trooper peter halket of mashonaland-第1部分

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Trooper　Peter　Halket　of　Mashonaland



by　Olive　Schreiner








To　a　Great　Good　Man；　Sir　George　Grey；



Once　Governor　of　the　Cape　Colony；　who；　during　his　rule　in　South　Africa；

bound　to　himself　the　Dutchmen；　Englishmen；　and　Natives　he　governed；　by　an

uncorruptible　justice　and　a　broad　humanity；　and　who　is　remembered　among　us


today　as　representing　the　noblest　attributes　of　an　Imperial　Rule。



〃Our　low　life　was　the　level's　and　the　night's；

　He's　for　the　morning。〃



Olive　Schreiner。



19；　Russell　Road；

Kensington；　W。；

February；　1897。





Aardvark　…　The　great　anteater。

Cape　Smoke　…　A　very　inferior　brandy　made　in　Cape　Colony。

Kopje　…　Little　hillock。

Kraal　…　A　Kaffir　encampment。

Mealies　…　Maize　（corn）。

Riem　…　A　thong　of　undressed　leather　universally　used　in　South　Africa。

Vatje　of　Old　Dop　…　A　little　cask　of　Cape　brandy。

Veld　…　Open　Country。









Chapter　I。



It　was　a　dark　night；　a　chill　breath　was　coming　from　the　east；　not　enough　to

disturb　the　blaze　of　Trooper　Peter　Halket's　fire；　yet　enough　to　make　it

quiver。　　He　sat　alone　beside　it　on　the　top　of　a　kopje。



All　about　was　an　impenetrable　darkness；　not　a　star　was　visible　in　the　black

curve　over　his　head。



He　had　been　travelling　with　a　dozen　men　who　were　taking　provisions　of

mealies　and　rice　to　the　next　camp。　　He　had　been　sent　out　to　act　as　scout

along　a　low　range　of　hills；　and　had　lost　his　way。　　Since　eight　in　the

morning　he　had　wandered　among　long　grasses；　and　ironstone　kopjes；　and

stunted　bush；　and　had　come　upon　no　sign　of　human　habitation；　but　the

remains　of　a　burnt　kraal；　and　a　down…trampled　and　now　uncultivated　mealie

field；　where　a　month　before　the　Chartered　Company's　forces　had　destroyed　a

native　settlement。



Three　times　in　the　day　it　had　appeared　to　him　that　he　had　returned　to　the

very　spot　from　which　he　had　started；　nor　was　it　his　wish　to　travel　very

far；　for　he　knew　his　comrades　would　come　back　to　look　for　him；　to　the

neighbourhood　where　he　had　last　been　seen；　when　it　was　found　at　the　evening

camping　ground　that　he　did　not　appear。



Trooper　Peter　Halket　was　very　weary。　　He　had　eaten　nothing　all　day；　and　had

touched　little　of　the　contents　of　a　small　flask　of　Cape　brandy　he　carried

in　his　breast　pocket；　not　knowing　when　it　would　again　be　replenished。



As　night　drew　near　he　determined　to　make　his　resting　place　on　the　top　of

one　of　the　kopjes；　which　stood　somewhat　alone　and　apart　from　the　others。　

He　could　not　easily　be　approached　there；　without　his　knowing　it。　　He　had

not　much　fear　of　the　natives；　their　kraals　had　been　destroyed　and　their

granaries　burnt　for　thirty　miles　round；　and　they　themselves　had　fled：　　but

he　feared；　somewhat；　the　lions；　which　he　had　never　seen；　but　of　which　he

had　heard；　and　which　might　be　cowering　in　the　long　grasses　and　brushwood　at

the　kopje's　foot：and　he　feared；　vaguely；　he　hardly　knew　what；　when　he

looked　forward　to　his　first　long　night　alone　in　the　veld。



By　the　time　the　sun　had　set　he　had　gathered　a　little　pile　of　stumps　and

branches　on　the　top　of　the　kopje。　　He　intended　to　keep　a　fire　burning　all

night；　and　as　the　darkness　began　to　settle　down　he　lit　it。　　It　might　be　his

friends　would　see　it　from　far；　and　come　for　him　early　in　the　morning；　and

