The Story of an African Farm

  Chapter 1.IV. Blessed is He That Believeth.

  Bonaparte Blenkins sat on the side of the bed. He had wonderfullyrevived since the day before, held his head high, talked in a fullsonorous voice, and ate greedily of all the viands offered him. At hisside was a basin of soup, from which he took a deep draught now andagain as he watched the fingers of the German, who sat on the mud floormending the bottom of a chair.

  Presently he looked out, where, in the afternoon sunshine, a fewhalf-grown ostriches might be seen wandering listlessly about, and thenhe looked in again at the little whitewashed room, and at Lyndall, whosat in the doorway looking at a book. Then he raised his chin and triedto adjust an imaginary shirt-collar. Finding none, he smoothed thelittle grey fringe at the back of his head, and began:

  "You are a student of history, I perceive, my friend, from the studyof these volumes that lie scattered about this apartment; this fact hasbeen made evident to me."

  "Well--a little--perhaps--it may be," said the German meekly.

  "Being a student of history then," said Bonaparte, raising himselfloftily, "you will doubtless have heard of my great, of my celebratedkinsman, Napoleon Bonaparte?"

  "Yes, yes," said the German, looking up.

  "I, sir," said Bonaparte, "was born at this hour, on an April afternoon,three-and-fifty years ago. The nurse, sir--she was the same who attendedwhen the Duke of Sutherland was born--brought me to my mother. 'There isonly one name for this child,' she said: 'he has the nose of his greatkinsman;' and so Bonaparte Blenkins became my name--Bonaparte Blenkins.Yes, sir," said Bonaparte, "there is a stream on my maternal side thatconnects me with a stream on his maternal side."

  The German made a sound of astonishment.

  "The connection," said Bonaparte, "is one which could not be easilycomprehended by one unaccustomed to the study of aristocratic pedigrees;but the connection is close."

  "Is it possible!" said the German, pausing in his work with muchinterest and astonishment. "Napoleon an Irishman!"

  "Yes," said Bonaparte, "on the mother's side, and that is how we arerelated. There wasn't a man to beat him," said Bonaparte, stretchinghimself--"not a man except the Duke of Wellington. And it's a strangecoincidence," added Bonaparte, bending forward, "but he was a connectionof mine. His nephew, the Duke of Wellington's nephew, married a cousinof mine. She was a woman! See her at one of the court balls--ambersatin--daisies in her hair. Worth going a hundred miles to look at her!Often seen her there myself, sir!"

  The German moved the leather thongs in and out, and thought of thestrange vicissitudes of human life, which might bring the kinsman ofdukes and emperors to his humble room.

  Bonaparte appeared lost among old memories.

  "Ah, that Duke of Wellington's nephew!" he broke forth suddenly; "many'sthe joke I've had with him. Often came to visit me at Bonaparte Hall.Grand place I had then--park, conservatory, servants. He had only onefault, that Duke of Wellington's nephew," said Bonaparte, observing thatthe German was deeply interested in every word, "He was a coward--whatyou might call a coward. You've never been in Russia, I suppose?" saidBonaparte, fixing his crosswise looking eyes on the German's face.

  "No, no," said the old man humbly. "France, England, Germany, a littlein this country; it is all I have travelled."

  "I, my friend," said Bonaparte, "I have been in every country in theworld, and speak every civilised language, excepting only Dutch andGerman. I wrote a book of my travels--noteworthy incidents. Publishergot it--cheated me out of it. Great rascals those publishers! Uponone occasion the Duke of Wellington's nephew and I were travellingin Russia. All of a sudden one of the horses dropped down dead asa doornail. There we were--cold night--snow four feet thick--greatforest--one horse not being able to move the sledge--night comingon--wolves.

  "'Spree!' says the Duke of Wellington's nephew.

  "'Spree, do you call it? says I. 'Look out.'

  "There, sticking out under a bush, was nothing less than the nose of abear. The Duke of Wellington's nephew was up a tree like a shot; I stoodquietly on the ground, as cool as I am at this moment, loaded my gun,and climbed up the tree. There was only one bough.

