THE LONE TREK .EFEBVRE (SYNEi: LMk:; THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES / /fj- THE LONE TREK By the same Author THK LAND OF WAVERING ^7.^. f/y/H:yrf.^yh THE LONE TREK BY DENYS LEFEBVRE (SYNED) With Frontispiece by G. S. Smithard LONDON ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET MCMXI ^/r >C7SJ To M. M. de C. I cannot quite forget the olden days. The time — kow lotig it seems ! Whe?i I, unversed i?i niggard Fortunes ways, To you revealed my dreams. And wove across the frame of things to be A web as light as air. Whose threads were gold — if not to you — to me. And frail as they were fair. But now, tho7igh fruitless years have come and gone I feel no sense of shame, For, while I may not lay my hands upon The giant looms of Fame, Nor hope to weave the spell of quiet Night The play of light and shade, A lover's kiss, a little child's delight. In hues that will not fade, 8GG771 Nor link a rainbow with a mother's tear — Yet, if one spark divine Should fall on me, or, falliftg, come so near. That I conld call it mine, Pd know once fnore the sunshine on your face. Reflected from your soul. Had knit 7ny fancies, for a moment's space. Into a living whole. // is my pleasant duty to express fny acknowledgmeyits to the editors of " The State," " African Monthly," " Observer," " Cape Times," " Transvaal Leader," " Eand Daily Mail" and ''Sunday Times" for permission to publish the great majority of these verses, and 7nore especially to thank my friend, Mr. G. S. Smithard,for his beautiful interpretation of one of my fancies. D.L. CONTENTS PAGE A Memory 9 Dream Children 10 A Sonnet . 11 The Storm ......... 12 Moonlight 13 To Pain 14 Paardekraal ........ 15 Dawn at Paardekraal 16 OoM Paul 17 New Year's Day, 1909 18 Chant Africanus 20 The Union of South Africa 22 To Elaine 24 A Mother's Lullaby 26 CONTENTS The Ghost Child The Cancer Patient The Land of Makk-Bkliev Fancies The Bijwoner The Vooktrekkkr Ou-Ma. PlET . Katrina A Young Transvaaler Mary . The Cafe Girl . The Si'dkt . De Ongelukkige 'l"nr, Outsii'ER The Remittance Man FAGS 27 29 31 37 39 41 43 43 45 46 48 49 51 52 55 THE LONE TREK A Memory Grey-eyed, and, for a woman, tall, a shade Big-boned. Round-shouldered with the constant strain Of others' troubles. People called her plain — But still beside her children laughed and played. Shabby and dowdy, just a prim old maid, Reserved, a little proud — the village said — Not seeing when she soothed the aching head, Not hearing when on bended knees she prayed. Not for herself, but for the chosen few On whom she lavished all that heart of gold — For whom she suffered, while they never knew — Till she grew worn before her time, and old — And died. Yet looking on the path she trod In all humility, I think of God. THE LONE TREK Dream Children I SEE them in my dreams. Their liny hands Clutch feebly at the air ; upon my face Blows. their sweet breath; a little voice demands My eager kisses. In that soft embrace A sense of aching, though I know not why, A sense of some forgotten, longed-for joy, A joy that thrills me through, yet makes me sigh. That time could never change, nor death destroy : Still in my dreams I clasp them to my breast, Their soft, warm presence folded close to mine ; And o'er me steals the balm of perfect rest, And through my veins a gladness like to wine. I murmur, shiver — then, as cold as stone Awake — and oh ! dear God ! awake alone ! TO THE LONE TREK A Sonnet (To G. s. s.) The noontide heat has waned and passed away, And in the crimson west the setting sun Sinks ever lower. Slowly, one by one, Dim shadows hover round the gasping day ; Between two peaks peeps forth a golden ray, That for a moment makes, on hill and stone, A path where God might walk, and God alone ; The purple shadows clasping kloof and vlei Grow darker, save where, in some favoured place, Light lingers, like a flag that, still unfurled. Mourns a lost cause. The red sun hides his face. One pallid star illumes the fading world. The day is dead. A sudden vapour chills. And silent night enfolds the waiting hills. zi THE LONE TREK The Storm No breath of air. The fingers of the sun Have touched a panting world with lambent fire, And now the earth and heavens wrapped in one Deep gloom, with dread await what both desire. The eager wind comes sweeping through the street, And atoms, gathered here and scattered there, Are drawn again together till they meet, And twisting strangely in the yellow glare Assume unhallowed shapes. A hush, a thrill Foretell great happenings. .And by and