Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Sixteen.On the day following our arrival at Grahamstown the thermometer stood at one hundred and thirty degrees. The air fairly quivered with the intensity of the heat, and although nowhere in South Africa can the song of birds be heard, our ears were tired with the sound of busy insect life. The continuous hum made by the myriads of locusts and other insects in the trees sounded like the buzzing of a saw-mill with twenty or thirty great circular saws in full swing. The climate of Grahamstown is considered almost perfect for the English invalid. Frequent rains in summer make the heat endurable; the winter is drier than at Port Elizabeth.It is called the “City of Churches,” for many fine churches and a cathedral make the town interesting. The houses are in the midst of beautiful grounds filled with trees of dense foliage and with rare plants. The people are very social, and a fine class of English the descendants of the early settlers are to be met with here. They are very kind, and make the life of the invalid endurable, if not pleasant. To be ill and alone in the midst of unsympathetic neighbours is certainly worse than to linger a hopeless invalid amongst loving friends. The society of Grahamstown tries to welcome the stranger; and male visitors find amusement in hunting in the surrounding district, where game is plentiful. It is a fact that many English youths who have been threatened with hereditary consumption have gone to Grahamstown and made it their home for several years, and then returned to their island home, a wonder to all their friends.British settlers of 1820 took root in this district around Grahamstown. This settlement is one of the most important events that ever happened in the history of the colony, and is a standing example of the utility of intelligently assisted emigration. The whole country at that time was in great trouble on account of a series of terrible Kafir wars, and, just before the importation of the new blood, the district in and around Grahamstown, which was then a military post, named in honour of its commander, had been swept by a marauding tribe of Griquas.The town is the seat of an episcopate, and has numerous churches, banks and public buildings. It has also a large military barracks, now no longer occupied. It is a great place for church controversy. The portly figure and priestly countenance of the “Dean of Grahamstown” belongs as much to the history of the place as his own cathedral spire. We were invited after service one Sunday evening to supper at the Deanery, where we met the Dean’s wife, and some pleasant people. The house was a large, one-storey building, comfortably furnished. As we all sat around the well-provided table, chatting merrily, we noticed the Dean did not talk much, but was listening with a very interested countenance. Sitting in his big chair, his feet stretched under the table, and the tips of his fingers in his trousers pockets, he looked with his round face, round features, and rotund figure, and his half-shut but sharp eyes peering out through his gold-rimmed spectacles, a picture of contentment. At last, with a little sniff peculiar to him, he said: “Now let me hear you talk American.” Imagine our astonishment at his request, to which we replied with a merry peal of laughter. Because we were not speaking with a rasping Yankee twang, and “guessing,” and “reckoning,” he began to doubt whether we were Americans. No man could enjoy a joke or anything funny more than the good-natured Dean, but I don’t think he was convinced that we were speaking our native language during our visit to him.The “twang” of the Yankee girl, though frequently a matter of jest, is, I notice, when connected with the Yankee dollar, very much sought after by many of the world’s so-called great ones, who are very ready to exchange old family plate, ruined castles, and historical deeds of valour, and thus become easily reconciled to the “twang” once so laughed at.At the hotel we met a gentleman and his wife, whose acquaintance we had made on our arrival in the country. They had recently bought an ostrich farm, some thirty miles from the town, and pressed us warmly to pay them a visit, which invitation we were delighted to accept. They proposed bringing the ox-wagon from the farm to take us out. The wagon arrived, and our friends had prepared it for our use, neglecting nothing to make our ride as easy and comfortable as possible. The coloured boy, with a tremendous crack of the long whip and shouting “T-r-ek,” started the long train of sixteen oxen into a slow walk along, the town road. When we got into the country on the hilly road, where ruts were many, we all got out and walked. Our road lay through a thick, thorny wood, and along by steep, rocky cliffs, upon which we could see and hear hundreds of monkeys leaping from rock to rock, chattering and screaming. They seemed greatly frightened at us, and yet fascinated, for they would run along the face of the cliff ahead of the slowly toiling oxen, keeping up a startled clatter, and peering at us from behind stones or branches of trees. We had started late in the afternoon, and before we reached the farmhouse at which we were to stop for the night the moon had risen, and dense black shadows and silvery streaks of light were thrown ghost-like before our path. After reaching the house we sat up till late, watching the beauty of the moonlit scene.

On the day following our arrival at Grahamstown the thermometer stood at one hundred and thirty degrees. The air fairly quivered with the intensity of the heat, and although nowhere in South Africa can the song of birds be heard, our ears were tired with the sound of busy insect life. The continuous hum made by the myriads of locusts and other insects in the trees sounded like the buzzing of a saw-mill with twenty or thirty great circular saws in full swing. The climate of Grahamstown is considered almost perfect for the English invalid. Frequent rains in summer make the heat endurable; the winter is drier than at Port Elizabeth.

It is called the “City of Churches,” for many fine churches and a cathedral make the town interesting. The houses are in the midst of beautiful grounds filled with trees of dense foliage and with rare plants. The people are very social, and a fine class of English the descendants of the early settlers are to be met with here. They are very kind, and make the life of the invalid endurable, if not pleasant. To be ill and alone in the midst of unsympathetic neighbours is certainly worse than to linger a hopeless invalid amongst loving friends. The society of Grahamstown tries to welcome the stranger; and male visitors find amusement in hunting in the surrounding district, where game is plentiful. It is a fact that many English youths who have been threatened with hereditary consumption have gone to Grahamstown and made it their home for several years, and then returned to their island home, a wonder to all their friends.

British settlers of 1820 took root in this district around Grahamstown. This settlement is one of the most important events that ever happened in the history of the colony, and is a standing example of the utility of intelligently assisted emigration. The whole country at that time was in great trouble on account of a series of terrible Kafir wars, and, just before the importation of the new blood, the district in and around Grahamstown, which was then a military post, named in honour of its commander, had been swept by a marauding tribe of Griquas.

The town is the seat of an episcopate, and has numerous churches, banks and public buildings. It has also a large military barracks, now no longer occupied. It is a great place for church controversy. The portly figure and priestly countenance of the “Dean of Grahamstown” belongs as much to the history of the place as his own cathedral spire. We were invited after service one Sunday evening to supper at the Deanery, where we met the Dean’s wife, and some pleasant people. The house was a large, one-storey building, comfortably furnished. As we all sat around the well-provided table, chatting merrily, we noticed the Dean did not talk much, but was listening with a very interested countenance. Sitting in his big chair, his feet stretched under the table, and the tips of his fingers in his trousers pockets, he looked with his round face, round features, and rotund figure, and his half-shut but sharp eyes peering out through his gold-rimmed spectacles, a picture of contentment. At last, with a little sniff peculiar to him, he said: “Now let me hear you talk American.” Imagine our astonishment at his request, to which we replied with a merry peal of laughter. Because we were not speaking with a rasping Yankee twang, and “guessing,” and “reckoning,” he began to doubt whether we were Americans. No man could enjoy a joke or anything funny more than the good-natured Dean, but I don’t think he was convinced that we were speaking our native language during our visit to him.

The “twang” of the Yankee girl, though frequently a matter of jest, is, I notice, when connected with the Yankee dollar, very much sought after by many of the world’s so-called great ones, who are very ready to exchange old family plate, ruined castles, and historical deeds of valour, and thus become easily reconciled to the “twang” once so laughed at.

At the hotel we met a gentleman and his wife, whose acquaintance we had made on our arrival in the country. They had recently bought an ostrich farm, some thirty miles from the town, and pressed us warmly to pay them a visit, which invitation we were delighted to accept. They proposed bringing the ox-wagon from the farm to take us out. The wagon arrived, and our friends had prepared it for our use, neglecting nothing to make our ride as easy and comfortable as possible. The coloured boy, with a tremendous crack of the long whip and shouting “T-r-ek,” started the long train of sixteen oxen into a slow walk along, the town road. When we got into the country on the hilly road, where ruts were many, we all got out and walked. Our road lay through a thick, thorny wood, and along by steep, rocky cliffs, upon which we could see and hear hundreds of monkeys leaping from rock to rock, chattering and screaming. They seemed greatly frightened at us, and yet fascinated, for they would run along the face of the cliff ahead of the slowly toiling oxen, keeping up a startled clatter, and peering at us from behind stones or branches of trees. We had started late in the afternoon, and before we reached the farmhouse at which we were to stop for the night the moon had risen, and dense black shadows and silvery streaks of light were thrown ghost-like before our path. After reaching the house we sat up till late, watching the beauty of the moonlit scene.

