MARITZBURG, May 10, 1876
No, I will _not_ begin about the weather this time. It is a great
temptation to do so, because this is the commencement of the winter,
and it is upon the strength of the coming four months that the
reputation of Natal, as possessing the finest climate in the world,
is built. Before I came here meteorologists used to tell me that the
“average” temperature of Maritzburg was so and so, mentioning something
very equable and pleasant; but then, you see, there is this little
difference between weather-theories and the practice of the weather
itself: it is sadly apt to rush into extremes, and degrees of heat and
cold are very different when totted up and neatly spread over many
weeks, from the same thing bolted in lumps. Then you don’t catch cold
on paper, nor live in doubt whether to have a fire or open windows and
doors. To keep at all on a level with the thermometer here, one needs
to dress three or four times a day; and it is quite on the cards that a
muslin gown and sealskin jacket may both be pleasant wear on the same
day. We have all got colds, and, what is worse, we have all had colds
more or less badly for some time past; and I hear that everybody else
has them too. Of course, this news is an immense consolation, else
why should it invariably be mentioned as a compensation for one’s own
paroxysms of sneezing and coughing?
It is certainly cooler, at times quite cold, but the sudden spasms
of fierce hot winds and the blazing sun during the midday hours
appear the more withering and scorching for the contrast with the
lower temperature of morning and evening. Still, we all keep saying
(I yet protest against the formula, but I’ve no doubt I shall come
round presently and join heart and soul in it), “Natal has the finest
climate in the world,” although we have to go about like the man in
the fable, and either wrap our cloaks tightly around us or throw them
wide open to breathe. But there! I said I would not go off into a
meteorological report, and I will not be beguiled by the attractions of
a grievance—for there is no such satisfactory grievance as weather—into
breaking so good a resolution. Rather let me graft upon this monotonous
weather-grumble a laugh at the expense of poor Zulu Jack, whom I found
the other morning in a state of nervous anxiety over the butter, which
steadily refused to be spread on a slice of bread for little G—— ’s
consumption. “Have you such a thing as a charm about you, lady-chief?”
Jack demanded in fluent Zulu; “for this butter is assuredly bewitched.
Last night I could make slices of buttered bread quite easily: this
morning, behold it!” and he exhibited his ill-used slice of bread, with
obstinate and isolated dabs of butter sticking about it. So, you see,
it _must_ be cooler; and so it is, I acknowledge, except of a morning
on which a hot wind sets in before sunrise.
To show you how perfectly impartial and unprejudiced even a woman can
be, I am going to admit that the day last week on which I took a long
ride to Edendale—a mission-station some half dozen miles away—was as
absolutely delightful as a day could well be. It was a gray, shady day,
very rare beneath these sunny skies, for clouds generally mean rain or
fog, but this day they meant nothing worse than the tiniest sprinkle
at sundown—just a few big drops flirted in our faces from the ragged
edge of a swiftly-sailing thundercloud. There was no wind to stir
up the dust, and yet air enough to be quite delicious: now and then
the sun came out from behind the friendly clouds, creating exquisite
effects of light and shadow among the hills through which our road
wound. Across many a little tributary of the Umsindusi, by many a still
green valley and round many a rocky hill-shoulder, our road lay—a
road which for me was most pleasantly beguiled by stories of Natal as
it was five-and-twenty years ago, when lions came down to drink at
these streams, when these very plains were thickly studded with buck
and eland, buffalo and big game whose names would be a treasure of
puzzledom to a spelling bee. In those days no man’s hand ever left for
an instant the lock of his trusty gun, sleeping or waking, standing or
sitting, eating or riding.
The great want of ever so fair a landscape in these parts is timber.
