Chapter Twenty Four.These African thunderstorms occur at different seasons in different localities, and everywhere they are terrible. They do more harm by their violence than the rain which accompanies them does good. During their continuance (fortunately they never last long) the water comes down in veritable sheets, rushing down slopes and mountain-sides in a resistless flood, swelling rivers in a few moments from ditches into torrents.A storm in the mountains at times fills the streams leading out from them to such an extent that with scarcely any warning the waters come tumbling down in cataracts, the rivers rising to a height of forty feet in as many minutes. A friend of ours with his partner had been trading for years in the Zambesi country, and was bringing down a large quantity of furs, feathers, and ivory to the colonial market. On reaching the banks of a little river, remarking that it was running somewhat swifter than usual, they entered it with their wagon, without any thought of danger.Suddenly, as they reached the middle, the waters came rolling down with a roar like Niagara, sweeping away the results of two years’ labour in a moment; they barely escaped with their lives. We asked our friend what he did at the time. “Why,” said he, “we tried to express the situation in words, but we could not do it justice, so we just sat down on two ant-hills, laughing at one another and our luck.” Several similar cases occurred during our stay in the upland country. A coach with four passengers was swept away in a moment while fording a swelling river at night, the driver only escaping.The boys were soon at work coaxing up a fire, with the help of some dry wood we had in the wagon, and coffee was made. The meal was rather dismal, for night had fallen, and the boys were looking anxiously at the condition of the road, and the hopeless state of the wagon wheels, which had sunk into the sloppy turf almost up to the hubs. There was no use trying to go on that night, so putting out our swinging lantern, we lay down to sleep.At daylight we were awakened by the jolting of the wagon, and found that our bodyguard had inspanned, and, having dug us out of the muddy prison, had succeeded in getting us under way. Hastily making our toilets with difficulty, we were thrown from side to side of the wagon at every lurch; we jumped out and walked, finding the exercise preferable to the jarring of the vehicle. Indeed, we walked most of the journey, and were better for it. Enjoying an excellent breakfast, which again put us in good spirits, we were beginning to think we should have a clear day, but another spell of rain at ten o’clock came on. It continued raining all day, with short intervals of sunshine. These were taken advantage of to make short treks.At four o’clock, as we were sitting in the fore part of our chariot looking out at the drizzling rain, the front wheels slowly sank and nearly disappeared in a deep mud hole, bringing the steaming oxen to a full stop. In vain the driver cracked his long whip and yelled; we were hopelessly stuck. I was sitting in front when the accident occurred, and jumped out, landing in a deep mud hole. We slept that night at an angle of nearly forty-five degrees, and when morning broke it was welcome, as it brought with it some bright sunshine and prospect of clearing weather.It took five hours and the effort of the combined lungs of the party upon the oxen, together with the inventive genius and experience of all the members of our staff, to get us out of that mud hole. They outspanned and inspanned three times before the wagon stirred, and a hole had been dug big enough to bury us all in before the wheels were released. At last, with a whoop and a yell and a groan, it was hoisted out of its oozy prison and drawn onto the veldt, when the oxen were outspanned and breakfast was eaten.During several successive days, while travelling in the Orange Free State, we passed hundreds of huge ant-hills. One might say there are villages of these; they are formed together in thousands, they disappear for a space, and are again met with. Some of them measure ten feet and more in circumference, and are between three and four feet high, and are filled with black and yellow ants. The clay becomes hard from the sun’s rays. An ox-wagon driver hews out an ant-hill forming an oven, in which he cooks his bread, the clay burning like a slow fire, and with an intense heat.From this time on the weather was delightful; with the exception of one thunderstorm it continued so during the six weeks we remained in the wagon. We soon forgot the unpleasant experiences of the first few days. In forty-eight hours the sun had dried the road, so that travelling was comparatively easy, and we passed over the level plain, arriving in Smithfield on the fifth morning after leaving Bloemfontein, where we outspanned on a plateau adjoining the village. We here met with a lady friend from the diamond fields, who invited us to visit her for a few days; but we had now become attached to our gypsy life, and preferred our own fireside.Smithfield is a fair-sized village of the usual Free State kind, possessing a few fine churches, a few streets of one-storey roomy houses, and several stores. When our tented home began to move along the road away from the village we trudged alongside of it as happy and healthy as school-girls, and feeling as free from restraint as the birds.
These African thunderstorms occur at different seasons in different localities, and everywhere they are terrible. They do more harm by their violence than the rain which accompanies them does good. During their continuance (fortunately they never last long) the water comes down in veritable sheets, rushing down slopes and mountain-sides in a resistless flood, swelling rivers in a few moments from ditches into torrents.
A storm in the mountains at times fills the streams leading out from them to such an extent that with scarcely any warning the waters come tumbling down in cataracts, the rivers rising to a height of forty feet in as many minutes. A friend of ours with his partner had been trading for years in the Zambesi country, and was bringing down a large quantity of furs, feathers, and ivory to the colonial market. On reaching the banks of a little river, remarking that it was running somewhat swifter than usual, they entered it with their wagon, without any thought of danger.
Suddenly, as they reached the middle, the waters came rolling down with a roar like Niagara, sweeping away the results of two years’ labour in a moment; they barely escaped with their lives. We asked our friend what he did at the time. “Why,” said he, “we tried to express the situation in words, but we could not do it justice, so we just sat down on two ant-hills, laughing at one another and our luck.” Several similar cases occurred during our stay in the upland country. A coach with four passengers was swept away in a moment while fording a swelling river at night, the driver only escaping.
The boys were soon at work coaxing up a fire, with the help of some dry wood we had in the wagon, and coffee was made. The meal was rather dismal, for night had fallen, and the boys were looking anxiously at the condition of the road, and the hopeless state of the wagon wheels, which had sunk into the sloppy turf almost up to the hubs. There was no use trying to go on that night, so putting out our swinging lantern, we lay down to sleep.
At daylight we were awakened by the jolting of the wagon, and found that our bodyguard had inspanned, and, having dug us out of the muddy prison, had succeeded in getting us under way. Hastily making our toilets with difficulty, we were thrown from side to side of the wagon at every lurch; we jumped out and walked, finding the exercise preferable to the jarring of the vehicle. Indeed, we walked most of the journey, and were better for it. Enjoying an excellent breakfast, which again put us in good spirits, we were beginning to think we should have a clear day, but another spell of rain at ten o’clock came on. It continued raining all day, with short intervals of sunshine. These were taken advantage of to make short treks.
At four o’clock, as we were sitting in the fore part of our chariot looking out at the drizzling rain, the front wheels slowly sank and nearly disappeared in a deep mud hole, bringing the steaming oxen to a full stop. In vain the driver cracked his long whip and yelled; we were hopelessly stuck. I was sitting in front when the accident occurred, and jumped out, landing in a deep mud hole. We slept that night at an angle of nearly forty-five degrees, and when morning broke it was welcome, as it brought with it some bright sunshine and prospect of clearing weather.
It took five hours and the effort of the combined lungs of the party upon the oxen, together with the inventive genius and experience of all the members of our staff, to get us out of that mud hole. They outspanned and inspanned three times before the wagon stirred, and a hole had been dug big enough to bury us all in before the wheels were released. At last, with a whoop and a yell and a groan, it was hoisted out of its oozy prison and drawn onto the veldt, when the oxen were outspanned and breakfast was eaten.
During several successive days, while travelling in the Orange Free State, we passed hundreds of huge ant-hills. One might say there are villages of these; they are formed together in thousands, they disappear for a space, and are again met with. Some of them measure ten feet and more in circumference, and are between three and four feet high, and are filled with black and yellow ants. The clay becomes hard from the sun’s rays. An ox-wagon driver hews out an ant-hill forming an oven, in which he cooks his bread, the clay burning like a slow fire, and with an intense heat.
From this time on the weather was delightful; with the exception of one thunderstorm it continued so during the six weeks we remained in the wagon. We soon forgot the unpleasant experiences of the first few days. In forty-eight hours the sun had dried the road, so that travelling was comparatively easy, and we passed over the level plain, arriving in Smithfield on the fifth morning after leaving Bloemfontein, where we outspanned on a plateau adjoining the village. We here met with a lady friend from the diamond fields, who invited us to visit her for a few days; but we had now become attached to our gypsy life, and preferred our own fireside.
Smithfield is a fair-sized village of the usual Free State kind, possessing a few fine churches, a few streets of one-storey roomy houses, and several stores. When our tented home began to move along the road away from the village we trudged alongside of it as happy and healthy as school-girls, and feeling as free from restraint as the birds.
Chapter Twenty Five.Three miles from Smithfield we came to the banks of the Caledon River, which we found greatly swollen by the rains, and did not consider prudent to cross until two of the boys had waded through. The water came up above their waists, and we climbed into our places, and descended the steep bank leading to the drift (or ford). It requires management and considerable shouting and activity on the part of the wagon drivers to cross a river. The bank is always precipitous, and the break has to be screwed up hard to make the descent, and released immediately the water is reached. At times the oxen stick in the middle of the drift, which is often rocky and full of great boulders, and it is difficult to get them on.When we reached the bottom of the slope, the leading oxen were already in the middle of the stream, with the water nearly over their backs. With a plunge the wagon took the water, and we were glad to find that the drift had a tolerably firm, sandy foundation, so that we were not tumbled about much. The leaders were now half-way up the opposite bank, and the driver, mounting the footboard in front of the wagon, gave one of his banshee howls and a simultaneous crack of his whip over the heads of the team. This started them into a trot, and the impetus was not lost until we were all high and dry on the farther bank.The water had come up to the floor of the wagon, but for only a moment, so that nothing was injured. The only casualty sustained was the loss of a bright tin pail which had been floated off its hook, and went sailing down with a jaunty air to the tune, “Won’t have to work any more.”After crossing the river we branched off considerably to the right. Our way lay for some distance along the banks of the river, and the country was thickly studded with stunted thorn and furze bushes. Some doves, which always abound in these thorn bushes, were shot, and they formed a most welcome addition to our dinner that day. Outspanning nearly all the hot afternoon, we made a long trek in the lovely moonlight until nearly twelve o’clock before “tying up.” This is a plan always adopted by transport riders, the wagon drivers who make it their business to carry goods from town to town. They lie to nearly all day, and travel late in the afternoon and night, finding, by following this plan, that their oxen can get through more work and keep in better condition.The Hottentot and Kafir boys who lead them seem to be able to see in the dark. They will lead the oxen, without stopping, over dangerous roads where it is pitch dark. The wagon was often in motion before we awoke, but so accustomed had we become to the jolting of our bed that it did not wake us from our deep sleep. When we awoke we would find breakfast prepared in a pleasant, grassy country, and the fire blazing merrily.It is not to be wondered at that the Kafirs are such happy, contented mortals, for the sun, of which they get so much, gives more life and vitality than any medicine. One afternoon the boys sighted a herd of spring-bok some distance away in the veldt. They were feeding in a depression in the plain about seven hundred yards away, and our hunter, sighting his rifle, carefully rested it on an ant-hill. At the sound of the rifle the whole troop started away with a bound, breaking into a gallop and disappearing in a cloud of dust far off in the veldt, leaving one of them lying on the ground with his feet in the air. But he was only wounded, and before the boys reached him he struggled to his feet and tried to limp off. Down went the rifleman on his knee, there was a moment of suspense and another report, and the buck was bowled over with a bullet in his neck. He was brought to the wagon in triumph, and slung by his feet underneath, we girls being as much excited as if a tiger had been slain.Moving on one morning before daylight, and crossing a fine bridge over the Orange River, our oxen were unyoked hard by a number of transport wagons. When we arrived the transport riders and their boys were all asleep, but as day wore on they began to get about, and came over to our wagon, mightily curious to know who we were, where we were going, where we lived, and highly amused at the idea of any one travelling in an ox-wagon for pleasure.
