Mixed Humanity. A story of camp life in South Africa ... Illustrated by Irving Montagu

Front matter

Cheeky said nothing when Senior concluded. She stared vacantly at the ceiling of the bar-room She was thinking of the poor pretty girl, a lady, too. getting so soon spoilt by her own vocation. —Page 9u MIXED HUMANITY. JL, §tord OF CAMP LIFE IN SOUTH AFRICA. BY J. R. COUPER. EllustraUo 6g 3Irbtnrj -jlHontagu. LONDON : W. H. ALLEN & CO., Ltd., 13 WATERLOO PLACE SOUTH AFRICA : J. C. JUTA & CO., CAPE COLONY'. IMPEY, WALTON, & CO., EASTERN PROVINCE. P. DAVIS & SONS, NATAL. A

Preface

is always dull, ancl, personally, I seldom read one. As this is meant to be read, I will make it short. It has been suggested by certain friendly advisers that in the character of Jack Senior I have attempted to portray myself ; and obviously one phase of his career has its origin in my own. I would only say that he is not intended for a likeness. That my book has numerous faults nobody can be more keenly aware than I. I have, however, avoided the egregious blunder of posing as my own hero. Some of his adventures have been born in my own experiences ; some of his exploits are coloured from events that I have known. But there the resemblance ceases. And with these few words of explanation I leave Jack Senior to the mercy of a Public that has shown such consistent kindness to myself. J. R. COUPER.

Chapter I

In the back bar, or canteen, as it was generally called, of the St. George's Hotel, Cape Town, were five young Englishmen. Three sat at a marble-topped table on which were glasses partially filled with whisky-and-soda ; the two others leant over the bar, talking to a stout Dutch looking barmaid, dressed in a red ill-fitting gown, whose frizzy crop of curls hung over her comely fat face almost to the eyes. It would have been hard for a new arrival from England to have determined the occupation of these young men, or to what class they belonged. The speech, dress, and general style of at least four of them bespoke a curious mixture of the dandy, the colonist, and the military man. A Cape Town resident, however, would have had no difficulty in placing them. It was just after the close of the Basuto War, and these young fellows belonged to a well known set designated " War Loafers," a name given to the many young English adventurers and ne'er-do-weels, ex-army officers, ex-Cape Mounted Riflemen and others, whose only profession was following the fortunes of the battlefield, and who were almost wholly dependent on the numerous and oft-recurring petty wars with the various belligerent Kaffir tribes, entered into by both Imperial and Colonial Governments. ' It was puzzling to know what became of them all during the intervals of peace, as, being most improvident, they managed to save little or nothing whilst on the field.

But, whenever war was declared, whether against Pondos, Zulus, Basutos, or any other tribe, there was no lack of men to officer the different irregular corps raised for the occasion. Though often B wanting in knowledge of the orthodox military manœuvres, they as a rule had some experience of guerilla warfare, and were far from being deficient in self-assurance. Two of the three at the table, Captain Le Brun, late Commandant of the " Cape Pigeons," and Captain Sea right, late " Willoughby' s Horse," were discussing some incidents of the recent campaign, and censuring the dis graceful cessation of hostilities, which, for the time, had deprived them of the means of gaining an honourable livelihood.'and occasioned a loss of prestige to the vacil lating Cape Government. Le Brun was a big stout man about thirty years of age.

He had a weak, good-natured face. One of his eyes had a terrible 'squint, while an eye-glass was chronically applied to the other. His hat was remarkably small, his head as remarkably large. He wore knickerbockers, which allowed him to show off a pair of exceedingly stout but ill-shaped calves. Captain Le Brun had served in the Imperial Army — a fact of which he was justly proud — for about seven months. Debt had cut short his career in that service. Without private means, and not having sufficient moral courage to resist joining in the extrava gances.of his richer brother-officers, he had soon come to grief. Captain Searight was a tall young fellow, twenty-five years of age, of fair complexion, and the proud possessor of a fine blonde moustache which absorbed much of his attention. Though handsome, the expression of his face denoted unreliability.