Chapter Seventeen.Next morning we resumed our journey, and after five hours’ trek, made most enjoyable by the mode of travelling and the rugged beauty of the scenery, we arrived at “Grasslands,” the home of our friends. The house was of one-storey, well built and roomy, and being on a rise, commanded a fine view of the wild, uninhabited surrounding country. Our host was a handsome, high-spirited Englishman, with a little English child-wife, a dainty little piece of humanity.As the young wife leaned against the veranda talking to us in her pink calico dress, broad-brimmed straw hat trimmed with a bit of lace, and a spray of jessamine she had pulled from the vine covering the front of the house, she did not look much like one to live where wild monkeys chatter in the trees, and savage beasts come within rifle range of the front door.Our friend was engaged in ostrich-farming, and many of these queer-looking bipeds, with their long necks and floating feathers, the beauty of which is certainly wasted on their own backs, were wandering around the house. It had been an addition to our stock of information to learn in the Cape Colony that ostrich feathers were as much the product of regulated human labour as wool, mohair, or silk. We had always supposed ostrich feathers to be procured by hunters, and had in mind stories of their tactics in the chase of the fleet-footed bird. We learned that Cape farmers buy and sell ostriches as they do sheep, and fence their flock in, stable them, and grow crops for them. The eggs are not yet considered as belonging to the Cape dairy, and are not sent to market with bread and cheese. They are too precious for consumption, and too valuable even to be left for hatching to the rude methods of nature. The act of laying has not yet been dispensed with, but as soon as the eggs have been laid the nest is discarded, the parents are “locked out,” and the mechanical certainties of the incubator are substituted for parental instinct and affection. We were glad to learn, for the sake of our cherished traditions, that this farming was only of comparatively recent date, a domesticated ostrich being fifteen or twenty years ago unknown. There are now 150,000 of these domesticated birds in the Cape Colony, giving employment to not less than 8,000,000 dollars capital.Our host informed us that the rearing of ostriches was an extremely difficult operation, as the bird itself, although devouring everything that comes in its way, from a steel fork to a lemon, is very delicate, and liable to injury in all sorts of ways. They are housed at night in circular kraals, surrounded by a low rush fence, the ostrich, despite his fleetness and strength of legs, being unable to mount or jump over any obstacle, and turned out during the day into the veldt in charge of a herd.An ostrich can give a mighty kick, sufficient to break a man’s leg, but you may easily choke him by throwing your arms around his neck. The bird can then do nothing, for he has no strength in his wings to beat his enemy off, and is only able to use his formidable legs, like a horse, backward. Still, he is an awkward enemy to engage, for it requires some courage to rush up to a bird and embrace him until help arrives, or until you succeed in choking him. Despite the strength of his legs they are easily broken if the bird accidentally strikes them against any obstruction, such as a hanging bramble or a wire fence. He must be carefully watched to prevent such accidents, and it is also necessary to drive him away from any food likely to disagree with him. The feathers are sometimes plucked, and sometimes separated from the body by a sharp curved knife, each feather being taken separately. To do this the fanner drives them into a small inclosure, where there is little room to move about, and insinuates himself in among them, selecting such feathers as have arrived at maturity, and leaving the others to grow. The bird has a fresh crop of feathers every year, and as the prime feathers are very valuable, it may easily be believed that a lucky breeder finds the occupation a very profitable one.The prettiest sight to see on an ostrich farm is the nursery, where, in a large room, in inclement weather, a score or more of little chicks are attended by a black boy, whom they follow everywhere.Many farmers are unfortunate and meet with accidents, and thus lose heavily. Sometimes the soil is unfitted to grow the herbage necessary for the ostriches’ food, and there are many accidents they are liable to, such as dangers from prowling jackals or from severe storms. Then there are tigers and vultures to be guarded against. It will thus be seen that the ostrich farmer’s life is not necessarily a happy one. Our stay at Grasslands was made very pleasant by Mr M— and his wife. What with picnics in the wild surrounding country day after day, musical evenings on the moonlit lawn, a week passed away before we knew it.It was here we noticed Frank had something on her mind which she wished to communicate to us. We said nothing to assist her, although we had a strong suspicion of what was coming. One morning she began: “Well, I want to tell you something.” She didn’t get any further, for we interrupted with “Oh, we know; you are going to marry Mr A—, whom you met on the diamond fields last year, and we are to dance at the wedding. Didn’t you think any one suspected? Why, my dear, it was very plain to us that he was to be your future husband long before you thought so yourself!” After we had congratulated her, we inquired how soon the event was to take place. She proposed having the wedding from the cathedral at Grahamstown, as we had many warm friends living there. So the matter was settled for the time being.One evening a musical friend of our host, a gentleman from Port Elizabeth, and a violinist of no mean order, joined our circle, and we sat for hours listening to his music. After treating us to some choice selections, he began to play some of the songs of the farm Kafirs, who were listening about in numbers. They had learned to sing at their Sunday-schools in the town such hymns as “Hold the Fort,” etc, and took up the airs and began to sing, after their manner, in a chanting drone. Soon the sound of their own voices and the strains of the violin wrought them up to a high pitch of excitement, and they began to walk around us in a circle, keeping time with their hands, feet and head. Before long the musician, who had a touch of the grotesque in his humour, placed himself at the head of the procession. The music grew faster and faster, and the monotonous tramp of the Kafirs quickened gradually into a wild war dance. The scene which followed baffles description; there was the musician scraping away like an infernal Paganini, producing tones from his fiddle that seemed to excite the Kafirs to a pitch of frenzy. We joined in the singing, and sang at the top of our voices, while the black men, dancing, whirling, shouting, and gesticulating, grew wilder and wilder in their antics. The music suddenly ceasing, they sank exhausted to the ground. It was a weird scene in the moonlight, and one we shall long remember.Our stay at Grasslands came to an end all too soon, and we looked long and lingeringly at familiar objects as we were driven back to town in Mr M—’s handsome Cape cart behind a dashing span of horses.

Next morning we resumed our journey, and after five hours’ trek, made most enjoyable by the mode of travelling and the rugged beauty of the scenery, we arrived at “Grasslands,” the home of our friends. The house was of one-storey, well built and roomy, and being on a rise, commanded a fine view of the wild, uninhabited surrounding country. Our host was a handsome, high-spirited Englishman, with a little English child-wife, a dainty little piece of humanity.

As the young wife leaned against the veranda talking to us in her pink calico dress, broad-brimmed straw hat trimmed with a bit of lace, and a spray of jessamine she had pulled from the vine covering the front of the house, she did not look much like one to live where wild monkeys chatter in the trees, and savage beasts come within rifle range of the front door.

Our friend was engaged in ostrich-farming, and many of these queer-looking bipeds, with their long necks and floating feathers, the beauty of which is certainly wasted on their own backs, were wandering around the house. It had been an addition to our stock of information to learn in the Cape Colony that ostrich feathers were as much the product of regulated human labour as wool, mohair, or silk. We had always supposed ostrich feathers to be procured by hunters, and had in mind stories of their tactics in the chase of the fleet-footed bird. We learned that Cape farmers buy and sell ostriches as they do sheep, and fence their flock in, stable them, and grow crops for them. The eggs are not yet considered as belonging to the Cape dairy, and are not sent to market with bread and cheese. They are too precious for consumption, and too valuable even to be left for hatching to the rude methods of nature. The act of laying has not yet been dispensed with, but as soon as the eggs have been laid the nest is discarded, the parents are “locked out,” and the mechanical certainties of the incubator are substituted for parental instinct and affection. We were glad to learn, for the sake of our cherished traditions, that this farming was only of comparatively recent date, a domesticated ostrich being fifteen or twenty years ago unknown. There are now 150,000 of these domesticated birds in the Cape Colony, giving employment to not less than 8,000,000 dollars capital.

Our host informed us that the rearing of ostriches was an extremely difficult operation, as the bird itself, although devouring everything that comes in its way, from a steel fork to a lemon, is very delicate, and liable to injury in all sorts of ways. They are housed at night in circular kraals, surrounded by a low rush fence, the ostrich, despite his fleetness and strength of legs, being unable to mount or jump over any obstacle, and turned out during the day into the veldt in charge of a herd.

An ostrich can give a mighty kick, sufficient to break a man’s leg, but you may easily choke him by throwing your arms around his neck. The bird can then do nothing, for he has no strength in his wings to beat his enemy off, and is only able to use his formidable legs, like a horse, backward. Still, he is an awkward enemy to engage, for it requires some courage to rush up to a bird and embrace him until help arrives, or until you succeed in choking him. Despite the strength of his legs they are easily broken if the bird accidentally strikes them against any obstruction, such as a hanging bramble or a wire fence. He must be carefully watched to prevent such accidents, and it is also necessary to drive him away from any food likely to disagree with him. The feathers are sometimes plucked, and sometimes separated from the body by a sharp curved knife, each feather being taken separately. To do this the fanner drives them into a small inclosure, where there is little room to move about, and insinuates himself in among them, selecting such feathers as have arrived at maturity, and leaving the others to grow. The bird has a fresh crop of feathers every year, and as the prime feathers are very valuable, it may easily be believed that a lucky breeder finds the occupation a very profitable one.

The prettiest sight to see on an ostrich farm is the nursery, where, in a large room, in inclement weather, a score or more of little chicks are attended by a black boy, whom they follow everywhere.

Many farmers are unfortunate and meet with accidents, and thus lose heavily. Sometimes the soil is unfitted to grow the herbage necessary for the ostriches’ food, and there are many accidents they are liable to, such as dangers from prowling jackals or from severe storms. Then there are tigers and vultures to be guarded against. It will thus be seen that the ostrich farmer’s life is not necessarily a happy one. Our stay at Grasslands was made very pleasant by Mr M— and his wife. What with picnics in the wild surrounding country day after day, musical evenings on the moonlit lawn, a week passed away before we knew it.

It was here we noticed Frank had something on her mind which she wished to communicate to us. We said nothing to assist her, although we had a strong suspicion of what was coming. One morning she began: “Well, I want to tell you something.” She didn’t get any further, for we interrupted with “Oh, we know; you are going to marry Mr A—, whom you met on the diamond fields last year, and we are to dance at the wedding. Didn’t you think any one suspected? Why, my dear, it was very plain to us that he was to be your future husband long before you thought so yourself!” After we had congratulated her, we inquired how soon the event was to take place. She proposed having the wedding from the cathedral at Grahamstown, as we had many warm friends living there. So the matter was settled for the time being.

One evening a musical friend of our host, a gentleman from Port Elizabeth, and a violinist of no mean order, joined our circle, and we sat for hours listening to his music. After treating us to some choice selections, he began to play some of the songs of the farm Kafirs, who were listening about in numbers. They had learned to sing at their Sunday-schools in the town such hymns as “Hold the Fort,” etc, and took up the airs and began to sing, after their manner, in a chanting drone. Soon the sound of their own voices and the strains of the violin wrought them up to a high pitch of excitement, and they began to walk around us in a circle, keeping time with their hands, feet and head. Before long the musician, who had a touch of the grotesque in his humour, placed himself at the head of the procession. The music grew faster and faster, and the monotonous tramp of the Kafirs quickened gradually into a wild war dance. The scene which followed baffles description; there was the musician scraping away like an infernal Paganini, producing tones from his fiddle that seemed to excite the Kafirs to a pitch of frenzy. We joined in the singing, and sang at the top of our voices, while the black men, dancing, whirling, shouting, and gesticulating, grew wilder and wilder in their antics. The music suddenly ceasing, they sank exhausted to the ground. It was a weird scene in the moonlight, and one we shall long remember.

Our stay at Grasslands came to an end all too soon, and we looked long and lingeringly at familiar objects as we were driven back to town in Mr M—’s handsome Cape cart behind a dashing span of horses.