Three miles from Smithfield we came to the banks of the Caledon River, which we found greatly swollen by the rains, and did not consider prudent to cross until two of the boys had waded through. The water came up above their waists, and we climbed into our places, and descended the steep bank leading to the drift (or ford). It requires management and considerable shouting and activity on the part of the wagon drivers to cross a river. The bank is always precipitous, and the break has to be screwed up hard to make the descent, and released immediately the water is reached. At times the oxen stick in the middle of the drift, which is often rocky and full of great boulders, and it is difficult to get them on.
When we reached the bottom of the slope, the leading oxen were already in the middle of the stream, with the water nearly over their backs. With a plunge the wagon took the water, and we were glad to find that the drift had a tolerably firm, sandy foundation, so that we were not tumbled about much. The leaders were now half-way up the opposite bank, and the driver, mounting the footboard in front of the wagon, gave one of his banshee howls and a simultaneous crack of his whip over the heads of the team. This started them into a trot, and the impetus was not lost until we were all high and dry on the farther bank.
The water had come up to the floor of the wagon, but for only a moment, so that nothing was injured. The only casualty sustained was the loss of a bright tin pail which had been floated off its hook, and went sailing down with a jaunty air to the tune, “Won’t have to work any more.”
After crossing the river we branched off considerably to the right. Our way lay for some distance along the banks of the river, and the country was thickly studded with stunted thorn and furze bushes. Some doves, which always abound in these thorn bushes, were shot, and they formed a most welcome addition to our dinner that day. Outspanning nearly all the hot afternoon, we made a long trek in the lovely moonlight until nearly twelve o’clock before “tying up.” This is a plan always adopted by transport riders, the wagon drivers who make it their business to carry goods from town to town. They lie to nearly all day, and travel late in the afternoon and night, finding, by following this plan, that their oxen can get through more work and keep in better condition.
The Hottentot and Kafir boys who lead them seem to be able to see in the dark. They will lead the oxen, without stopping, over dangerous roads where it is pitch dark. The wagon was often in motion before we awoke, but so accustomed had we become to the jolting of our bed that it did not wake us from our deep sleep. When we awoke we would find breakfast prepared in a pleasant, grassy country, and the fire blazing merrily.
It is not to be wondered at that the Kafirs are such happy, contented mortals, for the sun, of which they get so much, gives more life and vitality than any medicine. One afternoon the boys sighted a herd of spring-bok some distance away in the veldt. They were feeding in a depression in the plain about seven hundred yards away, and our hunter, sighting his rifle, carefully rested it on an ant-hill. At the sound of the rifle the whole troop started away with a bound, breaking into a gallop and disappearing in a cloud of dust far off in the veldt, leaving one of them lying on the ground with his feet in the air. But he was only wounded, and before the boys reached him he struggled to his feet and tried to limp off. Down went the rifleman on his knee, there was a moment of suspense and another report, and the buck was bowled over with a bullet in his neck. He was brought to the wagon in triumph, and slung by his feet underneath, we girls being as much excited as if a tiger had been slain.
Moving on one morning before daylight, and crossing a fine bridge over the Orange River, our oxen were unyoked hard by a number of transport wagons. When we arrived the transport riders and their boys were all asleep, but as day wore on they began to get about, and came over to our wagon, mightily curious to know who we were, where we were going, where we lived, and highly amused at the idea of any one travelling in an ox-wagon for pleasure.
Chapter Twenty Six.We soon settled down to the routine of our ox-wagon life, and very pleasant we found it. When the boys would outspan and get things in readiness for meals, our hunger from the open-air life would be so great that we could scarcely wait while they made the fire for coffee. Like all South African travellers, we consumed a prodigious quantity of coffee. Besides drinking it at every meal, it would be prepared several times during the day, as we wanted it.The Dutch people drink it morning, noon, and night, keeping it always on the fire for their Dutch friends who pass near them. The manner in which coffee is made in the veldt is: first to boil the water in the kettle, then pour it on the coffee ready in another kettle; it is then passed back and forth a few times and the coffee is made; a few drops of cold water poured into the kettle will soon settle the grounds. We found the Dutch coffee very good.Our meals consisted of buck meat, cooked in all sorts of ways, and sometimes a pair of doves or partridges; we had our canned goods to fall back upon, and we had also the vegetables of the country, which were carried in the wagon. We lived most contentedly. One day we suffered greatly from want of water. We travelled many hours, hoping to find a stream and fill the water-cans.A Kafir will find a spring of water in places where a white man would never think of looking for it, but that day there was no water to be found, and we positively suffered from thirst. The sun beat down on us all fiercer than ever, it seemed, and it was not till late in the afternoon that we came to a small muddy stream. The mud did not frighten us, and we hurried the boys into making the coffee.One of our boys had been in the jail at Smithfield, for some petty misdemeanour, and was discharged in order that he might come with our staff. He was a raw Kafir about fourteen years of age, with a comical, laughing face, which peered up at us oddly as he sat on the footboard of the wagon. He had a funny little squeaking voice which at times would play him tricks; when apparently about to come forth in a manly roar, it would suddenly result in a shrill, piping sound, which would throw all the servants into fits of laughter. He used to perch himself surreptitiously on the disselboem, against the orders of “the baas,” in the cool of the evening, as we jolted along in the moonlight, and croon out in Kafir, awfully out of tune, “Sweet bye and bye,” a favourite song of the Sunday-school Kafirs. The missionaries’ service with the Kafir, it may be said, is mostly a service of song. We soon became tired of his one tune, and sang it for him correctly; but he evidently considered that our musical education had been neglected, for directly we had finished he started again, singing it in his own way.On very hot days we used to contrive an awning on the shady side of the wagon, under which we would sit and read or make lazy attempts at sewing. But the silence of the stilly veldt, broken only by the hum of some buzzing insect, would more often put us to sleep. If our existence was not one of contentment, then there is no such thing. We became enamoured of the life and had no desire to hasten on our journey. Some of the happiest days of our lives were spent during this trip, free from society, anxiety, and propriety. There was no one to dress for, nor to come suddenly upon us and disturb our calm existence. When three girls make up their minds to be contented under all difficulties, difficulties disappear. They can make their surroundings pretty and can make the rough fare attractive. If they have been blessed with a good mother, who has trained them for domestic life, they know how to contrive little accessories which will give a relish to the plainest fare.Little trouble was experienced with our servants. They were always laughing and looking at our mode of life with the interest of a big dog; they were ludicrously stupid, but they were never sulky or impudent. Our wagon owner and servants slept on the ground wrapped in blankets or “karosses,” infinitely preferring that to sleeping on a cartel under the wagon. When we suggested snakes, they only laughed. These fur robes or “karosses” are light, and when thrown on the ground prevent the ants from reaching those asleep on them. They are brought from the interior, beyond the Zambesi River, by the traders. They are beautifully sewed together by the natives, with thread made from the sinews of wild animals. These furs are beautiful, being the skins of leopard, silver fox, jackal, and wolf, and many other animals. They are very comfortable for travelling on cool nights.This peaceful region is filled with reptiles and wild animals, but we saw very few of them.Our boys would often hold wayside receptions for natives in twos and threes, coming from goodness knows where, and others, appearing from the shadows beyond, would surround them, talking rapidly in vowels and strange sounds, and looking on hungrily at the meals being prepared.As we outspanned near by a farm during the journey, a farm Kafir, with a look and bearing of a prince of the soil, dressed to the knees in a coffee sack, with holes made for arms and head, approached. He stood talking to the boys in an attitude of utter grace. His calm scrutiny of us all was very amusing; just as observing and curious as any city-bred man. He went over to the cactus hedge and cut a pailful of cactus apples. We could not handle one without having our hands pierced with hundreds of the little briers found on them. This Kafir sharpened the end of a long stick, and then stuck it into an apple, and after dexterously peeling it with a sharp knife, he offered it to us, as if it had been a bonbon. We were very thirsty, and we found these cactus apples delicious.The boys had two dogs with them. One, “Satan,” a forbidding-looking brute, was the remains of what had been a fine Russian water dog, but life in Africa had not agreed with either his appearance or temper. He was a disagreeable brute, but after a time got amiable enough to approach the wagon. Poor little “Stumpy,” the other dog, was the queerest, quaintest little mongrel that ever lived. He would wriggle his little body most absurdly in vain attempts to wag the apology for a tail which had given him his name. If we took any notice of him, he would go mad with delight. He did not know whether to bark, or jump, or gallop, or dance, or stand on his head, and he would try to do them all at once.One lazy, hot afternoon Eva and I made a wager as to which of us could coax Stumpy to come to her; we went in opposite directions and called him. The poor little dog’s pitiable embarrassment as to which he should follow, his evident dread of losing either or both his friends by favouring one or neither, was very funny. He would go a little way to Eva, then back to me, then stop, then to Eva, then to me, until finally, after attempting to split himself into halves and go to both, he gave it up in despair, and just lay down midway between us and howled, refusing at last to attempt, what so many men have failed to do, to please two women at the same time.
We soon settled down to the routine of our ox-wagon life, and very pleasant we found it. When the boys would outspan and get things in readiness for meals, our hunger from the open-air life would be so great that we could scarcely wait while they made the fire for coffee. Like all South African travellers, we consumed a prodigious quantity of coffee. Besides drinking it at every meal, it would be prepared several times during the day, as we wanted it.
