The Story of an African Farm Read online

  Chapter 1.I. Shadows From Child-Life.

  The Watch.

  The full African moon poured down its light from the blue sky into thewide, lonely plain. The dry, sandy earth, with its coating of stuntedkaroo bushes a few inches high, the low hills that skirted the plain,the milk-bushes with their long finger-like leaves, all were touched bya weird and an almost oppressive beauty as they lay in the white light.

  In one spot only was the solemn monotony of the plain broken. Near thecentre a small solitary kopje rose. Alone it lay there, a heap of roundironstones piled one upon another, as over some giant's grave. Here andthere a few tufts of grass or small succulent plants had sprung up amongits stones, and on the very summit a clump of prickly-pears lifted theirthorny arms, and reflected, as from mirrors, the moonlight on theirbroad fleshy leaves. At the foot of the kopje lay the homestead.First, the stone-walled sheep kraals and Kaffer huts; beyond them thedwelling-house--a square, red-brick building with thatched roof. Even onits bare red walls, and the wooden ladder that led up to the loft, themoonlight cast a kind of dreamy beauty, and quite etherealized the lowbrick wall that ran before the house, and which inclosed a bare patch ofsand and two straggling sunflowers. On the zinc roof of the great openwagon-house, on the roofs of the outbuildings that jutted from its side,the moonlight glinted with a quite peculiar brightness, till it seemedthat every rib in the metal was of burnished silver.

  Sleep ruled everywhere, and the homestead was not less quiet than thesolitary plain.

  In the farmhouse, on her great wooden bedstead, Tant Sannie, theBoer-woman, rolled heavily in her sleep.

  She had gone to bed, as she always did, in her clothes, and the nightwas warm and the room close, and she dreamed bad dreams. Not of theghosts and devils that so haunted her waking thoughts; not of her secondhusband the consumptive Englishman, whose grave lay away beyond theostrich-camps, nor of her first, the young Boer; but only of the sheep'strotters she had eaten for supper that night. She dreamed that one stuckfast in her throat, and she rolled her huge form from side to side, andsnorted horribly.

  In the next room, where the maid had forgotten to close the shutter, thewhite moonlight fell in in a flood, and made it light as day. There weretwo small beds against the wall. In one lay a yellow-haired child, witha low forehead and a face of freckles; but the loving moonlight hiddefects here as elsewhere, and showed only the innocent face of a childin its first sweet sleep.

  The figure in the companion bed belonged of right to the moonlight, forit was of quite elfin-like beauty. The child had dropped her coveron the floor, and the moonlight looked in at the naked little limbs.Presently she opened her eyes and looked at the moonlight that wasbathing her.

  "Em!" she called to the sleeper in the other bed; but received noanswer. Then she drew the cover from the floor, turned her pillow, andpulling the sheet over her head, went to sleep again.

  Only in one of the outbuildings that jutted from the wagon-house therewas some one who was not asleep.

  The room was dark; door and shutter were closed; not a ray of lightentered anywhere. The German overseer, to whom the room belonged, laysleeping soundly on his bed in the corner, his great arms folded, andhis bushy grey and black beard rising and falling on his breast. But onein the room was not asleep. Two large eyes looked about in the darkness,and two small hands were smoothing the patchwork quilt. The boy, whoslept on a box under the window, had just awakened from his first sleep.He drew the quilt up to his chin, so that little peered above it but agreat head of silky black curls and the two black eyes. He staredabout in the darkness. Nothing was visible, not even the outline of oneworm-eaten rafter, nor of the deal table, on which lay the Bible fromwhich his father had read before they went to bed. No one could tellwhere the toolbox was, and where the fireplace. There was something veryimpressive to the child in the complete darkness.

  At the head of his father's bed hung a great silver hunting watch. Itticked loudly. The boy listened to it, and began mechanically to count.Tick--tick--one, two, three, four! He lost count presently, and onlylistened. Tick--tick--tick--tick!

  It never waited; it went on inexorably; and every time it ticked a mandied! He raised himself a little on his elbow and listened. He wished itwould leave off.

  How many times had it ticked since he came to lie down? A thousandtimes, a million times, perhaps.

  He tried to count again, and sat up to listen better.

  "Dying, dying, dying!" said the watch; "dying, dying, dying!"

  He heard it distinctly. Where were they going to, all those people?

  He lay down quickly, and pulled the cover up over his head: butpresently the silky curls reappeared.

  "Dying, dying, dying!" said the watch; "dying, dying, dying!"

  He thought of the words his father had read that evening--"For wide isthe gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction and manythere be which go in thereat."

  "Many, many, many!" said the watch.

  "Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, that leadeth untolife, and few there be that find it."

  "Few, few, few!" said the watch.

  The boy lay with his eyes wide open. He saw before him a long stream ofpeople, a great dark multitude, that moved in one direction; then theycame to the dark edge of the world and went over. He saw them passingon before him, and there was nothing that could stop them. He thought ofhow that stream had rolled on through all the long ages of the past--howthe old Greeks and Romans had gone over; the countless millions of Chinaand India, they were going over now. Since he had come to bed, how manyhad gone!

