Читать книгу: «The Gold Kloof», страница 11

Chapter XI.
THE BERG DAMARAS

It was, indeed, a strange, wild-looking creature that lay there before them in the full blaze of the fire, in its face a beast-like, hunted look, and its eyes glancing fiercely yet furtively at its captors. It was a black boy, that was certain. It was stark naked, and its skin was very dark. The head, covered with kinky wool, rather long for an average African, was big, and the forehead round and prominent. Poeskop, who knew more about the native races of this part of South Africa than any man present, pronounced it to be a Berg Damara boy, and its age somewhere about seven or eight. It had manifestly been consorting with the baboons for a considerable time, for its knees were hard and horny from much contact with the ground, as also were its hands and feet. Evidently it had been running on all fours for many months, if not for a year or two. It had no power of human speech, but grunted and chattered like the baboons it had consorted with. Even in its face it seemed to have acquired something of the savage nature of its comrades, and at times there was a hideous, ape-like expression which, as Tom expressed it, "made one feel quite uncomfortable."

They offered the wild boy food, which he refused. Then fastening him securely to a wagon wheel, and covering him with a blanket, they retired to rest. Poeskop, who was much interested in the capture, woke several times in the night, and saw that the wild boy had not tampered with his fastenings.

When Mr. Blakeney awoke next morning and looked out from his wagon, he saw before him a curious and most laughable scene. Tom was sitting by the wild boy, having in front of him a large bowl of mealie-porridge, sweetened with sugar, into which had been poured some condensed milk and water. With this savoury mess Tom was evidently trying his hand upon the wild creature. To his father's astonishment, he had apparently already met with some success. The wild boy seemed pretty sharp-set, and having seemingly convinced himself that his captors meant him no immediate injury, was more at his ease than the terrified, hunted-looking creature of the previous night. Still there was something very bestial and uncanny about him.

"Now," said Tom, holding a spoonful of porridge and milk close to the wild boy's face, "say skorf."

The wild boy made a wry face, and lunged with open mouth at the spoon. Evidently he had tasted the food and wished for more. Tom drew back the spoon. "Skorf," he repeated. "Skorf, skorf, skorf." With each repetition of the word he held the spoon a little closer, and at last, to Mr. Blakeney's astonishment, the wild boy grunted out some sound resembling very distantly the word Tom was waiting for. After this feat Tom rewarded the strange-looking black imp with several spoonfuls of the porridge. Then again he made him repeat the word, or grunt out some kind of equivalent. The whole scene was so ludicrous that, as Tom finished up the basin and administered to the wild boy the last spoonful, Mr. Blakeney could no longer contain himself, but burst into a shout of laughter.

"You two are getting on splendidly," he said, as soon as he could gather speech. "How long have you been at your lesson, Tom?"

"About twenty minutes, pater," returned Tom. "He was awfully annoyed at first, and wouldn't buck up a bit. I could see he was very hungry, though, and took time, and in a little while he saw my meaning, and began to grunt out some kind of imitation of the word I was repeating. Do you know, pater, I believe the creature has spoken before. I can't tell you quite why. But there was a queer, knowing look in his eyes, as if he had heard people speak at some time or other, no doubt long ago, and was just trying to call to memory something. I wonder how long he's been living with the baboons."

"Wait a bit, Tom," said his father; "this is very interesting. I shook myself so much laughing just now at you two that I hurt my shoulder. Here, Guy," he went on, as his nephew came in with his shot-gun and a couple of brace of francolin, "give me a hand with this wound. That bite the old man baboon gave me last night is very painful, and we must dress it again."

Guy ran for some clean water and carbolic, and, his uncle having taken off his flannel shirt, unfastened the dressing put on the night before. The wound was very angry and inflamed, and the shoulder was swollen and puffy.

"My word, uncle," said Guy, as he gently sponged the wound with carbolic and water, and then applied a fresh dressing, "that brute gave you a horrid bite."