Chapter Eighteen.Soon after our return to Grahamstown we put the finishing touches to everything we had left undone toward making the wedding a joyous occasion. The bride’s white satin dress and veil were made by the hands of a competent dressmaker. There was a dress for Eva, as chief bridesmaid, which consisted of soft trailing drapery, and one for me, who was to take a place in the organ loft, and sing on the occasion. The day arrived, bright and smiling. The wedding bells pealed from the tower of the cathedral. The “sympathising” and well-wishing friends were gathered within when the bridal party arrived. The knot was tied, and as the bells pealed forth the bride passed out on her husband’s arm; an old crone stood in the door and showered blessings on her.As soon as congratulations were over, the wedding breakfast eaten, and the usual rice and lucky slipper flung after them, they took the train for a short vacation in a mountain hotel on the Zuurberg, whilst we bade good-by to friends around us, and flew away the same night to the sea at Port Elizabeth, five hours distant by rail.Our rooms in the Hotel Palmerston overlooked the open bay and the long pier or jetty, which runs out some two hundred yards into the sea, and is a favourite promenade for the townspeople. This made an ever-changing picture before us, and our hearts were stirred by the sight of our Stars and Stripes floating at the peak of two barks lying at anchor in Algoa Bay. Port Elizabeth, with its twenty-five thousand inhabitants, seemed different in many respects from any of the towns we had visited. It is a thriving, active, bustling town, with many handsome stores and buildings, three or four banks, a public library, which is in the Town Hall, a building that would grace any metropolis, and several churches of various denominations.A public park, built on the hill, is one of the especial prides of the place, the original site having been a stony waste, and all the soil having been brought from the valley back of the town. In fact, the whole city stands on a barren, sandy cliff, the business portions lying along the beach, and the residences stretching away up the face of the cliff to “the hill.” There is a strong rivalry existing between Port Elizabeth and Cape Town as to which shall have the lion’s share of the importing trade of the colony. The former is more advantageously situated for the interior trade, but unfortunately has no docks for shipping, and is exposed to the prevailing southeast gales.Great sums of money have been spent in the construction of a breakwater, which it was fondly hoped would form a refuge for ships during the heavy storms. But before it could be finished it proved itself useless, for the sand would “silt up” on the lee side, until it threatened to form a wide strip of beach between the landing place and the sea. All goods are landed by means of lighters, which are either unloaded at the jetty, or are driven on shore as near as practicable, and moored head and stern, when their contents are taken out by Kafirs, who, stripped almost naked, wade out in twos and threes, and carry the bales and cases on their heads. Sometimes a heavy wave comes in, throwing them off their feet, and causing precious freight to fall into the water and be broken to fragments. The merchant who deals in perishable articles thus runs great risks.A number of large warehouses lie close to the water’s edge, where all goods, as soon as landed, are received, to be sent up the country by ox-wagon or mule train. This will be done by the railway on its completion. A sea wall has been built a mile along the shore southwest of the jetty, and forms, in fine weather, a most delightful promenade, but, being away from the fashionable quarter of the town, is seldom patronised by the swells.There are a large number of German residents representing foreign houses in Port Elizabeth, who form a society of their own. They have built for themselves a fine club-house in grey stone, costing many thousands of dollars, which would do honour to any Continental city, and have some handsome residences.“Society” in Port Elizabeth endeavours to be very select. We attended several social gatherings, and found the citizens, as a rule, large-hearted, hospitable people, always glad to give a hearty and warm reception to the stranger within their gates.

Soon after our return to Grahamstown we put the finishing touches to everything we had left undone toward making the wedding a joyous occasion. The bride’s white satin dress and veil were made by the hands of a competent dressmaker. There was a dress for Eva, as chief bridesmaid, which consisted of soft trailing drapery, and one for me, who was to take a place in the organ loft, and sing on the occasion. The day arrived, bright and smiling. The wedding bells pealed from the tower of the cathedral. The “sympathising” and well-wishing friends were gathered within when the bridal party arrived. The knot was tied, and as the bells pealed forth the bride passed out on her husband’s arm; an old crone stood in the door and showered blessings on her.

As soon as congratulations were over, the wedding breakfast eaten, and the usual rice and lucky slipper flung after them, they took the train for a short vacation in a mountain hotel on the Zuurberg, whilst we bade good-by to friends around us, and flew away the same night to the sea at Port Elizabeth, five hours distant by rail.

Our rooms in the Hotel Palmerston overlooked the open bay and the long pier or jetty, which runs out some two hundred yards into the sea, and is a favourite promenade for the townspeople. This made an ever-changing picture before us, and our hearts were stirred by the sight of our Stars and Stripes floating at the peak of two barks lying at anchor in Algoa Bay. Port Elizabeth, with its twenty-five thousand inhabitants, seemed different in many respects from any of the towns we had visited. It is a thriving, active, bustling town, with many handsome stores and buildings, three or four banks, a public library, which is in the Town Hall, a building that would grace any metropolis, and several churches of various denominations.

A public park, built on the hill, is one of the especial prides of the place, the original site having been a stony waste, and all the soil having been brought from the valley back of the town. In fact, the whole city stands on a barren, sandy cliff, the business portions lying along the beach, and the residences stretching away up the face of the cliff to “the hill.” There is a strong rivalry existing between Port Elizabeth and Cape Town as to which shall have the lion’s share of the importing trade of the colony. The former is more advantageously situated for the interior trade, but unfortunately has no docks for shipping, and is exposed to the prevailing southeast gales.

Great sums of money have been spent in the construction of a breakwater, which it was fondly hoped would form a refuge for ships during the heavy storms. But before it could be finished it proved itself useless, for the sand would “silt up” on the lee side, until it threatened to form a wide strip of beach between the landing place and the sea. All goods are landed by means of lighters, which are either unloaded at the jetty, or are driven on shore as near as practicable, and moored head and stern, when their contents are taken out by Kafirs, who, stripped almost naked, wade out in twos and threes, and carry the bales and cases on their heads. Sometimes a heavy wave comes in, throwing them off their feet, and causing precious freight to fall into the water and be broken to fragments. The merchant who deals in perishable articles thus runs great risks.

A number of large warehouses lie close to the water’s edge, where all goods, as soon as landed, are received, to be sent up the country by ox-wagon or mule train. This will be done by the railway on its completion. A sea wall has been built a mile along the shore southwest of the jetty, and forms, in fine weather, a most delightful promenade, but, being away from the fashionable quarter of the town, is seldom patronised by the swells.

There are a large number of German residents representing foreign houses in Port Elizabeth, who form a society of their own. They have built for themselves a fine club-house in grey stone, costing many thousands of dollars, which would do honour to any Continental city, and have some handsome residences.

“Society” in Port Elizabeth endeavours to be very select. We attended several social gatherings, and found the citizens, as a rule, large-hearted, hospitable people, always glad to give a hearty and warm reception to the stranger within their gates.

Chapter Nineteen.One of the most interesting objects in Port E— is the Donkin Memorial, a pyramidal monument erected on the first ledge of the hill by Sir Thomas Donkin to the memory of his wife Elizabeth, who died off this point on ship-board while on her way from India, and after whom the town is named.A signal station is built by the side of the brick pyramid, and the fine open stretch of green turf which surrounds it and overlooks the sea forms a pleasant promenade at all seasons of the year. There are several well-edited newspapers, theHeraldbeing the most enterprising and the leading one, excelling in matter and printing any of the Cape Town journals, excepting theCape Times, edited by the genial and popular Mr Murray. Although Port Elizabeth has not the fine harbour and docks of Cape Town or the beautiful suburban surroundings, still a more energetic spirit exists in the business community, and the style of entertaining is on a far more liberal scale than in the latter place.As in most South African towns, a place is set aside for the black people at the upper end of the town.There they live, coming down to the stores and beach in the morning, and returning to their respective kraals at night. Several tribes are represented among them, and they form separate kraals, keeping themselves as distinct as though they were of a different species, although it would trouble most people to tell the difference between a Gaika and a Fingo, or a Zulu.The Fingoes, who have in all the Kafir wars been the white man’s ally, are cordially hated by the other Kafirs, who fight with them continually. The quarrel on one occasion during the latter part of our stay assumed such a threatening aspect that the town was alarmed for the consequences. For nearly a week not a Kafir came to the town, and it was rumoured that the Gaikas had grievously routed the Fingoes and were preparing to make a night raid on the town to massacre the inhabitants. It was at a time when the whole country was disturbed, there being two or three tribes at war with the colonists on the eastern borders. The report was then easily credited, and every available measure was taken for the protection of the inhabitants and to prevent surprise, the local volunteer corps being under arms for several days.One Sunday night we in the town could hear them singing their peculiar war chant, and such wonderful precision have they in time that the mighty chorus from the thousands of voices came down to us like the beating of a great heart. The effect of their deep melodious voices, as they rolled out on the moonlit midnight air in a great wave of sound, was weird and fearsome to a degree. We could not tell whether their fury might not rise to such a pitch as to send them rushing down upon us like naked fiends, yelling, stabbing, and spearing. But they seemed to be satisfied with a little bloodshed among themselves, and the Gaikas and Fingoes, after a few days, resumed their work on the beach and in the store side by side.But the alarm brought home to the colonists the danger existing in their midst. The black population outnumbers the white throughout the colony by almost six to one. In the town it is quite three to one, and a general uprising under an intelligent head could not but result in the total annihilation of every white face in the country. The colonists never seem to think such a contingency likely, relying on the internal dissensions between the different tribes and the moral force the white man seems to possess over the untutored black man.After remaining in Port Elizabeth seven months, we held a family conclave and came to the conclusion that we did not wish to leave the country until we had tried the climate of the Orange Free State, which we had heard lauded to the skies. So we bade adieu to Port Elizabeth, thinking it a very pleasant place to visit, and taking a parting look at the sea, we were whirled away to Grahamstown. From here we left by railroad for Cradock, a town some sixty miles east. Like Grahamstown, Cradock is the centre of a large wool-gathering district, and is laid out in boulevards and watered streets. It is situated on the Great Fish River, over which there is a fine stone bridge. It is at least forty feet above the surface of the water, which, at the time of our visit, flowed slowly between its arches in a sluggish stream, some fifty feet wide. Several years ago, after heavy rains up country, the river became suddenly so fierce, rapid, and swollen that the whole structure, solid as it was, was swept away by the first wave, which is described as advancing, with little or no warning, like a solid wall of water, fifty feet high. There is a Dutch Reformed Church, a well-built Town Hall, and a few houses and stores, with a population of three to four thousand inhabitants.We had experienced so many discomforts in our previous journeys by coach that we resolved here to have no more of it. So we provided ourselves with a comfortable and roomy Cape cart and four strong horses to make the journey up country, and we were prepared for once to take things easy. When travelling by coach one has no alternative between pressing right on, or waiting over in a dreary village for a week, until the next coach passes through. But with your own cart you can do as you like, going or staying, as pleases the fancy.Passing some of the villages we had been through by coach, in a few days we had reached the Orange Free State, more frequently called simply “Free State.” Our introduction to this thinly populated upland region was not calculated to put us in the best of humours, either with the country or our tired selves. We remained long enough to find out there were many things of interest about it. The Free State is embraced within the boundaries of the Vaal and Orange Rivers, and was first settled by the Dutch farmers, who had emigrated from the Cape Colony; the farms are very large, and by no means all occupied.About nine o’clock one night we stopped to give our horses a rest at a miserable house built of mud bricks. On either side of the door was a small window, in one of which was a sputtering candle. The house was occupied by Dutch people, but as it did not look sufficiently inviting to tempt me out of my seat even for a change, some coffee was brought out by a daughter of the family; a girl of sixteen. In the moonlight her face was very pleasing, and on asking her a question she answered in such pure English that we asked where she learned to speak so correctly. She replied that she had learned at the English school in Bloemfontein, called the “Home,” belonging to the Church of England. She was so bright and chatty, yet modest withal, and her surroundings so wretched and uninviting, that I thought the educational institutions of B— must be something superior to those usually found in the colony, which, on further knowledge, proved to be true.When we reached the brow of the hill overlooking the town of Bloemfontein, we saw with pleasure, under the bright moonlight, the town filled with fine trees and gardens. As we drove through we passed large buildings of both church and state which would not be excelled in any town of the United States of double the size.

