The Story of an African Farm Page 7

  Chapter 1.V. Sunday Services.

  Service No. I.

  The boy Waldo kissed the pages of his book and looked up. Far over theflat lay the kopje, a mere speck; the sheep wandered quietly from bushto bush; the stillness of the early Sunday rested everywhere, and theair was fresh.

  He looked down at his book. On its page a black insect crept. He liftedit off with his finger. Then he leaned on his elbow, watching itsquivering antennae and strange movements, smiling.

  "Even you," he whispered, "shall not die. Even you He loves. Even you Hewill fold in His arms when He takes everything and makes it perfect andhappy."

  When the thing had gone he smoothed the leaves of his Bible somewhatcaressingly. The leaves of that book had dropped blood for him once;they had taken the brightness out of his childhood; from between themhad sprung the visions that had clung about him and made night horrible.Adder-like thoughts had lifted their heads, had shot out forked tonguesat him, asking mockingly strange, trivial questions that he could notanswer, miserable child:

  Why did the women in Mark see only one angel and the women in Luke two?Could a story be told in opposite ways and both ways be true? Could it?could it? Then again: Is there nothing always right, and nothing alwayswrong? Could Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite "put her hand to thenail, and her right hand to the workman's hammer?" and could the Spiritof the Lord chant paeans over her, loud paeans, high paeans, set in thebook of the Lord, and no voice cry out it was a mean and dastardly sinto lie, and kill the trusting in their sleep? Could the friend of Godmarry his own sister, and be beloved, and the man who does it today goesto hell, to hell? Was there nothing always right or always wrong?

  Those leaves had dropped blood for him once: they had made his heartheavy and cold; they had robbed his childhood of its gladness; now hisfingers moved over them caressingly.

  "My father God knows, my father knows," he said; "we cannot understand;He knows." After a while he whispered, smiling--"I heard your voice thismorning when my eyes were not yet open, I felt you near me, my Father.Why do you love me so? His face was illuminated. In the last fourmonths the old question has gone from me. I know you are good; I knowyou love everything; I know, I know, I know! I could not have borne itany more, not any more." He laughed softly. "And all the while I was somiserable you were looking at me and loving me, and I never knew it.But I know it now. I feel it," said the boy, and he laughed low; "I feelit!" he laughed.

  After a while he began partly to sing, partly to chant the disconnectedverses of hymns, those which spoke his gladness, many times over. Thesheep with their senseless eyes turned to look at him as he sang.

  At last he lapsed into quiet. Then as the boy lay there staring at bushand sand, he saw a vision.

  He had crossed the river of Death, and walked on the other bank in theLord's land of Beulah. His feet sank into the dark grass, and he walkedalone. Then, far over the fields, he saw a figure coming across the darkgreen grass. At first he thought it must be one of the angels; but as itcame nearer he began to feel what it was. And it came closer, closer tohim, and then the voice said, "Come," and he knew surely Who it was. Heran to the dear feet and touched them with his hands; yes, he held themfast! He lay down beside them. When he looked up the face was over him,and the glorious eyes were loving him; and they two were there alonetogether.

  He laughed a deep laugh; then started up like one suddenly awakened fromsleep.

  "Oh, God!" He cried, "I cannot wait; I cannot wait! I want to die; Iwant to see Him; I want to touch him. Let me die!" He folded his hands,trembling. "How can I wait so long--for long, long years perhaps? I wantto die--to see Him. I will die any death. Oh, let me come!"

  Weeping he bowed himself, and quivered from head to foot. After a longwhile he lifted his head.

  "Yes; I will wait; I will wait. But not long; do not let it be verylong, Jesus King. I want you; oh, I want you--soon, soon!" He sat still,staring across the plain with his tearful eyes.

  Service No. II.