"Yes," answered Mr. Blakeney cheerfully, "It's a nasty place. The old man baboon got his teeth right through my thick, elephant-cord coat as if it had been tissue paper, and fastened well on to my shoulder. In another second, if Poeskop hadn't fired and killed him, he would have had a mouthful of my flesh clean out. A baboon's bite is far worse than any dog's; in fact, I've seen an old man baboon tear out the throat of a big hound, and kill him without giving him the ghost of a chance of retaliation. The brute went at my throat last night. It's a lucky thing I fended him off, and he only got me by the shoulder. I shall be all right in a few days. I'll take it quietly, and sit in the wagon and eat slops."

They sat down to breakfast, and then, calling Poeskop up, held consultation as to the baboon boy. Poeskop, who knew the Berg Damara tongue, tried the child in various ways, repeating simple sentences slowly. The boy made no reply, save by curious grunts and ape-like contortions of the face; if he had ever possessed the power of speech, he seemed to have for the present quite lost it. Still, as the Bushman spoke to him, there was at times a strange glimmer of perception about his eyes, as if his mind were striving to recover some lost memory. Once even he opened his mouth, and seemed upon the very verge of speech. They all waited breathlessly for what was to follow, but the boy closed his mouth with a snap, assumed the ape-like expression, which he had no doubt borrowed from his friends the baboons, and they could get no more out of him.

Tom gazed long and earnestly at the odd-looking little creature.

"I think," he said presently, "we'll call you 'Peter.' I remember reading once a most curious story about a German lad who was found without power of speech and as wild as a savage. He was called Peter the Wild Boy, and there was some strange mystery about his birth. I forget what became of him, but the mystery of his birth was, I fancy, never cleared up. Now, Peter," he continued, getting up, "I mean to make you a respectable member of society. And, first of all, I'm going to put you into a decent pair of breeks. Clothed, and associating with high-toned folk like ourselves, by degrees we may get you into your right mind."

So speaking, he went to the wagon, found an old pair of trousers, which he cut off at the knees, and brought them back to the group. They tried to make the wild boy understand what was wanted of him. It was a most absurd scene, and they all laughed till they ached again and the tears ran down their cheeks. At first Peter thought some injury was about to be attempted on him. He showed his teeth, and as Tom and Poeskop laid hold of him, fought, scratched, and tried hard to bite his would-be benefactors. They ceased for a few minutes, and then Guy took up the breeches, held them up, patted his own knee-breeches, and tried to make the wild creature understand what was wanted.

"The little Juggins!" said Tom angrily; "he ought to have more sense."

Peter at once caught the angry look in Tom's eyes, and grinned and chattered at him angrily in response. They all shrieked again with laughter; and then Tom, as if to apologize, sat down by the little wild creature, patted him on the back, stroked him, and gave him a piece of bread and marmalade. Peter appreciated this peace offering, and calmed down rapidly.

"Poor little beggar," said Tom apologetically; "we must go quietly with him. After all, we can't make a Christian of him in a morning."

Meanwhile Poeskop bethought himself of a plan. Undoing his belt, he took off his old trousers full in front of Peter, held them out in an explanatory way, sat down and put them on again. Then coming to the lad's side, he took the cut-down breeches and gently insinuated, first one, then the other, of his feet into them. Peter seemed now dimly to comprehend what was required of him. They hoisted him gently to his feet, pulled the garments up, buttoned them, pulled the buckle tight at the back, and the trick was done. Tom, in his delight, patted the boy on the back and drew his attention to the nether garments of all the party, finally stroking Peter's new breeches admiringly. The little creature seemed suddenly to comprehend the whole business. His face expanded into a broad smile-by far the most human-like expression that had yet appeared there-and he looked down at his new garments with real contentment. Thus was his first step towards civilization successfully accomplished.