One of the most interesting objects in Port E— is the Donkin Memorial, a pyramidal monument erected on the first ledge of the hill by Sir Thomas Donkin to the memory of his wife Elizabeth, who died off this point on ship-board while on her way from India, and after whom the town is named.

A signal station is built by the side of the brick pyramid, and the fine open stretch of green turf which surrounds it and overlooks the sea forms a pleasant promenade at all seasons of the year. There are several well-edited newspapers, theHeraldbeing the most enterprising and the leading one, excelling in matter and printing any of the Cape Town journals, excepting theCape Times, edited by the genial and popular Mr Murray. Although Port Elizabeth has not the fine harbour and docks of Cape Town or the beautiful suburban surroundings, still a more energetic spirit exists in the business community, and the style of entertaining is on a far more liberal scale than in the latter place.

As in most South African towns, a place is set aside for the black people at the upper end of the town.

There they live, coming down to the stores and beach in the morning, and returning to their respective kraals at night. Several tribes are represented among them, and they form separate kraals, keeping themselves as distinct as though they were of a different species, although it would trouble most people to tell the difference between a Gaika and a Fingo, or a Zulu.

The Fingoes, who have in all the Kafir wars been the white man’s ally, are cordially hated by the other Kafirs, who fight with them continually. The quarrel on one occasion during the latter part of our stay assumed such a threatening aspect that the town was alarmed for the consequences. For nearly a week not a Kafir came to the town, and it was rumoured that the Gaikas had grievously routed the Fingoes and were preparing to make a night raid on the town to massacre the inhabitants. It was at a time when the whole country was disturbed, there being two or three tribes at war with the colonists on the eastern borders. The report was then easily credited, and every available measure was taken for the protection of the inhabitants and to prevent surprise, the local volunteer corps being under arms for several days.

One Sunday night we in the town could hear them singing their peculiar war chant, and such wonderful precision have they in time that the mighty chorus from the thousands of voices came down to us like the beating of a great heart. The effect of their deep melodious voices, as they rolled out on the moonlit midnight air in a great wave of sound, was weird and fearsome to a degree. We could not tell whether their fury might not rise to such a pitch as to send them rushing down upon us like naked fiends, yelling, stabbing, and spearing. But they seemed to be satisfied with a little bloodshed among themselves, and the Gaikas and Fingoes, after a few days, resumed their work on the beach and in the store side by side.

But the alarm brought home to the colonists the danger existing in their midst. The black population outnumbers the white throughout the colony by almost six to one. In the town it is quite three to one, and a general uprising under an intelligent head could not but result in the total annihilation of every white face in the country. The colonists never seem to think such a contingency likely, relying on the internal dissensions between the different tribes and the moral force the white man seems to possess over the untutored black man.

After remaining in Port Elizabeth seven months, we held a family conclave and came to the conclusion that we did not wish to leave the country until we had tried the climate of the Orange Free State, which we had heard lauded to the skies. So we bade adieu to Port Elizabeth, thinking it a very pleasant place to visit, and taking a parting look at the sea, we were whirled away to Grahamstown. From here we left by railroad for Cradock, a town some sixty miles east. Like Grahamstown, Cradock is the centre of a large wool-gathering district, and is laid out in boulevards and watered streets. It is situated on the Great Fish River, over which there is a fine stone bridge. It is at least forty feet above the surface of the water, which, at the time of our visit, flowed slowly between its arches in a sluggish stream, some fifty feet wide. Several years ago, after heavy rains up country, the river became suddenly so fierce, rapid, and swollen that the whole structure, solid as it was, was swept away by the first wave, which is described as advancing, with little or no warning, like a solid wall of water, fifty feet high. There is a Dutch Reformed Church, a well-built Town Hall, and a few houses and stores, with a population of three to four thousand inhabitants.

We had experienced so many discomforts in our previous journeys by coach that we resolved here to have no more of it. So we provided ourselves with a comfortable and roomy Cape cart and four strong horses to make the journey up country, and we were prepared for once to take things easy. When travelling by coach one has no alternative between pressing right on, or waiting over in a dreary village for a week, until the next coach passes through. But with your own cart you can do as you like, going or staying, as pleases the fancy.

Passing some of the villages we had been through by coach, in a few days we had reached the Orange Free State, more frequently called simply “Free State.” Our introduction to this thinly populated upland region was not calculated to put us in the best of humours, either with the country or our tired selves. We remained long enough to find out there were many things of interest about it. The Free State is embraced within the boundaries of the Vaal and Orange Rivers, and was first settled by the Dutch farmers, who had emigrated from the Cape Colony; the farms are very large, and by no means all occupied.

About nine o’clock one night we stopped to give our horses a rest at a miserable house built of mud bricks. On either side of the door was a small window, in one of which was a sputtering candle. The house was occupied by Dutch people, but as it did not look sufficiently inviting to tempt me out of my seat even for a change, some coffee was brought out by a daughter of the family; a girl of sixteen. In the moonlight her face was very pleasing, and on asking her a question she answered in such pure English that we asked where she learned to speak so correctly. She replied that she had learned at the English school in Bloemfontein, called the “Home,” belonging to the Church of England. She was so bright and chatty, yet modest withal, and her surroundings so wretched and uninviting, that I thought the educational institutions of B— must be something superior to those usually found in the colony, which, on further knowledge, proved to be true.

When we reached the brow of the hill overlooking the town of Bloemfontein, we saw with pleasure, under the bright moonlight, the town filled with fine trees and gardens. As we drove through we passed large buildings of both church and state which would not be excelled in any town of the United States of double the size.

Chapter Twenty.We at last reached a cool, inviting-looking hotel, and we thoroughly enjoyed that well-served dinner laid before us on clean linen and bright silver, the delicious viands seeming all the better for our temporary deprivation. If any one troubled with dyspepsia should travel for three months through Africa, and live as the people do, never hurrying, and occasionally getting a jolting in a long coach ride, his would soon be a forgotten malady.Bloemfontein, being the seat of government, is by far the largest, best, and most important town in the Free State. It is a very pretty town, well planted with trees, the streets wide, the houses well built, and an air of cleanliness pervading everything. It nestles at the base of a long, low mountain, one of a range of hills that fade away in the distance and form a pretty picture in the red and golden tints thrown by the rays of the setting sun. It looks like a pretty toy town.Many of the leading men both here and elsewhere through the country are Germans, and excellent colonists they make. To be sure, we found a number of adventurers of the same nationality of a totally different sort, agitators and demagogues. There are, indeed, many who say that it is owing to the German element in the Transvaal that the dissensions existing in the country are directly owing. But the greater number are good citizens, readily adopting the country and state in which they live as their own, and training up their children to protect its interests. An enterprising German is the leading dry goods merchant in this upper country. His storerooms were stocked with merchandise, from hardware to the finest laces. His home was in the midst of well-kept grounds, laid out like a park, in which were planted many Australian gum trees. These are trees which, with a little care, grow thriftily and to a great height wherever they are planted in Africa.On one of our drives in the neighbouring country we drove to the farm of the merchant, and chanced to meet him there. He had planted hundreds of young trees on his large farm, mere saplings. We remarked, “Why do you pay so much attention to the planting of these slips of trees? They grow so slowly they will never give much shade during the lifetime of any of us.”“Well, well,” he replied, “the children of the next generation may come out here from B— and enjoy their picnics under the trees I have planted for them.” We found the same spirit among most of the German land-owners. They propose for the sake of their children to make no mistakes.Among the first settlers were German missionaries, who have in time amassed wealth and founded schools, built churches, and assisted in making the laws of this successful little republic. The town is largely given over to educational and religious establishments. The English Episcopal and Roman Catholic churches have each a bishopric and a cathedral. The former is very active, particular attention being paid to the college and schools attached to it. One of the institutions connected with the English church is the “Home,” carried on by the sisters of the church, who come from England to assist in the schools and hospitals, most of them being ladies of fortune and culture. The good that has been effected through them and their institutions cannot be computed by figures. They dress like the French sisters of the Roman Catholic Church. Although every now and then one of them marries, as a rule they do not marry. They live lives of strict self-denial.The Roman Catholic Church is a large structure, with a convent and school attached. We listened to an excellent sermon here during the visit of the Bishop, and heard some good music, as the tenor brother had a fine voice, and travelled, it was said, with the Bishop. The nuns’ voices were very sweet, one especially having such a sad, plaintive tone that it made the listener wish to see the face hidden behind the grating.Many English visitors go to Bloemfontein for the benefit of their health, but they do not look so robust nor gain strength as quickly as persons who have been six months in the Transvaal. The fine climate of that country, if sought in time, is almost a certain cure for any lung disease or asthmatic trouble. The dry climate of this upland region cannot be too highly extolled, and the best way to gain the full benefit of it is to try the primitive mode of travelling by ox-wagon. This, however, should be done as comfortably as possible, and during the dry season. The hotels in Bloemfontein and the Transvaal are so superior in point of comfort and table to those in the colony that they are greatly appreciated by the tired invalid. Our hotel parlour had a fine Brussels carpet on the floor, tinted walls, comfortable and handsome furniture, a Bimsmead piano, and lace curtains.During the several hot months we were there we had an opportunity of studying the characteristics of the Dutch Boer, who is met with in this part of the country in his primitive state. The Africander Boer is usually a tall, lanky, narrow-chested individual, with black hair, straggling beard and whiskers, cautious, suspicious, and undemonstrative, his countenance expressing little imagination and his body great physical endurance. He is never quarrelsome if it can be avoided; he is as shrewd at a bargain as any Scotchman, and in all his dealings displays an odd mixture of cunning and credulity. His contradictory history, however, makes it difficult to determine whether he is a brave man or the reverse.He is usually dressed in a yellow cord jacket, vest and trousers, with a flannel shirt, and veldtschoen(low shoes of untanned leather with no heels), the whole surmounted by a broad-brimmed slouch hat with a green lining. When he wishes to be particularly fine, as, for instance, when he goes a-courting, he sticks an ostrich feather in his hat, squeezes his long feet into a pair of patent leather congress gaiters, and encases his legs in showy leather leggings. He then mounts a horse that “kop-spiels,” gets into a new saddle with a sheepskin saddle cloth, and imagines himself just lovely!

