It was a very amusing day.The great tall Dutchmen came in to shoot,and did but moderately,I thought.The longest range was five hundred yards,and at that they shot well;at shorter ranges,poorly enough.The best man made ten points.But oh!what figures were there of negroes and coloured people!I longed for a photographer.Some coloured lads were exquisitely graceful,and composed beautiful TABLEAUX VIVANTS,after Murillo's beggar-boys.
A poor little,very old Bosjesman crept up,and was jeered and bullied.I scolded the lad who abused him for being rude to an old man,whereupon the poor little old creature squatted on the ground close by (for which he would have been kicked but for me),took off his ragged hat,and sat staring and nodding his small grey woolly head at me,and jabbering some little soliloquy very SOTTO VOCE.
There was something shocking in the timidity with which he took the plate of food I gave him,and in the way in which he ate it,with the WRONG side of his little yellow hand,like a monkey.A black,who had helped to fetch the hamper,suggested to me to give him wine instead of meat and bread,and make him drunk FOR FUN (the blacks and Hottentots copy the white man's manners TO THEM,when they get hold of a Bosjesman to practise upon);but upon this a handsome West Indian black,who had been cooking pies,fired up,and told him he was a 'nasty black rascal,and a Dutchman to boot',to insult a lady and an old man at once.If you could see the difference between one negro and another,you would be quite convinced that education (i.e.circumstances)makes the race.It was hardly conceivable that the hideous,dirty,bandy-legged,ragged creature,who looked down on the Bosjesman,and the well-made,smart fellow,with his fine eyes,jaunty red cap,and snow-white shirt and trousers,alert as the best German Kellner,were of the same blood;nothing but the colour was alike.
Then came a Dutchman,and asked for six penn'orth of 'brood en kaas',and haggled for beer;and Englishmen,who bought chickens and champagne without asking the price.One rich old boer got three lunches,and then 'trekked'(made off)without paying at all.
Then came a Hottentot,stupidly drunk,with a fiddle,and was beaten by a little red-haired Scotchman,and his fiddle smashed.
The Hottentot hit at his aggressor,who then declared he HAD BEEN a policeman,and insisted on taking him into custody and to the 'Tronk'(prison)on his own authority,but was in turn sent flying by a gigantic Irishman,who 'wouldn't see the poor baste abused'.
The Irishman was a farmer;I never saw such a Hercules -and beaming with fun and good nature.He was very civil,and answered my questions,and talked like an intelligent man;but when Captain D-asked him with an air of some anxiety,if he was coming to the hotel,he replied,'No,sir,no;I wouldn't be guilty of such a misdemeanour.I am aware that I was a disgrace and opprobrium to your house,sir,last time I was there,sir.No,sir,I shall sleep in my cart,and not come into the presence of ladies.'
Hereupon he departed,and I was informed that he had been drunk for seventeen days,SANS DESEMPARER,on his last visit to Caledon.
However,he kept quite sober on this occasion,and amused himself by making the little blackies scramble for halfpence in the pools left in the bed of the river.Among our customers was a very handsome black man,with high straight nose,deep-set eyes,and a small mouth,smartly dressed in a white felt hat,paletot,and trousers.He is the shoemaker,and is making a pair of 'Veldschoen'for you,which you will delight in.They are what the rough boers and Hottentots wear,buff-hide barbarously tanned and shaped,and as soft as woollen socks.The Othello-looking shoemaker's name is Moor,and his father told him he came of a 'good breed';that was all he knew.
A very pleasing English farmer,who had been educated in Belgium,came and ordered a bottle of champagne,and shyly begged me to drink a glass,whereupon we talked of crops and the like;and an excellent specimen of a colonist he appeared:very gentle and unaffected,with homely good sense,and real good breeding -such a contrast to the pert airs and vulgarity of Capetown and of the people in (colonial)high places.Finding we had no carriage,he posted off and borrowed a cart of one man and harness of another,and put his and his son's riding horses to it,to take Mrs.D-and me home.As it was still early,he took us a 'little drive';and oh,ye gods!what a terrific and dislocating pleasure was that!At a hard gallop,Mr.M-(with the mildest and steadiest air and with perfect safety)took us right across country.It is true there were no fences;but over bushes,ditches,lumps of rock,watercourses,we jumped,flew,and bounded,and up every hill we went racing pace.I arrived at home much bewildered,and feeling more like Burger's Lenore than anything else,till I saw Mr.M-'s steady,pleasant face quite undisturbed,and was informed that such was the way of driving of Cape farmers.
We found the luckless Jack in such a state of furious drunkenness that he had to be dismissed on the spot,not without threats of the 'Tronk',and once more Kleenboy fills the office of boots.He returned in a ludicrous state of penitence and emaciation,frankly admitting that it was better to work hard and get 'plenty grub',than to work less and get none;-still,however,protesting against work at all.