The Dutch people drink it morning, noon, and night, keeping it always on the fire for their Dutch friends who pass near them. The manner in which coffee is made in the veldt is: first to boil the water in the kettle, then pour it on the coffee ready in another kettle; it is then passed back and forth a few times and the coffee is made; a few drops of cold water poured into the kettle will soon settle the grounds. We found the Dutch coffee very good.
Our meals consisted of buck meat, cooked in all sorts of ways, and sometimes a pair of doves or partridges; we had our canned goods to fall back upon, and we had also the vegetables of the country, which were carried in the wagon. We lived most contentedly. One day we suffered greatly from want of water. We travelled many hours, hoping to find a stream and fill the water-cans.
A Kafir will find a spring of water in places where a white man would never think of looking for it, but that day there was no water to be found, and we positively suffered from thirst. The sun beat down on us all fiercer than ever, it seemed, and it was not till late in the afternoon that we came to a small muddy stream. The mud did not frighten us, and we hurried the boys into making the coffee.
One of our boys had been in the jail at Smithfield, for some petty misdemeanour, and was discharged in order that he might come with our staff. He was a raw Kafir about fourteen years of age, with a comical, laughing face, which peered up at us oddly as he sat on the footboard of the wagon. He had a funny little squeaking voice which at times would play him tricks; when apparently about to come forth in a manly roar, it would suddenly result in a shrill, piping sound, which would throw all the servants into fits of laughter. He used to perch himself surreptitiously on the disselboem, against the orders of “the baas,” in the cool of the evening, as we jolted along in the moonlight, and croon out in Kafir, awfully out of tune, “Sweet bye and bye,” a favourite song of the Sunday-school Kafirs. The missionaries’ service with the Kafir, it may be said, is mostly a service of song. We soon became tired of his one tune, and sang it for him correctly; but he evidently considered that our musical education had been neglected, for directly we had finished he started again, singing it in his own way.
On very hot days we used to contrive an awning on the shady side of the wagon, under which we would sit and read or make lazy attempts at sewing. But the silence of the stilly veldt, broken only by the hum of some buzzing insect, would more often put us to sleep. If our existence was not one of contentment, then there is no such thing. We became enamoured of the life and had no desire to hasten on our journey. Some of the happiest days of our lives were spent during this trip, free from society, anxiety, and propriety. There was no one to dress for, nor to come suddenly upon us and disturb our calm existence. When three girls make up their minds to be contented under all difficulties, difficulties disappear. They can make their surroundings pretty and can make the rough fare attractive. If they have been blessed with a good mother, who has trained them for domestic life, they know how to contrive little accessories which will give a relish to the plainest fare.
Little trouble was experienced with our servants. They were always laughing and looking at our mode of life with the interest of a big dog; they were ludicrously stupid, but they were never sulky or impudent. Our wagon owner and servants slept on the ground wrapped in blankets or “karosses,” infinitely preferring that to sleeping on a cartel under the wagon. When we suggested snakes, they only laughed. These fur robes or “karosses” are light, and when thrown on the ground prevent the ants from reaching those asleep on them. They are brought from the interior, beyond the Zambesi River, by the traders. They are beautifully sewed together by the natives, with thread made from the sinews of wild animals. These furs are beautiful, being the skins of leopard, silver fox, jackal, and wolf, and many other animals. They are very comfortable for travelling on cool nights.
This peaceful region is filled with reptiles and wild animals, but we saw very few of them.
Our boys would often hold wayside receptions for natives in twos and threes, coming from goodness knows where, and others, appearing from the shadows beyond, would surround them, talking rapidly in vowels and strange sounds, and looking on hungrily at the meals being prepared.
As we outspanned near by a farm during the journey, a farm Kafir, with a look and bearing of a prince of the soil, dressed to the knees in a coffee sack, with holes made for arms and head, approached. He stood talking to the boys in an attitude of utter grace. His calm scrutiny of us all was very amusing; just as observing and curious as any city-bred man. He went over to the cactus hedge and cut a pailful of cactus apples. We could not handle one without having our hands pierced with hundreds of the little briers found on them. This Kafir sharpened the end of a long stick, and then stuck it into an apple, and after dexterously peeling it with a sharp knife, he offered it to us, as if it had been a bonbon. We were very thirsty, and we found these cactus apples delicious.
The boys had two dogs with them. One, “Satan,” a forbidding-looking brute, was the remains of what had been a fine Russian water dog, but life in Africa had not agreed with either his appearance or temper. He was a disagreeable brute, but after a time got amiable enough to approach the wagon. Poor little “Stumpy,” the other dog, was the queerest, quaintest little mongrel that ever lived. He would wriggle his little body most absurdly in vain attempts to wag the apology for a tail which had given him his name. If we took any notice of him, he would go mad with delight. He did not know whether to bark, or jump, or gallop, or dance, or stand on his head, and he would try to do them all at once.
One lazy, hot afternoon Eva and I made a wager as to which of us could coax Stumpy to come to her; we went in opposite directions and called him. The poor little dog’s pitiable embarrassment as to which he should follow, his evident dread of losing either or both his friends by favouring one or neither, was very funny. He would go a little way to Eva, then back to me, then stop, then to Eva, then to me, until finally, after attempting to split himself into halves and go to both, he gave it up in despair, and just lay down midway between us and howled, refusing at last to attempt, what so many men have failed to do, to please two women at the same time.
Chapter Twenty Seven.Leaving the Orange River at Bethulie Bridge, we continued on the main road till the morning, when we struck off in a northeasterly direction for Ahival North, which was reached in a few days. The town is built close to the Orange River, and promises to be a place of much importance, being on the high road between all eastern ports of the Free State, the diamond fields, and the interior. It is a pretty town, a great number of the houses having gardens around them filled with trees.We stayed here for a few days, and recommenced our journey down the country, soon exchanging the plains of the Free State and northern districts for the alternate mountain passes and stretches of open karoo of the middle veldt. Passing through the hamlet of Jamestown, with its one store and few straggling houses, we entered the mountain passes which cross the Stromberg range. Soon after entering the first rocky defile we encountered another violent thunderstorm, which, though unattended by the disagreeable features of our first one, delayed us over a day. We travelled on through the hills, passing through Dordrecht, a place which bears the reputation of being the coldest place in the country.It is a straggling village of about eight hundred inhabitants, with a few stores and two or three churches. A resident remarked to us, as he pointed with pride to the village, “I have lived here for seventeen years, and seen this place grow up around me,” in a similar tone of voice to that in which we had heard old Chicagoans say the same thing. But there was a difference in the size of the villages!The town lies on the northern slope of the Stromberg, and we had several days’ mountain travelling after we left it.An impression the traveller receives in South Africa, more especially in the mountain regions, is one of ghostly stillness. The wild, rocky hills rear themselves up all around, and often there is not a breath of wind stirring to break the awful quiet. Sometimes this silence is oppressive, and it is a relief to hear even the hideous chattering of a monkey or the unmusical cackle of a Kafir’s laugh. The giant mountains in the background seem to look down reproachfully at the traveller for invading their solitudes, while the dark ravines and deep clefts, in their rocky sides, suggest all sorts of nameless horrors.Tigers, or rather leopards, abound in these mountains, but are seldom seen except by the solitary farmers living in the hills, who are in perpetual warfare with these savage destroyers of their flocks. One morning we found a romantic glen on the side of the mountain, full of rare ferns, and with a beautiful stream of water dripping and echoing as it gushed out from the rocks. It was a lovely day, and we took our karosses and rugs to the spot, and picnicked there. We carried along “Nicholas Nickleby” to read aloud. Since that day I always associate the Cheeryble Brothers with ferns, and think of Do-the-boys Hall as built on top of a precipitous mountain, with a smiling, sunshiny valley lying at its feet.The nights were very cold in the Stromberg, and we required all the rugs and karosses we had to keep us warm at night, sunrise nearly always showing everything around us, from the tent of the wagon to the blankets of the slumbering boys, covered with a white hoar frost.Our wagoner told us an experience of a cold night in the Free State. He said: “In the middle of June, two years ago, my partner Jim and myself started from Bloemfontein for Pretoria. As the shooting was good on that road and walking cheap, we decided to go on foot, taking with us a couple of boys to carry our traps, which were not very extensive, consisting, in fact, of a change of linen, or rather flannels, a pair of blankets each, the cooking utensils, and a spare gun. We had for our companion a young man whom we had met in Bloemfontein a few days previous to our departure, a young Scotchman but lately arrived in the country. As he wanted to go to Pretoria he proposed to join us. The nights during the winter are very cold on the elevated plateaus of the Free State and the Transvaal.“Though the midday sun is almost as warm as in summer, one needs to be well provided with covering if they propose passing the night on the veldt. To give some idea of the cold of the plains at night, I may tell you that a few winters ago several natives, members of a tribe called the Knob Noses, who were on their way to the fields, were frozen stiff and stark on the road from Pretoria to Potchefstrom. The road we followed was a fair sample of most of the Free State roads, a tolerably straight path across an uninteresting, unwooded, undulating plain. Starting about two o’clock in the afternoon, we walked briskly with occasional halts for coffee until about ten o’clock at night, when the moon shone at its full, and we decided to turn in for the night. The wind was already blowing pretty fresh, and we looked about for the place in the veldt where the ant-hills were thickest so we might set fire to two of them to heat our kettles, and to keep us warm during the night. After having had a cup of coffee, and sat round the fire until we were all thoroughly warmed, Jim and I slipped off our boots, and putting them under our heads for pillows, pulled our blankets over our heads and feet, and were soon fast asleep, of course imagining that Mac would do the same. About two o’clock, when the night was at its coldest, we were awakened by a dreadful groaning, and emerging from our coverings were astonished to see Mac huddled upon the ground with nothing over him but arubber overcoat, shivering, chattering, and moaning piteously. The fire was out, an icy wind was sweeping around the veldt. ‘Good gracious, Mac, what is the matter; where are your blankets?’ ‘I d-d-didn’t bring any,’ chattered the unfortunate youth. ‘Didn’t bring any; then what on earth was that big bundle the Kafir was carrying?’ ‘That is my b-best clothes,’ moaned the sufferer.“We were soon up and bundled the poor fellow into our blankets, and waking the boys we made up a roaring fire, and thawed him back to life. The next day, on arriving at Wynberg, you should have seen Mac rushing into the first store, and regardless of ‘siller,’ buy two of the thickest blankets to be had. This man had never before slept outside four walls in his life, and had imagined that any place in Africa must needs be suffocatingly hot at all times.“I don’t think he made the same mistake again.”