We at last reached a cool, inviting-looking hotel, and we thoroughly enjoyed that well-served dinner laid before us on clean linen and bright silver, the delicious viands seeming all the better for our temporary deprivation. If any one troubled with dyspepsia should travel for three months through Africa, and live as the people do, never hurrying, and occasionally getting a jolting in a long coach ride, his would soon be a forgotten malady.

Bloemfontein, being the seat of government, is by far the largest, best, and most important town in the Free State. It is a very pretty town, well planted with trees, the streets wide, the houses well built, and an air of cleanliness pervading everything. It nestles at the base of a long, low mountain, one of a range of hills that fade away in the distance and form a pretty picture in the red and golden tints thrown by the rays of the setting sun. It looks like a pretty toy town.

Many of the leading men both here and elsewhere through the country are Germans, and excellent colonists they make. To be sure, we found a number of adventurers of the same nationality of a totally different sort, agitators and demagogues. There are, indeed, many who say that it is owing to the German element in the Transvaal that the dissensions existing in the country are directly owing. But the greater number are good citizens, readily adopting the country and state in which they live as their own, and training up their children to protect its interests. An enterprising German is the leading dry goods merchant in this upper country. His storerooms were stocked with merchandise, from hardware to the finest laces. His home was in the midst of well-kept grounds, laid out like a park, in which were planted many Australian gum trees. These are trees which, with a little care, grow thriftily and to a great height wherever they are planted in Africa.

On one of our drives in the neighbouring country we drove to the farm of the merchant, and chanced to meet him there. He had planted hundreds of young trees on his large farm, mere saplings. We remarked, “Why do you pay so much attention to the planting of these slips of trees? They grow so slowly they will never give much shade during the lifetime of any of us.”

“Well, well,” he replied, “the children of the next generation may come out here from B— and enjoy their picnics under the trees I have planted for them.” We found the same spirit among most of the German land-owners. They propose for the sake of their children to make no mistakes.

Among the first settlers were German missionaries, who have in time amassed wealth and founded schools, built churches, and assisted in making the laws of this successful little republic. The town is largely given over to educational and religious establishments. The English Episcopal and Roman Catholic churches have each a bishopric and a cathedral. The former is very active, particular attention being paid to the college and schools attached to it. One of the institutions connected with the English church is the “Home,” carried on by the sisters of the church, who come from England to assist in the schools and hospitals, most of them being ladies of fortune and culture. The good that has been effected through them and their institutions cannot be computed by figures. They dress like the French sisters of the Roman Catholic Church. Although every now and then one of them marries, as a rule they do not marry. They live lives of strict self-denial.

The Roman Catholic Church is a large structure, with a convent and school attached. We listened to an excellent sermon here during the visit of the Bishop, and heard some good music, as the tenor brother had a fine voice, and travelled, it was said, with the Bishop. The nuns’ voices were very sweet, one especially having such a sad, plaintive tone that it made the listener wish to see the face hidden behind the grating.

Many English visitors go to Bloemfontein for the benefit of their health, but they do not look so robust nor gain strength as quickly as persons who have been six months in the Transvaal. The fine climate of that country, if sought in time, is almost a certain cure for any lung disease or asthmatic trouble. The dry climate of this upland region cannot be too highly extolled, and the best way to gain the full benefit of it is to try the primitive mode of travelling by ox-wagon. This, however, should be done as comfortably as possible, and during the dry season. The hotels in Bloemfontein and the Transvaal are so superior in point of comfort and table to those in the colony that they are greatly appreciated by the tired invalid. Our hotel parlour had a fine Brussels carpet on the floor, tinted walls, comfortable and handsome furniture, a Bimsmead piano, and lace curtains.

During the several hot months we were there we had an opportunity of studying the characteristics of the Dutch Boer, who is met with in this part of the country in his primitive state. The Africander Boer is usually a tall, lanky, narrow-chested individual, with black hair, straggling beard and whiskers, cautious, suspicious, and undemonstrative, his countenance expressing little imagination and his body great physical endurance. He is never quarrelsome if it can be avoided; he is as shrewd at a bargain as any Scotchman, and in all his dealings displays an odd mixture of cunning and credulity. His contradictory history, however, makes it difficult to determine whether he is a brave man or the reverse.

He is usually dressed in a yellow cord jacket, vest and trousers, with a flannel shirt, and veldtschoen(low shoes of untanned leather with no heels), the whole surmounted by a broad-brimmed slouch hat with a green lining. When he wishes to be particularly fine, as, for instance, when he goes a-courting, he sticks an ostrich feather in his hat, squeezes his long feet into a pair of patent leather congress gaiters, and encases his legs in showy leather leggings. He then mounts a horse that “kop-spiels,” gets into a new saddle with a sheepskin saddle cloth, and imagines himself just lovely!

Chapter Twenty One.The language is the queerest jumble of Dutch, Kafir, and colonial war shouts, which, when spoken by a fluent Dutchman, sounds more like the tearing of strong linen than anything else. It certainly is a fine language with which to urge on the drooping spirits of a tired team of oxen. As a class the Boers are extremely strict in religious observances. The periodical “Nachtmaal,” literally “night meal” or “sacrament,” held every three months at the large and fine Dutch church, they attend faithfully.The farmers will pack their whole families into a wagon, and leaving the homestead to take care of itself, will “trek” into town, where some of them will occupy little clay houses of two rooms, or camp outside until the services are over, when they will “in-span” and return home. They always take advantage of these visits to do their shopping. At such times the stores wake up and put out their smartest calicoes and their yellowest saddles with which to tempt the wary Boer and Boeress. It is interesting to enter the village at night where a Nachtmaal is to be held next day. There is almost a second village of tent-covered wagons all around it. The various fires have each a group of men and women sitting round it, while in the shadows lie the slumbering oxen and chattering “boys.”After remaining at the hotel until we were tired of hotel life, we secured board at a farmhouse about two hours’ ride from Bloemfontein.The owner of this farm worked incessantly to improve his several thousand acres, which included some very fine land. The land showed what industry can do by simply keeping on day after day. The farmer had no white help which could be depended on; there were many Kafirs, but none he could rely on.Water is the great need, and although, by digging deep enough anywhere through the country, water is reached, not a single windmill did we see in factory or on farm to aid in pumping water. For months the dry season prevails, and our farmer, in order to be independent in his water supply for his many cattle, sheep, and Angora goats and ostriches, had thrown up banks of earth around three large dams.The wife was a large, comfortable woman, the mother of six children, the eldest thirteen years of age; when she sat down to rest they seemed to swarm over her, but they did not ruffle her temper any more than so many flies. She superintended and sometimes cooked all the meals; fourteen people often sat down to dinner, and three courses were served, usually by hideous Hottentot girls, dressed in bright calico dresses, coloured beads, and ribbons. These girls, dressed thus, consider themselves irresistible. The Kafir servants have to be told each day what to do; they have no memory for the simplest household duties. Their huts are some distance from the house, and if a notion seizes them to go to a wedding or a funeral, or to have a gossip with some stray Kafir, they will not come near the house, and the wife does the work alone. It was a wonder how she got through her work so easily, for she supplied a hotel in B—, which had thirty boarders, with butter, made the children’s every-day clothes, besides attending to many other household duties. Yet she was no light-footed woman, but had an avoirdupois of two hundred and fifty pounds, which is not an unusual weight for an Africander woman of thirty years.When coming into the house on a visit, whether one is acquainted or not, it is the custom to shake hands with every white person present. An English acquaintance drove to the farm to call upon us, and in thoughtlessness left without walking to the barn to shake hands with the farmer. The farmer was so indignant at this affront that nothing would make him overlook it. We shook many a hard and horny hand of traders who passed that way and remained to a meal. Some of these never looked up from their food or made a remark until they took their departure, when they shook hands again and uttered some unintelligible Dutch word.By living with such thrifty and pleasant people as this farmer and wife one learns what patience means with dumb, lazy servants, and how much can be accomplished by keeping steadily at work, doing little at a time. That is the way in which the Dutch people have made a success of their little republic. They are satisfied with small things, and move slowly. It thus happens that few mistakes occur in their governmental affairs, and that there are few bank failures and consequent suicides.Their ancestors must have been splendid fellows, for their deeds proclaim it. But long years of inactivity and the habits of intermarriage have weakened the race sadly. The descendants of the men who were foremost in every land are now content to sit on the same farm from generation to generation, caring for nothing, and having no ambition beyond raising a larger family than their neighbour.The “vrouws,” or wives, are either very thin and bony, or tall and “massive.” They dress in black, full skirts that skip the ground when they walk, and black poke bonnets with thick veils, which preserve the complexion from tan and freckle. They have really fine complexions. One farmer near Bloemfontein boasts of a family of twenty-three children, all by one wife. Fancy all the cousins and the aunts in the next generation! There will certainly be many marriages among these cousins. So much has there been of this habit of marrying in families that one frequently, especially in the older parts of the Cape Colony, finds whole districts where every farmer has the same surname, and is only distinguished by his given name. These so quickly give out that the good people are forced to adopt the old-fashioned way of coining surnames, and a man is known as Hans Meyer, C’s son, or Pieter Van Dyk, Karl’s son, and so on.But there is a reverse side to the picture. We meet some fine men among the Boers, President John Brand being as fine a specimen of a pioneer statesman as any one would wish to find. The government of the republic consists of the President and the Legislature, called the Volksraad, elected every four years.

