The other boy who was cheered by news of an eastward trek was the half-Hottentot Dikkop, fathered nineteen years earlier by a Coloured hunter who had lain with one of Hendrik's servants. It was unfair to call him a boy, for he was seven years older than Adriaan, but he was so unusually small, even for a Hottentot, that he looked more like a lad than Adriaan did. He had a large bottom, a handsome light-brown skin and a shy nature that expressed itself principally in his love for the Van Doorn children, especially Adriaan, with whom he had long planned to set forth on a grand exploration. If the family now moved a far distance eastward, after the new hut was built and the climate acclimated, he and Adriaan would be free to go, and they would be heading into land that few had seen before. Nothing could have pleased Dikkop more than this possibility, and when the wagons were loaded he went to Hendrik : 'Baas, come new farm, Adriaan, me, we head out?'
'It's time,' the baas agreed, and that was all the promise Dikkop required. On the journey he would work as never before, proving to his master that the proposed exploration was justified.
Two wagons heavily loaded, a tent to be pitched at dusk, a white family of nine, two slaves, two large families of Hottentots, two thousand sheep, four hundred cattle and two span of oxen - sixteen in each - formed the complement of the Van Doorns as they headed into totally unfamiliar land. Johanna had a meager collection of kitchen utensils, five spoons, two knives but no forks. Hendrik had a Bible published in Amterdam in 1630, a few tools and a brown-gold crock in which on festive occasions he made bread pudding for his family. He also had a small assortment of seeds, which he was confident he could expand into a garden, and sixteen rooted cuttings of various fruit trees, which, with luck, would form the basis of an orchard. In the entourage he was the only one who could read, and he took delight in assembling all people connected with him for evening prayer, when he would spread the Bible on his knees and read from it in rich Dutch accents.
The trekboers traveled only modest distances on any day. The oxen were not eager to move and the herds had to be allowed time to graze.Hottentos had to scout ahead to locate watercourses, so that five miles became a satisfactory journey. Also, when a congenial spot was found, the caravan lingered three or four days, enjoying the fresh water and the good pasturage.
At the end of three weeks, when some sixty-five miles had been covered, Hendrik and Johanna stood together on a small rise to survey a broad expanse of pasture, where the grass was not excessive or the water plentiful, but where the
configuration of land and protective hills and veld looked promising.
'Was your father's farm like this?'
'Almost the same,'Johanna said.
'And he failed?'
'We almost died.'
'This time it's different,' Hendrik said, but he was reluctant to make the crucial determination without his wife's approval. At a score of intervals in their life together she had been so prescient in warning him of pitfalls that he relied on
her to spot weaknesses that he missed.
'Would you worry, Johanna, if we chose this spot?'
'Of course not! You have sons to help you. Trusted servants. I see no trouble.'
'God be praised!' he shouted with an exuberance that startled her. 'This is it!'And he started running towards the center of the plain he had selected, but Johanna cried, 'You won't have time before sunset! Wait till tomorrow!'
'No!'he shouted with an excitement that activated his children and the servants. 'This is ours! We mark it out tonight.' And he kept running to a central position, where he directed his Hottentots to collect rocks for a conspicuous pile. As soon as it was started, he cried to everyone, 'Where's north?' He knew, of course, but wished their confirmation for the sacred rite he was about to perform.
'That's north,' Dikkop said.
'Right.' And he handed Johanna a pistol. 'At half an hour, fire it. I want everyone here to witness that I wakled only half an hour.' And with that he strode off to the north, not taking exaggerated steps, and not running, but walking with grave intent. When he had covered about a mile and three-quarters, Johanna fired the pistol, whereupon he stopped, gathered many rocks and built a pile somewhat smaller than the one at the center. Then, shouting with joy, he sped back to the center, leaping and kicking like a boy.
'Where's south"' he yelled.
'Down there!' several voices cried, whereupon he said again to his wife, 'Give me half an hour,'and off he went, never running or cheating, for the testimony must be unanimous that he had defined his land honestly. When the pistol fired, he built a cairn and hastened back to the central pile.
'Where's west?' he shouted with wild animal spirits, and off he went again, taking normal strides but with abnormal vigor. Another shot, another cairn, another dash.
'Where's east?' he cried, and the men bellowed 'There's east!'But this time, as he headed for the vast unknown that had so lured his crippled grandfather, and had seduced him away from the pleasing security of Trianon, it seemed to him that he was participating in a kind of holy mission, and his eyes misted, His steps slowed and diminshed much in scope, so that his farm was going to be lopsided, but he could not help himself. He had walked and run nearly eleven miles at the close of a demanding day, and he was tired, but more than that, he was captivated by the mountains that ran parallel to his course, there to the north, hemming in the beautiful plains on which the great farms of the future would stand. And to the south he could feel the unseen ocean, reaching away to the icebound pole, and he had a sense of identification with this untrammeled land that none before him had ever felt.
'He's not walking,' Adriaan said at the center.
'He's slowing down,' Johanna said.
'Give him more time,' the boy pleaded.
'No. We must do it right.' But Adriaan grabbed his mother's hand, preventing her from firing, and of a sudden his father leaped in the air, throwing his arms wide and dashing ahead to recover lost time.
'Now!' Adriaan said, dropping his hand. The pistol fired, the eastern cairn was established, and Hendrik Van Doorn tramped slowly back to his family. The new loan-farm, six thousand acres of promising pasture, had been defined.
