When I was at Pieter Maritzburg a young lady who wasmuch interested in the welfare of the Zulus and who had perhaps a stronger belief in the virtues of the black people than in the justice of the white, read to me a diary which had just been made by a Zulu who had travelled from Natal into Zulu-land to see Cetywayo, and had returned not only in safety but with glowing accounts of the King’s good conduct to him. The diary was in the Zulu language and my young friend, if I may call her so, shewed her perfect mastery over that and her mother tongue by the way in which she translated it for me. That the diary was an excellent literary production, and that it was written by the Zulu in an extremely good running hand, containing the narrative of his journey from day to day in a manner quite as interesting as many published English journals, are certainly facts. How far it was true may be a matter of doubt. The lady and her family believed it entirely,—and they knew the man well. The bulk of the white inhabitants of Pieter Maritzburg would probably not have believed a word of it. I believed most of it, every now and then arousing the gentle wrath of the fair reader by casting a doubt upon certain details. The writer of the journal was present, however, answering questions as they were asked; and, as he understood and spoke English, my doubts could only be expressed when he was out of the room. “There is a touch of romance there,” I would say when he had left us alone. “Wasn’t that put in specially for you and your father?” I asked as to another passage. But she was strong in support of her Zulu, and made me feel that I should like to have such an advocate if ever suspected myself.
The personal adventures of the narrator and the literary skill displayed were perhaps the most interesting features of the narrative;—but the purport was to defend the character of Cetywayo. The man had been told that being a Christian and an emissary from Natal he would probably be murdered if he went on to the Chief’s Kraal; but he had persevered and had been brought face to face with the King. Then he had made his speech. “I have come, O King, to tell you that your friend Langalibalele is safe.” For it was supposed in Zulu-land that Langalibalele, who shall have the next chapter of this volume devoted to him, had been made away with by the English. At this the King expressed his joy and declared his readiness to receive his friend into his kingdom, if the Queen of England would so permit. “But, O King,” continued the audacious herald, “why have you sent away the missionaries, and why have you murdered the converts? Tell me this, O King, because we in Natal are very unhappy at the evil things which are said of you.” Then the King, with great forbearance and a more than British absence of personal tyranny, explained his whole conduct. He had not sent the missionaries away. They were stupid people, not of much use to any one as he thought, who had got into a fright and had gone. He had always been good to them;—but they had now run away without even the common civility of saying good-bye. He seemed to be very bitter because they had “trekked” without even the ceremony of leaving a P.P.C. card. He had certainly not sent them away; but as they had left his dominions after that fashion they had better not come back again. As forthe murders he had had nothing to do with them. There was a certain difficulty in ruling his subjects, and there would be bad men and violent men in his kingdom,—as in others. Two converts and two only had been murdered and he was very sorry for it. As for making his people Christians he thought it would be just as well that the missionaries should make the soldiers in Pieter Maritzburg Christians before they came to try their hand upon the Zulus.
I own I thought that the highly polished black traveller who was sitting before me must have heard the last little sarcasm among his white friends in Natal and had put the sharp words into the King’s mouth for effect. “I think,” said my fair friend, “that Cetywayo had us there,” intending in her turn to express an opinion that the poor British soldier who makes his way out to the Colony is not always all that he should be. I would not stop to explain that the civilization of the white and black men may go on together, and that Cetywayo need not remain a Savage because a soldier is fond of his beer.
Such was the gist of the diary,—which might probably be worth publishing as shewing something of the manners of the Zulus, and something also of the feeling of these people towards the English. Zulu-land is one of the problems which have next to be answered. Let my reader look at his map. Natal is a British Colony;—so is now the Transvaal. The territory which he will see marked as Basuto Land has been annexed to the Cape Colony. Kafraria, which still nominally belongs to the natives, is almost annexed. The Kafrarian problem will soon be solved in spite of Kreli. ButZulu-land, surrounded as it is by British Colonies and the Portuguese settlement at Delagoa Bay, is still a native country,—in which the king or chief can live by his own laws and do as his soul lusts. I am very far from recommending an extension of British interference; but if I know anything of British manners and British ways, there will be British interference in Zulu-land before long.
In the meantime our own Colony of Natal is peopled with Zulus whom we rule, not very regularly, but on the whole with success. They are, to my thinking, singularly amenable; and though I imagine they would vote us out of the country if a plebiscite were possible, they are individually docile and well-mannered, and as Savages are not uncomfortable neighbours. That their condition as a people has been improved by the coming of the white man there can be no doubt. I will put out of consideration for a moment the peculiar benefits of Christianity which have not probably reached very many of them, and will speak only of the material advantages belonging to this world. The Zulu himself says of himself that he can now sleep with both eyes shut and both ears, whereas, under tribal rule, it was necessary that he should ever have one eye open and one ear, ready for escape. He can earn wages if he pleases. He is fed regularly, whereas it was his former fate,—as it is of all Savages and wild beasts,—to vacillate between famine and a gorge. He can occupy land and know it for his own, so that no Chief shall take away his produce. If he have cattle he can own them in safety. He cannot be “smelt out” by the witchfinder and condemned, so that his wealthbe confiscated. He is subjected no doubt to thraldom, but not to tyranny. To the savage subject there is nothing so terrible as the irresponsible power of a savage ruler. A Dingaan is the same as a Nero,—a ruler whose heart becomes impregnated by power with a lust for blood. “No emperor before me,” said Nero, “has known what an emperor could do.” And so said Dingaan. Cetywayo would probably have said the same and done the same had he not been checked by English influences. The Zulu of Natal knows well what it is to have escaped from such tyranny.
He is a thrall, and must remain so probably for many a year to come. I call a man a thrall when he has to be bound by laws in the making of which he has no voice and is subject to legislators whom he does not himself choose. But the thraldom though often irrational and sometimes fantastic is hardly ever cruel. The white British ruler who is always imperious,—and who is often irrational and sometimes fantastic,—has almost always at his heart an intention to do good. He has a conscience in the matter—with rare exceptions, and though he may be imperious and fantastic, is not tyrannical. He rules the Zulu after a fashion which to a philanthropist or to a stickler for the rights of man, is abominable. He means to be master, and knowing the nature of the Zulu, he stretches his power. He cannot stand upon scruples or strain at gnats. If a blow will do when a word has not served he gives the blow,—though the blow probably be illegal. There are certain things which he is entitled to demand, certain privileges which he is entitled to exact; but he cannot stop himself for a small trifle. Thereare twenty thousand whites to be protected amidst three hundred thousand blacks, with other hundreds of thousands crowding around without number, and he has to make the Zulu know that he is master. And he quite understands that he has to keep the philanthropist and Exeter Hall,—perhaps even Downing Street and Printing House Square,—a little in the dark as to the way he does it. But he is not wilfully cruel to the Zulu, and not often really unkind.
