Swallow: A Tale of the Great TrekHaggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
History
Swallow: A Tale of the Great Trek
Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Historical fiction; South Africa -- History -- Great Trek, 1836-1840 -- Fiction; Transvaal (South Africa) -- Fiction
Our first outspan was at the spot where Van Vooren had tried to murder
Ralph and carried off Suzanne upon her wedding-day. We did not stop
there long, for the place was bad for Ralph, who sat upon the box of
the waggon staring moodily at some blackened stones, which, as one of
the drivers told me—the same man who accompanied them upon their
wedding journey—had been brought from the kloof and used by Suzanne to
set the kettle on when they took their meal together. Led by this same
driver I walked to the edge of the cliff—for I had never visited the
place before—and looked at the deep sea-pool, forty feet below me, into
which Swart Piet had thrown Ralph after he had shot him. Also I went
down to the edge of the pool and climbed up again by the path along
which Zinti and Sihamba had staggered with his senseless body.
Afterwards I returned to the waggons with a heart full of thankfulness
and wonder that he should still be alive among us to-day, although
alas, there was much for which I could not feel thankful, at least not
then.
Now it is of little use that I should set down the history of this trek
of ours day by day, for if I did my story would have no end. It is
enough to tell that in company with other emigrants we crossed the
Orange River, heading for Thaba Nchu, which had been the chief town of
Maroko before Moselikatse drove him out of the Marico country. Here
several bands of emigrants were to meet, and here they did meet, but
not until a year or more had passed since we left the colony and
wandered out into the veldt.
Ah! I tell you, my child, the veldt in those days was different indeed
from what it is now. The land itself remains the same except where
white men have built towns upon it, but all else is changed. Then it
was black with game when the grass was green; yes, at times I have seen
it so black for miles that we could scarcely see the grass. There were
all sorts of them, springbucks in myriads, blesbok and quagga and
wildebeeste in thousands, sable antelope, sassaby and hartebeeste in
herds, eland, giraffe and koodoo in troops; while the forests were full
of elephant and the streams of sea-cow. They are all gone now, the
beautiful wild creatures; the guns of the white men have killed them
out or driven them away, and I suppose that it is as well that they are
gone, for while the game is in such plenty the men will not work. Still
I for one am sorry to lose the sight of them, and had it not been for
their numbers we Boers should never have lasted through that long trek,
for often and often we lived upon buck’s flesh and little else for
weeks together.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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