He was the son of an Irish Bishop, and spoke with a peculiar mixture of the brogue and the English dandy's Haw-haw, a disagreeable combination. His military experience had been, before he obtained his late commission, a five years' service as trooper in the Cape Mounted Rifles. This Hibernian was egotistic, invariably bringing the conversation round to himself. He kept continually asking the other if he remembered this engagement and that engagement during the Basuto War, never failing to make out that on each of these occasions he had done someheroic action ; how.forinstance, at the taking of some kopje, when the fire was at its hottest, and the men under his charge had begun to falter, he had rushed to their front and by shouting words of encouragement prevented disaster. At the next table sat a group of Colonial lads, for whose sole benefit Searight appeared to be talking, frequently glancing over Le Brun's shoulder in their direction to note the effects of his Munchausen-Iike tales upon them.

" Oh, you can talk as you like," said Searight in answer to some remark from Le Brun. "You can talk as you like, but we don't want any of your Imperial men here to boss the show in a Kaffir war ; too much red-tape altogether. All right in a drawing-room or a barrack-room, but no good for the veldt in this' country ; that is my opinion. What did General Clarke do ? He was supposed, too, to be a swagger Imperial man, wasn't he ? He was not worth a little hang." Le Brun, who always spoke in the mildest of voices, just above a whisper, felt it was incumbent upon him to resent this reflection on Imperial officers. "My deah fellah," he returned, with an emphasis on the "deah," "you are quite mistaken ; I assure you, you take a wrong view of the matter ; Clarke was not to blame at all, but the Cape Government.

If they did not choose to supply him with sufficient men you can't blame him for not being such a fool as to risk his name by moving any further into Basutoland when he was not nearly strong enough. You talk about your Colonial men ! Why I don't believe you can pick one out of the lot who can put a squad through the manual exercise." " Is there not ? " the Irishman warmly exclaimed, feeling the other was getting personal. "And that is about all your Imperial men can do. As I said before, barrack-rooms and drawing-rooms are about their mark. Look at the Transvaal War ; why a few untrained Boers knocked fits out of your red -coated, red-taped warriors ! " " By gad, sir ! " broke in Le Brun, as his face flushed, " they were brutally murdered, massacred by a cowardly lot of Dutchmen, who shot them down from behind rocks, and then cleared, afraid to come any time into the open.

If it had not been for that ass Gladstone, Wood would have taught them a fine lesson, believe me." This allusion to the Prime Minister was like throwing oil upon troubled waters-; it put a stop to the hot argument, which was quickly descending to personali ties. " Yes," Searight returned. " I must own that Gladstone is a confounded old woman. Things would have gone differently had Beaconsfield been in power, no doubt." Then all sight was lost of the original discussion, " Imperial Officers versus Colonial," and the two " war loafers " denounced in no measured language Mr. Gladstone and the Colonial Government, and then Africanders and South Africa generally. Any stranger overhearing them would have been mystified why they had ever set foot in the country, and, having made that mistake, why they did not at once take the first mail steamer home.

The young Englishman sitting near them, but taking no part in the conversation, though scarcely of age, was of athletic build, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, and above the medium height. His face had no pretension to good looks ; it was pleasant, frank, and honest. The jaws were broad and strong, the neck short and powerful, whilst thin lips evinced a nervous determination. His wavy hair was a lightish brown, and a faint moustache was commencing to bud ; his eyes were blue, bright, and soft, even timorous looking, producing in the face a look of meekness which seemed in direct contradiction to the impression of strength imparted by the mouth and physique. He was dressed in that free and easy style one associates with the well-bred Englishman who spends most of his time in the country; a wide-awake, called in South Africa a " smasher" ; a flannel shirt, sailor-knot tie, Norfolk jacket, and knicker bockers.