I was riding, when in Natal, over a mountain with a gentleman high in authority when we met a Zulu with his assegai and knobkirrie.[17]It is still the custom of a Zulu to carry with him his assegai and knobkirrie, though the assegai is unlawful wherever he may be, and the knobkirrie is forbidden in the towns. My companion did not know the Zulu, but found it necessary, for some official reason, to require the man’s presence on the following morning at the place from which we had ridden, which was then about ten miles distant. The purport of the required attendance I now forget,—if I ever knew it,—but it had some reference to the convenience of the party of which I made one. The order was given and the Zulu, assenting, was passing on. But a sudden thought struck my companion. He spoke a word in the native tongue desiring that the assegai and knobkirrie might be given up to him. With a rueful look the weapons were at once surrendered and the unarmed Zulu passed on. “He knows that I do not know him,” said my companion, “and would not come unless I had a hold upon him;”—meaning that the Zulu would surely come to redeem his assegai and knobkirrie.
Then I enquired into this practice, and perhaps expostulated a little. “What would you have done,” I asked, “if the man had refused to give up his property?” “Such a thing has never yet occurred to me,” said the gentleman in authority. “When it does I will tell you.” But again I remonstrated. “The things were his own, and why should they have been taken away from him?” The gentleman in authority smiled, but another of our party remarked that the weapons were illegal, and that the confiscation of them was decidedly proper. But the knobkirrie on the mountain side was not illegal, and even the assegai was to be restored when the man shewed himself at the appointed place. They were not taken because they were illegal, but as surety for the man’s return. I did not press the question, but I fear that I was held to have enquired too curiously on a matter which did not concern me. I thought that it concerned me much, for it told me plainer than could any spoken description how a savage race is ruled by white men.
The reader is not to suppose that I think that the assegai and knobkirrie should not have been taken from the man. On the other hand I think that my companion knew very well what he was about, and that the Zulu generally is lucky to have such men in the land. I say again that we must have resort to such practices, or that we must leave the country. But I have told the tale because it exemplifies what I say as to the manner in which savage races are ruled by us. Wewere all shocked the other day because an Indian servant was struck by a white master, and died from the effects of the blow. The man’s death was an unfortunate accident which probably caused extreme anguish to the striker, but cannot be said to have increased at all the criminality of his act. The question is how far a white master is justified in striking a native servant. The idea of so doing is to us at home abominable;—but I fear that we must believe that it is too common in India to create disgust. It is much the same in Zulu-land. Something is done occasionally which should not be done, but the rule generally is beneficent.
Of all the towns in South Africa Pieter Maritzburg is the one in which the native element is the most predominant. It is not only that the stranger there sees more black men and women in the streets than elsewhere, but that the black men and women whom he sees are more noticeable. While I was writing of “The Colony,” as the Cape Colony is usually called in South Africa, I spoke of Kafirs. Now I am speaking of Zulus,—a comparatively modern race of savages as I have already said. I have seen a pedigree of Chaka their king, but his acknowledged ancestors do not go back far. Chaka became a great man, and the Zulus swallowed all the remainder of the conquered tribes, and became so dominant that they have given their name to the natives of this part of the continent.
The Zulus as seen in Maritzburg are certainly a peculiar people, and very picturesque. I have said of the Kafir that he is always dressed when seen in town, but thathe is dressed like an Irish beggar. I should have added, however, that he always wears his rags with a grace. The Zulu rags are perhaps about equal to the Kafir rags in raggedness, but the Zulu grace is much more excellent than the Kafir grace. Whatever it be that the Zulu wears he always looks as though he had chosen that peculiar costume, quite regardless of expense, as being the one mode of dress most suitable to his own figure and complexion. The rags are there, but it seems as though the rags have been chosen with as much solicitude as any dandy in Europe gives to the fit and colour of his raiment. When you see him you are inclined to think, not that his clothes are tattered, but “curiously cut,”—like Catherine’s gown. One fellow will walk erect with an old soldier’s red coat on him and nothing else, another will have a pair of knee breeches and a flannel shirt hanging over it. A very popular costume is an ordinary sack, inverted, with a big hole for the head, and smaller holes for the arms, and which comes down below the wearer’s knees. This is serviceable and decent, and has an air of fashion about it too as long as it is fairly clean. Old grey great coats with brass buttons, wherever they may come from, are in request, and though common always seem to confer dignity. A shirt and trowsers worn threadbare, so ragged as to seem to defy any wearer to find his way into them, will assume a peculiar look of easy comfort on the back and legs of a Zulu. An ordinary flannel shirt, with nothing else, is quite sufficient to make you feel that the black boy who is attending you, is as fit to be brought into any company as a powdered footman. And then it is socheap a livery! and over and above their dress they always wear ornaments. The ornaments are peculiar, and might be called poor, but they never seem amiss. We all know at home the detestable appearance of the vulgar cad who makes himself odious with chains and pins,—the Tittlebat Titmouse from the counter. But when you see a Zulu with his ornaments you confess to yourself that he has a right to them. As with a pretty woman at home, whose attire might be called fantastic were it not fashionable, of whom we feel that as she was born to be beautiful, graceful, and idle, she has a right to be a butterfly,—and that she becomes and justifies the quaint trappings which she selects, so of the Zulu do we acknowledge that he is warranted by the condition of his existence in adorning his person as he pleases. Load him with bangle, armlet, ear-ring and head-dress to any extent, and he never looks like a hog in armour. He inserts into the lobes of his ears trinkets of all sorts,—boxes for the conveyance of his snuff and little delights, and other pendants as though his ears had been given to him for purposes of carriage. Round his limbs he wears round shining ornaments of various material, brass, ivory, wood and beads. I once took from off a man’s arm a section of an elephant’s tooth which he had hollowed, and the remaining rim of which was an inch and a half thick. This he wore, loosely slipping up and down and was apparently in no way inconvenienced by it. Round their heads they tie ribbons and bandelets. They curl their crisp hair into wonderful shapes. I have seen many as to whom I would at first have sworn that they had suppliedthemselves with miraculous wigs made by miraculous barbers. They stick quills and bones and bits of wood into their hair, always having an eye to some peculiar effect. They will fasten feathers to their back hair which go waving in the wind. I have seen a man trundling a barrow with a beautiful green wreath on his brow, and have been convinced at once that for the proper trundling of a barrow a man ought to wear a green wreath. A Zulu will get an old hat,—what at home we call a slouch hat,—some hat probably which came from the corner of Bond Street and Piccadilly three or four years ago, and will knead it into such shapes that all the establishments of all the Christys could not have done the like. The Zulu is often slow, often idle, sometimes perhaps hopelessly useless, but he is never awkward. The wonderfully pummelled hat sits upon him like a helmet upon Minerva or a furred pork pie upon a darling in Hyde Park in January. But the Zulu at home in his own country always wears on his head the “isicoco,” or head ring, a shining black coronet made hard with beaten earth and pigments,—earth taken from the singular ant hills of the country,—which is the mark of his rank and virility and to remove which would be a stain.