For the next few days they trekked on steadily through beautiful country. Tom and Poeskop attended untiringly to the wild boy's education, Mr. Blakeney occasionally rendering them assistance. In another day's time Tom had induced the child to wear an old flannel shirt. He showed no inclination to run away. Still they took the precaution to fasten him up with a cord fixed to a broad piece of leather, which Tom sewed round his waist. And at night Tom-who was becoming really interested in the little creature, and had no intention of losing him again-gave up sleeping in the tent with Guy, and lay down under his sheepskin kaross by the fire, with a blanket under him, Peter meanwhile sleeping at the length of his cord two or three yards away. They had washed the little fellow thoroughly with carbolic soap and water, and made him clean. And Poeskop now washed him daily. As a matter of fact, he was not objectionably dirty when first captured. Baboons in the wild state keep themselves remarkably clean, and the child evidently was not afraid of fresh water.

For two days Peter still ran about on all fours, much to Tom's annoyance. On the third day the force of example began to tell, and he attempted to walk after the manner of the other human beings he saw about him. He had so long shambled along like a baboon on his hands and feet, that his attempts at walking upright were not at first completely successful. Still he persevered, and was occasionally rewarded by Tom with bits of sugar or a piece of bread and jam. It was a matter of some vexation to Tom that, as they strolled around the camp at outspan places, Peter still chose to avail himself of the strange veldt fare to which he had been accustomed. He would pull up and devour certain roots and bulbs. Once he caught and ate a small lizard, rejecting only the head. And he would eat spiders, caterpillars, and even scorpions-after he had carefully and most deftly torn away the sting-and other unpleasant trifles. Tom's annoyance at these habits was extreme.

"Here I'm feeding him on Christian fare three times a day," he would say, "and the little beast must go and make me sick by devouring all these filthy things which he picks up in the veldt."

"My dear Tom," replied Guy chaffingly, "the poor beggar must have his dessert! Even we Christians enjoy nuts, ginger, raisins, wine, and other things, after dinner, when we're living in a state of complete civilization. And, after all, what's the difference between poor Peter wolfing down a lizard, or a caterpillar, or a chrysalis, while we white folk delight in oysters, and periwinkles and whelks, lobsters and prawns, which are nothing but marine insects; frogs, eels, spawn (I'm thinking of cod's roe), the livers and lights of various beasts-I mean what we call 'fry'-kidneys, tripe, and other things of that sort. The French eat snails. The whole thing is only a matter of individual taste and environment, as scientific folk call it."

"That's all very fine, Guy," retorted Tom, "but we ought to draw the line somewhere. And Peter, now that he is becoming a respectable biped, has got to draw it at lizards and scorpions and caterpillars."

After the very next meal the two cousins and Peter went for a stroll through some timber just outside the camp. Peter, ranging at the end of his cord, suddenly turned aside at a tree, pulled off with two little horny fingers a piece of bark, and drawing forth a huge fat grub from its hole, devoured it instantly, with manifest gusto. Even Guy, who had just enjoyed an excellent dinner, as had Peter, was disgusted at this performance.

"Nasty little beggar!" he exclaimed angrily, jerking at Peter by his cord. "You ought to know better. Come out of it, and don't do that again!"

Peter grinned angrily, and showed his white teeth. He knew he was being scolded, and he resented it. Tom laughed heartily.

"I'm glad you're convinced at last," he said. "Now you'll agree with me that Peter needs reform, and that he must be broken off his baboon propensities."

"I'm convinced, absolutely," answered Guy, with a disgusted look still on his face. "It's enough to make one sick. I'll help you all I know to wean the little beggar of these disgusting practices. – Peter, you little beast," he added, again plucking the wild boy by the cord, "you're not to do it. Here, come and take my hand, and walk like a gentleman."

The little, wild creature, after looking intently into Guy's face, and seeing a smile of good humour replace the frown of disgust, came up, put his black paw into Guy's strong, sunburnt hand, and together the three wandered back to the wagon.