Here and there a deeper shadow in the distant hill-clefts may mean a
patch of scrub, but when once you pass the belt of farms which girdle
Maritzburg for some four or five miles in every direction, and leave
behind their plantations of gums and poplars, oaks and willows, then
there is nothing more to be seen but rolling hill-slopes bare of bush
or shrub, until the eye is caught by the trees around the settlement we
are on our way to visit. It stands quite far back among the hills—too
much under their lee, in fact, to be quite healthy, I should fancy, for
a layer of chilly, vaporous air always lurks at the bottom of these
folded-away valleys, and breeds colds and fever and ague. Still, it
is all inexpressibly homelike and fertile as it lies there nestling
up against the high, rising ground, with patches of mealies spread in
a green fan around and following the course of the winding river in
tall green rustling brakes like sugar-cane. The road, a fairly good
one for Natal, was strangely still and silent, and bereft of sight or
sound of animal life. At one of the spruits a couple of timber-wagons
were outspanned, and the jaded, tick-covered bullocks gave but little
animation to the scene. Farther on, whilst we cantered easily along
over a wide plain still rich in grass, a beautiful little falcon swept
across our path. Slow and low was its flight, quite as though it
neither feared nor cared for us, and I had ample time to admire its
exquisite plumage and its large keen eye. By and by we came upon the
usual “groups from the antique” in bronze and ebony working at the
road, and, as usual, doing rather more harm than good. But when we had
crossed the last streamlet and turned into a sort of avenue which led
to the main street of the settlement, then there was life and movement
enough and to spare. Forth upon the calm air rang the merry voices of
children, of women carrying on laughing dialogues across the street,
and of men’s deeper-toned but quite as fluent jabber. And here are the
speakers themselves as we leave the shade of the trees and come out
upon the wide street rising up before us toward the mountain-slope
which ends its vista.
Sitting at the doors of their houses are tidy, comfortable-looking
men and women, the former busy plaiting with deft and rapid movement
of their little fingers neat baskets and mats of reeds and rushes—the
latter either cooking mealies, shelling them or crushing them for the
market. Everywhere are mealies and children. Fat black babies squat
happily in the dust, munching the boiled husk before it is shelled;
older children are equally happy cleaning with finger and tongue a big
wooden spoon just out of the porridge-pot; whilst this same familiar
pot, of every conceivable size, but always of the same three-legged
shape, something like a gypsy-kettle, lurks more or less _en évidence_
in the neighborhood of every house. No grass-thatched huts are here,
but thoroughly nice, respectable little houses, nearly all of the same
simple pattern, with vermilion or yellow-ochre doors, and half covered
with creepers. Whoever despairs of civilizing the Kafir need only look
here and at other similar stations to see how easily he adapts himself
to comfortable ways and customs, and in what a decent, orderly fashion
he can be trained to live with his fellows.
Edendale is a Wesleyan mission-station, and the history of its
settlement is rather a curious one—curious from its being the result
of no costly organization, no elaborate system of proselytism, but the
work of one man originally, and the evident result and effect of a
perception on the part of the natives of the benefits of association
and civilization. And here I feel it incumbent on me to bear
testimony—not only in this instance and in this colony—to the enormous
amount of real, tangible, common-sense good accomplished among the
black races all over the world by both Wesleyan Methodist and Baptist
missions and missionaries. I am a staunch Churchwoman myself, and yield
to no one in pure love and reverence for my own form of worship; but
I do not see why that should hinder me from acknowledging facts which
I have noticed all my life. Long ago in Jamaica, how often in our
girlish rambles and rides have my sister and I come suddenly upon a
little clearing in the midst of the deep silence and green gloom of a
tropical forest! In the centre of the clearing would be a rude thatched
barn, with felled trees for seats, and neither door nor window. “What
is that?” we would ask of the negro lad who always rode on a mule
behind us to open gates or tell us the right road home again after an
excursion in search of rare orchids or parrots’ nests. “Dat Baptist
chapel, missis. Wesleyan, him hab chapel too ober dere. Sunday good
man come preach—tell us poor niggers all good tings. Oder days same
good gempleman teach pickaninnies.” That was the answer, and in those
few words would lie the history of much patient, humble planting of
good seed, unnoticed by the more pompous world around. The minister
works perhaps during the week at some means of support, but devotes
even his scant leisure moments to teaching the little black children.
I am so ignorant of the details on which dissenters differ from us
that I dare not go into the subject, but I only know it was the same
thing in India. Up in the Himalayas I have come across just the same
story scores of times. Whilst our more costly and elaborate system of
organization is compelled to wait for grants and certified teachers,
and desks and benches, and Heaven knows what, the Methodist or Baptist
missionary fells a few trees, uses them as walls and seats, thatches
the roof of his shelter, and begins then and there to teach the people
around him something of the sweet charities and decencies of a
Christian life.