by A sudden blinding light — and all is still : A crash — so might a Titan roar and die ! Then, sweet as sleep that lulls persistent pain, In ever-swelling cadence falls the rain. 12 THE LONE TREK Moonlight The storm is spent, the wind has died away ; Cool raindrops ding to trembUng leaf and tree, As one departing lingers — loath to stay — ■ And yet departing more unwillingly. The clouds have vanished from the purpled sky Before the footsteps of the rising moon (The queen whose jewelled courtiers prostrate lie Dazed by the splendour of her silvered shoon). The earth beneath, half hidden, half revealed, Breathes mellowed beauty where each faery beam Bathes kloof and vlei and kraal and mealie-field, And willows swaying sadly o'er a stream — In light — wherein a mining shaft may seem The angels' ladder of a poet's dream. '3 THE LONE TREK To Pain Oh ! mystic woman, born of life and death, Whose jewelled crown is set with burning tears, Whose presence chills and saddens like a breath From some dark cavern of unspoken fears ! Heedless of love, or hate, the flight of years, Thou sparest nought. To man and helpless child. To maid and mother, thy dark shape appears — To rich and poor. And in the desert wild. The quiet vale, the busy, crowded street, Unmoved, unchecked, unbidden glides along ; Behind thee — crippled limbs and leaden feet. Where all was straiglit, and beautiful, and strong. We dread thy step — yet they who know and dare Have seen thy face, and found it strangely fair. M THE LONE TREK Paardekraal A HOMESTEAD nestling down beside a hill — Across the road, the quiet waters run Into the dam where oxen drink their fill, Ere toiling onwards in the blazing sun. And further still a garden quaintly fair, Wherein old-fashioned flowers bloom and fade And in a nook, the hanging branches shade A little rustic seat whereon are traced Initials half-forgotten, half-effaced, Of those whose eyes have lingered on the scene- Bey ond the trees, o'er lands of waving green, Unto the distant mountains as they lie With purpled crests upraised to meet the sky. 15 THE LONE TREK Dawn at Paardekraal The dim grey light comes stealing, and the stars Melt swiftly, till at last the only one Is left a watcher. Rosy, radiant bars Of cloud foretell a day, not yet begun. The purple sky pales in the waking East From blue to faintest green. The mountains stand On the horizon's edge. Each bird and beast Stirs in its sleep. A hush is o'er the land. The light grows brighter. Trees and shrubs appear Like wraiths that beckon dumbly in the gloom. Mysterious shapes that slowly grow more clear. Then — chirping birds and flowers all abloom. And lo ! the Sun — wielding a molten spear, Leaps like a god, new risen from his tomb. i6 THE LONE TREK Oom Paul Cast in a rugged shape, an iron mould, Untaught, unlettered, and yet strangely wise In reading men — their lust for power or gold Standing revealed before those shrewd old eyes. Knowing the weakness of a stubborn race, And with the curb of a long-practised hand Guiding his burghers — and in fitting place Using the pregnant phrase they understand. Strong with the strength of an unflinching will, Stem as a man whose gifts with one accord Are concentrated on one end. Yet still. Whether with practised tongue or naked sword, \\1iether his purpose served to save or kill. Trusting through good and evil in his Lord. 17 THE LONE TREK New Year's Day, 1909 The year is dead. Behold another year ! And formless echoes thrilling, some with fear, And some with gladness, on the rustling hreeze Disturb the midnight calm. The restless seas Unite with one accord and strident call Unto the earth, then grinding, scraping fall Backwards upon the shore. And from the land Of brooding silences and burning sand, Of beetling krantz and naked flaunting hills, Of pleasant pastures where the trickling rills Join rushing rivers, and the very face Of nature smiles ; and from the desert place Where quaggas roam, but man has seldom trod, And the aasvogel feeds — in sight of God — From all of these, the mighty anthem swells Mingling in harmony with New Year bells. And lo I a voice cries out in passioned tones ; " Oh ! children mine ! What though the scattered bones Of men and women lie in nameless dust. Who died — for love of me, or hate, or lust — 18 THE LONE TREK I care not, knowing that my lightest breath Impelled them on ; the very fear of death Losing its terror, so they could fulfil Within their lives the promptings of my will. I loved them all — and watched their devious ways Through bush and