His legs were very shapely, of which fact he seemed cognisant, as every now and again he stretched them out and scanned them approvingly. This was Jack Senior, who, notwithstanding his youth, was a colonist of some experience, having already tried farming in Australia, where, through bad luck and bad management, he had lost in less than a year the little money inherited upon the death of his father. The latter, the younger son of an English squire, had been what is known as a "gentleman farmer" in the county of Kent. Senior, who had been an officer in militia at home, on arriving in Africa had eagerly sought service when he heard of the Basuto War breaking out, and succeeded in obtaining a commission in the " Cape Pigeons." He had now listened meditatively to his brother-officers' conversation, wondering how Searight could have the effrontery to tell such falsehoods ; how for the sake of the temporary effect produced on the youngsters sitting at the next table he could expose himself — well knowing it, too — to his comrades as a palpable liar.

Everyone who had been at the front knew that Searight had shown the white feather repeatedly. What kind of a mind could such a fellow have ? He pitied poor Le Brun, who had been fathering Searight's tales in a shamefaced way, nodding his head guiltily when appealed to to corroborate the incidents born of the Irishman's imagination. Then Senior began to think of his own affairs. He was puzzled to know what to do. He had proved himself well adapted for soldiering, but there was an end to that. No use going home to England to loaf on his friends, for sooner or later he would have to make a start for some other country. He was totally unfit for any kind of office work. A good all-round athlete, he was physically strong, and not afraid to put his hands to any kind of manual work ; but, alas ! in South Africa all the labour was done by Malays, Kaffirs, Hottentots, and Bastards.* True, the Cape Government was about to raise a new regular corps, the Cape Infantry, and his four friends, at present in the bar, had come expressly to apply for commissions in this corps, but there were already six hundred applications for about twenty vacancies, and these applications included many from old campaigners and ex-Imperial officers.

He himself would not have the slightest chance, and at this moment he felt particularly young, miserable, and use less. Although impressed by the amount of confidence and self-assurance possessed by his war-loafing friends, and unconsciously looking upon them as superior beings to himself, his mind was of an observant and analysing nature, and he knew well that in general ability he was a long way ahead of them. " Yes," he said to himself, " it is their unbounded cheek that carries them through. They will be sure to drop on their legs somehow. It does not trouble them whether they get into debt or not. Doing a tailor down, leaving a poor washerwoman unpaid, and sticking up big hotel bills is only good fun to them." One of the two who had been talking to the barmaid now turned round and invited them all to have a drink, pre- *A name given to the half-breeds in South Africa. facing his invitation by asking them if they knew "what the Governor of North Carolina said to the Governor of South Carolina."

" Yes," Searight answered, " 'It is a long time between drinks.' " " Yes, it is ! " returned the other. " You must be thirsty with all your jawing. What are you going to have ? The same again ? All right. Maria, my dear, five whiskies and three sodas divided. Usher's Special, remember." The girl in obedience to the request turned for the whisky, and in doing so took the opportunity of looking at her reflection critically in the large mirror fixed in the centre, between the rows of bottles on the shelves, and of placing her hands gently on her curls to assure herself that they were properly adjusted. Searight chaffed her about her conceit, as he termed it, and paid her at the same time some effusive compliments as to her personal appearance. He seemed to have a goodly share of the Irishman's blarney.

The girl tossed her head and was evidently pleased. The five young Englishmen drank to one another's good health, using the following phrases, " Here's luck," " Here's ten thousand a year and a deer park," "Well, here's all the skin off your nose." The two who had been talking to the barmaid were re spectively named Richard Mailer and Frederick Clifford Dorsby. The former was rather a good-looking young fellow. He had developed through hard drinking a sort of good-natured, muddled expression of face, resembling somewhat that of a Newfoundland pup. Mailer, through the influence of his father, Colonel Mailer, of the York shire Hussars, had served as an attach6 to one of the Imperial regiments in the Zulu War, after] which he had returned to England. He had again come out on the outbreak of the Transvaal War, but, failing to secure service in any of the troops engaged in that campaign, had accepted a captaincy from Le Brun in the " Cape Pigeons."