Leaving the Orange River at Bethulie Bridge, we continued on the main road till the morning, when we struck off in a northeasterly direction for Ahival North, which was reached in a few days. The town is built close to the Orange River, and promises to be a place of much importance, being on the high road between all eastern ports of the Free State, the diamond fields, and the interior. It is a pretty town, a great number of the houses having gardens around them filled with trees.
We stayed here for a few days, and recommenced our journey down the country, soon exchanging the plains of the Free State and northern districts for the alternate mountain passes and stretches of open karoo of the middle veldt. Passing through the hamlet of Jamestown, with its one store and few straggling houses, we entered the mountain passes which cross the Stromberg range. Soon after entering the first rocky defile we encountered another violent thunderstorm, which, though unattended by the disagreeable features of our first one, delayed us over a day. We travelled on through the hills, passing through Dordrecht, a place which bears the reputation of being the coldest place in the country.
It is a straggling village of about eight hundred inhabitants, with a few stores and two or three churches. A resident remarked to us, as he pointed with pride to the village, “I have lived here for seventeen years, and seen this place grow up around me,” in a similar tone of voice to that in which we had heard old Chicagoans say the same thing. But there was a difference in the size of the villages!
The town lies on the northern slope of the Stromberg, and we had several days’ mountain travelling after we left it.
An impression the traveller receives in South Africa, more especially in the mountain regions, is one of ghostly stillness. The wild, rocky hills rear themselves up all around, and often there is not a breath of wind stirring to break the awful quiet. Sometimes this silence is oppressive, and it is a relief to hear even the hideous chattering of a monkey or the unmusical cackle of a Kafir’s laugh. The giant mountains in the background seem to look down reproachfully at the traveller for invading their solitudes, while the dark ravines and deep clefts, in their rocky sides, suggest all sorts of nameless horrors.
Tigers, or rather leopards, abound in these mountains, but are seldom seen except by the solitary farmers living in the hills, who are in perpetual warfare with these savage destroyers of their flocks. One morning we found a romantic glen on the side of the mountain, full of rare ferns, and with a beautiful stream of water dripping and echoing as it gushed out from the rocks. It was a lovely day, and we took our karosses and rugs to the spot, and picnicked there. We carried along “Nicholas Nickleby” to read aloud. Since that day I always associate the Cheeryble Brothers with ferns, and think of Do-the-boys Hall as built on top of a precipitous mountain, with a smiling, sunshiny valley lying at its feet.
The nights were very cold in the Stromberg, and we required all the rugs and karosses we had to keep us warm at night, sunrise nearly always showing everything around us, from the tent of the wagon to the blankets of the slumbering boys, covered with a white hoar frost.
Our wagoner told us an experience of a cold night in the Free State. He said: “In the middle of June, two years ago, my partner Jim and myself started from Bloemfontein for Pretoria. As the shooting was good on that road and walking cheap, we decided to go on foot, taking with us a couple of boys to carry our traps, which were not very extensive, consisting, in fact, of a change of linen, or rather flannels, a pair of blankets each, the cooking utensils, and a spare gun. We had for our companion a young man whom we had met in Bloemfontein a few days previous to our departure, a young Scotchman but lately arrived in the country. As he wanted to go to Pretoria he proposed to join us. The nights during the winter are very cold on the elevated plateaus of the Free State and the Transvaal.
“Though the midday sun is almost as warm as in summer, one needs to be well provided with covering if they propose passing the night on the veldt. To give some idea of the cold of the plains at night, I may tell you that a few winters ago several natives, members of a tribe called the Knob Noses, who were on their way to the fields, were frozen stiff and stark on the road from Pretoria to Potchefstrom. The road we followed was a fair sample of most of the Free State roads, a tolerably straight path across an uninteresting, unwooded, undulating plain. Starting about two o’clock in the afternoon, we walked briskly with occasional halts for coffee until about ten o’clock at night, when the moon shone at its full, and we decided to turn in for the night. The wind was already blowing pretty fresh, and we looked about for the place in the veldt where the ant-hills were thickest so we might set fire to two of them to heat our kettles, and to keep us warm during the night. After having had a cup of coffee, and sat round the fire until we were all thoroughly warmed, Jim and I slipped off our boots, and putting them under our heads for pillows, pulled our blankets over our heads and feet, and were soon fast asleep, of course imagining that Mac would do the same. About two o’clock, when the night was at its coldest, we were awakened by a dreadful groaning, and emerging from our coverings were astonished to see Mac huddled upon the ground with nothing over him but arubber overcoat, shivering, chattering, and moaning piteously. The fire was out, an icy wind was sweeping around the veldt. ‘Good gracious, Mac, what is the matter; where are your blankets?’ ‘I d-d-didn’t bring any,’ chattered the unfortunate youth. ‘Didn’t bring any; then what on earth was that big bundle the Kafir was carrying?’ ‘That is my b-best clothes,’ moaned the sufferer.
“We were soon up and bundled the poor fellow into our blankets, and waking the boys we made up a roaring fire, and thawed him back to life. The next day, on arriving at Wynberg, you should have seen Mac rushing into the first store, and regardless of ‘siller,’ buy two of the thickest blankets to be had. This man had never before slept outside four walls in his life, and had imagined that any place in Africa must needs be suffocatingly hot at all times.
“I don’t think he made the same mistake again.”
Chapter Twenty Eight.While making some purchases at a wayside store, we had an insight into the life of a wayside storekeeper. We found it, instead of monotonous, full of interest. The business requires technical knowledge enough to run a block of stores in a city.He must be prepared to supply his customers with anything and everything they may ask for; he must be at home in extolling the best points of a plough, a gun, or a piece of calico; must know the market price of every sort of produce the farmer is likely to bring in for sale or barter, and be well informed in the current news of the day. He must possess an unlimited knowledge, as well as stock of liquors; for the Boer, who is abstemious, as a rule, always expects the man who supplies him with his “voerchitz” and his coffee to provide him also with plenty of stimulants. He must know where to place his hands on any article wanted, and be as ready to buy your cart and horses, or span of oxen, as to sell you a can of sardines or a yard of tape.When a Boer comes into town, or visits the wayside “Negotic Winkel” (store), he usually makes a day of it, sometimes accompanied by his wife and daughters, who assume, in honour of the occasion, their purple and fine linen in the shape of a “kappie” (sunbonnet), and the newest print gown. They will come in at six in the morning and remain till dusk, pricing articles whose value they always depreciate, now and then buying, but more often not, eating the while a prodigious quantity of candy “Lakkers,” and assuming for the time an air of proprietorship in the establishment. This is intensely annoying to the shopkeeper, who, however, always seems to be possessed of an inexhaustible fund of good humour, and to be ready at any time to exchange elephantine witticisms with his Boer customers. In their wordy conflicts they are politic enough to allow their opponent to get the best of it.At dusk Dom Piet and Taute Meitje (every one is uncle or aunt) prepare to leave.There is much hand-shaking with everybody, acquaintance or stranger, who are standing about at the time. The worthy couple then climb into their Cape cart, or spring wagon, and drive off home, where they vegetate until the low condition of the domestic stores compels them again to visit the store, or until a Nachtmaal is announced at the nearest church. The profits of such a store are very large, and, as a rule, amply sufficient to compensate the proprietor, often a man who has received his business training in a large wholesale house in England or Germany, for his eight or nine years of exile. He has the opportunity, living as he does in the midst of the farmers, of taking advantage of the many speculations which the fluctuations in the market prices of wool, skins, feathers, etc, offer.The most successful of these shopkeepers are Jews; they seem to have a happy knack of acquiring the jaw-breaking patois of the country, an indispensable accomplishment to any one wishing to have successful dealing with the Boers.We were now nearing the end of our ox-wagon journey, but were not at all glad it was so.We had got fond of this careless, lazy life we had been leading so many weeks; the very oxen we had come to know by their names of “Blesbok,” “Witful,” “Kafir,” etc. As we neared Queenstown we found ourselves getting anxious about their welfare, trekking slowly, and making frequent and long outspans. When at last we found ourselves on a common, close to Queenstown, it was with regret we said good-by to our six weeks’ life in an ox-wagon.
While making some purchases at a wayside store, we had an insight into the life of a wayside storekeeper. We found it, instead of monotonous, full of interest. The business requires technical knowledge enough to run a block of stores in a city.
He must be prepared to supply his customers with anything and everything they may ask for; he must be at home in extolling the best points of a plough, a gun, or a piece of calico; must know the market price of every sort of produce the farmer is likely to bring in for sale or barter, and be well informed in the current news of the day. He must possess an unlimited knowledge, as well as stock of liquors; for the Boer, who is abstemious, as a rule, always expects the man who supplies him with his “voerchitz” and his coffee to provide him also with plenty of stimulants. He must know where to place his hands on any article wanted, and be as ready to buy your cart and horses, or span of oxen, as to sell you a can of sardines or a yard of tape.
When a Boer comes into town, or visits the wayside “Negotic Winkel” (store), he usually makes a day of it, sometimes accompanied by his wife and daughters, who assume, in honour of the occasion, their purple and fine linen in the shape of a “kappie” (sunbonnet), and the newest print gown. They will come in at six in the morning and remain till dusk, pricing articles whose value they always depreciate, now and then buying, but more often not, eating the while a prodigious quantity of candy “Lakkers,” and assuming for the time an air of proprietorship in the establishment. This is intensely annoying to the shopkeeper, who, however, always seems to be possessed of an inexhaustible fund of good humour, and to be ready at any time to exchange elephantine witticisms with his Boer customers. In their wordy conflicts they are politic enough to allow their opponent to get the best of it.
At dusk Dom Piet and Taute Meitje (every one is uncle or aunt) prepare to leave.
There is much hand-shaking with everybody, acquaintance or stranger, who are standing about at the time. The worthy couple then climb into their Cape cart, or spring wagon, and drive off home, where they vegetate until the low condition of the domestic stores compels them again to visit the store, or until a Nachtmaal is announced at the nearest church. The profits of such a store are very large, and, as a rule, amply sufficient to compensate the proprietor, often a man who has received his business training in a large wholesale house in England or Germany, for his eight or nine years of exile. He has the opportunity, living as he does in the midst of the farmers, of taking advantage of the many speculations which the fluctuations in the market prices of wool, skins, feathers, etc, offer.
The most successful of these shopkeepers are Jews; they seem to have a happy knack of acquiring the jaw-breaking patois of the country, an indispensable accomplishment to any one wishing to have successful dealing with the Boers.
We were now nearing the end of our ox-wagon journey, but were not at all glad it was so.