  In the front room of the farmhouse sat Tant Sannie in her elbow-chair.In her hand was her great brass-clasped hymn-book, round her neck was aclean white handkerchief, under her feet was a wooden stove. There toosat Em and Lyndall, in clean pinafores and new shoes. There too was thespruce Hottentot in a starched white kapje, and her husband on the otherside of the door, with his wool oiled and very much combed out, andstaring at his new leather boots. The Kaffer servants were not therebecause Tant Sannie held they were descended from apes, and needed nosalvation. But the rest were gathered for the Sunday service, and waitedthe officiator.

  Meanwhile Bonaparte and the German approached arm in arm--Bonaparteresplendent in the black cloth clothes, a spotless shirt, and a spotlesscollar; the German in the old salt-and-pepper, casting shy glances ofadmiration at his companion.

  At the front door Bonaparte removed his hat with much dignity, raisedhis shirt collar, and entered. To the centre table he walked, put hishat solemnly down by the big Bible, and bowed his head over it in silentprayer.

  The Boer-woman looked at the Hottentot, and the Hottentot looked at theBoer-woman.

  There was one thing on earth for which Tant Sannie had a profoundreverence, which exercised a subduing influence over her, which made herfor the time a better woman--that thing was new, shining black cloth. Itmade her think of the predikant; it made her think of the elders who satin the top pew of the church on Sundays, with the hair so nicely oiled,so holy and respectable, with their little swallow-tailed coats; it madeher think of heaven, where everything was so holy and respectable, andnobody wore tancord, and the littlest angel had a black-tailed coat. Shewished she hadn't called him a thief and a Roman Catholic. She hoped theGerman hadn't told him. She wondered where those clothes were when hecame in rags to her door. There was no doubt, he was a very respectableman, a gentleman.

  The German began to read a hymn. At the end of each line Bonapartegroaned, and twice at the end of every verse.

  The Boer-woman had often heard of persons groaning during prayers, toadd a certain poignancy and finish to them; old Jan Vanderlinde, hermother's brother, always did it after he was converted; and she wouldhave looked upon it as no especial sign of grace in any one; but togroan at hymn-time! She was startled. She wondered if he remembered thatshe shook her fist in his face. This was a man of God. They knelt downto pray. The Boer-woman weighed two hundred and fifty pounds, and couldnot kneel. She sat in her chair, and peeped between her crossed fingersat the stranger's back. She could not understand what he said; but hewas in earnest. He shook the chair by the back rail till it made quite alittle dust on the mud floor.

  When they rose from their knees Bonaparte solemnly seated himself inthe chair and opened the Bible. He blew his nose, pulled up his shirtcollar, smoothed the leaves, stroked down his capacious waistcoat, blewhis nose again, looked solemnly round the room, then began.

  "All liars shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire andbrimstone, which is the second death."

  Having read this portion of Scripture, Bonaparte paused impressively,and looked all round the room.

  "I shall not, my dear friends," he said, "long detain you. Much ofour precious time has already fled blissfully from us in the voice ofthanksgiving and the tongue of praise. A few, a very few words are allI shall address to you, and may they be as a rod of iron dividing thebones from the marrow, and the marrow from the bones.

  "In the first place: What is a liar?"

  The question was put so pointedly, and followed by a pause so profound,that even the Hottentot man left off looking at his boots and opened hiseyes, though he understood not a word.

  "I repeat," said Bonaparte, "what is a liar?"

  The sensation was intense; the attention of the audience was riveted.

  "Have you any of you ever seen a liar, my dear friends?" There was astill longer pause. "I hope not; I truly hope not. But I will tell youwhat a liar is. I knew a liar once--a little boy who lived in CapeTown, in Short Market Street. His mot
her and I sat together one day,discoursing about our souls.

  "'Here, Sampson,' said his mother, 'go and buy sixpence of meiboss fromthe Malay round the corner.'

  "When he came back she said: 'How much have you got?'

  "'Five,' he said.

  "He was afraid if he said six and a half she'd ask for some. And, myfriends, that was a lie. The half of a meiboss stuck in his throat andhe died and was buried. And where did the soul of that little liar goto, my friends? It went to the lake of fire and brimstone. This bringsme to the second point of my discourse.