He was drunken and idiotic, and as a soldier perfectly useless. Dorsby, a stout, stupid fellow, had served in many campaigns in South Africa. He claimed to have just come into a baronetcy, which, however, he said, unfortunately had but little money attached. His war-loafing comrades, although more than doubtful as to his veracity concerning the baronetcy, now always introduced him as " Sir Fre derick." They felt that it added to their own social position to have a baronet in their midst. Curiously enough, all excepting Senior wore bangles on their wrists. The idea intended to be conveyed was that those ornaments were souvenirs given* by fair damsels on the eve of the warriors' departure for the battlefield. Sea right, a great boaster of conquests among the fair sex of all grades and classes, wore a lady's garter — a metal one.

Le Brun was the first to break the silence, after they had taken a sip of their liquor, by remarking in his mild voice that he wished they would hurry up with the Cape Infantry, for he would soon be running short. " I suppose," he went on, " it will be three or four months before a fellow will be gazetted. What can a fellow do in the mean time?" "Oh," replied Searight, "I have a good mind to chuck up all thoughts of going into the service again. I have a good mind to go in for a canteen — pay splendidly, by Jove ! Nigger canteen ? — why, make a fortune in no time ! It is about the only thing a gentleman can do in this beastly God-forsaken country." " Yes, that is right enough," chimed in Dorsby, in a deep voice ; " but, my dear chappie, you want some money to start with. Where is that to come from ?

" Mailer, who had excelled in his school-days on the horizontal bar, but could not now pull himself up once to his chin, said, " I have a jolly good mind to start a gymnasium." " But that also requires money," Senior broke in, who now was taking a very lively interest in the conversation. " You remember Jack Wellesly, don't you,. Mailer ? " asked Searight. " He was at the taking of Morosi's Moun tain, you know." " Yes, I remember him well," replied Mailer. " Decent chap, Jack — what of him ? " " Did you ever hear what he tried when he was hard up in Durban one time ? He was dead stony broke and his credit clean played out ; he did not know what to do. Well, Jack, you know, used to fancy himself with the-foils and the gloves, and he struck the idea of giving lessons. He hired a good-sized room, and had put over his door a signboard, ' Lessons in Fencing and Boxing, by Captain Wellesly.' By gad, he got no end of pupils — did first-rate.

Well, one day a navvy — some contractor-Johnnie — comes along and knocks at the door. Jack opens it. " ' Hi, be you the man as boxes ? ' he asks. "'I am the individual who teaches the art of boxing; my terms are so and so,' says Jack. " ' Well,' says the navvy, ' I be's a-going oop country to morrow morning. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you ten bob for a spar ; I'm fond of the sport, loikes.' " Several of Jack's pupils were there, and they begged of him for the sport of the thing to put on the gloves with the fellow and knock him about a bit. So Jack agrees to it for the sake of the fun. They put on the gloves and started to box. The navvy-Johnnie goes for old Jack. Bing, bang, plunk, and in about two minutes, after hitting him all over the place, knocks him down, and Jack was so used up he couldn't go on again.

"'You be a foine fella to teach men how to foight,' says the navvy, 'when 'e can't foight a bit yerself! ' and he walks out of the place in great disgust. Man, Jack got so quizzed over the business that he had to sling his hook from Durban. I don't know where he got to." This tale produced much amusement and laughter. Searight then proposed going to the Masonic Hotel, where he was staying ; having credit there, he would stand the " liquors." He held out the inducement of a new "torn" being at this establishment — meaning a new barmaid. " What do you say to the theatre ?" asked Le Brun. " Oh, hang the theatre," returned Searight; " they have got on Patience, Gilbert and Sullivan's latest. I saw it when I went home, over a year ago. I could not stand seeing it out here after that. Come on, you fellows, let's go to the Masonic."

