Other editions of book The Gold Kloof

It was a fine, hot July day on the banks of the Severn river at Tewkesbury, that quaint, old-world, and somewhat decayed town, which offers to the inspection of the visitor and the archæologist some of the most ancient and interesting buildings to be seen in any part of broad England. There was some stir on the banks of the river, for two public schools, one of them situate in the west of England, the other hailing from a Midland shire, were about to contest with one another in their annual boat race. From the Western school a considerable contingent of lads had come over; these were discussing, with the enthusiasm of schoolboys, the prospects of the races. On the banks, gathered near the winning-post, were also to be seen a number of other spectators, some from the town itself, others from the neighbouring country-side.The fateful moment at length had come; the two boats were to be seen in the distance, their oarsmen battling with one another with all the desperate energy that youth and strength and an invincible determination could put into their task. As they drew nearer it was to be seen that the Midland school was leading by nearly half a length. A quarter of a mile remained to be rowed. Loud cries from the Western school resounded along the banks. Hope struggled against hope in every youthful breast; yet it seemed that if the oarsmen of the Western school were to make that final effort for which they were famous, it was now almost too late. But, no! the Western stroke is seen to be calling upon his crew; their flashing blades dip quicker, and yet quicker; they are well together, all apparently animated by the vigour and the reserve of force displayed by their leader. Foot by foot they diminish the lead of their adversaries, who are striving desperately, yet ineffectually, to retain their advantage. A hundred yards from the winning-post the Western lads are level; and as the post is passed they have defeated their adversaries, after one of the finest races ever rowed between the two schools, by a quarter of a length.Amid the exultant and tremendous cheering that now greets the triumph of the Western school, both crews paddle to the boat-house and disembark. The boats are got out and housed, and all but the Western captain and stroke, Guy Hardcastle, are inside the boathouse, bathing and changing their clothes. Guy Hardcastle, a strong, well-set-up lad of seventeen, lingers on the platform in conversation with his house-master, Mr. Brimley-Fair, who has come down to congratulate him on his victory. He is a good-looking lad, fresh complexioned, with fair brown hair, a firm mouth, and a pair of steady, blue-gray eyes, which look the world frankly in the face, with an aspect of candour, friendliness, and self-reliance that most people find very attractive.CONTENTS1. School Days2. Bamborough Farm3. Up-country Life4. The Gold Spoor5. The Trek Begins6. The Shadowers and the Shadowed7. Adventures in the Veldt8. The Elephant Country9. In the Thirst-land10. Tom's Story.--The Baboon Boy11. The Berg Damaras12. The Lion Camp13. Guy is Missing14. Poeskop to the Rescue15. The Kloof16. Gathering Gold17. The Shadowers' Attack18. The Last of Karl Engelbrecht19. Homeward Bound

It was a fine, hot July day on the banks of the Severn river at Tewkesbury, that quaint, old-world, and somewhat decayed town, which offers to the inspection of the visitor and the archæologist some of the most ancient and interesting buildings to be seen in any part of broad England. There was some stir on the banks of the river, for two public schools, one of them situate in the west of England, the other hailing from a Midland shire, were about to contest with one another in their annual boat race. From the Western school a considerable contingent of lads had come over; these were discussing, with the enthusiasm of schoolboys, the prospects of the races. On the banks, gathered near the winning-post, were also to be seen a number of other spectators, some from the town itself, others from the neighbouring country-side.The fateful moment at length had come; the two boats were to be seen in the distance, their oarsmen battling with one another with all the desperate energy that youth and strength and an invincible determination could put into their task. As they drew nearer it was to be seen that the Midland school was leading by nearly half a length. A quarter of a mile remained to be rowed. Loud cries from the Western school resounded along the banks. Hope struggled against hope in every youthful breast; yet it seemed that if the oarsmen of the Western school were to make that final effort for which they were famous, it was now almost too late. But, no! the Western stroke is seen to be calling upon his crew; their flashing blades dip quicker, and yet quicker; they are well together, all apparently animated by the vigour and the reserve of force displayed by their leader. Foot by foot they diminish the lead of their adversaries, who are striving desperately, yet ineffectually, to retain their advantage. A hundred yards from the winning-post the Western lads are level; and as the post is passed they have defeated their adversaries, after one of the finest races ever rowed between the two schools, by a quarter of a length.