  And the watch said, "Eternity, eternity, eternity!"

  "Stop them! stop them!" cried the child.

  And all the while the watch kept ticking on; just like God's will, thatnever changes or alters, you may do what you please.

  Great beads of perspiration stood on the boy's forehead. He climbed outof bed and lay with his face turned to the mud floor.

  "Oh, God, God! save them!" he cried in agony. "Only some, only a few!Only for each moment I am praying here one!" He folded his little handsupon his head. "God! God! save them!"

  He grovelled on the floor.

  Oh, the long, long ages of the past, in which they had gone over! Oh,the long, long future, in which they would pass away! Oh, God! the long,long, long eternity, which has no end!

  The child wept, and crept closer to the ground.

  *****

  The Sacrifice.

  The farm by daylight was not as the farm by moonlight. The plain was aweary flat of loose red sand, sparsely covered by dry karoo bushes,that cracked beneath the tread like tinder, and showed the red eartheverywhere. Here and there a milk-bush lifted its pale-coloured rods,and in every direction the ants and beetles ran about in theblazing sand. The red walls of the farmhouse, the zinc roofs of theoutbuildings, the stone walls of the kraals, all reflected the fiercesunlight, till the eye ached and blenched. No tree or shrub was tobe seen far or near. The two sunflowers that stood before the door,out-stared by the sun, drooped their brazen faces to the sand; and thelittle cicada-like insects cried aloud among the stones of the kopje.

  The Boer-woman, seen by daylight, was even less lovely than when, inbed, she rolled and dreamed. She sat on a chair in the great front room,with her feet on a wooden stove, and wiped her flat face with the cornerof her apron, and drank coffee, and in Cape Dutch swore that thebeloved weather was damned. Less lovely, too, by daylight was the deadEnglishman's child, her little stepdaughter, upon whose freckles andlow, wrinkled forehead the sunlight had no mercy.

  "Lyndall," the child said to her little orphan cousin, who sat with heron the floor threading beads, "how is it your beads never fall off yourneedle?"

  "I try," said the little one gravely, moistening her tiny finger. "Thatis why."

  The overseer, seen by daylight, was a huge German, wearing a shabbysuit, and with a childish habit of rubbing his hands and nodding hishead prodigiously when pleased at anything. He stood out at
the kraalsin the blazing sun, explaining to two Kaffer boys the approaching endof the world. The boys, as they cut the cakes of dung, winked at eachother, and worked as slowly as they possibly could; but the German neversaw it.

  Away, beyond the kopje, Waldo his son herded the ewes and lambs--asmall and dusty herd--powdered all over from head to foot with red sand,wearing a ragged coat and shoes of undressed leather, through whoseholes the toes looked out. His hat was too large, and had sunk down tohis eyes, concealing completely the silky black curls. It was a curioussmall figure. His flock gave him little trouble. It was too hot for themto move far; they gathered round every little milk-bush, as though theyhoped to find shade, and stood there motionless in clumps. He himselfcrept under a shelving rock that lay at the foot of the kopje, stretchedhimself on his stomach, and waved his dilapidated little shoes in theair.

  Soon, from the blue bag where he kept his dinner, he produced a fragmentof slate, an arithmetic, and a pencil. Proceeding to put down a sum withsolemn and earnest demeanour, he began to add it up aloud: "Six andtwo is eight--and four is twelve--and two is fourteen--and fouris eighteen." Here he paused. "And four is eighteen--and--four--is,eighteen." The last was very much drawled. Slowly the pencil slippedfrom his fingers, and the slate followed it into the sand. For a whilehe lay motionless, then began muttering to himself, folded his littlearms, laid his head down upon them, and might have been asleep, but forthe muttering sound that from time to time proceeded from him. A curiousold ewe came to sniff at him; but it was long before he raised his head.When he did, he looked at the far-off hills with his heavy eyes.

  "Ye shall receive--ye shall receive--shall, shall, shall," he muttered.

  He sat up then. Slowly the dulness and heaviness melted from his face;it became radiant. Midday had come now, and the sun's rays were poureddown vertically; the earth throbbed before the eye.

  The boy stood up quickly, and cleared a small space from the busheswhich covered it. Looking carefully, he found twelve small stones ofsomewhat the same size; kneeling down, he arranged them carefully on thecleared space in a square pile, in shape like an altar. Then he walkedto the bag where his dinner was kept; in it was a mutton chop and alarge slice of brown bread. The boy took them out and turned the breadover in his hand, deeply considering it. Finally he threw it away andwalked to the altar with the meat, and laid it down on the stones. Closeby in the red sand he knelt down. Sure, never since the beginning of theworld was there so ragged and so small a priest. He took off his greathat and placed it solemnly on the ground, then closed his eyes andfolded his hands. He prayed aloud:

  "Oh, God, my Father, I have made Thee a sacrifice. I have only twopence,so I cannot buy a lamb. If the lambs were mine, I would give Thee one;but now I have only this meat; it is my dinner meat. Please, my Father,send fire down from heaven to burn it. Thou hast said, Whosoever shallsay unto this mountain, Be thou cast into the sea, nothing doubting, itshall be done. I ask for the sake of Jesus Christ. Amen."

