thenceforth heregarded me with deadly hatred.
There was another thing I noticed about Mr Japp. He might brag about hisknowledge of how to deal with natives, but to my mind his methods were adisgrace to a white man. Zeeta came in for oaths and blows, but therewere other Kaffirs whom he treated with a sort of cringing friendliness.A big black fellow would swagger into the shop, and be received by Jappas if he were his long-lost brother. The two would collogue for hours;and though at first I did not understand the tongue, I could see that itwas the white man who fawned and the black man who bullied. Once whenJapp was away one of these fellows came into the store as if it belongedto him, but he went out quicker than he entered. Japp complainedafterwards of my behaviour. ''Mwanga is a good friend of mine,' he said,'and brings us a lot of business. I'll thank you to be civil to him thenext time.' I replied very shortly that 'Mwanga or anybody else who didnot mend his manners would feel the weight of my boot.