I liked the Zulu of the Natal capital very thoroughly. You have no cabs there,—and once when in green ignorance I had myself carried from one end of the town to another in a vehicle, I had to pay 10s. 6d. for the accommodation. But the Zulu, ornamented and graceful as he is, will carry your portmanteau on his head all the way for sixpence. Hitherto money has not become common in Natalas in British Kafraria, and the Zulu is cheap. He will hold your horse for you for an hour, and not express a sense of injury if he gets nothing;—but for a silver threepence he will grin at you with heartfelt gratitude. Copper I believe he will not take,—but copper is so thoroughly despised in the Colony that no one dares to shew it. At Maritzburg I found that I could always catch a Zulu at a moment’s notice to do anything. At the hotel or the club, or your friend’s house you signify to some one that you want a boy, and the boy is there at once. If you desired him to go a journey of 200 miles to the very boundary of the Colony, he would go instantly, and be not a whit surprised. He will travel 30 or 40 miles in the twenty-four hours for a shilling a day, and will assuredly do the business confided to him. Maritzburg is 55 miles from Durban and an acquaintance told me that he had sent down a very large wedding cake by a boy in 24 hours. “But if he had eaten it?” I asked. “His Chief would very soon have eaten him,” was the reply.
But there is a drawback to all these virtues. A Zulu will sometimes cross your path with so strong an injury to your nose as almost to make you ill. I have been made absolutely sick by the entrance of a good-natured Zulu into my bedroom of a morning, when he has come near me in his anxiety about my boots or my hot water. In this respect he is more potent than any of his brethren of the negro race who have come in my way. Why it is or whence I am unable to say, or how it comes to pass that now and again there is one who will almost knock you down, while adozen others shall cross you leaving no more than a mere flavour of Zuluism on your nasal organs. I do not think that dirt has anything to do with it. They are a specially clean people, washing themselves often and using soap with a bountiful liberality unknown among many white men. As the fox who leaves to the hounds the best scent is always the fox in the strongest health, so I fancy is it with the Zulu,—whereas dirt is always unhealthy. But there is the fact; and any coming visitor to Natal had better remember it, and be on his guard.
Almost all domestic service is done by the Zulu or Kafir race in Natal. Here and there may be found a European servant,—a head waiter at an hotel, or a nurse in a lady’s family, or a butler in the establishment of some great man. But all menial work is as a rule done by the natives and is done with fidelity. I cannot say that they are good servants at all points. They are slow, often forgetful, and not often impressed with any sense of awe as to their master, who cannot eat them up or kill them as a black master might do. But they are good-humoured, anxious to oblige, offended at nothing, and extremely honest. Their honesty is so remarkable that the white man falls unconsciously into the habit of regarding them in reference to theft as he would a dog. A dog, unless very well mannered, would take a bit of meat, and a Zulu boy might help himself to your brandy if it was left open within his reach. But your money, your rings, your silver forks, and your wife’s jewels,—if you have a wife and she have jewels,—are as safe with a Zulu servant as with a dog. The feeling that it is so comes evento the stranger after a short sojourn in the land. I was travelling through the country by a mail cart, and had to stay at a miserable wayside hut which called itself an hotel, with eight or ten other passengers. Close at hand, not a hundred yards from the door, were pitched the tents of a detachment of soldiers, who were being marched up to the border between Natal and the Transvaal. Everybody immediately began to warn his neighbour as to his property because of the contiguity of the British soldier. But no one ever warns you to beware of a Zulu thief though the Zulus swarm round the places at which you stop. I found myself getting into a habit of trusting a Zulu just as I would trust a dog.
I have already said something of Zulu labour when speaking of the sugar districts round Durban. It is the question upon which the prosperity of South Africa and the civilization of the black races much depend. If a man can be taught to want, really to desire and to covet the good things of the world, then he will work for them and by working he will be civilized. If, when they are presented to his notice, he still despises them,—if when clothes and houses and regular meals and education come in his way, he will still go naked, and sleep beneath the sky, and eat grass or garbage and then starve, and remain in his ignorance though the schoolmaster be abroad, then he will be a Savage to the end of the chapter. It is often very hard to find out whether the good things have been properly proffered to the Savage, and whether the man’s neglect of them has come from his own intellectual inability to appreciate them or from the illmanner in which they have been tendered to him. The aboriginal of Australia has utterly rejected them, as I fear we must say the North American Indian has done also,—either from his own fault or from ours. The Maori of New Zealand seemed to be in the way of accepting them when it was found out that the reception of them was killing him. He is certainly dying whether from that or other causes. The Chinaman and the Indian Coolie are fully alive to the advantages of earning money, and are consequently not to be classed among Savages. The South Sea Islander has as yet had but few chances of working; but when he is employed he works well and saves his wages. With the Negro as imported into the West Indies the good things of the world have, I fear, made but little way. He despises work and has not even yet learned to value the advantages which work will procure for him. The Negro in the United States, who in spite of his prolonged slavery has been brought up in a better school, gives more promise; but even with him the result to be desired,—the consciousness that by work only can he raise himself to an equality with the white man,—seems to be far distant. I cannot say that it is near with the Kafir or the Zulu;—but to the Kafir and the Zulu the money market has been opened comparatively but for a short time. They certainly do not die out under the yoke, and they are not indifferent to the material comforts of life. Therefore I think there is a fair hope that they will become a laborious and an educated people.
At present no doubt throughout Natal there is a cry from the farmer that the Zulu will not work. The farmer cannot plough his land and reap it because the Zulu will not come to him just when work is required. It seems hard to the farmer that, with 300,000 of a labouring class around, the 20,000 white capitalists,—capitalists in a small way,—should be short of labour. That is the way in which the Natal farmer looks at it, when he swears that the Zulu is trash, and that it would be well if he were swept from the face of the earth. It seems never to occur to a Natal farmer that if a Zulu has enough to live on without working he should be as free to enjoy himself in idleness as an English lord. The business of the Natal farmer is to teach the Zulu that he has not enough to live on, and that there are enjoyments to be obtained by working of which the idle man knows nothing.