  "'Bon,' said the Duke of Wellington's nephew, 'you'd better sit infront.'

  "'All right,' said I; 'but keep your gun ready. There are more coming.'He'd got his face buried in my back.

  "'How many are there?' said he.

  "'Four,' said I.

  "'How many are there now?' said he.

  "'Eight,' said I.

  "'How many are there now?' said he.

  "'Ten,' said I.

  "'Ten! ten!' said he; and down goes his gun.

  "'Wallie,' I said, 'what have you done? We're dead men now.'

  "'Bon, my old fellow,' said he, 'I couldn't help it; my hands trembledso!'

  "'Wall,' I said, turning round and seizing his hand, 'Wallie, my dearlad, good-bye. I'm not afraid to die. My legs are long--they hangdown--the first bear that comes and I don't hit him, off goes my foot.When he takes it I shall give you my gun and go. You may yet be saved;but tell, oh, tell Mary Ann that I thought of her, that I prayed forher.'

  "'Good-bye, old fellow,' said he.

  "'God bless you,' said I.

  "By this time the bears were sitting in a circle all around the tree.Yes," said Bonaparte impressively, fixing his eyes on the German, "aregular, exact, circle. The marks of their tails were left in the snow,and I measured it afterward; a drawing-master couldn't have done itbetter. It was that saved me. If they'd rushed on me at once, poor oldBon would never have been here to tell this story. But they came on,sir, systematically, one by one. All the rest sat on their tails andwaited. The first fellow came up, and I shot him; the second fellow--Ishot him; the third--I shot him. At last the tenth came; he was thebiggest of all--the leader, you may say.

  "'Wall,' I said, 'give me your hand. My fingers are stiff with the cold;there is only one bullet left. I shall miss him. While he is eating meyou get down and take your gun; and live, dear friend, live to rememberthe man who gave his life for you!' By that time the bear was at me. Ifelt his paw on my trousers.

  "'Oh, Bonnie! Bonnie!' said the Duke of Wellington's nephew. But I justtook my gun and put the muzzle to the bear's ear--over he fell--dead!"

  Bonaparte Blenkins waited to observe what effect his story had made.Then he took out a dirty white handkerchief and stroked his forehead,and more especially his eyes.

  "It always affects me to relate that adventure," he remarked, returningthe handkerchief to his pocket. "Ingratitude--base, vile ingratitude--isrecalled by it! That man, that man, who but for me would have perishedin the pathless wilds of Russia, that man in the hour of my adversityforsook me." The German looked up. "Yes," said Bonaparte, "I had money,I had lands; I said to my wife: 'There is Africa, a struggling country;they want capital; they want men of talent; they want men of ability toopen up that land. Let us go.'

  "I bought eight thousand pounds' worth of machinery--winnowing, plowing,reaping machines; I loaded a ship with them. Next steamer I cameout--wife, children, all. Got to the Cape. Where is the ship withthe things? Lost--gone to the bottom! And the box with the money?Lost--nothing saved!

  "My wife wrote to the Duke of Wellington's nephew; I didn't wish her to;she did it without my knowledge.

  "What did the man whose life I saved do? Did he send me thirty thousandpounds? say, 'Bonaparte, my brother, here is a crumb?' No; he sent menothing.

  "My wife said, 'Write.' I said, 'Mary Ann, NO. While these hands havepower to work, NO. While this frame has power to endure, NO. Never shallit be said that Bonaparte Blenkins asked of any man.'"

  The man's noble independence touched the German.

  "Your case is hard; yes, that is hard," said the German, shaking hishead.

  Bonaparte took another draught of the soup, leaned back against thepillows, and sighed deeply.

  "I think," he said after a while, rousing himself, "I shall now wanderin the benign air, and taste the gentle cool of evening. The sti
ffnesshovers over me yet; exercise is beneficial."

  So saying, he adjusted his hat carefully on the bald crown of his head,and moved to the door. After he had gone the German sighed again overhis work:

  "Ah, Lord! So it is! Ah!"

  He thought of the ingratitude of the world.

  "Uncle Otto," said the child in the doorway, "did you ever hear of tenbears sitting on their tails in a circle?"