Doubtless, Edendale had once upon a time as humble a beginning, but
when I saw it that soft autumn day it was difficult to recall such
a chrysalis stage of its existence. On our right hand rose a neat
brick chapel, substantial and handsome enough in its way, with proper
seats and good woodwork within. This plain structure, however, cost
something over a thousand pounds, nearly every penny of which has been
contributed by Kafirs, who twenty-five years ago had probably never
seen a brick or a bench, and were in every respect as utter savages
as you could find anywhere. Nor is this the only place of worship
or instruction on the estate, although it is the largest and most
expensive, for within the limits of the settlement, or “location,” as
it is called—only embracing, remember, some thirty-five hundred acres
under cultivation—there is another chapel, a third a few miles farther
off at a sort of out-station, and no less than four day-schools with
two hundred scholars, and three Sunday-schools at which two hundred
and eighty children assemble weekly. All the necessary buildings for
these purposes have been created entirely by and at the expense of
the natives, who only number eight hundred residents in the village
itself. On Sundays, however, I heard with much pleasure that more
than a hundred natives from neighboring kraals attend the services at
the chapels, attracted no doubt in the first instance by the singing.
But still, one cannot have a better beginning, and the Kafir is quite
shrewd enough to contrast his squalid hut, his scanty covering and
monotonous food with the well-clad, well-housed, well-fed members of
the little community of whom he catches this weekly glimpse, and every
one of whom, save their pastor, is as black as himself.
But I promised to tell you briefly how the little settlement first
originated. Its founder and organizer was the Rev. James Allison,
a Wesleyan missionary who labored long and successfully among the
Basuto and Amaswazi tribes in the interior, far away. Circumstances,
external as well as private, into which I need not enter, led to his
purchasing from Pretorius, the old Dutch president of Natal, this
“location” or estate of some sixty-five hundred acres in extent, and
settling himself upon it. He was followed by a great many of his
original flock, who were warmly and personally attached to him, and had
faithfully shared his fortunes in the past. In this way the nucleus
of a settlement lay ready to his hand, and he seems to have been a
man of great business talents and practical turn of mind, as well as
a spiritual teacher of no mean ability. The little village I saw the
other day was quickly laid out, and the small freehold lots—or “craen,”
as they are called still by their old Dutch name—were readily bought
by the native settlers. This was only in 1851, and probably the actual
tillage of the soil was not commenced for a year or two later. As we
walked through the fertile fields with their rich and abundant crops
standing ready for the sickle, and looked down into the sheltered
nooks where luxuriant gardens full of vegetables flourished, it was
difficult to believe that ever since the first blade of grass or
corn was put in till now those fields had never known any artificial
dressing or manuring of any sort. For more than twenty years the
soil had yielded abundantly without an hour’s rest, or any further
cultivation than a very light plough could give. The advantages of
irrigation, so shamefully overlooked elsewhere, were here abundantly
recognized, and every few yards brought one to a diminutive channel,
made by a hoe in a few minutes, bearing from the hill above a bright
trickle down to the gardens and houses. I confess I often thought
during that pleasant ramble of the old saying about God helping those
who help themselves, for all the comfort and well-to-do-ness which met
my eyes every moment was entirely from within. The people had done
everything with their own hands, and during the past year had, besides,
contributed over two hundred pounds to their minister’s support. There
have been three or four pastoral successors to Mr. Allison, who left
the settlement about a dozen years ago, and the minister, who offered
me, a complete stranger, a most cordial and kindly welcome, showing
me everything which could interest me, and readily falling in with my
desire to understand it all, was the Rev. Daniel Eva, who has only been
in charge of this mission for eighteen months. I was much struck by
his report of the cleverness of the native children; only it made one
regret still more that they had not better and greater opportunities
all over the colony of being taught and trained. In the girls’ school
I saw a bright-eyed little Kafir maiden, neatly dressed and with the
most charming graceful carriage and manner, who was only twelve years
old, and the most wonderful arithmetician. She had passed her teacher
long ago, and was getting through her “fractions” with the ease and
rapidity of Babbage’s calculating-machine. Nothing short of Euclid was
at all likely to satisfy her appetite for figures. She and her slate
were inseparable, and she liked nothing better than helping the other
children with their sums. But, indeed, they were all very forward
with their learning, and did their native teachers great credit.