veld and fever-stricken vieis ; Their hunger, thirst, their cruelty and greed For gold, red gold. Have I not trained the breed ? Instilling knowledge, till a spark divine Lighted the rugged souls that sprang from mine ? " It ceased. I saw the night had passed away, And in the east the blush of coming day. And there revealed, untouched by stress or storm, She stood, my Africa, a godlike form. New-risen from her couch of magic sleep. With eyes like stars reflected in the deep. For, as a babe awakes and understands And stretching out his fumbling eager hands Touches his mother's face, and touching knows That it is hers, and from that moment grows Apart, until he takes his place with other men — So to a nation comes the moment when It wakes to consciousness. I heard her cry (With hands upraised in blessing to the sky) — " Lords of your souls, discerning right from wrong, 19 c 2 THE LONE TREK Proud of the race to which you l)Oth belong. Proud of the mighty land that gave you birth, Proud as Ix'fits the strong ones of the earth (Vet mindful of your trust, not vainly proud) Heirs to a realm built — not upon a cloud. But upon rock, no passing phantasy — But one great nation loyal, strong and free, God keep you, and in that you have begun, Direct your paths till they converge in one ! " Chant Africanus Grkat land of Union, stretchint^ far and wide, Wherein the old voortrekkers loved to roam ; Wherein the early settlers lived and died — South Africa, our home. We hear her call — for in our blood is set The glamour born of kloof and kranlz and vlei ; The haunting vastness of the veld — and yet, South Africa alway. THE LONE TREK A love of freedom never growing old, The subtle magic of the dimly known. The spell of space, the silences enfold South Africa our own. Casting aside the old-time doubts and fears, Out of the shade into the noontide sun ; Strong in the promise of the coming years — South Africa is one. Over our heads one flag alone unfurled ; Owning allegiance to one king, we stand ; Voicing a cry that leaps across the world — - South Africa our land ! 21 THE LONE TREK The Union of South Africa From silent spaces. From the naked hills That stand unchanged in matchless solitude ; From dorp to town ; from all the haunts of men ; From forests whose unravelled, tortured glooms Remain unconquered whilst the atoms writhe And quiver round them in the noontide sun ; From rushing rivers where the waters swirl And thunder over jutting crags to fall Crashing and broken in a limpid pool ; From north to south, from troubled sea to sea ; There comes a voice, so soft it seems a sigh, The faint beginnings of a mighty wind That slowly rising strikes .4^^olian strings, Till one by one the harsh discordant sounds. The halting echoes gather form and shape In muffled chords that swiftly grow and blend Into one strident peal of melody : " Take up your burden. Children of the Land ! 22 THE LONE TREK Behind you lie the bitter memories Of blood and tears commingled in the dust Where men have striven, suffered, fought, and died. Now from the past, the ashes of the slain, Have come the makings of a common cause. The future lies before you, babes unborn Await their destiny, with outstretched hands Two nations call to you in mute appeal — Take up your burden, Children of the Land That begs for, urges, nay, demands your all ; A land that colours, mars, distorts your dreams ; Yet lures you on — and ever on and on, Filling your souls with longings none can tell ; Great aspirations — though you know not why ; Cravings for giant spaces, buoyant air, Sunlight and starshine — all the mystic lore Wherein are writ the purposes of God. Oh least away your false, ill-omened fears. The whited garments of deap-seated hate ; The hoarded garnerings of ancient wrongs ; The hidden canker that destroys your peace. Lay the foundations — and if ceaseless toil Seem wasted — courage, you prepared the place Whereon your sons shall raise up stone by stone A pillar worthy of that mighty Fane 23 THE LONE TREK Of sister nations whereof men shall say : ' Behold ! its spires reach the topmost stars Yet in its shadows little children play.' Not built for lust of strength, or race, or fame, But as a sign to peoples yet to be ; No mere reHection of a passing phase Crumbling beneath the iron grip of Time, But to endure through long decades of years, A beacon in the darkest days to come — An ark of refuge for a tired world." To Elaine ("The sea today was roaring and coming in at a great pace in huge foam-flecked breakers. Something told