The language is the queerest jumble of Dutch, Kafir, and colonial war shouts, which, when spoken by a fluent Dutchman, sounds more like the tearing of strong linen than anything else. It certainly is a fine language with which to urge on the drooping spirits of a tired team of oxen. As a class the Boers are extremely strict in religious observances. The periodical “Nachtmaal,” literally “night meal” or “sacrament,” held every three months at the large and fine Dutch church, they attend faithfully.

The farmers will pack their whole families into a wagon, and leaving the homestead to take care of itself, will “trek” into town, where some of them will occupy little clay houses of two rooms, or camp outside until the services are over, when they will “in-span” and return home. They always take advantage of these visits to do their shopping. At such times the stores wake up and put out their smartest calicoes and their yellowest saddles with which to tempt the wary Boer and Boeress. It is interesting to enter the village at night where a Nachtmaal is to be held next day. There is almost a second village of tent-covered wagons all around it. The various fires have each a group of men and women sitting round it, while in the shadows lie the slumbering oxen and chattering “boys.”

After remaining at the hotel until we were tired of hotel life, we secured board at a farmhouse about two hours’ ride from Bloemfontein.

The owner of this farm worked incessantly to improve his several thousand acres, which included some very fine land. The land showed what industry can do by simply keeping on day after day. The farmer had no white help which could be depended on; there were many Kafirs, but none he could rely on.

Water is the great need, and although, by digging deep enough anywhere through the country, water is reached, not a single windmill did we see in factory or on farm to aid in pumping water. For months the dry season prevails, and our farmer, in order to be independent in his water supply for his many cattle, sheep, and Angora goats and ostriches, had thrown up banks of earth around three large dams.

The wife was a large, comfortable woman, the mother of six children, the eldest thirteen years of age; when she sat down to rest they seemed to swarm over her, but they did not ruffle her temper any more than so many flies. She superintended and sometimes cooked all the meals; fourteen people often sat down to dinner, and three courses were served, usually by hideous Hottentot girls, dressed in bright calico dresses, coloured beads, and ribbons. These girls, dressed thus, consider themselves irresistible. The Kafir servants have to be told each day what to do; they have no memory for the simplest household duties. Their huts are some distance from the house, and if a notion seizes them to go to a wedding or a funeral, or to have a gossip with some stray Kafir, they will not come near the house, and the wife does the work alone. It was a wonder how she got through her work so easily, for she supplied a hotel in B—, which had thirty boarders, with butter, made the children’s every-day clothes, besides attending to many other household duties. Yet she was no light-footed woman, but had an avoirdupois of two hundred and fifty pounds, which is not an unusual weight for an Africander woman of thirty years.

When coming into the house on a visit, whether one is acquainted or not, it is the custom to shake hands with every white person present. An English acquaintance drove to the farm to call upon us, and in thoughtlessness left without walking to the barn to shake hands with the farmer. The farmer was so indignant at this affront that nothing would make him overlook it. We shook many a hard and horny hand of traders who passed that way and remained to a meal. Some of these never looked up from their food or made a remark until they took their departure, when they shook hands again and uttered some unintelligible Dutch word.

By living with such thrifty and pleasant people as this farmer and wife one learns what patience means with dumb, lazy servants, and how much can be accomplished by keeping steadily at work, doing little at a time. That is the way in which the Dutch people have made a success of their little republic. They are satisfied with small things, and move slowly. It thus happens that few mistakes occur in their governmental affairs, and that there are few bank failures and consequent suicides.

Their ancestors must have been splendid fellows, for their deeds proclaim it. But long years of inactivity and the habits of intermarriage have weakened the race sadly. The descendants of the men who were foremost in every land are now content to sit on the same farm from generation to generation, caring for nothing, and having no ambition beyond raising a larger family than their neighbour.

The “vrouws,” or wives, are either very thin and bony, or tall and “massive.” They dress in black, full skirts that skip the ground when they walk, and black poke bonnets with thick veils, which preserve the complexion from tan and freckle. They have really fine complexions. One farmer near Bloemfontein boasts of a family of twenty-three children, all by one wife. Fancy all the cousins and the aunts in the next generation! There will certainly be many marriages among these cousins. So much has there been of this habit of marrying in families that one frequently, especially in the older parts of the Cape Colony, finds whole districts where every farmer has the same surname, and is only distinguished by his given name. These so quickly give out that the good people are forced to adopt the old-fashioned way of coining surnames, and a man is known as Hans Meyer, C’s son, or Pieter Van Dyk, Karl’s son, and so on.

But there is a reverse side to the picture. We meet some fine men among the Boers, President John Brand being as fine a specimen of a pioneer statesman as any one would wish to find. The government of the republic consists of the President and the Legislature, called the Volksraad, elected every four years.

Chapter Twenty Two.The President, who had been elected so often that the office promised, so far as he was concerned, to be a perpetual one, is a hearty, genial gentleman, beloved by all who know him. He is a native of Cape Town, and received his education in England. The welfare of the little republic, over which he has so long and so wisely ruled, is the dearest object of his heart.We met the President and his wife, who invited us to call at their residence, a large, two-storey “White House,” as it is called, surrounded by extensive grounds in the prettiest spot on the outskirts of the town. We were told by residents that our visit would be very formal, but it did not prove to be so. We found them both most charming and affable people. A luncheon of delicacies and choice fruits from their own orchard was laid for us, and Mrs Brand, or “Lady Brand,” as she is more generally called, was so bright and witty that an hour passed away very pleasantly. She is a large, striking-looking woman of noble features, and with a mind capable of assisting her husband in matters of state. Her best sympathies are with her people, and no one deplores more than she the lamentable ignorance to be found in the remote districts. It rests with the people themselves to remove this ignorance; excellent boarding-schools, both government and private, are established in every village throughout the country. She has unbounded confidence in the capabilities of the Dutch to govern themselves. Certainly, if the country can produce more such people as her noble husband and herself, they will have no difficulty in finding a leader.The President seemed greatly interested in us as being Americans, and asked us question after question about our customs and form of government. A special session of the Volksraad was called while we were in the town, to discuss the condition of the Transvaal, which was now in open revolt, and we had an opportunity of seeing the representative men of the country. They came to town in all sorts of vehicles, European and American carriages, Cape carts and ox-wagons. The many vehicles, all drawn by handsomely matched horses, made the town very bright and gay.The men who gathered together were, many of them, aliens by birth, but all showed signs of more than average intelligence. The question they had come to discuss, viz, what should be the attitude of their country in the present state of affairs in the Transvaal, was important, for the people of that territory were united to them by many ties. News was brought by post cart that the Boers in the Transvaal, who had long wished to govern themselves, had risen up against English rule, had come riding into Potchefstrom from all the country around, and had taken possession of the town. There we were in the midst of people closely related to the Transvaal, which was but a few days’ ride from us.As news came that Pretoria, so isolated, was in a state of siege, and that English troops were coming out as fast as the steamers could bring them to put down the Boer rebellion, things began to look interesting. In addition to the troubles in the Transvaal, the Cape Colony was also embroiled in a war with the Basutos, a warlike tribe occupying a large tract of country east of the Free State. What with war with the Basutos on the one side of us, and the Boers on the other, South Africa was not precisely a country to which one felt the Millennium would soon come.Fighting against the natives, either Zulu or Basuto, is an entirely different kind of warfare from meeting the deadly aim of the Boer on his own soil. In this dry, cruel country, with its natural fastnesses and dry river beds, the Boer from his boyhood wanders, gun in hand, trained to handle it as easily as the English soldier handles his cane when not on duty. When news came in that every officer of a fine English company of brave fellows had been shot, picked off like birds on a fence, a wave of horror swept over the hearts of those friendly to the British flag. The English troops went on nothing daunted, and when fighting on one of the heights were beating their foe, who was turning to flee. At this critical moment they discovered that their leader had neglected to bring sufficient ammunition up the mountain-side. When the Boers saw the situation, and rushed back upon them, the brave English fellows, in their desperation, picked up stones and threw them at their foe, and then, rather than be taken prisoners, jumped down a declivity of a hundred feet to effect their escape.I quote a descriptive account of the engagement at “Lange’s Nek” from the special war correspondent of the NatalWitness:—“No unfair means were taken by the Boers yesterday. We attempted to take the hill, and in our endeavours to reach the summit they repulsed us. This is the whole thing in a nutshell; men who were in the engagement stated that the Boers had entrenched themselves, and this is more than probable when it is considered that natural trenches must abound in the positions they occupied. It was also represented that they had numbers of Kafir allies to assist them. This may or may not be true. I was posted near the cannon, and although I had a magnificent view from that point, I observed no Kafir force whatever. It is perfectly true that many of the Boers used fowling-pieces loaded with buckshot, and they did fearful damage in wounding men, but whether this can be regarded as unfair when rockets are used on our side, I leave any one to decide. Mere words are tame to express the manner in which the gallant 58th behaved on this occasion. Their conduct throughout, even against overwhelming odds, and the knowledge acquired too late of the enemy’s position being impregnable, left nothing to be desired.“The attempt to eulogise these men seems like mockery; their deeds speak for them far more eloquently than words can. So true and deadly was the Boer aim that Colonel Deane, in command of the 58th, fell almost immediately upon fire being opened. Officers and men were shot down in every direction. Every volley of the Boers carried its fearful freight too true, and thinned our already meagre force. Still they held on to the last, hoping against hope, and dying martyrs. Every man on the field yesterday was more than a soldier—he was a hero. The word ‘Retreat!’ was at last given, but oh, what a retreat! Men walking over their dead comrades’ bodies, ever and anon another addition being made to those already down—wounded men imploring that their rifles should not be thrown into the enemy’s hands.“The sight was grand, but awful, and those who witnessed the engagement at Lange’s Nek yesterday are likely to carry the impression to their graves. Had it not been for the shells, which unquestionably created great havoc among the Boer ranks at this period, few, very few, of the 58th would have survived that day. On reaching the foot of the hill the 60th Rifles were drawn up to protect their retreat, and, if possible, induce the enemy to follow up. The Boers, however, retired to their position under cover of a ravine.”This was what the fighting was like; it seemed more like a massacre of the gallant Englishmen than a battle. But what seemed most astonishing to the English population was that these quiet, peaceful people, who nobody thought would fight, rose up in a day as one man, without any such purpose being known to the English!The colony of South Africa is always in a flourishing condition when war breaks out. Then English gold and foreign speculators come to its shores; everything is at fever heat; towns are built and beautified. Afterward comes the reaction; the breath of life and vigour dies out, leaving the colony hopelessly in debt. The colony then remains a drain upon the exchequer of England, which pays out thousands of pounds for the war “epidemics” that every few years break out between the native and the English, or the Boer and the English.These wars yield nothing in return to England but mourning hearts at home for brave sons who lie buried under African soil.