What I longed for, more than anything else, was to see a regular
training-school established in this and similar stations where these
clever little monkeys could be trained as future domestic servants for
us whites, and as good, knowledgeable wives for their own people. There
was for some years an industrial school here, and I was dreadfully
sorry to hear it had been given up, but not before it had turned out
some very creditable artisans among the boys, all of whom are doing
well at their respective trades and earning their five or six shillings
a day as skilled workmen. This school used to receive a yearly grant
from the local government of one hundred pounds, but when, from
private reasons, it was given up, the grant was of course withdrawn.
The existing schools only get a government grant of fifty pounds a
year; and, small as the sum seems, it is yet difficult to expect more
from a heavily-taxed white population who are at this moment busy in
preparing a better and more costly scheme of education than they
possess at present for their own children. Still, I confess my heart
was much drawn to this cheerful, struggling little community; and not
only to it, but to its numerous offshoots scattered here and there far
away. The Edendale people already look forward to the days when they
shall have outgrown their present limits, and have purchased two very
large farms a hundred miles farther in the interior, to which several
of the original settlers of the parent mission have migrated, and so
formed a fresh example of thrift and industry and a fresh nucleus of
civilization in another wild part.
There were a hundred houses in the village (it is called George Town,
after Sir George Grey), and into some of these houses I went by special
and eager invitation of the owners. You have no idea how clean and
comfortable they were, nor what a good notion of decoration civilized
Kafirs have. In fact, there was rather too much decoration, as you will
admit if I describe one dwelling to you. This particular house stood
on high ground, just where the mountain slopes abruptly, so it had a
little terrace in front to make the ground level. Below the terrace was
a kind of yard, in which quantities of fowls scratched and clucked, and
beyond that, again, an acre of garden-ground, every part of which was
planted with potatoes, pumpkins, green peas and other things. A couple
of somewhat steep and rough steps helped us to mount up on the terrace,
and then we were ushered—with such a natural pride and delight in a
white lady visitor—into a little flagged passage. On one side was the
kitchen and living-room, a fair-sized place enough, with substantial
tables and chairs, and a large open hearth, on which a wood-fire was
cooking the savory contents of a big pot. As for the walls, they were
simply the gayest I ever beheld. Originally whitewashed, they had been
absolutely covered with brilliant designs in vermilion, cobalt and
yellow ochre, most correctly and symmetrically drawn in geometrical
figures. A many-colored star within a circle was a favorite pattern.
The effect was as dazzling as though a kaleidoscope had been suddenly
flung against a wall and its gay shapes fixed on it. But, grand as
was this apartment, it faded into insignificance compared to the
drawing-room and the “English bedroom,” both of which were exhibited
to me with much complacency by the smiling owner. Now, these rooms had
originally been one, and were only divided by a slender partition-wall.
When the door of the drawing-room was thrown open, I must say I almost
jumped back in alarm at the size of the roses and lilies which seemed
about to assault me. I never before saw such a wall-paper—never. It
would have been a large pattern for, say, St. James’s Hall, and there
it was, flaunting on walls about seven feet by eight. A brilliant
crimson flock formed the ground, and these alarming flowers, far larger
than life, bloomed and nodded all over it. The chairs and sofa were gay
with an equally remarkable chintz, and brilliant mats of beads and wool
adorned the tables. China ornaments and pictures were in profusion,
though it took time to get accustomed to those roses and lilies, so as
to be able to perceive anything else. In one part of the tiny room some
bricks had been taken out of the wall and a recess formed, fitted up
with shelves on which stood more vases and statuettes, the whole being
framed and draped with pink calico cut in large vandykes. I must say,
my black hostess and her numerous female friends, who came flocking to
see me, stood out well against this magnificent background. We all sat
for some time exchanging compliments and personal remarks through the
medium of an interpreter. But one smiling sable understood English, and
it was she who proposed that the “lady-chief” should now be shown the
bedroom, which was English fashion. We all flocked into it, gentlemen
and all, for it was too amusing to be left out. Sure enough, there
was a gay iron bedstead, a chest of drawers, and, crowning glory of
all, a real dressing-table, complete with pink and white petticoat and
toilette-glass. The glass might have been six inches square—I don’t
think it was more—but there was a great deal of wooden frame to it,
and it stood among half a dozen breakfast cups and saucers which were
symmetrically arranged, upside down, on the toilette-table.