me to stand on the shore and send a kiss across the Atlantic") Fro.m far-off rock-bound coasts, where billows roll. With swelling crests upraised to meet the shore, Until, in sullen pride they spurn control. And clasping stable sands or shifting shoal, Break with a muffled roar. 24 THE LONE TREK Your spirit leaped to mine. The wind and rain, The baffled tempest, dark with fury, hurled Olympian bolts. Its thunders crashed in vain, That thought, the child of mingled joy and pain, Whispered across a world : The self-same notes wherewith the minstrel brings The clinging softness of a baby hand To withered cheeks, and stirs the hidden springs — Of love and tears. But in the whirl of things I did not understand. Then Cupid from his quiver drew a shaft, And tipped it with a kiss, and bent his bow : Knitted his brows, and in his boyish craft. Smiling, half-shyly pulled and strained and laughed, And sighed — and let it go — Swift through the ether, with unerring aim, Unto my heart, and yet I felt no fear ! And being true, no lurking sense of shame, But rather sweet content in that it came Straight from your lips, my Dear ! 25 THE LONE TREK A Mother's Lullaby Little babe, whose wide grey eyes Look to mine in mild surprise, Or beyond me to the skies — Whence you came. On your Hps a tiny smile Wise with baby lore, the while Innocent alike of guile Or of shame. Little clinging, crinkled hands. Helpless, no one understands How their helplessness commands, That a chord Throbs with each half-utlcred cry, Tightens at my heart, just why No one knows, but you and J — And — the Lord. 26 THE LONE TREK The Ghost Child Eyes of deepest, purest blue, Veiled by silken lashes ; lips Rosy, fresh as summer dew ; Hair of golden-brown that dips Into mingling shades — a hue Such as ancient painters knew— Stir my heart. So summer rays Glancing crosswise through the trees, Gleam on dark, untrodden ways Where the lotus-laden breeze Whispers through the sheltered glade ; Where, 'mid shadows green and cool, Mirrored in a silent pool, Pan sits piping in the shade. And a slender, dainty form, Beautiful, yet wholly child, Innocent of stress or storm, Trouble, pain, or passions wild, 27 THE LONE TREK Comes towards me. In her eyes — From their depths— a little smile, (irave, but merry, strangely wise, Reckons— silvery tones beguile : " Oh ! my daddy !" And her arms Open wi'le, her eager face lyifts to mine. Unconscious charms Lure me to a fond embrace. Till I feel her cheeks, her hair — Clasp — dear Christ ! — the empty air ! THE LONE TREK The Cancer Patient Chin unshaven, grizzled, grey (Pipe unheeded on his knee) ; Looking far across the bay Out to sea. ^^'hen he speaks, his dragging tones Have a grating note. Despair Holds him (poor old bag of bones) In his chair. And behind the dumb appeal In his dull eyes, brother Death Stands so close, he has to steal Room for breath. There he sits, still, strangely still, Like a satyr carved in stone : In the shadow grim and chill — All alone. 29 THE LONE TREK The Land of Make-Believe (For Children's Christmas Toy Fund) Mighty pillars, lofty domes, Endless vistas, knights and dames. Elves and fairies, wizards, gnomes In its vastness make their homes. Join in all the romps and games Of the land of Make-Believe. Pleasant glooms and leafy shades, Mossy banks and sparkling streams Where the soul of childhood dreams ; Where no blossom droops or fades ; Birds sing sweetly in the glades In that land of Make-Believe. Happy laughter, tuneful song — In its sheltered nooks and bowers Children dance, bedecked with flowers Free from thought of sin or wrong ! Time glides tenderly along — In that land of Make-Believe. 30 THE LONE^ TREK You who left it long ago (Some of you are turning grey) Will you help a child to play For a little hour or so, Learn the lore you used to know Of the land of Make-Believe? Fancies Out from the scrub and the veld, Ironstone kopje and vlei ; Out from the deserts that melt On the horizon away, Out from the dried river bed. Out from the torrent and foam, Straight from the blue overhead — Half-suppressed longings for home. 31 THE LONE TREK Longings to tread in the street, Narrow and steep tliough it be, Where, long ago, Hltle feet Toddled on down to the sea, To the waves lapping the shore With a half-savage caress — ^V'aves follow waves as of yore — Only— one youngster the less. Longings to see the old church, Circled by walls, and a rail Whereby the fishermen lurch Past in the teeth of a gale. Whilst the dead slumber inside Under the shade of the trees, Rocked by the roar of the tide, Lulled by the swaying of seas. Longings to rove in the cool Glamour of valley and shade, Bathe in a moss-girdled pool Such as great Pan might have made. Longings to take by the hand Someone — look long in a face. Once again silently stand — Gripped by the spell of the place. 