But the Zulu does work, though not so regularly as might be desirable. I was astonished to find at how much cheaper a rate he works than does the Kafir in British Kafraria or in the Cape Colony generally. The wages paid by the Natal farmer run from 10s. down to 5s. a month, and about 3 lbs. of mealies or Indian corn a day for diet. I found that on road parties,—where the labour is I am sorry to say compulsory, the men working under constraint from their Chiefs,—the rate is 5s. a month, or 4d. a day for single days. The farmer who complains of course expects to get his work cheap, and thinks that he is injuring not only himself but the community at large if he offers more than the price which has been fixed in his mind as proper. But in truth there is much of Zulu agricultural work done at a low rate of wages, and the custom of such work is increasing.
As to other work, work in towns, work among stores, domestic work, carrying, carting, driving, cleaning horses, tending pigs, roadmaking, running messages, scavengering, hod bearing and the like, the stranger is not long in Natal before he finds, not only that all such work is done by Natives, but that there are hands to do it more ready and easy to find than in any other country that he has visited.
Thestory of Langalibalele is one which I must decline to tell with any pretence of accuracy, and as to the fate of the old Zulu,—whether he has been treated wrongly or rightly I certainly am not competent to give an opinion with that decision which a printed statement should always convey. But in writing of the Colony of Natal it is impossible to pass Langalibalele without mention. It is not too much to say that the doings of Langalibalele have altered the Constitution of the Colony; and it is probable that as years run on they will greatly affect the whole treatment of the Natives in South Africa. And yet Langalibalele was never a great man among the Zulus and must often have been surprised at his own importance.
Those who were concerned with the story are still alive and many of them are still sore with the feeling of unmerited defeat. And to no one in the whole matter has there been anything of the triumph of success. The friends of Langalibalele, and his enemies, seem equally to think that wrong has been done,—or no better than imperfect justice. And the case is one the origin and end of which can hardly now be discovered, so densely are they enveloped in Zulu customsand past Zulu events. Whether a gentleman twenty years ago when firing a pistol intended to wound or only frighten? Such, and such like, are the points which the teller of the story would have to settle if he intended to decide upon the rights and wrongs of the question. Is it not probable that a man having been called on for sudden action, in a great emergency, may himself be in the dark as to his own intention at so distant a period,—knowing only that he was anxious to carry out the purpose for which he was sent, that purpose having been the establishment of British authority? And then this matter was one in which the slightest possible error of judgment, the smallest deviation from legal conduct where no law was written, might be efficacious to set everything in a blaze. The natives of South Africa, but especially the natives of Natal, have to be ruled by a mixture of English law and Zulu customs, which mixture, I have been frequently told, exists in its entirety only in the bosom of one living man. It is at any rate unwritten,—as yet unwritten though there now exists a parliamentary order that this mixture shall be codified by a certain fixed day. It is necessarily irrational,—as for instance when a Zulu is told that he is a British subject but yet is allowed to break the British law in various ways, as in the matter of polygamy. It must be altogether unintelligible to the subject race to whom the rules made by their white masters, opposed as they are to their own customs, must seem to be arbitrary and tyrannical,—as when told that they must not carry about with them the peculiar stick or knobkirrie which has been familiar to their hands from infancy. It is opposed to the ideas of justice which prevailin the intercourse between one white man and another, as when the Zulu, whom the white man will not call a slave, is compelled through the influence of his Chief to do the work which the white man requires from him;—as an instance of which I may refer to those who are employed on the roads, who are paid wages, indeed, but who work not by their own will, but under restraint from their Chiefs. It must I think be admitted that when a people have to be governed by such laws mistakes are to be expected,—and that the best possible intentions, I may almost say the best possible practice, may be made matter of most indignant reproach from outraged philanthropists.
The white man who has to rule natives soon teaches himself that he can do no good if he is overscrupulous. They must be taught to think him powerful or they will not obey him in anything. He soon feels that his own authority, and with his authority the security of all those around him, is a matter of “prestige.” Prestige in a highly civilized community may be created by virtue,—and is often created by virtue and rank combined. The Archbishop of Canterbury is a very great man to an ordinary clergyman. But, with the native races of South Africa, prestige has to be created by power though it may no doubt be supported and confirmed by justice. Thus the white ruler of the black man knows that he must sometimes be rough. There must be a sharp word, possibly a blow. There must be a clear indication that his will, whatsoever it may be, has to be done,—that the doing of his will has to be the great result let the opposition to it be what it may. He cannot strain at a gnat in theshape of a little legal point. If he did so the Zulus would cease to respect him, and would never imagine that their ruler had been turned from his way by a pang of conscience. The Savage, till he has quite ceased to be savage, expects to be coerced, and will no more go straight along the road without coercion, than will the horse if you ride him without reins. And with a horse a whip and spurs are necessary,—till he has become altogether tamed.
The white ruler of the black man feels all this, and knows that without some spur or whip he cannot do his work at all. His is a service, probably, of much danger, and he has to work with a frown on his brow in order that his life may be fairly safe in his hand. In this way he is driven to the daily practice of little deeds of tyranny which abstract justice would condemn. Then, on occasion, arises some petty mutiny,—some petty mutiny almost justified by injustice but which must be put down with a strong hand or the white man’s position will become untenable. In nineteen cases the strong hand is successful and the matter goes by without any feeling of wrong on either side. The white man expects to be obeyed, and the black man expects to be coerced, and the general work goes on prosperously in spite of a small flaw. Then comes the twentieth case in which the one little speck of original injustice is aggravated till a great flame is burning. The outraged philanthropist has seen the oppression of his black brother, and evokes Downing Street, Exeter Hall, Printing House Square, and all the Gospels. The savage races from the East to the West of the Continent, from the mouth of the Zambesi to the GoldCoast, all receive something of assured protection from the effort;—but, probably, a great injustice is done to the one white ruler who began it all, and who, perhaps, was but a little ruler doing his best in a small way. I am inclined to think that the philanthropist at home when he rises in his wrath against some white ruler of whose harshness to the blacks he has heard the story forgets that the very civilization which he is anxious to carry among the savage races cannot be promulgated without something of tyranny,—some touch of apparent injustice. Nothing will sanctify tyranny or justify injustice, says the philanthropist in his wrath. Let us so decide and so act;—but let us understand the result. In that case we must leave the Zulus and other races to their barbarities and native savagery.
