The Horses Were Very Tired,
Having Been Hard At Work Carrying Malays All The Week To Constantia
And Back, On A Pilgrimage To The Tomb Of A Mussulman Saint; So To-
Day They Rest, And To-Morrow I Go To Villiersdorp.
Choslullah has
been appointed driver of a post-cart; he tried hard to be allowed
to pay a remplacant,
And to fetch 'his missis', but was refused
leave; and so a smaller and blacker Malay has come, whom Choslullah
threatened to curse heavily if he failed to take great care of 'my
missis' and be a 'good boy'. Ramadan begins on Sunday, and my poor
driver can't even prepare for it by a good feast, as no fowls are
to be had here just now, and he can't eat profanely-killed meat.
Some pious Christian has tried to burn a Mussulman martyr's tomb at
Eerste River, and there were fears the Malays might indulge in a
little revenge; but they keep quiet. I am to go with my driver to
eat some of the feast (of Bairam, is it not?) at his priest's when
Ramadan ends, if I am in Capetown, and also am asked to a wedding
at a relation of Choslullah's. It was quite a pleasure to hear the
kindly Mussulman talk, after these silent Hottentots. The Malays
have such agreeable manners; so civil, without the least cringing
or Indian obsequiousness. I dare say they can be very 'insolent'
on provocation; but I have always found among them manners like
old-fashioned French ones, but quieter; and they have an
affectionate way of saying 'MY missis' when they know one, which is
very nice to hear.
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