  "What is a lake of fire and brimstone? I will tell you, my friends,"said Bonaparte condescendingly. "The imagination unaided cannot conceiveit: but by the help of the Lord I will put it before your mind's eye.

  "I was travelling in Italy once on a time; I came to a city called Rome,a vast city, and near it is a mountain which spits forth fire. Its nameis Etna. Now, there was a man in that city of Rome who had not the fearof God before his eyes, and he loved a woman. The woman died, and hewalked up that mountain spitting fire, and when he got to the top hethrew himself in at the hole that is there. The next day I went up.I was not afraid; the Lord preserves His servants. And in their handsshall they bear thee up, lest at any time thou fall into a volcano. Itwas dark night when I got there, but in the fear of the Lord I walked tothe edge of the yawning abyss, and looked in. That sight--that sight, myfriends, is impressed upon my most indelible memory. I looked down intothe lurid depths upon an incandescent lake, a melted fire, a seethingsea; the billows rolled from side to side, and on their fiery creststossed the white skeleton of the suicide. The heat had burnt the fleshfrom off the bones; they lay as a light cork upon the melted, fierywaves. One skeleton hand was raised upward, the finger pointing toheaven; the other, with outstretched finger, pointing downward, asthough it would say, 'I go below, but you, Bonaparte, may soar above.' Igazed; I stood entranced. At that instant there was a crack in the luridlake; it swelled, expanded, and the skeleton of the suicide disappeared,to be seen no more by mortal eye."

  Here again Bonaparte rested, and then continued:

  "The lake of melted stone rose in the crater, it swelled higher andhigher at the side, it streamed forth at the top. I had presence ofmind; near me was a rock; I stood upon it. The fiery torrent wasvomited out and streamed on either side of me. And through that long andterrible night I stood there alone upon that rock, the glowing,fiery lava on every hand--a monument of the long-suffering and tenderprovidence of the Lord, who spared me that I might this day testify inyour ears of Him.

  "Now, my dear friends, let us deduce the lessons that are to be learntfrom this narrative.

  "Firstly: let us never commit suicide. The man is a fool, my friends,that man is insane, my friends, who would leave this earth, my friends.Here are joys innumerable, such as it hath not entered into the heartof man to understand, my friends. Here are clothes, my friends; hereare beds, my friends; here is delicious food, my friends. Our preciousbodies were given us to love, to cherish. Oh, let us do so! Oh, let usnever hurt them; but care for and love them, my friends!"

  Every one was impressed, and Bonaparte proceeded:

  "Thirdly; let us not love too much. If that young man had not loved thatyoung woman, he would not have jumped into Mount Etna. The good men ofold never did so. Was Jeremiah ever in love, or Ezekiel, or Hosea, oreven any of the minor prophets? No. Then why should we be? Thousandsare rolling in that lake at this moment who would say, 'It was love thatbrought us here.' Oh, let us think always of our own souls first.

  "'A charge to keep I have, A God to glorify; A never-dying soul to save, And fit it for the sky.'

  "Oh, beloved friends, remember the little boy and the meiboss; rememberthe young girl and the young man; remember the lake, the fire, and thebrimstone; remember the suicide's skeleton on the pitchy billows ofMount Etna; remember the voice of warning that has this day sounded inyour ears; and what I say to you I say to all--watch! May the Lord addhis blessings!"

  Here the Bible closed with a tremendous thud. Tant Sannie loosened thewhite handkerchief about her neck and wiped her eyes, and the colouredgirl, seeing her do so, sniffled. The did not understand the discourse,which made it the more affecting.