The Gold KloofHenry Anderson Bryden, Rugby union international who represented England in 1874 and was also a noted natural historian (1854-1937)This ebook presents «The Gold Kloof», from Henry Anderson Bryden. A dynamic table of contents enables to jump directly to the chapter selected.Table of Contents- About This Book- School Days- Bamborough Farm- Up-country Life- The Gold Spoor- The Trek Begins- The Shadowers And The Shadowed- Adventures In The Veldt- The Elephant Country- In The Thirst-land- Tom's Story-the Baboon Boy- The Berg Damaras- The Lion Camp- Guy Is Missing- Poeskop To The Rescue- The Kloof- Gathering Gold- The Shadowers' Attack- The Last Of Karl Engelbrecht- Homeward Bound

"BAMBOROUGH FARM, NEAR MAFEKING, BRITISH BECHUANALAND, May 4, 1896. "MY DEAR GUY,--I am grieved indeed to have bad news to send you--the worst, in fact, that I could possibly have to write. Your dear father died two months since at Abaquessa, some two hundred miles up country from Cape Coast Castle, where, as you know, he was at work opening up a mine. This is a sad blow for us all, more especially for you, who lose your nearest and dearest relative, and one of the best and kindest of fathers. I need not tell you how much I mourn his loss……….. "…. I gather that your father had had repeated attacks of the dangerous malarial fever which is so fatal on the West Coast. From the last of these he never recovered. In his last two letters to me, which I enclose for your perusal, he seems to have had a foreboding that he would not recover; and in the very last (the few lines in pencil, written the day before his death) he asks me to take charge of you and look after you till you are able to manage your own affairs…….. "From what your father has told me, he has left behind him some £2,000. This will, of course, come to you, under the terms of the will, at the age of twenty-one. Meantime, you are to have the interest for your maintenance. I need hardly point out to you that your father's death makes a great difference in your future prospects. He earned a fairly good income during his life, and had at one time saved considerably more money than he now leaves. Some unfortunate investments, and the very heavy expenses of that patent lawsuit in which he was engaged--trying vainly, as it turned out, to protect a very unique invention of his own in connection with the concentration and chlorination of pyrites--reduced his savings very considerably; and instead of some £5,000, which might have been looked for three or four years ago, you now only succeed, as I say, to about £2,000. "In his last two letters your father, as you will see, told me that he had decided not to enter you into his own profession of a mining engineer….. "He reiterated, as you will see, in both these letters, the wish that, in case of his death, you should come out here to me and learn farming. He says, very rightly, that the life is a healthy one; that a man can do fairly well if he is steady and sticks to business; and that he is convinced that you, with your open-air inclinations and active habits, would do very well in it. You will have enough to start you fairly when you are ready to take up land of your own……. "You will understand that I don't want to make a point of your throwing in your lot with me and taking to my business of farming out here. I want you to think well over the pros and cons. I don't know whether you have ever thought of any other line of life. I would remind you, however, that doctoring and the law require a long and expensive apprenticeship of five years at least before you can earn money for yourself; that you cannot afford an army career; and that you are now too old for the navy. From what I know of you, I don't fancy you would take very readily to the career of a bank clerk, or a clerk in a merchant's office. "….. I shall do my best to fit you for the life of a South African farmer. "Now, my dear Guy, I must finish. With our deepest sympathy in your heavy loss, and our kindest love,--Believe me, your affectionate Uncle, C. F. BLAKENEY."

It was a fine, hot July day on the banks of the Severn river at Tewkesbury, that quaint, old-world, and somewhat decayed town, which offers to the inspection of the visitor and the archæologist some of the most ancient and interesting buildings to be seen in any part of broad England. There was some stir on the banks of the river, for two public schools, one of them situate in the west of England, the other hailing from a Midland shire, were about to contest with one another in their annual boat race.