In what I have now said I have not described the origin of the Langalibalele misfortune, having avoided all direct allusion to any of its incidents,—except that of the firing of a pistol twenty years ago. But I have endeavoured to make intelligible the way in which untoward circumstances may too probably rise in the performance of such a work as the gradual civilization of black men without much fault on either side. And my readers may probably understand how, in such a matter as that of Langalibalele, it would be impossible for me as a traveller to unravel all its mysteries, and how unjust I might be were I to attempt to prove that either on this side or on that side wrong had been done. The doers of the wrong, if wrong there was, are still alive; and the avengers of the wrong,—whether a real or a fancied wrong,—are still keen. In what I say about LangalibaleleI will avoid the name of any white man,—and as far as possible I will impute no blame. That the intentions on both sides have been good and altogether friendly to the black man I have no doubt whatsoever.
Langalibalele was sent for and did not come. That was the beginning of the whole. Now it is undoubted good Kafir law in Natal,—very well established though unwritten,—that any Kafir or Zulu is to come when sent for by a white man in authority. The white man who holds chief authority in such matters is the Minister for Native Affairs, who is one of the Executive Council under the Governor, and probably the man of greatest weight in the whole Colony. He speaks the Zulu language, which the Governor probably has not time to learn during his period of governorship. He is a permanent officer,—as the Ministry does not go in and out in Natal. And he is in a great measure irresponsible because the other white men in office do not understand as he does that mixture of law and custom by which he rules the subject race, and there is therefore no one to judge him or control him. In Natal the Minister for Native Affairs is much more of a Governor than his Excellency himself, for he has over three hundred thousand natives altogether under his hand, while his Excellency has under him twenty thousand white men who are by no means tacitly obedient. Such is the authority of the Minister for Native Affairs in Natal, and among other undoubted powers and privileges is that of sending for any Chief among the Zulu races inhabiting the Colony, and communicating his orders personally. Naturally, probably necessarily, this power isfrequently delegated to others as the Minister cannot himself see every little Chief to whom instructions are to be given. As the Secretary of State at home has Under Secretaries, so has the Minister for Native Affairs under Ministers. In 1873 Langalibalele was sent for but Langalibalele would not come.
He had in years long previous been a mutinous Chief in Zulu-land,—where he was known as a “rain-maker,” and much valued for his efficacy in that profession;—but he had quarrelled with Panda who was then King of Zulu-land and had run away from Panda into Natal. There he had since lived as the Chief of the Hlubi tribe, a clan numbering about 10,000 people, a proportion of whom had come with him across the borders from Zulu-land. For it appears that these tribes dissolve themselves and reunite with other tribes, a tribe frequently not lasting as a tribe under one great name for many years. Even the great tribe of the Zulus was not powerful till the time of their Chief Chaka, who was uncle of the present King or Chief Cetywayo. Thus Langalibalele who had been rainmaker to King Panda, Cetywayo’s father, became head of the Hlubi tribe in Natal, and lived under the mixture of British law of which I have spoken. But he became mutinous and would not come when he was sent for.
When a Savage,—the only word I know by which to speak of such a man as a Zulu Chief so that my reader shall understand me; but in using it of Langalibalele I do not wish to ascribe to him any specially savage qualities;—when a Savage has become subject to British rule and will not obey theauthority which he understands,—it is necessary to reduce him to obedience at almost any cost. There are three hundred and twenty thousand Natives in Natal, with hundreds of thousands over the borders on each side of the little Colony, and it is essential that all these should believe Great Britain to be indomitable. If Langalibalele had been allowed to be successful in his controversy every Native in and around Natal would have known it;—and in knowing it every Native would have believed that Great Britain had been so far conquered. It was therefore quite essential that Langalibalele should be made to come. And he did more than refuse to obey the order. A messenger who was sent for him,—a native messenger,—was insulted by him. The man’s clothes were stripped from him,—or at any rate the official great coat with which he had been invested and which probably formed the substantial part of his raiment. It has been the peculiarity of this case that whole books have been written about its smallest incidents. The Langalibalele literature hitherto written,—which is not I fear as yet completed,—would form a small library. This stripping of the great coat, or jazy[18]as it is called,—the word ijazi having been established as good Zulu for such an article,—has become a celebrated incident. Langalibalele afterwards pleaded that he suspected that weapons had been concealed, and that he had therefore searched the Queen’s messenger. And hejustified his suspicion by telling how a pistol had been concealed and had been fired sixteen years before. And then that old case was ripped up, and thirty or forty native messengers were examined about it. But Langalibalele after taking off the Queen’s messenger’s jazy turned and fled, and it was found to be necessary that the Queen’s soldiers should pursue him. He was pursued,—with terrible consequences. He turned and fought and British blood was shed. Of course the blood of the Hlubi tribe had to flow, and did flow too freely. It was very bad that it should be so;—but had it not been so all Zululand, all Kafirland, all the tribes of Natal and the Transvaal would have thought that Langalibalele had gained a great victory, and our handful of whites would have been unable to live in their Colony.
Then Langalibalele was caught. As to matters that had been done up to that time I am not aware that official fault of very grave nature has been found with those who were concerned; but the trial of Langalibalele was supposed to have been conducted on unjust principles and before judges who should not have sat on the judgment seat. He was tried and was condemned to very grave punishment, and his tribe and his family were broken up. He was to be confined for his life, without the presence of any of his friends, in Robben Island, which, as my reader may remember, lies just off Capetown, a thousand miles away from Natal,—and to be reached by a sea journey which to all Zulus is a thing of great terror. The sentence was carried out and Langalibalele was shipped away to Robben Island.
It may be remembered how the news of Langalibalele’s rebellion, trial and punishment gradually reached England, how at first we feared that a great rebel had arisen, to conquer whom would require us to put out all our powers, and then how we were moved by the outraged philanthropist to think that a grievous injustice had been done. I cannot but say that in both matters we allowed ourselves to be swayed by exaggerated reports and unwarranted fears and sympathies. Langalibalele did rebel and had to be punished. His trial was no doubt informal and overformal. Too much was made of it. The fault throughout has been that too much has been made of the whole affair. Partisans arose on behalf of the now notorious and very troublesome old Pagan, and philanthropy was outraged. Then came the necessity of doing something to set right an acknowledged wrong. It might be that Langalibalele had had cause for suspicion when he stripped the Queen’s Messenger. It might be that the running away was the natural effect of fear, and that the subsequent tragedies had been simply unfortunate. The trial was adjudged to have been conducted with overstrained rigour and the punishment to have been too severe. Therefore it was decided in England that he should be sent back to the mainland from the island, that he should be located in the neighbourhood of Capetown,—and that his tribe should be allowed to join him.