We had got fond of this careless, lazy life we had been leading so many weeks; the very oxen we had come to know by their names of “Blesbok,” “Witful,” “Kafir,” etc. As we neared Queenstown we found ourselves getting anxious about their welfare, trekking slowly, and making frequent and long outspans. When at last we found ourselves on a common, close to Queenstown, it was with regret we said good-by to our six weeks’ life in an ox-wagon.
Chapter Twenty Nine.We went to the Central Hotel. On the second day after our arrival, the wife of a physician of the town called and invited us to dine with them on the following day, Sunday. We did so and made the acquaintance of the excellent Doctor and his little family of interesting children. She then invited us to make her house our home during our stay, and overwhelmed us with kindness.Unless you have been in a strange land, away from kindred and all who know your people, you can never know the deep happiness it gives to meet with kindness from an utter stranger, as this charming woman was, and to be invited to a home as lovely as hers. After the annoyances and inconveniences of the wretched inns, or hotels, as they were called, to find such open-hearted hospitality was like meeting with kindred in a desert land.Most of the inhabitants of Queenstown are English or Scotch, there being fewer Dutch or Germans there than in any of the other towns we had visited. There are a number of fine churches and schools, with several newspapers and banks. The ladies of the place are especially social, and dress handsomely. The railway, which had been finished to the port of East London two years previous to our arrival, seemed to have given an impetus to trade, and it was confidently hoped by the burghers would increase rapidly the prosperity of the district.After enjoying a refreshing season of home life, we said good-by to our new found friends and then left Queenstown by rail. Travelling by rail seemed to us almost a novelty after our late ox-wagon trip, and we could not help contrasting the new style with the old, notallto the disadvantage of the latter, for we could not forget the delightful sleepiness of our inland voyage. We had a twelve hours’ ride before we arrived at King Williamstown, the road passing through a very pretty country, pleasantly wooded, and varied by many deep and romantic kloofs. We were thoroughly tired of the stuffy “compartment” before we reached our destination.We went to an hotel, where our wants were well cared for by a pretty little landlady whose husband was of a most jealous disposition. The town is in a region of country where there have been many Kafir wars. The military stationed there keep the place awake. It is the fifth town in point of importance in the colony.During our stay in Africa we had taken many opportunities to practice horseback riding, and had learned the supreme delight there is in a firm seat in the saddle on the back of a well-trained, swift-footed horse. This exercise is especially enjoyable in Africa, where walking is unpleasant in the hot sun. One day we were invited to join in a paper chase, to a spot distant ten or twelve miles from town.We were assured of being furnished with suitable “mounts,” so we accepted without hesitation. There was a sprinkling of uniforms and a few civilians, and there were several ladies besides ourselves. There were also parties in Cape carts who followed the hunt by road. A cart driven by a rifleman in uniform was to convey refreshments for our party to the place of rendezvous. Presently the fox rode off well mounted.The “scent” was slung over his shoulder in a capacious canvas bag. Time was taken and he was soon clattering down the road, the music of the horse’s hoofs being accompanied by a ringing bugle blast sounded by one of our enthusiastic huntsmen. He was to have ten minutes start, and the interval was taken advantage of by most of our party to see that girths were tight and bridle reins in order. Our escort had placed us in good position to get away with the first rush, and when “time” was called, we were well down the road in front of the ruck. It had been arranged beforehand that the fox should keep to the road for a mile before making across the country; so at first the whole field were well together clattering and rattling down the hill at a pace so swift that good care was demanded on the part of the riders to keep the horses from coming into collision.Down the slope, through the shallow stream running across the road in the hollow, up the rise on the further side, and away along a level flat on the crest of the hill, till many of the young fellows in uniform were shouting from sheer exuberance of spirits. We found ourselves borne along at a gait that sent the blood flying through our veins. The day was fine, a fresh breeze, which swept across the veldt, agreeably tempering the rays of the sun, which at that hour is decidedly hot. Small particles of the paper lying along the road and the bushes that fringed it served to stimulate our exertions, and the whole cavalcade kept merrily on till we came to the point where a large patch of paper, lying in the centre of the road, warned us that the chase had turned off.Here the larger part of the field deserted us, preferring to keep along the road, which led in a tolerably direct line to the rendezvous, and take their chances of sighting the hunt from occasional vantage grounds. But all the more ardent sportsmen scorned to take advantage of the highway when the scent led them away from it, and twenty or more elected to follow the fox.The paper led us for a mile or more along the upper edge of a deep kloof, which looked dark and forbidding as we gazed down into its depths, seeing only the tops of the trees, with which it was literally crammed. The scent had been cast with a generous hand, and we rushed along, feeling intoxicated with the exhilarating exercise and the glorious air. All at once our leader reined in his horse, and we saw the trail had suddenly taken a sharp turn to the right, crossing a small stream, and disappearing over the brow of a hill on the opposite side.
We went to the Central Hotel. On the second day after our arrival, the wife of a physician of the town called and invited us to dine with them on the following day, Sunday. We did so and made the acquaintance of the excellent Doctor and his little family of interesting children. She then invited us to make her house our home during our stay, and overwhelmed us with kindness.
Unless you have been in a strange land, away from kindred and all who know your people, you can never know the deep happiness it gives to meet with kindness from an utter stranger, as this charming woman was, and to be invited to a home as lovely as hers. After the annoyances and inconveniences of the wretched inns, or hotels, as they were called, to find such open-hearted hospitality was like meeting with kindred in a desert land.
Most of the inhabitants of Queenstown are English or Scotch, there being fewer Dutch or Germans there than in any of the other towns we had visited. There are a number of fine churches and schools, with several newspapers and banks. The ladies of the place are especially social, and dress handsomely. The railway, which had been finished to the port of East London two years previous to our arrival, seemed to have given an impetus to trade, and it was confidently hoped by the burghers would increase rapidly the prosperity of the district.
After enjoying a refreshing season of home life, we said good-by to our new found friends and then left Queenstown by rail. Travelling by rail seemed to us almost a novelty after our late ox-wagon trip, and we could not help contrasting the new style with the old, notallto the disadvantage of the latter, for we could not forget the delightful sleepiness of our inland voyage. We had a twelve hours’ ride before we arrived at King Williamstown, the road passing through a very pretty country, pleasantly wooded, and varied by many deep and romantic kloofs. We were thoroughly tired of the stuffy “compartment” before we reached our destination.
We went to an hotel, where our wants were well cared for by a pretty little landlady whose husband was of a most jealous disposition. The town is in a region of country where there have been many Kafir wars. The military stationed there keep the place awake. It is the fifth town in point of importance in the colony.
During our stay in Africa we had taken many opportunities to practice horseback riding, and had learned the supreme delight there is in a firm seat in the saddle on the back of a well-trained, swift-footed horse. This exercise is especially enjoyable in Africa, where walking is unpleasant in the hot sun. One day we were invited to join in a paper chase, to a spot distant ten or twelve miles from town.
We were assured of being furnished with suitable “mounts,” so we accepted without hesitation. There was a sprinkling of uniforms and a few civilians, and there were several ladies besides ourselves. There were also parties in Cape carts who followed the hunt by road. A cart driven by a rifleman in uniform was to convey refreshments for our party to the place of rendezvous. Presently the fox rode off well mounted.
The “scent” was slung over his shoulder in a capacious canvas bag. Time was taken and he was soon clattering down the road, the music of the horse’s hoofs being accompanied by a ringing bugle blast sounded by one of our enthusiastic huntsmen. He was to have ten minutes start, and the interval was taken advantage of by most of our party to see that girths were tight and bridle reins in order. Our escort had placed us in good position to get away with the first rush, and when “time” was called, we were well down the road in front of the ruck. It had been arranged beforehand that the fox should keep to the road for a mile before making across the country; so at first the whole field were well together clattering and rattling down the hill at a pace so swift that good care was demanded on the part of the riders to keep the horses from coming into collision.
Down the slope, through the shallow stream running across the road in the hollow, up the rise on the further side, and away along a level flat on the crest of the hill, till many of the young fellows in uniform were shouting from sheer exuberance of spirits. We found ourselves borne along at a gait that sent the blood flying through our veins. The day was fine, a fresh breeze, which swept across the veldt, agreeably tempering the rays of the sun, which at that hour is decidedly hot. Small particles of the paper lying along the road and the bushes that fringed it served to stimulate our exertions, and the whole cavalcade kept merrily on till we came to the point where a large patch of paper, lying in the centre of the road, warned us that the chase had turned off.
Here the larger part of the field deserted us, preferring to keep along the road, which led in a tolerably direct line to the rendezvous, and take their chances of sighting the hunt from occasional vantage grounds. But all the more ardent sportsmen scorned to take advantage of the highway when the scent led them away from it, and twenty or more elected to follow the fox.
The paper led us for a mile or more along the upper edge of a deep kloof, which looked dark and forbidding as we gazed down into its depths, seeing only the tops of the trees, with which it was literally crammed. The scent had been cast with a generous hand, and we rushed along, feeling intoxicated with the exhilarating exercise and the glorious air. All at once our leader reined in his horse, and we saw the trail had suddenly taken a sharp turn to the right, crossing a small stream, and disappearing over the brow of a hill on the opposite side.
