On the Doorstep of the Civilized

The First Steps into the Unknown

Before dawn, Pieter and Koen led their small caravan of wagons and livestock along the winding dirt roads of Drakenstein. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of wet earth from a recent drizzle. The children slept in the wagons, huddled under blankets, while Anika rode beside Pieter, her eyes alert despite the early hour.

The town behind them slowly faded into the mist. Smoke from chimneys rose like thin white fingers, the last sign of the colony they were leaving. Pieter exhaled deeply, feeling both relief and apprehension. “At last,” he murmured. “The first step is always the hardest. But the rest… will test every ounce of our strength.”

Koen rode beside him, reins in one hand, the other resting on the hilt of a small knife at his belt. “The British know we move. It will not be long before their patrols attempt to follow, or at least spy. We must keep our pace steady and our path unpredictable.”

Pieter nodded. “Yes. But we travel with purpose, not fear. The veld is vast, and it favors those who respect it.”

The first hours passed with little incident, the only sound the creak of wheels and the occasional snort of a horse. But by midday, Pieter noticed movement along the ridge—a group of mounted men in red coats, scanning the landscape with sharp eyes. British patrols.

“Koen,” Pieter whispered, pointing, “they have spotted us.”

Koen squinted, assessing the distance. “No chase yet. Perhaps they wish only to report. We must maintain calm. Any rash action would confirm their fears.”

Pieter slowed the wagons, letting the patrol observe them without making sudden moves. The soldiers passed at a distance, calling out questions in clipped English, which Pieter ignored. The patrol’s presence alone was a reminder: the journey would not be free from scrutiny.

Later, as the caravan rested by a small stream, Pieter gathered the family. “We must be careful. They will test our resolve, but the wilderness will reward those who move with caution and courage.”

Anika spread blankets on the ground. “The children are frightened, Pieter. Hendrik asks why the British would wish to stop us. Marietjie wonders if we are doing wrong.”

Pieter knelt beside them, smoothing their hair. “It is not wrong to seek a life of freedom. The British cannot take that from us unless we surrender it ourselves. Their laws, their mockery, their fears… none of it matters once we are beyond their reach.”

The family nodded, reassured by Pieter’s certainty, though shadows of doubt lingered in their eyes.

By afternoon, the wagons reached a small village of Cape Dutch farmers, many of whom were curious or scornful of the travelers. Pieter dismounted to speak with them.

“Where are you going, Van der Merwe?” an older man asked, leaning on his cane. “The interior is wild. You have no protection. You will be robbed by the natives or starve before the rivers dry.”

Pieter straightened, voice firm. “We go where our lives are our own. The interior is not easy, but neither is obedience to men who mock our ways. We prefer danger with freedom to safety with chains.”

A young woman nearby laughed, covering her mouth. “How brave you are! Or perhaps foolish. I cannot decide. You will return, I expect, begging for help.”

Koen stepped forward, his voice low and calm. “We do not seek approval. Only survival, only dignity. You may mock us, but the land will judge us, not your gossip.”

The villagers exchanged glances, some whispering, some shaking their heads. Pieter’s chest tightened. Even among their own people, respect was not guaranteed. The decision to leave the colony had made them outsiders in every sense—mocked, feared, and misunderstood.

That evening, the caravan camped near a stand of trees, a small fire flickering. Pieter examined the map once more, tracing the rivers and hills. The unknown stretched ahead, vast and intimidating.

“Tomorrow,” Pieter said, “we reach the mountains. The paths are narrow and treacherous. But beyond them… freedom waits.”

Koen nodded. “And patrols may attempt to intercept us. We must move quickly at first light.”

The night passed uneventfully, but Pieter noticed distant figures—perhaps scouts, perhaps merchants sent to spy—watching from the hills. He said nothing, only tightened his grip on the reins, heart pounding with a mix of fear and anticipation.

The next morning brought rain, making the roads slippery and the wagons heavy. Yet, the caravan pressed on. Pieter took the lead, guiding the horses with steady hands, Koen scouting ahead. Every ridge, every stream was a potential hazard, but also a marker of progress into independence.

By midday, a lone Cape Dutch farmer appeared, riding a small horse. He eyed Pieter with a mixture of disdain and fascination. “Van der Merwe! You truly go through with it?”

Pieter nodded. “Yes. The British mock us, our townsfolk mock us, even our kin shake their heads at our choice. Yet we move because our families’ freedom cannot wait.”

The farmer snorted. “I would not be surprised if you return, feet wet, carts broken, cattle lost. But… perhaps you will prove me wrong. Perhaps.”

Koen’s hand rested on the pommel of his saddle. “We will prove only one thing: a man who respects the land and his own will can endure far more than those who sit comfortably behind walls and laws.”

The farmer shook his head, muttering under his breath as he rode away. Pieter and Koen exchanged glances. The words stung, but their resolve did not waver.

That afternoon, the caravan encountered a small group of Xhosa herders along a river. Pieter approached cautiously, greeting them in their own tongue as best he could. The herders eyed the wagons and livestock warily.

“We mean no harm,” Pieter said. “We travel with our families. We trade, if possible, and move on.”

The herders studied them, expressions unreadable. One finally nodded. “The land is yours to pass. Respect it, and it will not speak against you.”

Koen exhaled slowly. “Respect,” he murmured. “The only rule that matters in this journey.”

By nightfall, the caravan reached a clearing, and Pieter allowed himself a moment of quiet reflection. The path was still long, the British still watching, and the ridicule of neighbors and officials still clung to them like a shadow. Yet in the distance, the mountains loomed—promising isolation, challenge, and freedom.

Pieter looked at his family, gathered near the fire. “They mock us, they threaten us, they doubt us. But none of it matters. We have chosen our path. And as long as we ride together, as long as we respect the land and each other, we cannot fail.”

Koen clapped Pieter on the shoulder. “The mockery will fade with every mile. By the time the first mountain is behind us, the voices will be nothing but whispers in the wind.”

Pieter nodded, gazing at the stars above. For the first time in weeks, he felt the thrill of possibility, the sense that they were not fleeing, but beginning something new. The first steps into the interior had been taken. The road ahead was uncertain, dangerous, and full of trial—but it was theirs.

And for Pieter, Koen, and their families, that truth was worth more than any comfort the colony could offer.