  He knelt down with his face upon the ground, and he folded his handsupon his curls. The fierce sun poured down its heat upon his head andupon his altar. When he looked up he knew what he should see--the gloryof God! For fear his very heart stood still, his breath came heavily;he was half suffocated. He dared not look up. Then at last he raisedhimself. Above him was the quiet blue sky, about him the red earth;there were the clumps of silent ewes and his altar--that was all.

  He looked up--nothing broke the intense stillness of the blue overhead.He looked round in astonishment, then he bowed again, and this timelonger than before.

  When he raised himself the second time all was unaltered. Only the sunhad melted the fat of the little mutton chop, and it ran down upon thestones.

  Then, the third time he bowed himself. When at last he looked up, someants had come to the meat on the altar. He stood up and drove them away.Then he put his hat on his hot curls, and sat in the shade. He claspedhis hands about his knees. He sat to watch what would come to pass. Theglory of the Lord God Almighty! He knew he should see it.

  "My dear God is trying me," he said; and he sat there through the fierceheat of the afternoon. Still he watched and waited when the sun began toslope, and when it neared the horizon and the sheep began to cast longshadows across the karoo, he still sat there. He hoped when the firstrays touched the hills till the sun dipped behind them and was gone.Then he called his ewes together, and broke down the altar, and threwthe meat far, far away into the field.

  He walked home behind his flock. His heart was heavy. He reasoned so:"God cannot lie. I had faith. No fire came. I am like Cain--I am notHis. He will not hear my prayer. God hates me."

  The boy's heart was heavy. When he reached the kraal gate the two girlsmet him.

  "Come," said the yellow-haired Em, "let us play coop. There is stilltime before it gets quite dark. You, Waldo, go and hide on the kopje;Lyndall and I will shut eyes here, and we will not look."

  The girls hid their faces in the stone wall of the sheep-kraal, and theboy clambered half way up the kopje. He crouched down between two stonesand gave the call. Just then the milk-herd came walking out of thecow-kraal with two pails. He was an ill-looking Kaffer.

  "Ah!" thought the boy, "perhaps he will die tonight, and go to hell! Imust pray for him, I must pray!"

  Then he thought--"Where am I going to?" and he prayed desperately.

  "Ah! this is not right at all," little Em said, peeping between thestones, and finding him in a very curious posture. "What are you doingWaldo? It is not the play, you know. You should run out when we come tothe white stone. Ah, you do not play nicely."

  "I--I will play nicely now," said the boy, coming out and standingsheepishly before them; "I--I only forgot; I will play now."

  "He has been to sleep," said freckled Em.

  "No," said beautiful little Lyndall, looking curiously at him: "he hasbeen crying."

  She never made a mistake.

  *****

  The Confession.

  One night, two years after, the boy sat alone on the kopje. He had creptsoftly from his father's room and come there. He often did, because,when he prayed or cried aloud, his father might awake and hear him; andnone knew his great sorrow, and none knew his grief, but he himself, andhe buried them deep in his heart.

  He turned up the brim of his great hat and looked at the moon, butmost at the leaves of the prickly pear that grew just before him. Theyglinted, and glinted, and glinted, just like his own heart--cold, sohard, and very wicked. His physical heart had pain also; it seemed fullof little bits of glass, that hurt. He had sat there for half an hour,and he dared not go back to the close house.

  He felt horribly lonely. There was not one thing so wicked as he inall the world, and he knew it. He folded his arms and began to cry--notaloud; he sobbed without making any sound, and his tears left scorchedmarks where they fell. He could not pray; he had prayed night and dayfor so many months; and tonight he could not pray. When he left offcrying, he held his aching head with his brown hands. If one might havegone up to him and touched him kindly; poor, ugly little thing! Perhapshis heart was almost broken.

  With his swollen eyes he sat there on a flat stone at the very top ofthe kopje; and the tree, with every one of its wicked leaves, blinked,and blinked, and blinked at him. Presently he began to cry again, andthen stopped his crying to look at it. He was quiet for a long while,then he knelt up slowly and bent forward. There was a secret he hadcarried in his heart for a year. He had not dared to look at it; he hadnot whispered it to himself, but for a year he had carried it. "I hateGod!" he said. The wind took the words and ran away with them, among thestones, and through the leaves of the prickly pear. He thought it diedaway half down the kopje. He had told it now!

  "I love Jesus Christ, but I hate God."

  The wind carried away that sound as it had done the first. Then he gotup and buttoned his old coat about him. He knew he was certainly lostnow; he did not care. If half the world were to be lost, why not hetoo? He would not pra
y for mercy any more. Better so--better to knowcertainly. It was ended now. Better so.

  He began scrambling down the sides of the kopje to go home.

  Better so! But oh, the loneliness, the agonized pain! for that night,and for nights on nights to come! The anguish that sleeps all day on theheart like a heavy worm, and wakes up at night to feed!

  There are some of us who in after years say to Fate, "Now deal us yourhardest blow, give us what you will; but let us never again suffer as wesuffered when we were children."

  The barb in the arrow of childhood's suffering is this: its intenseloneliness, its intense agony.