On the sixth day after the adventure with the baboons, they reached a long range of hills, among which Poeskop's sharp eyes soon detected signs of native life. He informed Mr. Blakeney that the last time he had travelled that way the place was uninhabited. Entering a broad, open valley, here and there littered with boulders and adorned with patches of bush, they outspanned not far from a stream of water that ran by. Then Poeskop, accompanied by Mr. Blakeney and the boys, all fully armed, went up the slope of a low hill towards some huts that nestled among trees and rocks. It was manifest that natives were about, and that the little settlement was a good deal perturbed at the advent of the travellers. Black figures flitted hither and thither, and cries could be heard.

"What are they, Poeskop?" asked Mr. Blakeney.

"Berg Damaras, I think, baas," replied the Bushman; "but I don't quite understand the place. They seem to have houses up in the trees. I'll go forward and see what they have to say. I don't think they'll harm us; but if they try to, do you and the young baases shoot."

They moved on together for another hundred and fifty yards, and then Poeskop went ahead, and keeping about a hundred yards in front neared the village. The commotion became yet louder, shrill female voices were heard, and men appeared, armed with bows and arrows and assegais; the aspect of affairs looked by no means peaceful. Still advancing, and without betraying an atom of fear or suspicion, the Bushman moved confidently forward till he was within earshot. Then, raising his voice, he addressed the natives. As he had supposed, they were Berg Damaras, a wild, miserable, down-trodden people, who are infamously treated by other tribes, and shelter themselves in the remotest places they are able to find among the wide and unpeopled deserts of this part of Africa.

Poeskop soon calmed their apprehensions and established friendly relations with them. They had a curious tale to tell. They had been in this place no more than a few months, having been driven from their previous locality by the assaults of lions, which had destroyed a good many of their clan and created a terror among them. The lions had either followed them to this valley, or they had stumbled upon a fresh band of man-eaters, and their lives were rendered a burden to them by the night attacks of these dangerous Carnivora. They had at last resorted to the expedient of building huts among the trees, where they passed their nights, and, as lions cannot climb, managed to escape annihilation.

Poeskop having opened up amicable relations with these unfortunates, Mr. Blakeney and the boys came up and were introduced. The Berg Damaras seemed miserably poor. They numbered not more than seventy or eighty souls, men, women, and children, and evidently lived a harassed, shuddering kind of existence. Occasionally stronger tribes, such as the Ovampo and Ganguellas, raided them, murdered such of them as they caught, and carried off their women and children as slaves. The lions seemed to have completed their dejection, and they had little spirit left in them. These people speak a pure Hottentot tongue, and have many ancient Hottentot manners and customs. Yet, unlike the yellow-skinned Hottentots, their skins are black. They are supposed to have been a feeble, aboriginal negroid race, who became enslaved by the Namaqua Hottentots, and, acquiring the tongue of their conquerors, lost their own language.

Having given the headman of these miserable people some tobacco and beads, and gained his confidence, Mr. Blakeney and the boys strolled round the kraal. They were especially interested in the sleeping huts, placed among the foliage of some tallish trees. These had been very ingeniously devised, platforms of stout poles serving for floors. The walls were composed of ant-hill clay and branches, the whole being covered by deep thatches of reeds and grass.

"Well," said Mr. Blakeney, "I've heard of such a thing before, but I never expected to see natives driven by lions to make their huts among the branches of trees. Many years ago, when Moselikatse, father of Lobengula, swept over a great part of South Africa and destroyed whole kraals of Basutos and Bechuanas, the people were so reduced, and the lions, from feeding on human flesh, became so bold, that some of the tribesfolk were compelled for a time to roost among the trees in this way. But they must be poor creatures to put up with such a terrorism. A kraal, even a little one, of Zulus or Kaffirs, or indeed even Bechuanas and Basutos, would in ordinary circumstances never submit to such a state of things. They would just sally out, hunt up the lions in daylight, and kill them with their assegais. They might lose a few slain in the operation, but they would clear out the lions somehow."

"I suppose," said Guy, "these poor creatures are too weak and too few in number to tackle a lion. They look far too depressed for anything of the kind."