32 THE LONE TREK Longings for things that have been^ All that has happened and gone, All that the ages have seen, Beckon and point ever on — Cry : " These are fancies." And yet- AVhen, and wherever you roam, Somehow, you cannot forget All the old longings for home ! 33 u 'I TYPES D 2 THE LONE TREK The Bijvvoner In a suit of khaki faded, Patched and shiny in the breeches ; In a coat with many stitches ; With his wi/ened features shaded By a greasy " sloucher." Yellow, Gaunt is he, and full of angles, Sleeps, and eats, and works, and wrangles- People say : " The stupid fellow ! " Yet at times a dim obsession Lights his dull, grey eye ; a neighbour Bending o'er his hated labour With some coarse, profane expression. Brings the time back, when, together, He and most of his relations, Found their highest aspirations In the mealie-crop, the weather, 37 THE LONE TREK And tobacco. In a hovel Made of mud, with naught to he on But the straw to sleep and die on, Where the fowls and babies grovel. Boys and girls, and father, mother Herded there. Without one pleasure Save that life was mainly leisure — Each more selfish than the other. Till there came the hideous rumour : " Locusts strip the mealie patches. We must work, at least in snatches : Put the Fates in better humour." Someone whispers as he lingers, " Kom de Baas." " Ach ! Gott I " he wheezes, Spits upon his palms, and seizes Pick or spade with shaking fingers. 38 THE LONE TREK The Voortrekker There in an ancient, weather-beaten chair, He sits and ponders, drawing at the stem Of his long cherished pipe. His shrunken limbs Clad loosely in a suit of yellow-grey. His flowing beard, hke flakes of falling snow, Softens the contour of his shrewd old face, Seamed with the touch of sun, and wind, and time. And yet impassive. But his shrunken eyes, Roving and restless, seem to leap beyond, Pregnant with all that filled forgotten years ; And for a moment he is young again. Gripping his stick, he sits erect, the while He doffs the clinging mask of honoured age. As scene succeeds to scene — now gay, now grave — The laager where he stood a puny child. And standing, trembling watched his father die ; And late, too late, the Zulu legions hurled, 39 THE LONE TREK Reeling and broken — or the gladsome days Of headlong, breathless rides across the veld ; The ardour of the hunter and the chase ; The spell of miglity spaces, clean, pure air. And all the subtle, nameless joy of life, 'J'he joy of youth when pulse to pulse beats high, The crowning joy of love that conquers all. And then — the semblance of his first loved vrouw (Still dearest of the three) that softly calls : " Man is toch laat. Kom, myn Jacobus, kom." At sunset even so she used to cry AN'hene'cr he lingered, loath to leave his toil. Slowly he knocks the ashes from the bowl. And knocking notes — perforce — his shrivelled hand. 40 THE LONE TREK Ou-x\Ia Bolt upright upon the wooden, hard armchair, the only one In the hut that rain and duststorm stained a rusty- coloured dun ; Seated in the doorway, knitting, turned towartls the setting sun. Underneath the kappie sombre, frayed a little at the brim, Peep out pale, impassive features, and the spare old figure, prim, Clad in black, grease-spotted garments, looks a little sad and grim. All around her, ragged children laugh, and cry, and fight and play ; Babes and puppies take upon them all one hue of reddish gray ; Here and there a startled " kippie " clucking loudly, runs away. 41 THE LONE TREK Far beyond across the valley stretch the rugged purpling hills, And the hush, the mellow sunlight bring a wave of thought that fills Pools and shallows long deserted — and her soul awakened, thrills. Knitting there she sees a childhood, marriage, mother- hood, and pain ; Death and loneliness and sordid, troubled, married life again : In the iron hut behind her few illusions can remain. Then she rises : " Man," you hear her shaking, sharpened tones begin, " Kom, drink nou jou kofifie (shadows deepen round her wrinkled chin) Piet, die kos is klaar." A clumsy figure slouches slowly in. 42 THE LONE TREK Piet Conscious of his lack of grace, Strongly, not too neatly dressed ; Blue-eyed : on his full, round face Something dull and half expressed. Brusque and not too quick of speech, But amongst the other boys Chattering with all and each, Full of trivial childish joys : " Man ! I tell you it is sport ! You are skrik already, eh ? Come by us, we'll hold the fort. Ach ! You fool, it's only play ! " So, whilst he can find support, Shouting, idling all the day. Katrina From beneath her cotton " kappie " Bright grey eyes demurely shining, Even-tempered, plump and happy. Never groaning or repining — Ach, Katrina ! 