It was a fine, hot July day on the banks of the Severn river at Tewkesbury, that quaint, old-world, and somewhat decayed town, which offers to the inspection of the visitor and the arch�ologist some of the most ancient and interesting buildings to be seen in any part of broad England. There was some stir on the banks of the river, for two public schools, one of them situate in the west of England, the other hailing from a Midland shire, were about to contest with one another in their annual boat race. From the Western school a considerable contingent of lads had come over; these were discussing, with the enthusiasm of schoolboys, the prospects of the races. On the banks, gathered near the winning-post, were also to be seen a number of other spectators, some from the town itself, others from the neighbouring country-side. The fateful moment at length had come; the two boats were to be seen in the distance, their oarsmen battling with one another with all the desperate energy that youth and strength and an invincible determination could put into their task. As they drew nearer it was to be seen that the Midland school was leading by nearly half a length. A quarter of a mile remained to be rowed. Loud cries from the Western school resounded along the banks. Hope struggled against hope in every youthful breast; yet it seemed that if the oarsmen of the Western school were to make that final effort for which they were famous, it was now almost too late. But, no! the Western stroke is seen to be calling upon his crew; their flashing blades dip quicker, and yet quicker; they are well together, all apparently animated by the vigour and the reserve of force displayed by their leader. Foot by foot they diminish the lead of their adversaries, who are striving desperately, yet ineffectually, to retain their advantage. A hundred yards from the winning-post the Western lads are level; and as the post is passed they have defeated their adversaries, after one of the finest races ever rowed between the two schools, by a quarter of a length. Amid the exultant and tremendous cheering that now greets the triumph of the Western school, both crews paddle to the boat-house and disembark. The boats are got out and housed, and all but the Western captain and stroke, Guy Hardcastle, are inside the boathouse, bathing and changing their clothes. Guy Hardcastle, a strong, well-set-up lad of seventeen, lingers on the platform in conversation with his house-master, Mr. Brimley-Fair, who has come down to congratulate him on his victory. He is a good-looking lad, fresh complexioned, with fair brown hair, a firm mouth, and a pair of steady, blue-gray eyes, which look the world frankly in the face, with an aspect of candour, friendliness, and self-reliance that most people find very attractive. While master and boy are talking together for a brief minute or two, a sudden cry comes from the river, followed by others. They look that way, and see instantly the reason of the outcry. Some country people, rowing across from the other side, are evidently not accustomed to boating. Two of them attempt to change places in mid-stream: they are womenfolk; they become alarmed and shift in their places, the heavily laden boat is upset, and half a dozen people are struggling in the water.

The Gold Kloof ,action adventure,action books,boys books,school days,rhinoceros,baboonAlthough not a brilliantly clever boy, he was possessed of quite average brains. He was, in addition, a steady and consistent worker, with the result that he was now in the highest form in the school, on the modern side, and a prefect. A thoroughly good stamp of an English schoolboy, excellent at work, keen at games, good tempered, reliable, and steady, Guy Hardcastle was undoubtedly all round the most popular boy in the school. He owed not a little of his popularity to his character, which was strong, simple, and always to be relied upon. His schoolfellows knew that he hated meanness and lying; that he was the foe of the bully and the sneak; that the side he took was the side always of truth and honour and duty. In his own house his force of character and his steady example had insensibly created within the last year or so a vast improvement in the whole tone and spirit of the community of fifty boys; and his house-master, Mr. Brimley-Fair, well knew how valuable an ally he had in the boy, in those directions where the precepts and admonitions of the master are not always able to penetrate.Guy Hardcastle expected at this period to have another year of school life. After that time it was his father's intention to send him to the School of Mines in Jermyn Street, London, to prepare him for the profession of a mining engineer, which he himself followed. The fateful news that Guy received came to him one morning in a letter which, by the handwriting, postmark, and stamp, he knew was from his Uncle Charles, in British Bechuanaland. The first few lines read by him as he sat at breakfast turned his ruddy cheek pale. He read no further, but thrust the letter into his pocket, hurriedly finished his meal, and went to his study. There he took out the letter again, and, sadly and with a clouded brow, perused the contents, which were as follows:--

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