wild　beasts　would　hardly　approach　him　while　he　knelt　beside　it；　and　of　the

natives　he　felt　there　was　little　fear。



He　built　up　the　fire；　and　determined　if　it　were　possible　to　keep　awake　the

whole　night　beside　it。



He　was　a　slight　man　of　middle　height；　with　a　sloping　forehead　and　pale　blue

eyes：　　but　the　jaws　were　hard　set；　and　the　thin　lips　of　the　large　mouth

were　those　of　a　man　who　could　strongly　desire　the　material　good　of　life；

and　enjoy　it　when　it　came　his　way。　　Over　the　lower　half　of　the　face　were

scattered　a　few　soft　white　hairs；　the　growth　of　early　manhood。



From　time　to　time　he　listened　intently　for　possible　sounds　from　the

distance　where　his　friends　might　be　encamped；　and　might　fire　off　their　guns

at　seeing　his　light；　or　he　listened　yet　more　intently　for　sounds　nearer　at

hand：　　but　all　was　still；　except　for　the　occasional　cracking　of　the　wood　in

his　own　fire；　and　the　slight　whistle　of　the　breeze　as　it　crept　past　the

stones　on　the　kopje。　　He　doubled　up　his　great　hat　and　put　it　in　the　pocket

of　his　overcoat；　and　put　on　a　little　two…pointed　cap　his　mother　had　made

for　him；　which　fitted　so　close　that　only　one　lock　of　white　hair　hung　out

over　his　forehead。　　He　turned　up　the　collar　of　his　coat　to　shield　his　neck

and　ears；　and　threw　it　open　in　front　that　the　blaze　of　the　fire　might　warm

him。　　He　had　known　many　nights　colder　than　this　when　he　had　sat　around　the

camp　fire　with　his　comrades；　talking　of　the　niggers　they　had　shot　or　the

kraals　they　had　destroyed；　or　grumbling　over　their　rations；　but　tonight　the

chill　seemed　to　creep　into　his　very　bones。



The　darkness　of　the　night　above　him；　and　the　silence　of　the　veld　about　him；

oppressed　him。　　At　times　he　even　wished　he　might　hear　the　cry　of　a　jackal

or　of　some　larger　beast　of　prey　in　the　distance；　and　he　wished　that　the

wind　would　blow　a　little　louder；　instead　of　making　that　little　wheezing

sound　as　it　passed　the　corners　of　the　stones。　　He　looked　down　at　his　gun；

which　lay　cocked　ready　on　the　ground　at　his　right　side；　and　from　time　to

time　he　raised　his　hand　automatically　and　fingered　the　cartridges　in　his

belt。　　Then　he　stretched　out　his　small　wiry　hands　to　the　fire　and　warmed

them。　　It　was　only　half　past　ten；　and　it　seemed　to　him　he　had　been　sitting

here　ten　hours　at　the　least。



After　a　while　he　threw　two　more　large　logs　on　the　fire；　and　took　the　flask

out　of　his　pocket。　　He　examined　it　carefully　by　the　firelight　to　see　how

much　it　held：　　then　he　took　a　small　draught；　and　examined　it　again　to　see

how　much　it　had　fallen；　and　put　it　back　in　his　breast　pocket。



Then　Trooper　Peter　Halket　fell　to　thinking。



It　was　not　often　that　he　thought。　　On　patrol　and　sitting　round　camp　fires

with　the　other　men　about　him　there　was　no　time　for　it；　and　Peter　Halket　had

never　been　given　to　much　thinking。　　He　had　been　a　careless　boy　at　the

village　school；　and　though；　when　he　left；　his　mother　paid　the　village

apothecary　to　read　learned　books　with　him　at　night　on　history　and　science；

he　had　not　retained　much　of　them。　　As　a　rule　he　lived　in　the　world

immediately　about　him；　and　let　the　things　of　the　moment　impinge　on　him；　and

fall　off　again　as　they　would；　without　much　reflection。　　But　tonight　on　the

kopje　he　fell　to　thinking；　and　his　thoughts　shaped　themselves　into

connected　chains。



He　wondered　first　whether　his　mother　would　ever　get　the　letter　he　had