43 THE LONE TREK Jubt one flaxen curl escaping, From tlie primly fastened setting, One of nature's make and shaping, Yet a curl there's no forgetting — Ach, Katrina ! And such merry joyous laughter, Rippling on with lilts and catches, Charming once, and ever after ; And a voice that — well, it matches ! Ach, Katrina ! When I oH'cr her a posy. She regards me, half-beguiling, With a cheek becoming rosy, Looks provoking, coyly smiling — Ach, Katrina ! " Dat is mooi ; ja dat is piachtig ! Foei ! your heart is torn with sorrow ? Sis toch ! malkop ! (allemachtig !) Pag, mynheer — until to-morrow." Ach, Katrina. 44 THE LONE TREK A Young Transvaaler Sitting lolling in a cafe, Latest tie and stand up collar ; In his pocket scarcely hath he — Very likely half a dollar. OgUng all the cafe ladies With persistent, killing glances, With the smartest thing in cadies. Up in all the newest dances. " Man ! you should have seen her walking 1 Hot stuff, yes ! a heft>' figure ! But to hear her way of talking ! Eh, what ! well, it makes me snigger. " Such an air ! ' I'm sick of ices. Thank you.' Do you know her sister? Sweets ! and never mind the prices ! Swears no man has ever kissed her ! " Were you at the hop ? The Van der Walts' ? I know the brother slightly ; No, not in the service, but er — Still I always bow politely. 45 THE LONE TREK " Cakes ? These take a lot of beating. ' Morning Simpkins,' (Name's Maloney— Met him at the summer meeting — Place I laid and lost a pony). " Ticket, please, miss ! Yours ? you rotter ! One I owe you, such a pity. Tennis off, I have to trot a Piece of fluff around the city ! " Be good ? AVell, I'll do my level Best ; but still, there is no knowing There she goes with— what the dc\\l? 'Scuse, I really must be going ! " Mary Sallow, small and full of angles. Sharpened by the jars and jangles Of the day (the boarder's wrangles Seldom vary) With a tongue unhesitating, Now and then she gives a rating — But of downright, sober slating Always chary. 46 THE LONE TREK Hears an oath — without suggesting It is wrong, or manifesting Signs of shame — the broadest jesting Does not lend her Cheeks the faintest trace of blushes ; No, she merely laughs and brushes Taunts aside, or deftly crushes The offender. Scarcely ever in a flurry, Cool, despite the constant hurry. Calm amid the ceaseless worry All around her. Never outwardly revealing Any sentimental feeling — Yet averse to double-dealing — So I found her. With a life of scanty leisure. Rest, or any real pleasure ; Only work, in ample measure : Very wary Of new friends ; but, having started, Staunch and never to be parted — Hard — and yet a tender-hearted Girl is Mary. 47 THE LONE TKEK The Cafcf Girl Entre fioiis, I think she guesses She is fair ; she always dresses Well, and wears her auburn tresses Grecian style, not in a bun ; Here and there demurely flitting To and fro amid the twitting Youths to where she sees you sitting — In her eyes a spark of fun. *' Not served yet ? What can I get you ? Kisses ? Maybe — if I let you ! When ? A good while still, I bet you — Did you say two cups of tea ? " Gone, but swiftly reappearing : " This a pretty dress I'm wearing ? Let me go, my sleeve is tearing ! There — I'll have you play with me ! " Stay here ? You are growing bolder ! When (she shrugs a careless shoulder) You are just a trifle older ! Well — for quite a little while, 48 THE LONE TREK As we are not very busy — Yes, my name is really Lizzie . . . Silly boy ! You make me dizzy ! (On her lips a lurking smile). " For a stroll with you on Sunday ? Can't. I'm off at six on Monday. Theatre ? I might go one day — Not with you, you are too rude. Well — if there is nothing better ! Stop it ! I shall send a letter Saying my mamma won't let — er — Going are you ? Well, be good ! " The Sport Clad in flannels, shaven neat. Puffing at a cigarette ; At the corner of the street, Pausing just to make a bet For a " fiver " with a pal — • " Hallo, Cockey, there you are. Odds with you on Saucy Gal, Ten to one on Shooting Star." 49 THE LONE TREK Still a little further down : " That you, Tommy ? Say, old chap, Hear that Diggers beat the town ? Pirates lost. A nasty rap ! " Only by a measly goal — Duggy nearly broke his leg ! Yes, old man, I'm in a hole. Come along and have a peg ? " Black and White ? Plain ? Right— for two. Bought a hundred Waters Deeps. Now they've fallen down to — Phew ! I'm a broken man for keeps. " Bye-bye ! See you after six. That you, Charlie ? Thank you, no. Well, just one small tot to fix Things. I'm feeling deuced low. " Bridge the other night with Dick, Sov. a hundred. Tell you, kid. What with poker — fairly thick ! Still I collared thirty quid ! 