Chapter Thirty.With a slight feeling of nervousness we turned our horses’ heads to the water, and hearing our friend’s voice calling “Let him have his head,” we shut our eyes, and one after another went at it—oh! Our horses were over and galloping up the opposite slope, we hardly believing that we had actually “jumped a river.” So soon as we were over we looked back to see how it fared with the rest, and were almost disappointed to see that every one cleared the stream. We had half hoped to see something like the familiar pictures, in which half the men are in the water, some of the horses balking, others just dragging themselves out on the bank, while in the distance we, the triumphant leaders, were skimming along with the strength of the wind. Our friend laughed, and said that if we “lasted” long enough we should see plenty of them spilled before the end of the hunt.The pace had told on the horses, and before we had reached the top of the hill most of us were willing to comply with the silent advice of our grey-headed cavalier, and pull up our panting horses for a breather. What a delicious gallop it had been, but it was not over yet. After resting for a few minutes at the top of the rise we started off again with fresh enthusiasm, a little steadier, perhaps, than when we left home. One of our party had a fall over his horse’s head, the animal putting his foot into an ant-bear hole, one of the little treacherous caves which we seemed to find everywhere.Our little party, however, remained intact, and we soon reached the timber, in which considerable caution was necessary in following the scent through the straggling bushes. Our escort dismounted to find the likeliest and clearest path through, our quarry, with the true foxy cunning, having laid the trail in just those places best calculated to bother a horseman. Fortunately the obstruction was not very wide, and we emerged on the other side, where we were cheered by a sight of the fox, nearly two miles off.A yell from our party, intended to be a view halloo, greeted him, and brought the stragglers crashing through the bushes at a great rate of speed. Off we started again, now leaping a ditch or scrambling through a sluit, now crashing through bushes and stumbling over ant-hills. At last, however, we were forced to give up all hope of again sighting the fox, and philosophically jogged along the trail until we found our quarry lying in the shade of two gigantic gum trees, which, being a well-known landmark, had been fixed upon as the goal.Feeling very tired after the excitement of the long race, we were glad to jump off our horses and find comfortable seats on the grass. Soon the roadsters began to arrive singly, and in twos and threes, and after a while our picnic basket was unpacked. We were glad to be able to prove the truth of the saying, “as hungry as a hunter.” We spent the remainder of the day under the trees, listening to the stories our military friends had to tell us of their experience in the neighbourhood during the late Kafir war. We were in the Perie bush, which had been a stronghold of Sandillis’ men for months in 1878, and many a colonist was killed before the savages were dislodged. We rode home quietly in the cool of the evening, very stiff from our morning scamper, but feeling that we had laid in a stock of ozone which would last a long while.There are some very fine botanical gardens in King Williamstown, always kept in order and most delightfully placed along the banks of the Buffalo River, beside which the town is built. On returning at sunset one afternoon from these gardens, we were walking in front of four well-dressed Kafirs, evidently living in domestic service in the town. They were two men and two women. Suddenly they struck up a wild melody which thrilled us as we listened; one voice took up the melody, then the second voice joined in, then the third and fourth, until the song swelled into a triumphant hymn; the soprano seemed to be singing an octave higher than an ordinary soprano voice, but it was merely the peculiar timbre of the voice which made it sound so. The bass rolled out like an organ peal, and when the singers turned away from us to go up the hill, keeping on in their wild “hallelujahs,” we could scarcely keep from following them.The only music that can give an idea of it is to be heard in some of the strains “Aida” has to sing. Verdi seems to have thoroughly caught the spirit of these dusky-coloured people, which is a closed book to most of the white race.Perhaps one of the reasons of the failure of many of the missionaries in their work among this peculiar people is, that it takes a many-sided man to comprehend a race whose traits are entirely different from his own. As a rule, the men sent out to Africa as missionaries arenotmany-sided, nor do they possess that to them most necessary of all gifts, apracticalknowledge of human nature.
With a slight feeling of nervousness we turned our horses’ heads to the water, and hearing our friend’s voice calling “Let him have his head,” we shut our eyes, and one after another went at it—oh! Our horses were over and galloping up the opposite slope, we hardly believing that we had actually “jumped a river.” So soon as we were over we looked back to see how it fared with the rest, and were almost disappointed to see that every one cleared the stream. We had half hoped to see something like the familiar pictures, in which half the men are in the water, some of the horses balking, others just dragging themselves out on the bank, while in the distance we, the triumphant leaders, were skimming along with the strength of the wind. Our friend laughed, and said that if we “lasted” long enough we should see plenty of them spilled before the end of the hunt.
The pace had told on the horses, and before we had reached the top of the hill most of us were willing to comply with the silent advice of our grey-headed cavalier, and pull up our panting horses for a breather. What a delicious gallop it had been, but it was not over yet. After resting for a few minutes at the top of the rise we started off again with fresh enthusiasm, a little steadier, perhaps, than when we left home. One of our party had a fall over his horse’s head, the animal putting his foot into an ant-bear hole, one of the little treacherous caves which we seemed to find everywhere.
Our little party, however, remained intact, and we soon reached the timber, in which considerable caution was necessary in following the scent through the straggling bushes. Our escort dismounted to find the likeliest and clearest path through, our quarry, with the true foxy cunning, having laid the trail in just those places best calculated to bother a horseman. Fortunately the obstruction was not very wide, and we emerged on the other side, where we were cheered by a sight of the fox, nearly two miles off.
A yell from our party, intended to be a view halloo, greeted him, and brought the stragglers crashing through the bushes at a great rate of speed. Off we started again, now leaping a ditch or scrambling through a sluit, now crashing through bushes and stumbling over ant-hills. At last, however, we were forced to give up all hope of again sighting the fox, and philosophically jogged along the trail until we found our quarry lying in the shade of two gigantic gum trees, which, being a well-known landmark, had been fixed upon as the goal.
Feeling very tired after the excitement of the long race, we were glad to jump off our horses and find comfortable seats on the grass. Soon the roadsters began to arrive singly, and in twos and threes, and after a while our picnic basket was unpacked. We were glad to be able to prove the truth of the saying, “as hungry as a hunter.” We spent the remainder of the day under the trees, listening to the stories our military friends had to tell us of their experience in the neighbourhood during the late Kafir war. We were in the Perie bush, which had been a stronghold of Sandillis’ men for months in 1878, and many a colonist was killed before the savages were dislodged. We rode home quietly in the cool of the evening, very stiff from our morning scamper, but feeling that we had laid in a stock of ozone which would last a long while.
There are some very fine botanical gardens in King Williamstown, always kept in order and most delightfully placed along the banks of the Buffalo River, beside which the town is built. On returning at sunset one afternoon from these gardens, we were walking in front of four well-dressed Kafirs, evidently living in domestic service in the town. They were two men and two women. Suddenly they struck up a wild melody which thrilled us as we listened; one voice took up the melody, then the second voice joined in, then the third and fourth, until the song swelled into a triumphant hymn; the soprano seemed to be singing an octave higher than an ordinary soprano voice, but it was merely the peculiar timbre of the voice which made it sound so. The bass rolled out like an organ peal, and when the singers turned away from us to go up the hill, keeping on in their wild “hallelujahs,” we could scarcely keep from following them.
The only music that can give an idea of it is to be heard in some of the strains “Aida” has to sing. Verdi seems to have thoroughly caught the spirit of these dusky-coloured people, which is a closed book to most of the white race.
Perhaps one of the reasons of the failure of many of the missionaries in their work among this peculiar people is, that it takes a many-sided man to comprehend a race whose traits are entirely different from his own. As a rule, the men sent out to Africa as missionaries arenotmany-sided, nor do they possess that to them most necessary of all gifts, apracticalknowledge of human nature.
Chapter Thirty One.After remaining a few weeks in King Williamstown we had a longing to see the ocean, and accordingly, one evening, took the train for East London, two hours distant by rail, and fell asleep that night to the sound of the waves rolling up on the shore. The next day we went down the steep hill-side to the beach, and played with the pebbles and pretty sea-shells, as happily as children with their wooden spades and pails. When the tide is out the rocks are strewn with wrecks, one of which we climbed upon, and let the spray of the waves dash upon us.East London is rather a misnomer, for by that term people mean Panmure, which is built on the opposite bank of the Buffalo to the old town of East London; but Panmure, having grown up and eclipsed its elder brother, the old name seems to cling to it, and East London, the larger and more important town of the two, is indicated. It is very picturesquely situated. The Buffalo River finds its way to the sea at this point, between excessively high and bountifully wooded banks. East London proper is erected on the western point of the junction of the river with the ocean, while Panmure looks down upon it from the higher elevation of the eastern bank.The town is rather scattered, but rejoices in some of the most energetic and pushing colonists in the country. They are trying hard to bring their town into the front rank of colonial towns, and are spending vast sums of money in the attempt to make a harbour of the mouth of the river, at present barred with sand. A breakwater was in course of erection by convict labour, which is confidently expected to do great things for the port, but so far there is no communication between the shipping and the shore but by means of lighters and steam launches.There are three or four highly prosperous rowing clubs in Panmure, and our hotel proprietor, being a member of one, we were enabled to spend several delightful days in exploring the romantic banks and creeks of the Buffalo, which here resembles our own Hudson in picturesque loveliness. We remained three very pleasant weeks in East London enjoying the sea, and, after debating the question, we decided to go to Natal.Our thoughts had been turned toward that colony for some time, as we had heard much of the beauty of the country. It is necessary to make the voyage by sea, for, although Natal touches the Cape Colony along the boundary line of one hundred and fifty miles or more, there is little or no regular land communication, the Cape districts adjacent to Natal being still peopled by natives as yet but little removed from barbarism. There is no highway from one colony to the other, and communication is almost entirely by sea.The port of East London bears the unenviable distinction of being for more than half the days in the year almost unapproachable. The roadstead is quite open, there being no bay of any kind, and the coast facing southeast, it is exposed to the full fury of the worst gales known in these latitudes, theSouth-easters. On a hot summer’s day we boarded the tender which was to take us only to the steamer. We were warned by the residents that it was rough outside the “bar,” but we could scarcely believe them as we looked out on the placid waters of the estuary. We were soon convinced, however, for as soon as the little steamboat began to feel the swell which at all times surges over the sandy bar, she tossed and danced about in a manner which made us wish we had not started for Natal.But we were in for it now, so covering ourselves completely with our rubber coats we did not fear the spray and surf that dashed completely over our little vessel as she blustered and fought her way, inch by inch, against the mighty rollers that seemed to rear up to drive us back. After several minutes of this we cleared the bubbling surf that boiled over the bar, and found ourselves in the long rolling swell of a heavy sea, which, if as dangerous, was not quite so unpleasant. We arrived alongside the steamer, which appeared to us, on our erratic little craft, to be as steady as a rock, so large and stately did she seem. We were told we should have to be hoisted on board in a basket, as there was no possibility of our approaching near enough to the vessel’s side to get up by the usual companion ladder.A huge basket was slung down, suspended from the immense derrick on the ship’s deck, and into this we were unceremoniously packed, two at a time. Then we were quickly hauled up, our dignity suffering in the way we were “dumped” down on the deck like jugs of molasses, or Falstaff going to the wash. We smoothed our ruffled plumage with the consolation that we were “doing” South Africa, though it seemed to us at the time that the reverse was the case.It was too dark when we left East London to see anything of the coast, but on coming on deck the next morning we found the scenery before our eyes. The coast from west to north-east is very little broken, and presents a uniform rocky shore, but the scenery is really beautiful. Hundreds of small streams, and one or two larger ones, empty themselves into the sea on the Kafrarian coast, and the kloofs through which they find their way to the ocean are veritable fairy glens in loveliness. The steamer here kept close to the shore, so everything was seen with distinctness.The wonderful clearness of the atmosphere made every bold wrinkle on the face of the cliffs, the direction of the water courses, every curve of the kloof to be clearly discovered. One feature of the country with which we had become familiar was here conspicuous by its absence. No mountains of great altitude could be seen, the great ranges which run right round the coast line with one unbroken wall here receding so far from the sea as to be beyond the reach of our vision even in that rich and brilliant light. We passed Mazeppa Bay, the scene of so many wrecks that it has become famous, the great Kei River and many points of historical interest.The captain told us that this entire coast was for a long time laid down on the charts nearly a degree too far west, which was, no doubt, the cause of the numerous marine disasters that have occurred among its breakers. Next day we sighted the mouth of the Saint John’s River, of which place hopes are entertained that it will one day be made a practicable harbour. There is a small settlement here, and a station for the mounted police. From here we began to see many charming houses dotted along the shores.The beauty of the country has tempted a great number of Europeans to pitch their tents here. Major-General Bissett, who has written several interesting histories of the Kafir wars, has built himself a house not far from Saint John’s, which, with the surrounding estate, has every appearance of being a delightful spot to retire to from the busy world.It was a Christmas day, 1497, that the great Portuguese voyager, Vasco da Gama, first sighted the headlands and bluffs of Natal, and it was on Christmas day nearly four hundred years after (it is strange how history repeats itself) that we Yankee girls landed in Durban!