That was promising too much. It was found to be inconvenient to settle a whole tribe of a new race in the Cape Colony. Nor was it apparent that the tribe would wish to move after its Chieftain. Then it was decided that instead ofthe tribe the Chieftain’s family should follow him with any of his immediate friends who might wish to be transported from Natal. Now Langalibalele had seventy wives and a proportionate offspring. And it soon became apparent that whoever were sent after him must be maintained at the expense of Government. Moreover it could hardly be that Exeter Hall and the philanthropists should desire to encourage polygamy by sending such a flock of wives after the favoured prisoner. Complaint was made to me that only two wives and one man were sent. With them Langalibalele was established in a small house on the sea shore near to Capetown, and there he is now living at an expense of £500 per annum to the Government.
But this unfortunately is not the end. He has still friends in Natal, white friends, who think that not nearly enough has been done for him. A great many more wives ought to be allowed to join him, or the promise made to him will not have been kept. He is languishing for his wives, and all should be sent who would be willing to go. I saw one of them very ill,—dying I was told because of her troubles, and half a dozen others, all of them provided with food gratis, but in great tribulation,—so it was said,—because of this cruel separation. The Government surely should send him three or four more wives, seeing that to a man who has had seventy less than half a dozen must be almost worse than none. But his friends are not content with asking for this further grace, but think also that the time has come for forgiveness and that Langalibalele should be restored to his own country. He has still fame as a rain-maker and Cetywayo the ZuluKing would be delighted to have him in Zulu-land. The prayer is much the same as that which is continually being put forward for the pardon of the Fenians. I myself in such matters am loyal, but, I fear, hard-hearted. I should prefer that Langalibalele should be left to his punishment, thinking that would-be rebels, whether Zulu or Irish, will be best kept quiet by rigid adherence to a legal sentence. Such is the story of Langalibalele as I heard it.
On my return to Capetown I visited the captured Chieftain at his farm house on the flats five or six miles from the city, having obtained an order to that effect from the office of the Secretary for Native Affairs. I found a stalwart man, represented to be 65 years of age, but looking much younger, in whose appearance one was able to recognise something of the Chieftain. He had with him three wives, a grown-up son, and a nephew; besides a child who has been born to him since he has been in the Cape Colony. The nephew could talk a little English, and acted as interpreter between us.
The prisoner himself was very silent, hardly saying a word in answer to the questions put to him,—except that he should like to see his children in Natal. The two young men were talkative enough, and did not scruple to ask for sixpence each when we departed. I and a friend who was with me extended our liberality to half a crown a piece,—with which they expressed themselves much delighted.
Whenstarting from Pieter Maritzburg to Pretoria I have to own that I was not quite at ease as to the work before me. From the moment in which I had first determined to visit the Transvaal, I had been warned as to the hard work of the task. Friends who had been there, one or two in number,—friends who had been in South Africa but not quite as far as the capital of the late Republic, perhaps half a dozen,—and friends very much more numerous who had only heard of the difficulties, combined either in telling me or in letting me understand that they thought that I was,—well—much too old for the journey. And I thought so myself. But then I knew that I could never do it younger. And having once suggested to myself that it would be desirable, I did not like to be frightened out of the undertaking. As far as Pieter Maritzburg all had been easy enough. Journeys by sea are to me very easy,—so easy that a fortnight on the ocean is a fortnight at any rate free from care. And my inland journeys had not as yet been long enough to occasion any inconvenience. But the journey now before me, from the capital of Natal to the capital of the Transvaal and thence round by Kimberley, the capital of the Diamond Fields, to Bloemfontein, the capital of the Orange Free State, and back thence across the Cape Colony to Capetown, exceeding 1,500 miles in length, all of which had to be made overland under very rough circumstances, was awful to me. Mail conveyances ran the whole way, but they ran very roughly, some of them very slowly, generally travelling as I was told, day and night, and not unfrequently ceasing to travel altogether in consequence of rivers which would become unpassable, of mud which would be nearly so, of dying horses,—and sometimes of dying passengers! A terrible picture had been painted. As I got nearer to the scene the features of the picture became more and more visible to me.
One gentleman on board the ship which took me out seemed to think it very doubtful whether I should get on at all, but hospitably recommended me to pass by his house, that I might be sure at least of one quiet night. At Capetown where I first landed a shower of advice fell upon me. And it was here that the awful nature of the enterprise before me first struck my very soul with dismay. There were two schools of advisers, each of which was sternly strenuous in the lessons which it inculcated. The first bade me stick obdurately to the public conveyances. There was no doubt very much against them. The fatigue would be awful, and quite unfitted for a man of my age. I should get no sleep on the journey, and be so jolted that not a bone would be left to me. And I could carry almost no luggage. It must be reduced to a minimum,—by which a toothbrush and a clean shirt were meant. And these conveyances wentbut once a week, and it might often be the case that I might not be able to secure a place. But the post conveyances always did go, and I should at any rate be able to make my way on;—if I could live and endure the fatigue.
The other school recommended a special conveyance. The post carts would certainly kill me. They generally did kill any passengers, even in the prime of life, who stuck to them so long as I would have to do. If I really intended to encounter the horrors of the journey in question I must buy a cart and four horses, and must engage a coloured driver, and start off round the world of South Africa under his protection. But among and within this school of advisers there was a division which complicated the matter still further. Should they be horses or should they be mules;—or, indeed, should they be a train of oxen as one friend proposed to me? Mules would be slow but more hardy than horses. Oxen would be the most hardy, but would be very slow indeed. Horses would be more pleasant but very subject in this country to diseases and death upon the roads. And then where should I buy the equipage,—and at what price,—and how should I manage to sell it again,—say at half price? For my friends on the mail cart side of the question had not failed to point out to me that the carriage-and-horses business would be expensive,—entailing an outlay of certainly not less than £250, with the probable necessity of buying many subsidiary horses along the road, and the too probable impossibility of getting anything for my remaining property when my need for its use was at an end.
One friend, very experienced in such matters, assured methat my only plan was to buy the cart in Capetown and carry it with me by ship round the coast to Durban, and to remain there till I could fit myself with horses. And I think that I should have done thus under his instructions, had I not given way to the temptations of procrastination. By going on without a cart I could always leave the ultimate decision between the private and the public conveyance a little longer in abeyance. Thus when I reached Durban I had no idea what I should do in the matter. But finding an excellent public conveyance from Durban to Pieter Maritzburg, I took advantage of that, and arrived in the capital of Natal, embarrassed as yet with no purchased animals and impeded by no property, but still with my heart very low as to the doubts and perils and fatigue before me.