50 THE LONE TREK " Went on Monday to the stalls — Gad ! the pick of all the show ! Starred at home in music-halls — Fizz for supper ! Eh ! What oh ! " Meet you later at the club — Wanderers at five to three, Hundred yards. The usual pub, Heavy weights — a rare old spree ! ** Seen Jack's pointer ? Not much cop ! Nose too short for pedigree ! Ha, Ha ! No, I must not stop — ■ Give the girl a kiss from me." De Ongelukkige Low she crouches, partly shaded By a doorway. On her sleeping Face a street lamp shows the faded Cheeks, the scanty grey hairs peeping Underneath her hat, a feather Straggling from it, draggled, drooping- 51 THE LONE TREK Thin hands tightly clasped together, And the figure bent and stooping. Once she smiles, her features seeming Young again, and all her tainted Life forgotten. She is dreaming — " Mother darling," say the painted Lips. She stirs and wakens breathing Oaths obscene beyond believing. The Outsider Thkrk upon the step he stands, And his hairy, sunburnt hands Smooth his chin In a furtive, feeble way — And his shaking fingers stray To the pin — That unites his ragged tic To a collar that is " shy " And unclean. All in creases round his throat, And his greasy morning coat May have been 52 THE LONE TREK Long ago a navy blue ; Now it's sodden through and through, And a crust, Mingled sand and dirt and grit. Lies upon and colours it Red as dust. There he stands outside the door, Through the doorway, half ajar, Tries to peep At the drinkers and the drink, Till his pufty eyelids blink, Half-asleep ! Full of longing are his lips, And they tremble, as he sips (In his dreams) Wines no mortal could replace, His unshaven, bloated face Almost beams. Then from out the brawling crowd Someone, cursing him aloud, Elbows by ; And he hears the sound of feet Echo dully up the street — With a sigh. 53 THE LONE TREK He awakes. A pungent wind In his nostrils, of the kind That he craves, Ten times stronger than before, And a sickness shudders o'er Him in waves. And he staggers to the glare, 'Mid the titters and the stare Makes his way — " May you have a glass of beer ? " Thus the barman with a leer. " Can you pay ? " And he fumbles once again In his pockets. All in vain ! Then he pleads Humbly with them, not to stop This, the one and only drop That he needs. But they scoft'at him and smile. And he mutters for a while — Maudlin tears Trickle slowly down his cheek — He is strangely grey and weak For his years. 54 THE LONE TREK Then he reels — pathetic still, Tragic, comic — as you will — Out of sight : Like some draggled Kafifir crow, Wanders, shuffles to and fro — In the night. The Remittance Man He steps, half-furtively, across the street — His morning coat, just needing some repair ; Trousers, good stuff, but shiny in the seat — A greasy hat upon his scanty hair. A slender figure, cheeks a little thin ; Eyes that gleam at you from beneath the brows ; A mouth that twitches, eager to begin : " Sir, just a moment, if your time allows. " A letter waits me " — here his fingers clutch Your sleeve (he coughs) — " but it is overweight ; I have no cash and — twopence is not much. And half an hour hence will be too late. 55 THE LONE TREK " Ah ! thank you." And you see him disappear Towards the letter counter. In a while He conies again, his forehead smooth and clear, Upon his lips a condescending smile. And drawing close, he thrusts a careless hand Into his pockets with a ringing sound Of money. Just to let you understand He would not haggle with you o'er a pound ! " What's yours ? " he mutters, giving back the loan, 'MVhiskey, vermuth, absinthe, perhaps Three Star? No ? Then I must have one upon my own." He shuffles off towards the nearest bar. London: frintkd dv william clowrs ano sons, i.imiteo. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L'J-5mli;,'55(H():i;i'Js4;444 PR Lefebvre - U879 L7^ 1 The lone trek m 1879 L75 1 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 373 250