posted　the　week　before；　and　whether　it　would　be　brought　to　her　cottage　or

she　would　go　to　the　post　office　to　fetch　it。　　And　then；　he　fell　to　thinking

of　the　little　English　village　where　he　had　been　born；　and　where　he　had

grown　up。　　He　saw　his　mother's　fat　white　ducklings　creep　in　and　out　under

the　gate；　and　waddle　down　to　the　little　pond　at　the　back　of　the　yard；　he

saw　the　school　house　that　he　had　hated　so　much　as　a　boy；　and　from　which　he

had　so　often　run　away　to　go　a…fishing；　or　a…bird's…nesting。　　He　saw　the

prints　on　the　school　house　wall　on　which　the　afternoon　sun　used　to　shine

when　he　was　kept　in；　Jesus　of　Judea　blessing　the　children；　and　one　picture

just　over　the　door　where　he　hung　with　his　arms　stretched　out　and　the　blood

dropping　from　his　feet。　　Then　Peter　Halket　thought　of　the　tower　at　the

ruins　which　he　had　climbed　so　often　for　birds'　eggs；　and　he　saw　his　mother

standing　at　her　cottage　gate　when　he　came　home　in　the　evening；　and　he　felt

her　arms　round　his　neck　as　she　kissed　him；　but　he　felt　her　tears　on　his

cheek；　because　he　had　run　away　from　school　all　day；　and　he　seemed　to　be

making　apologies　to　her；　and　promising　he　never　would　do　it　again　if　only

she　would　not　cry。　　He　had　often　thought　of　her　since　he　left　her；　on　board

ship；　and　when　he　was　working　with　the　prospectors；　and　since　he　had　joined

the　troop；　but　it　had　been　in　a　vague　way；　he　had　not　distinctly　seen　and

felt　her。　　But　tonight　he　wished　for　her　as　he　used　to　when　he　was　a　small

boy　and　lay　in　his　bed　in　the　next　room；　and　saw　her　shadow　through　the

door　as　she　bent　over　her　wash…tub　earning　the　money　which　was　to　feed　and

clothe　him。　　He　remembered　how　he　called　her　and　she　came　and　tucked　him　in

and　called　him　〃Little　Simon；〃　which　was　his　second　name　and　had　been　his

father's；　and　which　she　only　called　him　when　he　was　in　bed　at　night；　or

when　he　was　hurt。



He　sat　there　staring　into　the　blaze。　　He　resolved　he　would　make　a　great

deal　of　money；　and　she　should　live　with　him。　　He　would　build　a　large　house

in　the　West　End　of　London；　the　biggest　that　had　ever　been　seen；　and　another

in　the　country；　and　they　should　never　work　any　more。



Peter　Halket　sat　as　one　turned　into　stone；　staring　into　the　fire。



All　men　made　money　when　they　came　to　South　Africa；Barney　Barnato；　Rhodes…

…they　all　made　money　out　of　the　country；　eight　millions；　twelve　millions；

twenty…six　millions；　forty　millions；　why　should　not　he！



Peter　Halket　started　suddenly　and　listened。　　But　it　was　only　the　wind

coming　up　the　kopje　like　a　great　wheezy　beast　creeping　upwards；　and　he

looked　back　into　the　fire。



He　considered　his　business　prospects。　　When　he　had　served　his　time　as

volunteer　he　would　have　a　large　piece　of　land　given　him；　and　the　Mashonas

and　Matabeles　would　have　all　their　land　taken　away　from　them　in　time；　and

the　Chartered　Company　would　pass　a　law　that　they　had　to　work　for　the　white

men；　and　he；　Peter　Halket；　would　make　them　work　for　him。　　He　would　make

money。



Then　he　reflected　on　what　he　should　do　with　the　land　if　it　were　no　good　and

he　could　not　make　anything　out　of　it。　　Then；　he　should　have　to　start　a

syndicate；　called　the　Peter　Halket　Gold；　or　the　Peter　Halket　Iron…mining；

or　some　such　name；　Syndicate。　　Peter　Halket　was　not　very　clear　as　to　how　it

ought　to　b