At East London I had made the acquaintance of a gentleman of about a third of my own age, who had been sent out by a great agricultural-implement-making firm with the object of spreading the use of ploughs and reaping machines through South Africa, and thus of carrying civilization into the country in the surest and most direct manner. He too was going to Pretoria, and to the Diamond Fields,—and to the Orange Free State. He was to carry ploughs with him,—that is to say ploughs in the imagination, ploughs in catalogues, ploughs upon paper, and ploughs on his eloquent and facile tongue; whereas it was my object to find out what ploughs had done, and perhaps might do, in the new country. He, too, thought that the public conveyance would be a nuisance, that his luggage would not get itselfcarried, and that from the mail conveyances he would not be able to shoot any of the game with which the country abounds. When we had travelled together as far as Pieter Maritzburg we put our heads together,—and our purses, and determined upon a venture among the dealers in carts, horses, and harness.
I left the matter very much to him, merely requiring that I should see the horses before they were absolutely purchased. A dealer had turned up with all the articles wanted,—just as though Providence had sent him,—with a Cape cart running on two wheels and capable of holding three persons beside the driver, the four horses needed,—and the harness. The proposed vendor had indeed just come off a long journey himself, and was therefore able to say that everything was fit for the road. £200 was to be the price. But when we looked at the horses, their merits, which undoubtedly were great, seemed to consist in the work which they had done rather than in that which they could immediately do again. In this emergency I went to a friendly British major in the town engaged in the commissariat department, and consulted him. Would he look at the horses? He not only did so, but brought a military veterinary surgeon with him, who confined his advice to three words, which, however, he repeated thrice, “Physical energy deficient!” The words were oracular, and the horses were of course rejected.
I was then about to start from Pieter Maritzburg on a visit of inspection with the Governor and was obliged to leave my young friend to look out for four other horses onhis own responsibility—without the advice of the laconic vet whom he could hardly ask to concern himself a second time in our business. And I must own that while I was away I was again down at heart. For he was to start during my absence, leaving me to follow in the post cart as far as Newcastle, the frontier town of Natal. This was arranged in order that three or four days might be saved, and that the horses might not be hurried over their early journey. When I got back to Pieter Maritzburg I found that he had gone, as arranged, with four other horses;—but of the nature of the horses no one could tell me anything.
The mail cart from the capital to Newcastle took two and a half days on the journey, and was on the whole comfortable enough. One moment of discord there was between myself and the sable driver, which did not, however, lead to serious results. On leaving Pieter Maritzburg I found that the vehicle was full. There were seven passengers, two on the box and five behind,—the sixth seat being crowded with luggage. There was luggage indeed everywhere, above below and around us,—but still we had all of us our seats, with fair room for our legs. Then came the question of the mails. The cart to Newcastle goes but once a week; and though subsidiary mails are carried by Zulu runners twice a week over the whole distance,—175 miles,—and carried as quickly as by the cart, the heavier bulk, such as newspapers, books, &c., are kept for the mail conveyance. The bags therefore are, in such a vehicle, somewhat heavy. When I saw a large box covered with canvas brought out I wasalarmed, and I made some enquiry. It was, said the complaisant postmaster’s assistant who had come out into the street, a book-post parcel; somewhat large as he acknowledged, and not strictly open at the ends as required by law. It was, he confessed, a tin box and he believed that it contained—bonnets. But it was going up to Pretoria, nearly 400 miles, at book-parcel rate of postage,—the total cost of it being, I think he said, 8s. 6d. Now passengers’ luggage to Pretoria is charged 4s. a pound, and the injustice of the tin box full of bonnets struck my official mind with horror. There was a rumour for a moment that it was to be put in among us, and I prepared myself for battle. But the day was fine, and the tin box was fastened on behind with all the mails,—merely preventing any one from getting in or out of the cart without climbing over them. That was nothing, and we went away very happily, and during the first day I became indifferent to the wrong which was being done.
But when we arrived for breakfast on the second morning the clouds began to threaten, and it is known to all in those parts that when it rains in Natal it does rain. The driver at once declared that the bags must be put inside and that we must all sit with our legs and feet in each other’s lap. Then we looked at each other, and I remembered the tin box. I asked the conscientious mail-man what he would do with the bag which contained the box, and he immediately replied that it must come behind himself, inside the cart, exactly in the place where my legs were then placed. I had felt the tin box and had found that the corners of it were almost assharp as the point of a carving knife. “It can’t come here,” said I. “It must,” said the driver surlily. “But it won’t,” said I decidedly. “But it will,” said the driver angrily. I bethought myself a moment and then declared my purpose of not leaving the vehicle, though I knew that breakfast was prepared within. “May I trouble you to bring a cup of tea to me here,” I said to one of my fellow victims. “I shall remain and not allow the tin box to enter the cart.” “Not allow!” said the custodian of the mails. “Certainly not,” said I, with what authority I could command. “It is illegal.” The man paused for a moment awed by the word and then entered upon a compromise, “Would I permit the mail bags to be put inside, if the tin box were kept outside?” To this I assented, and so the cart was packed. I am happy to say that the clouds passed away, and that the bonnets were uninjured as long as I remained in their company. I fear from what I afterwards heard that they must have encountered hard usage on their way from Newcastle to Pretoria.
The mail cart to Newcastle was, I have said, fairly comfortable, but this incident and other little trifles of the same kind made me glad that I had decided on being independent. Three of my fellow passengers were going on to Pretoria and I found that they looked forward with great dread to their journey,—not even then expecting such hardships as did eventually befall them.
The country from Pieter Maritzburg to Newcastle is very hilly,—with hills which are almost mountains on every side, and it would be picturesque but for the sad want of trees. The farm homesteads were few and far between, and verylittle cultivation was to be seen. The land is almost entirely sold,—being, that is, in private possession, having been parted with by the governing authorities of the Colony. I saw cattle, and as I got further from Maritzburg small flocks of sheep. The land rises all the way, and as we get on to the colder altitudes is capable of bearing wheat. As I went along I heard from every mouth the same story. A farmer cannot grow wheat because he has no market and no labour. The little towns are too distant and the roads too bad for carriage;—and though there be 300,000 natives in the Colony, labour cannot be procured. I must remark that through this entire district the Kafirs or Zulus are scarce,—from a complication of causes. No doubt it was inhabited at one time; but the Dutch came who were cruel tyrants to the natives,—which is not surprising, as they had been most disastrously handled by them. And Chaka too had driven from this country the tribes who inhabited it before his time. In other lands, nearer to the sea or great rivers, and thus lying lower, the receding population has been supplied by new comers; but the Zulus from the warmer regions further north seem to have found the high grounds too cold for them. At any rate in these districts neither Kafirs or Zulus are now numerous,—though there are probably enough for the work to be done if they would do it.