After remaining a few weeks in King Williamstown we had a longing to see the ocean, and accordingly, one evening, took the train for East London, two hours distant by rail, and fell asleep that night to the sound of the waves rolling up on the shore. The next day we went down the steep hill-side to the beach, and played with the pebbles and pretty sea-shells, as happily as children with their wooden spades and pails. When the tide is out the rocks are strewn with wrecks, one of which we climbed upon, and let the spray of the waves dash upon us.
East London is rather a misnomer, for by that term people mean Panmure, which is built on the opposite bank of the Buffalo to the old town of East London; but Panmure, having grown up and eclipsed its elder brother, the old name seems to cling to it, and East London, the larger and more important town of the two, is indicated. It is very picturesquely situated. The Buffalo River finds its way to the sea at this point, between excessively high and bountifully wooded banks. East London proper is erected on the western point of the junction of the river with the ocean, while Panmure looks down upon it from the higher elevation of the eastern bank.
The town is rather scattered, but rejoices in some of the most energetic and pushing colonists in the country. They are trying hard to bring their town into the front rank of colonial towns, and are spending vast sums of money in the attempt to make a harbour of the mouth of the river, at present barred with sand. A breakwater was in course of erection by convict labour, which is confidently expected to do great things for the port, but so far there is no communication between the shipping and the shore but by means of lighters and steam launches.
There are three or four highly prosperous rowing clubs in Panmure, and our hotel proprietor, being a member of one, we were enabled to spend several delightful days in exploring the romantic banks and creeks of the Buffalo, which here resembles our own Hudson in picturesque loveliness. We remained three very pleasant weeks in East London enjoying the sea, and, after debating the question, we decided to go to Natal.
Our thoughts had been turned toward that colony for some time, as we had heard much of the beauty of the country. It is necessary to make the voyage by sea, for, although Natal touches the Cape Colony along the boundary line of one hundred and fifty miles or more, there is little or no regular land communication, the Cape districts adjacent to Natal being still peopled by natives as yet but little removed from barbarism. There is no highway from one colony to the other, and communication is almost entirely by sea.
The port of East London bears the unenviable distinction of being for more than half the days in the year almost unapproachable. The roadstead is quite open, there being no bay of any kind, and the coast facing southeast, it is exposed to the full fury of the worst gales known in these latitudes, theSouth-easters. On a hot summer’s day we boarded the tender which was to take us only to the steamer. We were warned by the residents that it was rough outside the “bar,” but we could scarcely believe them as we looked out on the placid waters of the estuary. We were soon convinced, however, for as soon as the little steamboat began to feel the swell which at all times surges over the sandy bar, she tossed and danced about in a manner which made us wish we had not started for Natal.
But we were in for it now, so covering ourselves completely with our rubber coats we did not fear the spray and surf that dashed completely over our little vessel as she blustered and fought her way, inch by inch, against the mighty rollers that seemed to rear up to drive us back. After several minutes of this we cleared the bubbling surf that boiled over the bar, and found ourselves in the long rolling swell of a heavy sea, which, if as dangerous, was not quite so unpleasant. We arrived alongside the steamer, which appeared to us, on our erratic little craft, to be as steady as a rock, so large and stately did she seem. We were told we should have to be hoisted on board in a basket, as there was no possibility of our approaching near enough to the vessel’s side to get up by the usual companion ladder.
A huge basket was slung down, suspended from the immense derrick on the ship’s deck, and into this we were unceremoniously packed, two at a time. Then we were quickly hauled up, our dignity suffering in the way we were “dumped” down on the deck like jugs of molasses, or Falstaff going to the wash. We smoothed our ruffled plumage with the consolation that we were “doing” South Africa, though it seemed to us at the time that the reverse was the case.
It was too dark when we left East London to see anything of the coast, but on coming on deck the next morning we found the scenery before our eyes. The coast from west to north-east is very little broken, and presents a uniform rocky shore, but the scenery is really beautiful. Hundreds of small streams, and one or two larger ones, empty themselves into the sea on the Kafrarian coast, and the kloofs through which they find their way to the ocean are veritable fairy glens in loveliness. The steamer here kept close to the shore, so everything was seen with distinctness.
The wonderful clearness of the atmosphere made every bold wrinkle on the face of the cliffs, the direction of the water courses, every curve of the kloof to be clearly discovered. One feature of the country with which we had become familiar was here conspicuous by its absence. No mountains of great altitude could be seen, the great ranges which run right round the coast line with one unbroken wall here receding so far from the sea as to be beyond the reach of our vision even in that rich and brilliant light. We passed Mazeppa Bay, the scene of so many wrecks that it has become famous, the great Kei River and many points of historical interest.
The captain told us that this entire coast was for a long time laid down on the charts nearly a degree too far west, which was, no doubt, the cause of the numerous marine disasters that have occurred among its breakers. Next day we sighted the mouth of the Saint John’s River, of which place hopes are entertained that it will one day be made a practicable harbour. There is a small settlement here, and a station for the mounted police. From here we began to see many charming houses dotted along the shores.
The beauty of the country has tempted a great number of Europeans to pitch their tents here. Major-General Bissett, who has written several interesting histories of the Kafir wars, has built himself a house not far from Saint John’s, which, with the surrounding estate, has every appearance of being a delightful spot to retire to from the busy world.
It was a Christmas day, 1497, that the great Portuguese voyager, Vasco da Gama, first sighted the headlands and bluffs of Natal, and it was on Christmas day nearly four hundred years after (it is strange how history repeats itself) that we Yankee girls landed in Durban!
Chapter Thirty Two.Durban lies in a landlocked harbour about three and one-half miles long, and about six hundred yards wide. At the entrance it is—O South African Nemesis!—obstructed by a sand-bar which modern engineering science, fighting against nature, has failed to remove. The sand, however, is shifting, and at times vessels drawing twelve to fourteen feet of water can enter the harbour and come up to the wharf of the city. We were soon transported to the steam launch that awaited us, and, passing under the shadow of the great giant bluff which terminates the southern arm of the entrance to the harbour, crossed the bar, and landed on the quay.The day was intensely hot, by far the hottest we had experienced since our arrival in the country. The landing wharves and custom-house are situated at the extremity of the northern arm of the harbour, and we had a drive of nearly a mile to reach the town. It was soon evident to us that we were in a different country from that we had just left. Natal is essentially an English colony, and bears a much closer resemblance to Australia than the Cape Colony, with its mixed European and African population.The town of Durban consists of a long, straggling main street, which is about two miles in length, containing many very handsome stores, with a few cross streets to keep the longer ones in countenance. Few of the business men live in the town, most of them having residences on the Berea, a beautiful hill which overlooks the town two miles distant, on which the handsome houses of the citizens are seen rising in well laid out terraces facing the town and the sea. The entire hill-side is thickly interspersed with lovely foliage trees. The public park on the Berea is full of the most beautiful flowering trees and creepers, while so prodigal is nature in this favoured climate that the very paths are bordered by pine plants and orange trees; bananas, shaddocks, and other luscious fruits hanging in rich profusion everywhere.The weather was so inviting that we spent most of the time out of doors. One of the first things that attracts the visitor’s attention on arrival in the country is the black man, from the Hindoo Coolie to the powerful Zulu. The chief native tribe of Natal is the Zulu, whose records form an important part of colonial history. They are physically magnificent, tall, broad-chested, with coal black skin that shines like satin, and a walk that shows strength and power.They are decidedly intelligent, but have a strong objection to giving their services readily and continuously for any sort of work, and are to be found in domestic service in the towns, on the beach and wharves; but one seldom sees any of them in the field.The heart of Zulu Land lies within a few hours’ ride from Durban. Though the country is crowded with native Africans, field labour is difficult, nearly impossible to obtain on any permanent arrangement, a trouble which forms another complication in the already sufficiently intricate problem of native labour. As a consequence, the colonists have been forced to import Coolies, so far with a most satisfactory result. All, or nearly all the labour on the estates is performed by imported Hindoo Coolies.The sugarcane is largely cultivated on the coast line, the climate being almost, if not quite, tropical, and the vegetation to be seen by the roadside and on the distant hills is more like what we expect to find in Africa than the more temperate products of the old colony. The climate of Natal is one of the boasts of the inhabitants. It is nearer the tropics than the Cape, but the mean temperature is little above that in the more southerly colony; the winter is bright, with deliciously mild, cool evenings and nights, while the summer heat is softened by a clouded sky and frequent rains.Almost anything seems to grow in this genial land, and many of the colonists, apparently more enterprising than their brethren in the older colony, have extensively laid out and cultivated farms. We spent a week at Malvern, twelve miles from Durban, where a Yorkshire gentleman, who had considerable practical experience in scientific gardening in England, and had travelled extensively in America, had turned his little farm into a perfect paradise. There is hardly anything edible in the way of fruit or vegetable, or beautiful in flower, that is not growing in profusion and to perfection in his grounds or glass-houses. In addition to acres of strawberries, pines, oranges, etc, there were several hundred vines of the Catawba grape, with which he intended to experiment in wine-making. He was confident of success, and certain that the manufacture of wine would be one of the future great industries of the country.A number of very prosperous companies, with their own estates, mills, and machinery, are engaged in the manufacture of sugar, molasses and rum, while many private speculators raise, in addition to the sugarcane and coffee, tea and rice, and some experiments have been made with cotton. Some Parsee merchants have been attracted there from Calcutta, and in the quarter of the town where they chiefly reside the surroundings are such as would make a stranger think he was in the back streets of an Indian town. The Coolies make excellent cooks and capital nurses.The processions of the idolatrous Coolies are a most interesting sight. We witnessed one of these parades which they seem so fond of making.They were dressed and made up in all sorts of fantastic ways, carrying extraordinary models, all made of paper, of palaces, wild animals, etc, which they burn amid great shoutings and beatings of tom-toms at the end of the day’s rejoicings. Their chief idol was carried in the centre of an escort of gorgeously attired priests, while round it were carried smaller ones. Fifty