Last Attacks of the Marauders

The hopeful prospect was soon, however, to be again clouded over. In the month of April the unfortunate Bechwanas from the surrounding country began to take refuge at the station on account of another band of marauders that came up from the Orange River and scoured the country. These were the people of whom Jan Karse had heard, and he behaved very well indeed in carrying out his good resolutions. Hearing that they were encamped upon the Matlwaring River, about eighteen miles away, he rode out and entreated them to return, and not to add to the long list of their evil deeds. He found among them his brother-in-law, and gained him over.

The rest made as though they were persuaded, and actually started; but instead of going the way they had come, as they had promised to do, they suddenly appeared on the station, and threw themselves into some breastworks which had been raised for purposes of defence. There they remained several days, maintaining a sullen silence about their intentions, but making so far a show of friendliness that they went freely about among the people on the station. At last Bloom gave warning that evil was intended, and that all must be upon their guard.

Karse went up to their camp the next day, and tried to bring them to a better mind. His wife went with him. The interview was long, but ended fruitlessly, and he was warned to get him gone. His wife was tall and portly; he was quite the contrary. She took in the situation at a glance, and as the pair came down the slope she made him walk in front of her, having a shrewd suspicion that otherwise he would be shot. A few minutes later, Bloom, taking his gun, also left the camp, and finally broke with his associates. He was just turning the corner of the mission-house when a shot was fired, and a bullet ploughed the ground at his feet.

Happily at this juncture a timely reinforcement appeared in the person of Arend and his party. Mention has already been made of this man. He was an escaped slave from the Colony, who had paid his own ransom with ivory, and had settled in the vicinity of the station. He was a bold and resolute man, and a good shot, and he and his men were well armed. His appearance put heart into the somewhat timid Bechwanas. Sharp firing commenced, Arend and a few resolute men made a rush, the robbers deserted their entrenchments and scattered in wild flight across the plain; six fell and five more were captured, and the rest betook themselves to the western hills. Thus ended another critical episode in the history of the mission.

This was only one of several parties of marauding banditti who for some years kept the border country in a state of misery. Their haunts were along the Orange River; and they were in communication with certain lawless Boers on the northern outskirts of the Colony who carried on an illicit trade in guns and ammunition. By means of these, though their numbers were small, the Bechwanas were quite at their mercy, armed as they were with assegais and knobsticks only. Though they swept away thousands of cattle and ravaged many villages, so little did their wickedness profit them that they grew the longer the poorer. After the attack on Kuruman had been repelled, and had shaken their prestige, another blow fell upon them by the action of the Colonial Government in cutting off the supply of ammunition, and before long these wretched men began to wander all over the country in the last stage of destitution.

The missionaries now began to take heart again, and work was resumed; but their troubles were not yet over. On the ninth of August the alarm was again raised. The fugitive Batlaros came pouring in with their fiocks and herds, and the Kuruman was once more a camp of refuge. Few slept that night. Next morning, by Moffat’s directions, the low heights at the back of the station were crowded with men, to give the appearance of a large defending force, though probaily not a dozen guns could have been mustered. The enemy was seen approaching. The cavalcade was even more formidable than had been expected. It was a comparatively strange parly, which had come from Namaqualand, far west down along the Orange River. As they came on, they scoured the surrounding plain in search of plunder, but found only a few sheep and cows, all other stock having been crowded on to the station, and filling up every available space in and around the half-built church and other houses.

The would-be assailants drew up at some distance, dismayed at the signs of an apparently formidable defence. After some delay they sent forward two messengers with a flag of truce. It would not do to let these people come within the precincts of the station and see its weakness, so Moffat started to meet them half-way. He learned from them that a renegade Christian Griqua was one of the leaders of the party, and wished to see him. He came, but as he drew near the presence of the missionary was too much for him, and his courage was fast melting away. He was only too glad to disclaim any authority or responsibility for what had already been done, and tried to lay all blame on the shoulders of another, a Namaqua chief of the name of Paul.

Just at this juncture a waggon came in sight on the road from the southward. It proved to be that of Archbell, a Wesleyan missionary from Platberg. As it had to pass near the place where the bandits had encamped, and a movement was evidently taking place to intercept it, Moffat said to the cowering Griqua, “Now is your time to show that you are sincere; bring that waggon safely past.” He was only too glad of an excuse to end a meeting that was growing every moment too embarrassing for him, and ran off to curb the violence of the party and to escort the waggon. This gave time for further negotiation, and at last Paul himself slowly and reluctantly drew near, with his hat drawn down over his eyes, for he could not look into the face of a man who in former days had slept in his village, and had faithfully preached to him and to his family the word of life.

He pleaded that Moffat personally need fear nothing from him, but tried to justify his desire for vengeance upon the Batlaping. It took long and patient persuasion to bring him round, but when he did turn the victory was complete. He abruptly called one of his men. “Bring back those sheep and cows we took this morning.” It was done. “I am going,” he said. “There are the things of your people. Will Mynheer not shake hands with me for once?” “Of course I will; but let me see your face.” “That I will not indeed: I do not want to die yet. I can see your face through my hat.” And away he went, glad to turn without having met those terrible eyes which roused an accusing conscience within.

So complete was the revulsion of feeling, that the leaders of the party appealed to the missionary to promise that they should not be attacked in their camp that night. They were supplied with food, and by the dawn of next day had vanished like the shadow of a dream. The larger part returned to Namaqualand, and others turned off and went to seek plunder on their own account further northwards, but came to a miserable end. One of the few scattered survivors made his appearance naked and starving, under cover of night, at Moffat’s door a few weeks afterwards, and found the succour which was denied to none. From this time the land had peace until fifty years afterwards, when an English force invaded the Bechwana country — an invasion about which the less said the better.