The President, who had been elected so often that the office promised, so far as he was concerned, to be a perpetual one, is a hearty, genial gentleman, beloved by all who know him. He is a native of Cape Town, and received his education in England. The welfare of the little republic, over which he has so long and so wisely ruled, is the dearest object of his heart.

We met the President and his wife, who invited us to call at their residence, a large, two-storey “White House,” as it is called, surrounded by extensive grounds in the prettiest spot on the outskirts of the town. We were told by residents that our visit would be very formal, but it did not prove to be so. We found them both most charming and affable people. A luncheon of delicacies and choice fruits from their own orchard was laid for us, and Mrs Brand, or “Lady Brand,” as she is more generally called, was so bright and witty that an hour passed away very pleasantly. She is a large, striking-looking woman of noble features, and with a mind capable of assisting her husband in matters of state. Her best sympathies are with her people, and no one deplores more than she the lamentable ignorance to be found in the remote districts. It rests with the people themselves to remove this ignorance; excellent boarding-schools, both government and private, are established in every village throughout the country. She has unbounded confidence in the capabilities of the Dutch to govern themselves. Certainly, if the country can produce more such people as her noble husband and herself, they will have no difficulty in finding a leader.

The President seemed greatly interested in us as being Americans, and asked us question after question about our customs and form of government. A special session of the Volksraad was called while we were in the town, to discuss the condition of the Transvaal, which was now in open revolt, and we had an opportunity of seeing the representative men of the country. They came to town in all sorts of vehicles, European and American carriages, Cape carts and ox-wagons. The many vehicles, all drawn by handsomely matched horses, made the town very bright and gay.

The men who gathered together were, many of them, aliens by birth, but all showed signs of more than average intelligence. The question they had come to discuss, viz, what should be the attitude of their country in the present state of affairs in the Transvaal, was important, for the people of that territory were united to them by many ties. News was brought by post cart that the Boers in the Transvaal, who had long wished to govern themselves, had risen up against English rule, had come riding into Potchefstrom from all the country around, and had taken possession of the town. There we were in the midst of people closely related to the Transvaal, which was but a few days’ ride from us.

As news came that Pretoria, so isolated, was in a state of siege, and that English troops were coming out as fast as the steamers could bring them to put down the Boer rebellion, things began to look interesting. In addition to the troubles in the Transvaal, the Cape Colony was also embroiled in a war with the Basutos, a warlike tribe occupying a large tract of country east of the Free State. What with war with the Basutos on the one side of us, and the Boers on the other, South Africa was not precisely a country to which one felt the Millennium would soon come.

Fighting against the natives, either Zulu or Basuto, is an entirely different kind of warfare from meeting the deadly aim of the Boer on his own soil. In this dry, cruel country, with its natural fastnesses and dry river beds, the Boer from his boyhood wanders, gun in hand, trained to handle it as easily as the English soldier handles his cane when not on duty. When news came in that every officer of a fine English company of brave fellows had been shot, picked off like birds on a fence, a wave of horror swept over the hearts of those friendly to the British flag. The English troops went on nothing daunted, and when fighting on one of the heights were beating their foe, who was turning to flee. At this critical moment they discovered that their leader had neglected to bring sufficient ammunition up the mountain-side. When the Boers saw the situation, and rushed back upon them, the brave English fellows, in their desperation, picked up stones and threw them at their foe, and then, rather than be taken prisoners, jumped down a declivity of a hundred feet to effect their escape.

I quote a descriptive account of the engagement at “Lange’s Nek” from the special war correspondent of the NatalWitness:—

“No unfair means were taken by the Boers yesterday. We attempted to take the hill, and in our endeavours to reach the summit they repulsed us. This is the whole thing in a nutshell; men who were in the engagement stated that the Boers had entrenched themselves, and this is more than probable when it is considered that natural trenches must abound in the positions they occupied. It was also represented that they had numbers of Kafir allies to assist them. This may or may not be true. I was posted near the cannon, and although I had a magnificent view from that point, I observed no Kafir force whatever. It is perfectly true that many of the Boers used fowling-pieces loaded with buckshot, and they did fearful damage in wounding men, but whether this can be regarded as unfair when rockets are used on our side, I leave any one to decide. Mere words are tame to express the manner in which the gallant 58th behaved on this occasion. Their conduct throughout, even against overwhelming odds, and the knowledge acquired too late of the enemy’s position being impregnable, left nothing to be desired.“The attempt to eulogise these men seems like mockery; their deeds speak for them far more eloquently than words can. So true and deadly was the Boer aim that Colonel Deane, in command of the 58th, fell almost immediately upon fire being opened. Officers and men were shot down in every direction. Every volley of the Boers carried its fearful freight too true, and thinned our already meagre force. Still they held on to the last, hoping against hope, and dying martyrs. Every man on the field yesterday was more than a soldier—he was a hero. The word ‘Retreat!’ was at last given, but oh, what a retreat! Men walking over their dead comrades’ bodies, ever and anon another addition being made to those already down—wounded men imploring that their rifles should not be thrown into the enemy’s hands.“The sight was grand, but awful, and those who witnessed the engagement at Lange’s Nek yesterday are likely to carry the impression to their graves. Had it not been for the shells, which unquestionably created great havoc among the Boer ranks at this period, few, very few, of the 58th would have survived that day. On reaching the foot of the hill the 60th Rifles were drawn up to protect their retreat, and, if possible, induce the enemy to follow up. The Boers, however, retired to their position under cover of a ravine.”

“No unfair means were taken by the Boers yesterday. We attempted to take the hill, and in our endeavours to reach the summit they repulsed us. This is the whole thing in a nutshell; men who were in the engagement stated that the Boers had entrenched themselves, and this is more than probable when it is considered that natural trenches must abound in the positions they occupied. It was also represented that they had numbers of Kafir allies to assist them. This may or may not be true. I was posted near the cannon, and although I had a magnificent view from that point, I observed no Kafir force whatever. It is perfectly true that many of the Boers used fowling-pieces loaded with buckshot, and they did fearful damage in wounding men, but whether this can be regarded as unfair when rockets are used on our side, I leave any one to decide. Mere words are tame to express the manner in which the gallant 58th behaved on this occasion. Their conduct throughout, even against overwhelming odds, and the knowledge acquired too late of the enemy’s position being impregnable, left nothing to be desired.

“The attempt to eulogise these men seems like mockery; their deeds speak for them far more eloquently than words can. So true and deadly was the Boer aim that Colonel Deane, in command of the 58th, fell almost immediately upon fire being opened. Officers and men were shot down in every direction. Every volley of the Boers carried its fearful freight too true, and thinned our already meagre force. Still they held on to the last, hoping against hope, and dying martyrs. Every man on the field yesterday was more than a soldier—he was a hero. The word ‘Retreat!’ was at last given, but oh, what a retreat! Men walking over their dead comrades’ bodies, ever and anon another addition being made to those already down—wounded men imploring that their rifles should not be thrown into the enemy’s hands.

“The sight was grand, but awful, and those who witnessed the engagement at Lange’s Nek yesterday are likely to carry the impression to their graves. Had it not been for the shells, which unquestionably created great havoc among the Boer ranks at this period, few, very few, of the 58th would have survived that day. On reaching the foot of the hill the 60th Rifles were drawn up to protect their retreat, and, if possible, induce the enemy to follow up. The Boers, however, retired to their position under cover of a ravine.”

This was what the fighting was like; it seemed more like a massacre of the gallant Englishmen than a battle. But what seemed most astonishing to the English population was that these quiet, peaceful people, who nobody thought would fight, rose up in a day as one man, without any such purpose being known to the English!

The colony of South Africa is always in a flourishing condition when war breaks out. Then English gold and foreign speculators come to its shores; everything is at fever heat; towns are built and beautified. Afterward comes the reaction; the breath of life and vigour dies out, leaving the colony hopelessly in debt. The colony then remains a drain upon the exchequer of England, which pays out thousands of pounds for the war “epidemics” that every few years break out between the native and the English, or the Boer and the English.

These wars yield nothing in return to England but mourning hearts at home for brave sons who lie buried under African soil.