At Howick, twelve miles from Maritzburg, are the higher falls on the Umgeni,—about a dozen miles from other falls on the same river which I had seen on my way to Greyton. Here they fall precipitously about 300 feet, and are good enough to make the fortune of a small hotel, if they were anywhere in England. At Estcourt, where we stopped the first night, we found a comfortable Inn. After that the accommodation along the road was neither plenteous nor clean. The second night was passed under very adverse circumstances. Ten of us had to sleep in a little hovel with three rooms including that in which we were fed, and as one of us was a lady who required one chamber exclusively to herself, we were somewhat pressed. I was almost tempted to think that if ladies will travel under such circumstances they should not be so particular. As I was recognized to be travelling as a stranger, I was allowed to enjoy the other bedroom with only three associates, while the other five laid about on the table and under the table, as best they could, in the feeding room.
Immediately opposite to this little hovel there was on that night a detachment of the 80th going up to join its regiment at Newcastle. The soldiers were in tents, ten men in a tent, and when I left them in the evening seemed to be happy enough. It poured during the whole night and on the next morning the poor wretches were very miserable. The rain had got into their tents and they were wet through in their shirts. I saw some of them afterwards as they got into Newcastle, and more miserable creatures I never beheld. They had had three days of unceasing rain,—and, as they said, no food for two days. This probably was an exaggeration;—but something had gone wrong with the commissariat and there had been no bread where bread was expected. When they reached Newcastle there was a river between them and their camping ground. In fine weather the ford is nearly dry; but now the water had risen up to a man’s middle, andthe poor fellows went through with their great coats on, too far gone in their misery to care for further troubles.
All along the road the little Inns and stores at which we stopped were kept by English people;—nor till I had passed Newcastle into the Transvaal did I encounter a Dutch Boer; but I learned that the farms around were chiefly held by them, and that the country generally is a Dutch country. Newcastle is a little town with streets and squares laid out, though the streets and squares are not yet built. But there is a decent Inn, at which a visitor gets a bedroom to himself and a tub in the morning;—at least such was my fate. And there is a billiard room and a table d’hote, and a regular bar. In the town there is a post office, and there are stores, and a Court House. There is a Dutch church and a Dutch minister,—and a clergyman of the Church of England, who however has no church, but performs service in the Court House.
Newcastle is the frontier town of the Natal Colony, and is nearly half-way between Pieter Maritzburg and Pretoria, the capital of the Transvaal. It is now being made a military station,—with the double purpose of overawing the Dutch Boers who have been annexed, and the Zulus who have not. The Zulus I think will prove to be the more troublesome of the two. A fort is being planned and barracks are being built, but as yet the army is living under canvas. When we were there 250 men constituted the army; but the number was about to be increased. The poor fellows whom I had seen so wet through on the road were on their way to fill up deficiencies. We had hardlybeen an hour in the place before one of the officers rode down to call and to signify to us,—after the manner of British officers,—at what hour tiffin went on up at the mess, and at what hour dinner. There was breakfast also if we could cross the river and get up on the hill early enough. And, for the matter of that, there was a tent also, ready furnished, if we chose to occupy it. And there were saddle horses for us whenever we wanted them. The tiffins and the dinners and the saddle horses we took without stint. Everything was excellent; but that on which the mess prided itself most was the possession of Bass’s bitter beer. An Englishman in outlandish places, when far removed from the luxuries to which he has probably been accustomed, sticks to his Bass more constantly than to any other home comfort. A photograph of his mother and sister,—or perhaps some other lady,—and his Bass, suffice to reconcile him to many grievances.
We stayed at Newcastle over a Sunday and went up to service in the camp. The army had its chaplain, and 150 men collected themselves under a marquee to say their prayers and hear a short sermon in which they were told to remember their friends at home, and to write faithfully to their mothers. I do not know whether soldiers in London and in other great towns are fond of going to church, but a church service such as that we heard is a great comfort to men when everything around them is desolate, and when the life which they lead is necessarily hard. We were only three nights at Newcastle, but when we went away we seemed to be leaving old friends under the tents up on the hill.
I had come to the place on the mail cart, and on my arrival was very anxious to know what my travelling companion had done in the way of horse-buying. All my comfort for the next six weeks, and perhaps more than my comfort, depended on the manner in which he had executed his commission. It seemed now as though the rainy season had begun in very truth, for the waters for which everybody had been praying since I had landed in South Africa came down as though they would never cease to pour. On the day after our arrival I had got up to see the departure of the mail cart for Pretoria, and a more melancholy attempt at a public vehicle I had never beheld. Prophecies were rife that the horses would not be able to travel and that the miseries to be surmounted by the passengers before they reached their destination would be almost unendurable. When I saw the equipage I felt that the school of friends who had warned me against a journey to Pretoria in the mail carts had been right. I was extremely happy, therefore, when all the quidnuncs about the place, the butcher who had been travelling about the Colony in search of cattle for the last dozen years, the hotel-keeper who was himself in want of horses to take him over the same road, the commissariat employés, and all the loafers about the place, congratulated me on the team of which I was now the joint proprietor. There was a cart and four horses,—one of which however was a wicked kicker,—and complete harness, with a locker full of provisions to eke out the slender food to be found on the road,—all of which had cost £220. And there was a coloured driver, one George, whom everybodyseemed to know, and who was able, as everybody said, to drive us anywhere over Africa. George was to have £5 a month, his passage paid back home, his keep on the road, and a douceur on parting, if we parted as friends.
Remembering what I might have had to suffer,—what I might have been suffering at that very moment,—I expressed my opinion that the affair was very cheap. But my young friend indulged in grander financial views than my own. “It will be cheap,” said he, “if, we can sell it at the end of the journey for £150.” That was a contingency which I altogether refused to entertain. It had become cheap to me without any idea of a resale, as soon as I found what was the nature of the mail cart from Newcastle to Pretoria,—and what was the nature of the mail cart horses.
Before leaving the Colony of Natal I must say that at this Newcastle,—as at other Newcastles,—coal is to be found in abundance. I was taken down to the river side where I could see it myself. There can be no doubt but that when the country is opened up coal will be one of its most valuable products. At present it is all but useless. It cannot be carried because the distances are so great and the roads so bad; and it cannot be worked because labour has not been organised.
THE END OF VOL. I.PRINTED BY VIRTUE AND CO., LIMITED, CITY ROAD, LONDON.