  "Well, not of ten exactly: but bears do attack travellers every day. Itis nothing unheard of," said the German. "A man of such courage, too!Terrible experience that!"

  "And how do we know that the story is true, Uncle Otto?"

  The German's ire was roused.

  "That is what I do hate!" he cried. "Know that is true! How do you knowthat anything is true? Because you are told so. If we begin to questioneverything--proof, proof, proof, what will we have to believe left?How do you know the angel opened the prison door for Peter, except thatPeter said so? How do you know that God talked to Moses, except thatMoses wrote it? That is what I hate!"

  The girl knit her brows. Perhaps her thoughts made a longer journey thanthe German dreamed of; for, mark you, the old dream little how theirwords and lives are texts and studies to the generation that shallsucceed them. Not what we are taught, but what we see, makes us, and thechild gathers the food on which the adult feeds to the end.

  When the German looked up next there was a look of supreme satisfactionin the little mouth and the beautiful eyes.

  "What dost see, chicken?" he asked.

  The child said nothing, and an agonizing shriek was borne on theafternoon breeze.

  "Oh, God! my God! I am killed!" cried the voice of Bonaparte, as he,with wide open mouth and shaking flesh, fell into the room, followed bya half-grown ostrich, who put its head in at the door, opened its beakat him, and went away.

  "Shut the door! shut the door! As you value my life, shut the door!"cried Bonaparte, sinking into a chair, his face blue and white, witha greenishness about the mouth. "Ah, my friend," he said tremulously,"eternity has looked me in the face! My life's thread hung upon a cord!The valley of the shadow of death!" said Bonaparte, seizing the German'sarm.

  "Dear, dear, dear!" said the German, who had closed the lower half ofthe door, and stood much concerned beside the stranger, "you have had afright. I never knew so young a bird to chase before; but they will takedislikes to certain people. I sent a boy away once because a bird wouldchase him. Ah, dear, dear!"

  "When I looked round," said Bonaparte, "the red and yawning cavity wasabove me, and the reprehensible paw raised to strike me. My nerves,"said Bonaparte, suddenly growing faint, "always delicate--highlystrung--are broken--broken! You could not give a little wine, a littlebrandy my friend?"

  The old German hurried away to the bookshelf, and took from behindthe books a small bottle, half of whose contents he poured into a cup.Bonaparte drained it eagerly.

  "How do you feel now?" asked the German, looking at him with muchsympathy.

  "A little, slightly, better."

  The German went out to pick up the battered chimneypot which had fallenbefore the door.

  "I am sorry you got the fright. The birds are bad things till you knowthem," he said sympathetically, as he put the hat down.

  "My friend," said Bonaparte, holding out his hand, "I forgive you; donot be disturbed. Whatever the consequences, I forgive you. I know, Ibelieve, it was with no ill-intent that you allowed me to go out. Giveme your hand. I have no ill-feeling; none!"

  "You are very kind," said the German, taking the extended hand, andfeeling suddenly convinced that he was receiving magnanimous forgivenessfor some great injury, "you are very kind."

  "Don't mention it," said Bonaparte.

  He knocked out the crown of his caved-in old hat, placed it on the tablebefore him, leaned his elbows on the table and his face in his hands,and contemplated it.

  "Ah, my old friend," he thus apostrophized the hat, "you have served melong, you have served me faithfully, but the last day has come. Nevermore shall you be borne upon the head of your master. Never more shallyou protect his brow from the burning rays of summer or the cuttingwinds of winter. Henceforth bare-headed must your master go. Good-bye,good-bye, old hat!"

  At the end of this affecting appeal the German rose. He went to thebox at the foot of his bed; out of it he took a black hat, which hadevidently been seldom worn and carefully preserved.

  "It's not exactly what you may have been accustomed to," he saidnervously, putting it down beside the battered chimneypot, "but it mightbe of some use--a protection to the head, you know."

  "My friend," said Bonaparte, "you are not following my advice; you areallowing yourself to be reproached on my account. Do not make yourselfunhappy. No; I shall go bare-headed."

