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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