Chapter Twenty Three.Before leaving Bloemfontein we met two fellow passengers of ours on theTrojan. They were brothers, and one was so ill that we never expected to see him again in this life, when lo! here he was the picture of health, entirely owing, he said, to the wonderful effects of the climate. By living and travelling for over six months in an ox-wagon, he declared, he had taken a new lease of life. Despite the fact of our lives having been insured in America, we thought that a new lease would be a comfortable thing to have by us. So we made up our minds to try the experiment.It was not an easy thing to find a wagon which we could hire for the trip, but fortune favoured us. Mr A— met an English friend, Mr Heeler, from Pretoria, who had, like many others, managed to escape with his portable property and his wagon before the Boers beleaguered the town. He was undecided what to do until the difficulties were over, and soon consented, in consideration of a fair daily hire, to place his wagon and span of sixteen oxen at our disposal.We provided ourselves with serviceable clothing, and were each measured by the local cobbler for a pair of strong, thick, laced shoes. But when the boy brought them in, we gazed at them for a moment, and then politely told him that some mistake must have been made, for none of our family wore number eight! They were monstrous.But we were to leave the following day, and had to take them. We stuffed the toes and overlapped the leather when tying them up. We found, before we had been many days on the road, that our cowhide boots could brave anything, and were infinitely better for what we wanted than a stylish, neatly fitting shoe.Laying in provisions for the wagon was like victualling a ship for a voyage. We laughed at the formidable list of canned goods that Mr A— had provided for our journey. “Good gracious!” we cried, “we can never eat all that;” but he assured us we should, and added that he expected to keep us provided with fresh meat with his gun and an occasional sheep bought from some Boer farmer. He had, however, to provide against failure in both expectations. Game might be scarce, and there are some Boers who will not sell anything to an Englishman.Our wagon was twenty-three feet from end to end, and four feet and a half wide. With some willow wands and heavy wagon sail an excellent tent was made, thoroughly waterproof, and divided with a canvas partition into two compartments. Our trunks were packed on the floor, over which the beds were suspended on a cartel formed from laced strips of raw ox-hide.Our stores were packed in boxes, which were securely fastened around and under the wagon, together with kettles, pans, and dishes of enamelled iron. A folding-table, several camp-stools and chairs completed our equipments, and on a muddy but sunshiny day we left our hotel, bidding good-by to our friends, and climbed on to our perches on the cartel. Four black boys, a maid, and two dogs formed our establishment. One of the large boys took the trek tow, a loose rein on the horns of the two leading oxen, and another the long-handled, long-thonged whip. There was a wild yell and a screech from them all, and the oxen started forward with a lurch that threatened to dislodge every article we had taken such pains to secure. The wagon slowly rose out of the muddy bed into which it had sunk during the past week’s rain, and getting into the road, moved at a brisk pace along.Still brisk as it was the pace was only a walk. We thought we should never make the two or three hundred miles to Queenstown, at that pace, by the route we should take. We learned, however, that though slow it was sure. A team of oxen intelligently driven, and rested at proper intervals, will make thirty miles a day, week after week, over any sort of country, a rate of travelling that horses cannot exceed when the distance is long. At the end of three hours the oxen were outspanned to graze and the boys prepared our midday meal. The tablecloth was laid, and that tablecloth was the chief source of our solicitude throughout the trip. Oh the delight of that first meal! everything tasted so sweet. Were we not free, free as air, the sky and limitless veldt the ceiling, walls, and floor of our dining-room, with not a creature in sight? Our caterer had forgotten nothing that was necessary to make our meals model entertainments.After an hour and a half the oxen were slowly driven up to the wagon and each one took his own proper place, seeming to know his own yoke. We trekked on over the same level plain, but as evening drew near the sky assumed a threatening aspect, and it was thought prudent to outspan and tie up in order to prepare for the reception of the impending storm. Before the yokes were removed the rain came pouring down in torrents. The boys dug a trench around the wagon under which they got for shelter, while we, safe under our waterproof tent, peered out from time to time at the storm raging around us.Presently lightning began to flash and the thunder to roar, while the rain came down in sheets, seeming to transform the open country into a vast lake. Oh, those dreadful African thunderstorms! We thoughtWeshould never see worse storms than those of our Western prairies, but they were infants in strength compared to those in Africa.The storm grew fiercer and fiercer, and the lightning seemed to come from the heavens in all directions in molten streams of fire. The road was full of ironstone, a peculiarity of the uplands of Africa; this seemed to attract the lightning, and the air appeared to be full of fire, accompanied by an ear-piercing crackling and booming that shook the earth. The atmosphere was black, and the darkness was intensified by the continual flashes, when suddenly there was a crash and a deafening roar that made us think the heavens had fallen. Stunned for a moment we each looked at the other, expecting that the wagon had been struck, and a great stir and lowing among the trembling oxen increased our fears.We sat for half an hour listening to the thunder muttering fainter and fainter as it rolled away in the distance. The voice of A— summoned us from the tent. To our surprise we found the sky clear and no trace of the storm in the heavens, but an inky cloud disappearing far away on the horizon. About fifty yards ahead of the wagon was a large hole in the road that had been torn up by the fury of that thunderbolt which had so terrified us.

Before leaving Bloemfontein we met two fellow passengers of ours on theTrojan. They were brothers, and one was so ill that we never expected to see him again in this life, when lo! here he was the picture of health, entirely owing, he said, to the wonderful effects of the climate. By living and travelling for over six months in an ox-wagon, he declared, he had taken a new lease of life. Despite the fact of our lives having been insured in America, we thought that a new lease would be a comfortable thing to have by us. So we made up our minds to try the experiment.

It was not an easy thing to find a wagon which we could hire for the trip, but fortune favoured us. Mr A— met an English friend, Mr Heeler, from Pretoria, who had, like many others, managed to escape with his portable property and his wagon before the Boers beleaguered the town. He was undecided what to do until the difficulties were over, and soon consented, in consideration of a fair daily hire, to place his wagon and span of sixteen oxen at our disposal.

We provided ourselves with serviceable clothing, and were each measured by the local cobbler for a pair of strong, thick, laced shoes. But when the boy brought them in, we gazed at them for a moment, and then politely told him that some mistake must have been made, for none of our family wore number eight! They were monstrous.

But we were to leave the following day, and had to take them. We stuffed the toes and overlapped the leather when tying them up. We found, before we had been many days on the road, that our cowhide boots could brave anything, and were infinitely better for what we wanted than a stylish, neatly fitting shoe.

Laying in provisions for the wagon was like victualling a ship for a voyage. We laughed at the formidable list of canned goods that Mr A— had provided for our journey. “Good gracious!” we cried, “we can never eat all that;” but he assured us we should, and added that he expected to keep us provided with fresh meat with his gun and an occasional sheep bought from some Boer farmer. He had, however, to provide against failure in both expectations. Game might be scarce, and there are some Boers who will not sell anything to an Englishman.

Our wagon was twenty-three feet from end to end, and four feet and a half wide. With some willow wands and heavy wagon sail an excellent tent was made, thoroughly waterproof, and divided with a canvas partition into two compartments. Our trunks were packed on the floor, over which the beds were suspended on a cartel formed from laced strips of raw ox-hide.

Our stores were packed in boxes, which were securely fastened around and under the wagon, together with kettles, pans, and dishes of enamelled iron. A folding-table, several camp-stools and chairs completed our equipments, and on a muddy but sunshiny day we left our hotel, bidding good-by to our friends, and climbed on to our perches on the cartel. Four black boys, a maid, and two dogs formed our establishment. One of the large boys took the trek tow, a loose rein on the horns of the two leading oxen, and another the long-handled, long-thonged whip. There was a wild yell and a screech from them all, and the oxen started forward with a lurch that threatened to dislodge every article we had taken such pains to secure. The wagon slowly rose out of the muddy bed into which it had sunk during the past week’s rain, and getting into the road, moved at a brisk pace along.

Still brisk as it was the pace was only a walk. We thought we should never make the two or three hundred miles to Queenstown, at that pace, by the route we should take. We learned, however, that though slow it was sure. A team of oxen intelligently driven, and rested at proper intervals, will make thirty miles a day, week after week, over any sort of country, a rate of travelling that horses cannot exceed when the distance is long. At the end of three hours the oxen were outspanned to graze and the boys prepared our midday meal. The tablecloth was laid, and that tablecloth was the chief source of our solicitude throughout the trip. Oh the delight of that first meal! everything tasted so sweet. Were we not free, free as air, the sky and limitless veldt the ceiling, walls, and floor of our dining-room, with not a creature in sight? Our caterer had forgotten nothing that was necessary to make our meals model entertainments.

After an hour and a half the oxen were slowly driven up to the wagon and each one took his own proper place, seeming to know his own yoke. We trekked on over the same level plain, but as evening drew near the sky assumed a threatening aspect, and it was thought prudent to outspan and tie up in order to prepare for the reception of the impending storm. Before the yokes were removed the rain came pouring down in torrents. The boys dug a trench around the wagon under which they got for shelter, while we, safe under our waterproof tent, peered out from time to time at the storm raging around us.

Presently lightning began to flash and the thunder to roar, while the rain came down in sheets, seeming to transform the open country into a vast lake. Oh, those dreadful African thunderstorms! We thoughtWeshould never see worse storms than those of our Western prairies, but they were infants in strength compared to those in Africa.

The storm grew fiercer and fiercer, and the lightning seemed to come from the heavens in all directions in molten streams of fire. The road was full of ironstone, a peculiarity of the uplands of Africa; this seemed to attract the lightning, and the air appeared to be full of fire, accompanied by an ear-piercing crackling and booming that shook the earth. The atmosphere was black, and the darkness was intensified by the continual flashes, when suddenly there was a crash and a deafening roar that made us think the heavens had fallen. Stunned for a moment we each looked at the other, expecting that the wagon had been struck, and a great stir and lowing among the trembling oxen increased our fears.

We sat for half an hour listening to the thunder muttering fainter and fainter as it rolled away in the distance. The voice of A— summoned us from the tent. To our surprise we found the sky clear and no trace of the storm in the heavens, but an inky cloud disappearing far away on the horizon. About fifty yards ahead of the wagon was a large hole in the road that had been torn up by the fury of that thunderbolt which had so terrified us.

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