  There hung over it that inscrutable charm which hovers forever for thehuman intellect over the incomprehensible and shadowy. When the lasthymn was sung the German conducted the officiator to Tant Sannie, whograciously extended her hand, and offered coffee and a seat on thesofa. Leaving him there, the German hurried away to see how the littleplum-pudding he had left at home was advancing; and Tant Sannie remarkedthat it was a hot day. Bonaparte gathered her meaning as she fannedherself with the end of her apron. He bowed low in acquiescence. A longsilence followed. Tant Sannie spoke again. Bonaparte gave her no ear;his eye was fixed on a small miniature on the opposite wall, whichrepresented Tant Sannie as she had appeared on the day before herconfirmation, fifteen years before, attired in green muslin. Suddenly hestarted to his feet, walked up to the picture, and took his stand beforeit. Long and wistfully he gazed into its features; it was easy to seethat he was deeply moved. With a sudden movement, as though no longerable to restrain himself, he seized the picture, loosened it fromits nail, and held it close to his eyes. At length, turning to theBoer-woman, he said, in a voice of deep emotion:

  "You will, I trust, dear madam, excuse this exhibition of my feelings;but this--this little picture recalls to me my first and best beloved,my dear departed wife, who is now a saint in heaven."

  Tant Sannie could not understand; but the Hottentot maid, who had takenher seat on the floor beside her mistress, translated the English intoDutch as far as she was able.

  "Ah, my first, my beloved!" he added, looking tenderly down at thepicture. "Oh, the beloved, the beautiful lineaments! My angel wife! Thisis surely a sister of yours, madame?" he added, fixing his eyes on TantSannie.

  The Dutchwoman blushed, shook her head, and pointed to herself.

  Carefully, intently, Bonaparte looked from the picture in his hand toTant Sannie's features, and from the features back to the picture. Thenslowly a light broke over his countenance, he looked up, it becamea smile; he looked back at the miniature, his whole countenance waseffulgent.

  "Ah, yes; I see it now," he cried, turning his delighted gaze on theBoer-woman; "eyes, mouth, nose, chin, the very expression!" he cried."How is it possible I did not notice it before?"

  "Take another cup of coffee," said Tant Sannie. "Put some sugar in."

  Bonaparte hung the picture tenderly up, and was turning to take the cupfrom her hand, when the German appeared, to say that the pudding wasready and the meat on the table.

  "He's a God-fearing man, and one who knows how to behave himself," saidthe Boer-woman as he went out at the door. "If he's ugly, did not theLord make him? And are we to laugh at the Lord's handiwork? It is betterto be ugly and good than pretty and bad; though of course it's nice whenone is both," said Tant Sannie, looking complacently at the picture onthe wall.

  In the afternoon the German and Bonaparte sat before the door of thecabin. Both smoked in complete silence--Bonaparte with a book in hishands and his eyes half closed; the German puffing vigorously, andglancing up now and again at the serene blue sky overhead.

  "Supposing--you--you, in fact, made the remark to me," burst forth theGerman suddenly, "that you were looking for a situation."

  Bonaparte opened his mouth wide, and sent a stream of smoke through hislips.

  "Now supposing," said the German--"merely supposing, of course--thatsome one, some one, in fact, should make an offer to you, say, to becomeschoolmaster on their farm and teach two children, two little girls,perhaps, and would give you forty pounds a year, would you accept it?Just supposing, of course."

  "Well, my dear friend," said Bonaparte, "that would depend oncircumstances. Money is no consideration with me. For my wife I havemade provision for the next year. My health is broken. Could I meet aplace where a gentleman would be
treated as a gentleman I would acceptit, however small the remuneration. With me," said Bonaparte, "money isno consideration."

  "Well," said the German, when he had taken a whiff or two more from hispipe, "I think I shall go up and see Tant Sannie a little. I go up oftenon Sunday afternoon to have a general conversation, to see her, youknow. Nothing--nothing particular, you know."

  The old man put his book into his pocket, and walked up to the farmhousewith a peculiarly knowing and delighted expression of countenance.

  "He doesn't suspect what I'm going to do," soliloquized the German;"hasn't the least idea. A nice surprise for him."

  The man whom he had left at his doorway winked at the retreating figurewith a wink that was not to be described.