"Yes," replied Mr. Blakeney, "no doubt that's the case. And, after all, one can hardly blame them. Even for a white man and a good shot, armed with a modern rifle, a lion is by no means a pleasant beast to tackle. One is never quite sure how the affray is going to turn out. The Zulus must have been hardy fellows indeed in the old days, in the time of Chaka and Dingaan, and Panda and Cetywayo. If a lion annoyed a kraal and killed oxen or goats, a number of young soldiers were told off to kill it. And kill it they had to, with their spears, and no other weapon. Of course, on the other hand, they knew that if they didn't kill the lion, their own lives were forfeit. Chaka and Dingaan, and even Cetywayo, allowed of no failures of this kind. Cowardice meant death. Not that the Zulus ever feared death. A braver and bolder race of savages never existed."

That afternoon the white man's camp was visited by a number of the Berg Damaras. They were hospitably entertained, and regaled with coffee and some small presents. One of them noticed Peter, the wild boy, and, drawing his comrades' attention to the child, they were soon engaged in a conversation of which the lad evidently was the main topic. Poeskop noticed this, and asked them what the boy was. They at once said that he was one of their own race, and asked the Bushman where the lad came from. Poeskop related the tale of his capture. This stirred much debate and interest among the group. They surrounded the child, examined him closely, handled him, and talked excitedly the while. Again the headman held animated converse with Poeskop. Meanwhile the white men gathered round. They could see that something of interest was passing.

Poeskop presently came up to Mr. Blakeney and told his story. The boy was a Berg Damara right enough, and had undoubtedly belonged to their kraal. About a year and a half before, when they were making their way from their last place of habitation thither, the child had strayed away, or in some way become missing, no one quite knew how. They had little time or energy for prolonged search, being then half-starved and in great distress, and they went on their way without him. Undoubtedly he had fallen among baboons, or been stolen by them; they had heard of such things before. They recognized the boy, not only by his likeness to the child they had lost, but by certain tribal marks. Questioned further, they said the boy's mother was dead, killed and devoured by a lion a few months before. The father was up at the kraal. At Mr. Blakeney's request he was sent for. He came shortly, was shown the child, whom he at once recognized, and was told the tale of its capture. This he listened to unmoved, rather as if he were listening to the tale of some dog that he had formerly owned. Presently he went up to Peter, looked into the child's face, and spoke to him-in fact, asked him a question. Peter looked up very eagerly, as if he knew the voice. The man went on to repeat his name, "Amral." This he spoke in a low, kindly voice, repeating the word several times. Again it was clear the boy recognized the voice and the name. Something in the intonation probably touched some chord of memory long forgotten. He opened his mouth, strove visibly and painfully to find speech, and, failing, lowered his eyes. At that moment a shadow passed lightly over the group and rested for a moment upon the child. All looked up. Far above, between them and the sun, a great vulture swung in mid-air.

"Tkoobi kanisi!" said the man, his face turned now to the semblance of a stone image, and, taking no further interest in the child, he moved away.

"What does he mean?" asked Mr. Blakeney of Poeskop.

"When the shadow of the vulture rested upon the child," replied the Bushman, in a serious voice, "the father took it as an evil sign. 'Death sees thee!' he said, and you will find that he will have nothing further to do with the boy. I know these Berg Damaras. They are a strange people, stranger even than my own race."

Poeskop was right. The man, though he knew himself to be the father of the boy, would have nothing further to say to him. Probably, as Poeskop explained, he was so poor and spiritless, so little desirous of undertaking the further maintenance of a child upon his drooping shoulders, that he was not sorry to throw the blame upon the shadow of ill omen, and wash his hands of his long-lost offspring.

"Never mind," said Tom; "I'll be a father to Peter. I bring him up, look after him, make a decent Kaffir of him, and he shall work for me at Bamborough when we get home again. I'm sure he'll make a smart lad and a good herd boy. He's got brains-look at his great bulging head; and there's a knowing look in his funny baboon face, which tells me he'll be all there when the time comes. Won't you, Peter?"

Peter looked up, grinned at his young master-he really began to smile now-and ejaculated a strange grunt which Tom quite comprehended.