  "No, no, no!" cried the German energetically. "I have no use for thehat, none at all. It is shut up in the box."

  "Then I will take it, my friend. It is a comfort to one's own mind whenyou have unintentionally injured any one to make reparation. I know thefeeling. The hat may not be of that refined cut of which the old onewas, but it will serve, yes, it will serve. Thank you," said Bonaparte,adjusting it on his head, and then replacing it on the table. "I shalllie down now and take a little repose," he added; "I much fear myappetite for supper will be lost."

  "I hope not, I hope not," said the German, reseating himself at hiswork, and looking much concerned as Bonaparte stretched himself on thebed and turned the end of the patchwork quilt over his feet.

  "You must not think to make your departure, not for many days," said theGerman presently. "Tant Sannie gives her consent, and--"

  "My friend," said Bonaparte, closing his eyes sadly, "you are kind; butwere it not that tomorrow is the Sabbath, weak and trembling as I liehere, I would proceed on my way. I must seek work; idleness but for aday is painful. Work, labour--that is the secret of all true happiness!"

  He doubled the pillar under his head, and watched how the German drewthe leather thongs in and out.

  After a while Lyndall silently put her book on the shelf and wenthome, and the German stood up and began to mix some water and meal forroaster-cakes. As he stirred them with his hands he said:

  "I make always a double supply on Saturday night; the hands are thenfree as the thoughts for Sunday."

  "The blessed Sabbath!" said Bonaparte.

  There was a pause. Bonaparte twisted his eyes without moving his head,to see if supper were already on the fire.

  "You must sorely miss the administration of the Lord's word in thisdesolate spot," added Bonaparte. "Oh, how love I Thine house, and theplace where Thine honour dwelleth!"

  "Well, we do; yes," said the German; "but we do our best. We meettogether, and I--well, I say a few words, and perhaps they are notwholly lost, not quite."

  "Strange coincidence," said Bonaparte; "my plan always was the same.Was in the Free State once--solitary farm--one neighbour. Every SundayI called together friend and neighbour, child and servant, and said,'Rejoice with me, that we may serve the Lord,' and then I addressedthem. Ah, those were blessed times," said Bonaparte; "would they mightreturn."

  The German stirred at the cakes, and stirred, and stirred, and stirred.He could give the stranger his bed, and he could give the stranger hishat, and he could give the stranger his brandy; but his Sunday service!

  After a good while he said:

  "I might speak to Tant Sannie; I might arrange; you might take theservice in my place, if it--"

  "My friend," said Bonaparte, "it would give me the profoundest felicity,the most unbounded satisfaction; but in these worn-out habiliments, inthese deteriorated garments, it would not be possible, it would not befitting that I should officiate in service of One whom, for respect, weshall not name. No, my friend, I will remain here; and, while you areassembling yourselves together in the presence of the Lord, I, in mysolitude, will think of and pray for you. No; I will remain here!"

  It was a touching picture--the solitary man there praying for t
hem. TheGerman cleared his hands from the meal, and went to the chest from whichhe had taken the black hat. After a little careful feeling about, heproduced a black cloth coat, trousers, and waistcoat, which he laid onthe table, smiling knowingly. They were of new shining cloth, worn twicea year, when he went to the town to nachtmaal. He looked with greatpride at the coat as he unfolded it and held it up.

  "It's not the latest fashion, perhaps, not a West End cut, not exactly;but it might do; it might serve at a push. Try it on, try it on!" hesaid, his old grey eyes twinkling with pride.

  Bonaparte stood up and tried on the coat. It fitted admirably; thewaistcoat could be made to button by ripping up the back, and thetrousers were perfect; but below were the ragged boots. The German wasnot disconcerted. Going to the beam where a pair of top-boots hung,he took them off, dusted them carefully, and put them down beforeBonaparte. The old eyes now fairly brimmed over with sparklingenjoyment.

  "I have only worn them once. They might serve; they might be endured."

  Bonaparte drew them on and stood upright, his head almost touchingthe beams. The German looked at him with profound admiration. It waswonderful what a difference feathers made in the bird.