to one hundred grotesquely attired Coolies were yelling, dancing, and throwing somersaults, during the beating of the tom-toms and the general uproar.The intelligent-looking Zulu, who, despite his philosophical appearance, I fear is not one whit more enlightened, stood still and looked gravely on. Such novel scenes as these, and the beauty of the surrounding country made our stay very interesting.The northwestern boundary of the colony is the great Drakensbergen, which mountains are more properly the edge of the great stretch to the table-land situated in the centre of the continent. The aspects of this great precipice along its whole length are grand and romantic, and as the land at its foot does not subside to the sea by easy levels, Natal is picturesque everywhere. The midland districts have in many parts the look of the English downs; they are rolling sweeps of grass. The coast lines are singularly beautiful, with their round bosses, rich in bush and glade, while the shore presents a bold outline, with projecting bluffs thickly covered with jungle, and long stretches of lands broken by rocky floors and reef, on which the surf of the Indian Ocean majestically breaks.A favourite trip for the town’s people is to take a boat and cross the lagoon to the bluff, where the scenery is highly romantic both at the base of the great headland and inland. A forest of fine trees lies a little beyond the bluff, and here the sportsman may find bush buck, a large description of antelope, in plenty, besides smaller varieties in any number, and may also make the acquaintance of boa constrictors, python and puff adders, or disturb the slumbers of a leopard or black mamba before he returns home. Of all the snake stories that were told us in Africa, those of Mr Cato, our American Consul, were the best. He was one of the first settlers in Durban. Of course when the country was as wild as it once was, snakes had a chance they don’t get nowadays, and made the best of their opportunities. A colonel in the English regiment stationed there, a very popular and handsome fellow, went hunting during our stay, and in alighting from his horse in the tall Zulu grass, stepped on a deadly puff adder, which raised its ugly hooded head and stung him. In an hour he was a corpse.The personal experiences of nearly every resident were not so interesting as they were thrilling. One gentleman, who occupied a position of trust, and whose word could be depended upon, told us a snake story which I do not believe was exaggerated. He was alone in his house one night, and was awakened from a deep sleep by a peculiar sound. He listened, and soon had a feeling that a snake was crawling through a knot-hole in the bare floor. He lay nearly paralysed, the perspiration oozing out all over his body until, with an effort, he sprang up and over the foot of his bed, and rushed into the next room. He struck a light, and returned to see if there was any ground for his fright, and found a long, deadly puff adder lying on his bed which he had so lately vacated. We heard other stories just as horrid; it was a fascinating subject.After remaining in Durban several weeks we prepared to visit the capital, Pieter Maritzberg, a town forty miles distant. It is connected with Durban by a railroad, which is being extended to the Transvaal border, and thence into the interior. The region on the right of the road from Durban to Maritzberg, after Pinetown, a town midway between them, has been passed, is remarkable for its fantastic assemblage of sugar-loaf hills.
Durban lies in a landlocked harbour about three and one-half miles long, and about six hundred yards wide. At the entrance it is—O South African Nemesis!—obstructed by a sand-bar which modern engineering science, fighting against nature, has failed to remove. The sand, however, is shifting, and at times vessels drawing twelve to fourteen feet of water can enter the harbour and come up to the wharf of the city. We were soon transported to the steam launch that awaited us, and, passing under the shadow of the great giant bluff which terminates the southern arm of the entrance to the harbour, crossed the bar, and landed on the quay.
The day was intensely hot, by far the hottest we had experienced since our arrival in the country. The landing wharves and custom-house are situated at the extremity of the northern arm of the harbour, and we had a drive of nearly a mile to reach the town. It was soon evident to us that we were in a different country from that we had just left. Natal is essentially an English colony, and bears a much closer resemblance to Australia than the Cape Colony, with its mixed European and African population.
The town of Durban consists of a long, straggling main street, which is about two miles in length, containing many very handsome stores, with a few cross streets to keep the longer ones in countenance. Few of the business men live in the town, most of them having residences on the Berea, a beautiful hill which overlooks the town two miles distant, on which the handsome houses of the citizens are seen rising in well laid out terraces facing the town and the sea. The entire hill-side is thickly interspersed with lovely foliage trees. The public park on the Berea is full of the most beautiful flowering trees and creepers, while so prodigal is nature in this favoured climate that the very paths are bordered by pine plants and orange trees; bananas, shaddocks, and other luscious fruits hanging in rich profusion everywhere.
The weather was so inviting that we spent most of the time out of doors. One of the first things that attracts the visitor’s attention on arrival in the country is the black man, from the Hindoo Coolie to the powerful Zulu. The chief native tribe of Natal is the Zulu, whose records form an important part of colonial history. They are physically magnificent, tall, broad-chested, with coal black skin that shines like satin, and a walk that shows strength and power.
They are decidedly intelligent, but have a strong objection to giving their services readily and continuously for any sort of work, and are to be found in domestic service in the towns, on the beach and wharves; but one seldom sees any of them in the field.
The heart of Zulu Land lies within a few hours’ ride from Durban. Though the country is crowded with native Africans, field labour is difficult, nearly impossible to obtain on any permanent arrangement, a trouble which forms another complication in the already sufficiently intricate problem of native labour. As a consequence, the colonists have been forced to import Coolies, so far with a most satisfactory result. All, or nearly all the labour on the estates is performed by imported Hindoo Coolies.
The sugarcane is largely cultivated on the coast line, the climate being almost, if not quite, tropical, and the vegetation to be seen by the roadside and on the distant hills is more like what we expect to find in Africa than the more temperate products of the old colony. The climate of Natal is one of the boasts of the inhabitants. It is nearer the tropics than the Cape, but the mean temperature is little above that in the more southerly colony; the winter is bright, with deliciously mild, cool evenings and nights, while the summer heat is softened by a clouded sky and frequent rains.
Almost anything seems to grow in this genial land, and many of the colonists, apparently more enterprising than their brethren in the older colony, have extensively laid out and cultivated farms. We spent a week at Malvern, twelve miles from Durban, where a Yorkshire gentleman, who had considerable practical experience in scientific gardening in England, and had travelled extensively in America, had turned his little farm into a perfect paradise. There is hardly anything edible in the way of fruit or vegetable, or beautiful in flower, that is not growing in profusion and to perfection in his grounds or glass-houses. In addition to acres of strawberries, pines, oranges, etc, there were several hundred vines of the Catawba grape, with which he intended to experiment in wine-making. He was confident of success, and certain that the manufacture of wine would be one of the future great industries of the country.
A number of very prosperous companies, with their own estates, mills, and machinery, are engaged in the manufacture of sugar, molasses and rum, while many private speculators raise, in addition to the sugarcane and coffee, tea and rice, and some experiments have been made with cotton. Some Parsee merchants have been attracted there from Calcutta, and in the quarter of the town where they chiefly reside the surroundings are such as would make a stranger think he was in the back streets of an Indian town. The Coolies make excellent cooks and capital nurses.
The processions of the idolatrous Coolies are a most interesting sight. We witnessed one of these parades which they seem so fond of making.
They were dressed and made up in all sorts of fantastic ways, carrying extraordinary models, all made of paper, of palaces, wild animals, etc, which they burn amid great shoutings and beatings of tom-toms at the end of the day’s rejoicings. Their chief idol was carried in the centre of an escort of gorgeously attired priests, while round it were carried smaller ones. Fifty to one hundred grotesquely attired Coolies were yelling, dancing, and throwing somersaults, during the beating of the tom-toms and the general uproar.
The intelligent-looking Zulu, who, despite his philosophical appearance, I fear is not one whit more enlightened, stood still and looked gravely on. Such novel scenes as these, and the beauty of the surrounding country made our stay very interesting.
The northwestern boundary of the colony is the great Drakensbergen, which mountains are more properly the edge of the great stretch to the table-land situated in the centre of the continent. The aspects of this great precipice along its whole length are grand and romantic, and as the land at its foot does not subside to the sea by easy levels, Natal is picturesque everywhere. The midland districts have in many parts the look of the English downs; they are rolling sweeps of grass. The coast lines are singularly beautiful, with their round bosses, rich in bush and glade, while the shore presents a bold outline, with projecting bluffs thickly covered with jungle, and long stretches of lands broken by rocky floors and reef, on which the surf of the Indian Ocean majestically breaks.
A favourite trip for the town’s people is to take a boat and cross the lagoon to the bluff, where the scenery is highly romantic both at the base of the great headland and inland. A forest of fine trees lies a little beyond the bluff, and here the sportsman may find bush buck, a large description of antelope, in plenty, besides smaller varieties in any number, and may also make the acquaintance of boa constrictors, python and puff adders, or disturb the slumbers of a leopard or black mamba before he returns home. Of all the snake stories that were told us in Africa, those of Mr Cato, our American Consul, were the best. He was one of the first settlers in Durban. Of course when the country was as wild as it once was, snakes had a chance they don’t get nowadays, and made the best of their opportunities. A colonel in the English regiment stationed there, a very popular and handsome fellow, went hunting during our stay, and in alighting from his horse in the tall Zulu grass, stepped on a deadly puff adder, which raised its ugly hooded head and stung him. In an hour he was a corpse.
The personal experiences of nearly every resident were not so interesting as they were thrilling. One gentleman, who occupied a position of trust, and whose word could be depended upon, told us a snake story which I do not believe was exaggerated. He was alone in his house one night, and was awakened from a deep sleep by a peculiar sound. He listened, and soon had a feeling that a snake was crawling through a knot-hole in the bare floor. He lay nearly paralysed, the perspiration oozing out all over his body until, with an effort, he sprang up and over the foot of his bed, and rushed into the next room. He struck a light, and returned to see if there was any ground for his fright, and found a long, deadly puff adder lying on his bed which he had so lately vacated. We heard other stories just as horrid; it was a fascinating subject.
After remaining in Durban several weeks we prepared to visit the capital, Pieter Maritzberg, a town forty miles distant. It is connected with Durban by a railroad, which is being extended to the Transvaal border, and thence into the interior. The region on the right of the road from Durban to Maritzberg, after Pinetown, a town midway between them, has been passed, is remarkable for its fantastic assemblage of sugar-loaf hills.