And the people, its children, are like unto it. Their minds are as
blank, as totally devoid of culture and of ideas as the plains around
them. They have an infinite capacity for existing without doing anything
or thinking anything; in a state of physical and mental inertia that
would drive an Englishman mad. A Boer farmer, sitting on his stoep,
large and strong, but absolutely lethargic, is the very incarnation of
the spirit of the veldt. At the same time, when one remembers the
clatter and gabble of our civilisation, it is impossible to deny him a
certain dignity, though it may be only the dignity of cattle.
The problem will apparently be, when we have burnt these people out or
shot them, and in various ways annexed a good deal of the land they now
live on, how are we to replace them? What strikes one is that time and
the country, acting on the naturally phlegmatic Dutch character, has
produced a type exactly suited to this life and these surroundings. And
it does seem in many ways a pity to destroy this type unless you have
something to take its place. Except in one or two very limited areas,
accessible to markets, and where there is a water supply, no English
colonist would care to settle in this country. The Canadians and
Australians, many of whom volunteered, and came here with the view of
having a look at the land and perhaps settling, are, I hear, unanimous
in condemning it.
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