The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1899-08-20
THE CRIMSON MAGNET;
The Electrical Adventures of an American in Africa
Hunting for His Affinity.
Copyright, 1907


I fair from my mind. In a few days the
wound on my wrist disappeared. but the
Kloof marks remained. Instead of disappear
ing the lines began to expand somewhat,
and the color turned slowly from a light
red into a deep crimson. At the end of six
months 1 became aware that my whole sys-
! tenn was approaching the brink OF some
great crisis or change. / had not the slight
est idea what II was to be, nor did 1 care,
but / had just curiosity enough TO consult
a Boer doctor, who examined me carefully
and then said:
Prepare for lunacy."
What" / exclaimed. "the most fantastic
and horrible of human affiictions?"
Exactly" he replied with emphasis.
you understand me-Kloof lunacy."
n few hours later Hans and I were sit
ting outside the store. enjoying the evening
breeze and watching the prairie fires in the
distance sweeping and tearing along in their
death-dealing race with the wind. 1 was
| cheerful, but Hans was respondent and
wished me to prepare for the worst. / tried
to rally him, and to change the direction of
his thoughts / called upon him for a story.
1T may be the last" L said. but / don't
think so. At any rate, brace up"
"You remember" I continued, chow the
brave Macbeth remained undaunted until
Birnam Wood moved up to Dunsinane. /
have some of that old warriors courage. If
none Of his vices, and shall die hard, al
ways remembering. however, that fatal pro-
viso, weather permitting"
So, after a little ~coaxing, Hans related
the following story, which he declared was
the experience of a newspaper man on his
first visit to the Transvaal very many years
ago:
The Raid on the Nightgowns.
my horse is tired, so am I. Eight hun
dred miles on horseback is no joke. We are
still about fifty miles from the gold fields in
the northeast corner of the Transvaal.
For days we have seen nothing but
plains. Now we are among the mountains
and We are happy.
1.-The sun is setting, and the hills, decked
in a wondrous mantle of green and gold,
are in their glory. There is life, there is
| what you may call savage beauty every
where.
1--WE jog along up the dusty road. There
is a Dutchman's farm to the right of us,
and another to the left. Now look up among
the hills, you see patches of Kafiir corn
here. there and everywhere. Overlooking
these gardens. perched prettily among the
crags. are numerous little conical watch
towers and if you cared to drag yourself
up to one of them you would find inside
a hungry Kafir, a NANCY dog and a spear.
These are the s~leepless guardians of the
corn and the sugar cane. Again, nesting
among the kloofs or ~ravines, in picturesque
groups. are, the quaint round huts, the pal
isades and the kraals of the natives. In
fact, the mountains are teeming with KAT
frs and with Kaffir life in every ~conceiv-
able form. There are boys and girls bath
ing and romping In every stream, there are
strings Of women carrying on their heads
huge pitchers or calabashes of water or
corn, winding up and down among the trees
and the rocks. There are also men, great
brown specimens of lazy humanity, loung-
ing and loafing around or driving the
Dutchman's cattle slowly homeward.
Moreover, wherever there is a black
head there is also a voice that is jab-
boring, singing or laughing and the
merry sounds are being echoed to and fro
among the hills in the most curious manner.
But here we are at last. This queer look
ing iron shanty, half hidden by the gum
trees. is the dwelling house as we'll as the
store of my friend Tomkins, a man i met
years ago in Cape Town. He is delighted
to see me.
after a while he gets rid of his custom
ers, then we eat a little, drink a little, light
our pipes and Tomkins says to me:
Come, Rollins, let us pay a visit to
Old Rolf, my neighbor. over the way. He
is a Dutchman Of the old school and a queer
fish l can tell you. With every other breath
he spits rather vulgarly and exclaims:
"D-n the English" So remember for to-
/ NIGHT r an Irfshman Old RoIf aud
are great friends, but then you sec he has
four bouncing daughters and goodness
knows how many nieces. OF course you un-
d~erstand Dutch etiquette. Shake hands
with the men and boys and kiss the girls
regardless of age or beauty
Now, L didn't understand anything of the
kind, but / thought If Tomkins could stand
II so could I.
old Rolf himself met us at the door.
Come in. Toinkins,' said he. what is
your friend for a countryman, anyway
Irish,' said my friend promptly.
"All right, all right, said the old Boer
come in, d-n the English
W entered the room, which is large. II
is also full. Perhaps there are eight fe
males and five or six males in 1t. They have
just finished supper, and, as we enter they
push their chairs back to the wall and there
they sit, in a square. so TO speak. and stare
at US. We now shake hands with the men
which is easy. Old Rolf is standing at tn,
door. He directs us with pointing finger
TO his wife, who is sitting at a small tabl'
with a large boiler of coffee before her. ani
he says TO US in a rather severe tone, 'Sune,
which Tomkins tells me is Dutch for kiss
so my friend starts in at once with tn,
old woman, and while / am waiting my turf
/ glance round the room, and l notice tina
the girls are positively getting their lip:
ready. ii seems to me that the upper lip Il
thrown out and the lower is turned dowI
and then the whole bunch is popped for
ward. You may call il inviting or not, jus
as you please.
However. there they sit and wait. 1 con
fess / was timid and couldn't enjoy ii likr
omkins whose bushy head seemed TO b.
lost in the capacious poke bonnet Of sOm'
of them, as i thought for an age. Wsn,
worried round that square, and was return
ing TO my seat half inclined TO pat mysel
on the back when TO my surprise 1 notices
the old Boer still standing like a sentinel a
the door. Something was wrong. He wa
looking at me: he was also pointing to a fig
ure at the other end of the room.
kiss my sister, said he. Tomkins nov