All seemed acquiescent as they moved to the door. Searight kissed his hand to the barmaid, and said, " By-bye, Naughty." From the Masonic Hotel they went the rounds of all the bars in which there were barmaids. Senior would have given much to have got away from them, only he was shy of being thought different from the rest. He commenced to drink lemonade, however, in spite of their chaffing him about " shirking his liquor." The others began to fall somewhat under the influence of oft-repeated whiskies,. Mailer, according to usual custom when intoxicated, started howling like a dog. This always annoyed Searight, who declared these yells of Mailer's set his teeth on edge. Drink having the effect of making this Irishman pugnacious, he now told Mailer if he did not dry up he would " smack him on the mouth."

Mailer retorted by declaring it would be the last "smack" he ever would give if he did. They would have come to blows had not Senior intervened. Dorsby remarked that, if they must fight, the best thing they could do was to wait until the next morning, when they could choose some unfrequented spot — the reservoir, for instance — where nobody would interfere with them, whereas if they started fighting in the streets they would certainly get " run in." This sensible advice calmed the belligerents, and a meeting was arranged for half-past six the next morning. The excitement of the altercation, together with the liquor imbibed, proved, however, too much for Mailer, who now showed signs of an illness. Searight, having cooled down considerably at the prospect of a fistic encounter in the early morning, evinced a sudden sympathy, taking his adversary's arm, upon which Le Brun, who always got maudlin in his cups, remarked to Dorsby, " Now that is what I call deuced good form.

Good chap, Searight. You fellows," he went on in quite a pathetic tone, " make it up. What is the use of quarrelling* amongst pals ? Don't forget, boys, that you have been old comrades. Demme, no; shake hands, do." Mailer and Searight shook hands as requested, made profuse apologies, and swore eternal friendship, and Le Brun was visibly affected. Then the party broke up and went to their hotels. The Irishman borrowed a sovereign of Senior when saying good-night, and the latter, glad to get away, hurried to his hotel at the top of Plein Street. He walked up and down his room for some time, smoking his pipe. That story about Jack Wellesly had given him an idea. Senior, although somewhat lazy, had an abhorrence of debt. If he did not intend going to England * it was time he made a start at something.

He had arrived in Cape Town with thirty-five pounds, money saved from his lieutenant's pay. That amount would soon go, especially knocking about with fast fellows. Now, why should he not give lessons in boxing? Had he not, during a three months' visit to Melbourne, taken lessons from Jem Mace, and shown such natural abilities and progress that the worthy old retired champion of England had insisted upon his taking part in a heavy-weight boxing competition for a silver cup and the amateur champion^ ship of Victoria ? And although only about ten stones, did he not pull it off hands down ? Mace once described him to a friend as the cleverest lad he had ever come across at his weight, either amongst professionals or amateurs. No praise could have been greater than this from such a renowned expert.

He felt quite certain that he would not, like Wellesly, be found out an impostor. The social disadvantages of turning professional boxer never entered his mind. Not only was he unfitted for the post of a clerk, but his mind revolted at the idea. His life had ahvays been free and independent. Then came thoughts of the notoriety he might gian through his becoming known as a good boxer. In all English-speaking countries, especially the colonies, a great amount of respect was accorded anyone who had the reputation of being able " to use the gloves." He pictured himself walking down Adderley Street and fellows turning round and pointing him out as the best boxer in Cape Town. This picture pleased his youthful fancy much. He finally decided to give the thing a trial, and he went to bed hopeful.

Chapter II

The next morning after breakfast Jack Senior asked the proprietor of his hotel if he could tell him where he would be able to hire a room in a sufficiently central position. Being recommended to try at a house close to the hotel, 1 1 1 Loop Street, kept by a Mrs. Travers, he went there immediately. A little girl answered his knock at the front door. " Yes," she said, in answer to his inquiry, " my ma is home ; will you step in, please ? " Presently Mrs. Travers appeared. She was a woman of about thirty, tall, slender, with traces of past beauty, but a worn-out look in her face, suggestive of worries. She had a small room to let furnished, 25s. a week ; would he, she asked, step upstairs and have a look at it ? Senior followed the lady. The room was meagrely furnished ; two packing-cases covered with chintz, serving as washing stand and toilet table, were among the chief items of its upholstery.