Pages 322 - 326, Chapter V, The Trekboers - The Covenant by James A. Michener
Please excuse me for formatting errors, the "Tab" key seems dysfunctional on blogger.com
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Defining a 6000 acre farm in the heart of South Africa
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
About Me
- Anand Vishwanadha
- Hello and welcome! I am someone who is passionate about poetry and motorcycling and I read and write a lot (writing, for me has been a calling, a release and a career). My debut collection of English poems, "Moving On" was published by Coucal Books in December 2009. It can be ordered here My second poetry collection, Ink Dries can be ordered here Leave a comment or do write to me at ahighwayman(at)gmail(dot)com.
Take A Look See
-
-
-
Meet Annie the author8 years ago
-
Poems online3 years ago
-
-
Alice Munro: Marathons in Sprint7 months ago
-
-
-
An Analysis of Trump7 years ago
-
-
-
Portrait of a servant leader4 years ago
-
-
-
-
-
Indian in Space: A phony Socialist trick12 years ago
-
Recipe – Easy Apple Halwa4 years ago
Blog Archive
-
▼
2009
(44)
-
▼
October
(22)
- Silent heights
- Uncamouflaged
- The Highwayman
- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
- A River
- Auguries of Innocence
- BREAK, break, break
- Tomorrow
- Gabriel García Márquez on writing
- Spaces
- This Be The Verse
- See Paris for me
- Dylan Thomas
- Do not go gentle into that good night
- For Satish Gujral
- Defining a 6000 acre farm in the heart of South Af...
- Liquid truths
- A star shaped Diya
- "Aren't grasses green?"
- Deepavali Memories
- Deadline Drass
- The Motorcyclist
-
▼
October
(22)
Labels
- ( हिंदी )
- 600mm
- Aandhi
- Abids
- About Moving On
- After
- Ageing
- Aghora
- Akhir Kyon
- Akshara
- Anand
- Andhra Pradesh
- Anjum Hasan
- Arun Kolatkar
- Asia Writes
- Asiatic Lion
- Auctus 283 AT
- AURED
- Availability of Moving On
- AYJNIHH
- Bangalore
- Bangalore Mirror
- Beaches
- Bharatpur
- Bhubaneshwar
- Birding
- Birds
- Birds and Words
- Book Launch
- Book Releases
- Books
- Bookstores
- Borderline Drive
- Bozo
- Broken Bones
- Buffalo Wallow
- Bullet
- Buses
- Butterflies
- Bypass
- Cancelations
- Chandigarh
- Chandra
- Chattisgarh
- Children
- children's poetry
- Citrine Wagtail
- City
- Clearing House
- Confessions
- Conservation
- Coucal
- Cricinfo
- Cricket
- Cycling
- Dad
- Dalit Poetry
- Danse Macabre
- Dead Poets
- Delhi
- Diana Athill
- Doggerel?
- Dogs
- Durga
- Easy Rider
- Editing
- Environment
- Evening Hour
- Events
- Exhibitions
- Fall
- Fernando Pessoa
- Films
- Fish
- Flipkart
- Food
- Fulcrum
- George Szirtes
- Goethe-Zentrum
- Goldfish
- Gond
- Gravitas
- Gulzaar
- Haisiyat
- Hard of Hearing
- HCU
- Healing
- Health
- Hindi
- Hindi Lyrics
- Hinduism
- Hospitals
- Hyderabad
- Hyderabad Literary Festival 2010
- Imagist
- India
- Indian Poetry
- Ink Dries
- Jack Gilbert
- Jagjit Singh
- Jayanta Mahapatra
- John Muir
- Journalism
- Just look up
- Kahin door jab din dhal jaaye
- Koshish
- Lamakaan
- Launchitis
- Leonard Cohen
- Light
- Literature
- Little Man
- Logophile
- Lord Ganesha
- Maoists
- Marriages
- Me
- Memories
- Miscellaneous
- Monsoons
- Mornings
- Mother Cult
- Motorcycling
- Moving On
- Moving On Reviews
- Mukesh
- Mumbai
- Muse India
- Musings
- My Books
- My Butterflies
- My favorite poetry
- My Hindi Poetry
- My Poetry
- Naipaul
- National Literary Awards
- Nature
- Naxalism
- New Year
- News
- Nikon 600mm
- Nominations
- Nostalgia
- Old Hindi Lyrics
- Om Namah Shivaya
- Orissa
- OUCIP
- Panorama
- Parenting
- Personal
- Philip Nikolayev
- Photography
- Plastic
- Poetry
- Poetry Awards
- Poetry Contests
- Poetry Readings
- Pollution
- Prakriti Foundation
- Pratilipi
- Pratilipi Books
- Pre-order
- Progress
- Rains
- Random
- Rider Mania
- Riding
- RIP
- Room
- Rourkela
- Rural India Inequities Development
- Saaz Aggarwal
- Sadhana Ramchander
- Sahitya Akademi
- Saptaparni
- Screenings
- Seamus Heaney
- Selected Readings
- Self-reflexive
- September
- SH--1
- Signed Copies
- Smita Patil
- smoke
- Snatches of my favorite prose
- Song of Myself
- Songs
- Songs / Lyrics
- Squirrels
- Stray Birds
- Syria
- T.S Eliot
- Teachers
- Teachers Day
- Technology
- Temples
- Thalam
- The Hindu
- The Road
- The Self
- The Spice Box of Earth
- This and that
- Tiger
- Time
- Traditions and Cultures
- Trains
- Travel
- Trees
- Tripod Troubles
- Tripping
- Trivia
- Trying
- Unheard
- Uttarkhand
- Van Gogh
- Views
- Vizag
- Waiting
- Walt Whitman
- Weather
- When poets speak
- Wildlife
- Wilds
- Winter
- World Cup
- Writing
- Yesudas
- ॐ नमः शिवाय
No comments:
Post a Comment