Inspired By This Drink, They
Began To Quarrel, And Were Summarily Turned Out.
They spent the
whole night, till five this morning, scuffling and vociferating in
the street.
The constables discreetly stayed in bed, displaying
the true Dogberry spirit, which leads them to take up Hottentots,
drunk or sober, to show their zeal, but carefully to avoid meddling
with stalwart boers, from six to six and a half feet high and
strong in proportion. The jabbering of Dutch brings to mind
Demosthenes trying to outroar a stormy sea with his mouth full of
pebbles. The hardest blows are those given with the tongue, though
much pulling of hair and scuffling takes place. 'Verdomde
Schmeerlap!' - 'Donder and Bliksem! am I a verdomde Schmeerlap?' -
'Ja, u is,' &c., &c. I could not help laughing heartily as I lay
in bed, at hearing the gambols of these Titan cubs; for this is a
boer's notion of enjoying himself. This morning, I hear, the
street was strewn with the hair they had pulled out of each other's
heads. All who come here make love to S-; not by describing their
tender feelings, but by enumerating the oxen, sheep, horses, land,
money, &c., of which they are possessed, and whereof, by the law of
this colony, she would become half-owner on marriage. There is a
fine handsome Van Steen, who is very persevering; but S- does not
seem to fancy becoming Mevrouw at all. The demand for English
girls as wives is wonderful here. The nasty cross little ugly
Scotch maid has had three offers already, in one fortnight!
February 18th. - I expect to receive the letters by the English mail
to-morrow morning, and to go to Worcester on Thursday. On Saturday
the young doctor - good-humoured, jolly, big, young Dutchman - drove
me, with his pretty little greys, over to two farms; at one I ate
half a huge melon, and at the other, uncounted grapes. We poor
Europeans don't know what fruit CAN BE, I must admit. The melon
was a foretaste of paradise, and the grapes made one's fingers as
sticky as honey, and had a muscat fragrance quite inconceivable.
They looked like amber eggs. The best of it is, too, that in this
climate stomach-aches are not. We all eat grapes, peaches, and
figs, all day long. Old Klein sends me, for my own daily
consumption, about thirty peaches, three pounds of grapes, and
apples, pears, and figs besides - 'just a little taste of fruits';
only here they will pick it all unripe.
February 19th. - The post came in late last night, and old Klein
kindly sent me my letters at near midnight. The post goes out this
evening, and the hot wind is blowing, so I can only write to you,
and a line to my mother. I feel really better now. I think the
constant eating of grapes has done me much good.
The Dutch cart-owner was so extortionate, that I am going to wait a
few days, and write to my dear Malay to come up and drive me back.
It is better than having to fight the Dutch monopolist in every
village, and getting drunken drivers and bad carts after all. I
shall go round all the same. The weather has been beautiful; to-
day there is a wind, which comes about two or three times in the
year: it is not depressing, but hot, and a bore, because one must
shut every window or be stifled with dust.
The people are burning the veld all about, and the lurid smoke by
day and flaming hill-sides by night are very striking. The ashes
of the Bosh serve as manure for the young grass, which will sprout
in the autumn rains. Such nights! Such a moon! I walk out after
dark when it is mild and clear, and can read any print by the
moonlight, and see the distant landscape as well as by day.
Old Klein has just sent me a haunch of bok, and the skin and hoofs,
which are pretty.
LETTER VIII
Caledon, Sunday.
You must have fallen into second childhood to think of PRINTING
such rambling hasty scrawls as I write. I never could write a good
letter; and unless I gallop as hard as I can, and don't stop to
think, I can say nothing; so all is confused and unconnected: only
I fancy YOU will be amused by some of my 'impressions'. I have
written to my mother an accurate account of my health. I am
dressed and out of doors never later than six, now the weather
makes it possible. It is surprising how little sleep one wants. I
go to bed at ten and often am up at four.
I made friends here the other day with a lively dried-up little old
Irishman, who came out at seven years old a pauper-boy. He has
made a fortune by 'going on Togt' (German, Tausch), as thus; he
charters two waggons, twelve oxen each, and two Hottentots to each
waggon, leader and driver. The waggons he fills with cotton,
hardware, &c., &c. - an ambulatory village 'shop', - and goes about
fifteen miles a day, on and on, into the far interior, swapping
baftas (calico), punjums (loose trowsers), and voerschitz (cotton
gownpieces), pronounced 'foossy', against oxen and sheep. When all
is gone he swaps his waggons against more oxen and a horse, and he
and his four 'totties' drive home the spoil; and he has doubled or
trebled his venture. En route home, each day they kill a sheep,
and eat it ALL. 'What!' says I; 'the whole?' 'Every bit. I
always take one leg and the liver for myself, and the totties roast
the rest, and melt all the fat and entrails down in an iron pot and
eat it with a wooden spoon.' Je n'en revenais pas. 'What! the
whole leg and liver at one meal?' 'Every bit; ay, and you'd do the
same, ma'am, if you were there.' No bread, no salt, no nothing -
mutton and water.
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