Senior thought the room too small ; had she not another one ? he asked. Mrs. Travers replied that there was one downstairs, but it was unfurnished, and used by the children as a play room. Senior, when he saw it, thought the room would suit his purpose. There was a door opening into a long, narrow yard, at the end of which was another door leading into the street. Pupils could come backwards and forwards without troubling the inmates of the house. How much, he asked, would she charge him for the two rooms, the bed room and this one'? Mrs. Travers replied that, as one was unfurnished, she thought £2 per week would be a fair price ; but what did he want with the unfurnished room ? Senior's face as he explained his object reddened. " Oh ! I don't know if my husband would like one of his rooms let for that !

If you will please come back between one and two, he'll be home for lunch, and then I'll let you know. He is in the Civil Service," she added, with a visible touch of pride. Mr. Travers was duly informed of Senior's visit when he came home for his midday meal. This gentleman, though middle-aged, only enjoyed the position and salary of a junior clerk. However, he tried very hard to main tain a strict respectability, affecting to be most particular whom he introduced to his wife and family — the latter consisting of "six steps and stairs," as his mother in-law wrathfully designated them ; the eldest girl of nine being the first step, and the infant of two months being the last. " A room for boxing ! " repeated Mr. Travers. " Why, what does he look like ? Is he a gentleman ? " " I don't exactly know, dear," returned his wife, " but he speaks like one.

I thought he looked something like a soldier, but he is coming, at least he said he should, be tween one and two, when I told him you would be home." After lunch the husband went on the stoep to smoke a pipe before returning to his work. Soon Senior made his appearance. He took off his hat and bowed most politely as he asked the landlady whether he might have the room. Seeing the husband eyeing him with attention, he spoke, though almost unconsciously, rather affectedly, as if to impress upon them that he was something quite out of the ordinary line of professional boxers. Mr. Travers was satisfied. He told Senior he should be very pleased to have him as a tenant, and then began jocosely commenting about the punching of heads generally. " A gentleman ! I should rather think so," said Mr. Travers, when Senior had gone.

" I did not want him to open his mouth twice to tell that ; " and in spite of his wife being born under the sunny clime of Africa, he added, " and he is no Africander either ! " Mr. Travers was from the old country himself. Senior advertised for pupils, and bought a few sets of gloves, sponges, towels, and other paraphernalia necessary for his new vocation. At first pupils came very slowly, and it was all he could do to make ends meet. At last by a stroke of luck he brought himself before the public in such a way that his name became established in Cape Town. There was a young fellow, Merrion, a salesman in a gentlemen's outfitting establishment, considered by the youth of Cape Town a very clever amateur. He had won a middle-weight competition at the German Gymnasium before leaving London, and the few times he had essayed to put on the gloves at Cape Town had been always victorious.

Supposing Senior was only some hard-up adventurer, knowing nothing about boxing, and who only wanted to fleece the unsuspecting athleticallyinclined Capetonians, he bethought himself of a little scheme in which amusement might be caused to his friends and fame redound to himself. He would pretend to be a greenhorn, and get Senior to give him a spar before a select number of acquaintances. Accordingly one day, Merrion, accompanied by six other salesmen belonging to different shops in town, all in a great state of anticipation, called upon Senior. The salesman asked if "Professor Senior" would give him a little spar; he had no time to take lessons, but he should be much obliged if he might have a little turn, just for the sake of the exercise. No payment -was offered for this privilege. But Senior, observing the amused, expectant faces of Merrion' s friends, and having the story of "Jack Wellesly" fresh in his memory, suspected that there was some little surprise intended, which he might possibly turn to his own account.