“What are these for?” I asked innocently.
“Dat English fashion, missis: all white ladies hab cup-saucers on deir
tables like dat.”
It would have been the worst possible taste to throw any doubt on this
assertion, which we all accepted with perfect gravity and good faith,
and so returned to the drawing-room, much impressed, apparently, by the
grandeur of the bedroom.
Of course, the babies came swarming round, and very fat and jolly they
all looked in their nice cotton frocks or shirt-blouses. I did not see
a single ragged or squalid or poverty-stricken person in the whole
settlement, except one poor mad boy, who followed us about, darting
behind some shelter whenever he fancied himself observed. Poor fellow!
he was quite harmless—a lucky circumstance, for he was of enormous
stature and strength. Over his pleasant countenance came a puzzled,
vacant look every now and then, but nothing repulsive, though his
shaggy locks hung about his face like a water-spaniel’s ears, and he
was only wrapped in a coarse blanket. I was sorry to notice a good deal
of ophthalmia among the children, and heard that it was often prevalent
here.
In another house, not quite so gay, I was specially invited to look
at the contents of the good wife’s wardrobe, hung out to air in the
garden. She was hugely delighted at my declaring that I should like to
borrow some of her smart gowns, especially when I assured her, with
perfect truth, that I did not possess anything half so fine. Sundry
silk dresses of hues like the rainbow waved from the pomegranate
bushes, and there were mantles and jackets enough to have started a
second-hand clothes’ shop on the spot. This young woman—who was quite
pretty, by the way—was the second wife of a rich elderly man, and I
wondered what her slight, _petite_ figure would look like when buried
in those large and heavy garments. It chanced to be Saturday, and there
was quite as much cleaning and general furbishing up of everything
going on inside and outside the little houses as in an English country
village, and far less shrewishness over the process.
I wanted to have one more look at the principal school-room, whose
scholars were just breaking up for a long play; so we returned, but
only in time for the outburst of liberated children, whooping and
singing and noisily joyful at the ending of the week’s lessons. The
little girls dropped their pretty curtsies shyly, but the boys kept to
the charming Kafir salutation of throwing up the right hand with its
two fingers extended, and crying “Inkosi!” It is a good deal prettier
and more graceful than the complicated wave and bow in one which our
village children accomplish so awkwardly.
Oh, how I should like to “do up” that school-room, and hang gay prints
and picture-lessons on its walls, for those bright little creatures
to go wild with delight at! There has been so much needed in the
settlement that no money has been or can be forthcoming just yet for
anything beyond bare necessaries. But the school-room wanted “doing
up” very much. It was perfectly sweet and clean, and there was no
occasion for any inspector to measure out so many cubic feet of air
to each child, for the breeze from the mountains was whistling in at
every crevice and among the rafters, and the floor was well scrubbed
daily; but it wanted new stands and desks and forms—everything, in
short—most sadly. Then just think what a boon it would be if the most
intelligent and promising among the girls could be drafted from this
school when twelve years old into a training-school, where they could
be taught sewing and cooking and other homely accomplishments! There is
no place in the colony where one can turn for a good female servant,
and yet here were all these nice sharp little girls only wanting the
opportunity of learning to grow up into capital servants and good
future wives, above merely picking mealies or hoeing the ground.
As I have said before, I am no political economist, and the very
combination of words frightens me, but still I can’t help observing how
we are wasting the good material which lies ready to our hands. When
one first arrives one is told, as a frightful piece of news, that there
are three hundred thousand Kafirs in Natal, and only seventeen thousand
whites. The next remark is that immigration is the cure for all the
evils of the country, and that we want more white people. Now, it seems
to me that is just what we _don’t_ want—at least, white people of what
is called the lower classes. Of course, every colony is the better for
the introduction of skilled labor and intelligence of every kind, no
matter how impecunious it may be. But the first thing a white person
of any class at all does here is to set up Kafirs under him, whom he
knocks about as much as he dares, complaining all the time of their
ignorance and stupidity. Every man turns at once into a master and an
independent gentleman, with black servants under him; and the result
is, that it is impossible to get the simplest thing properly done, for
the white people are too fine to do it, and the black ones either too
ignorant or too lazy. Then there is an outcry at the chronic state of
muddle and discomfort we all live in. English servants directly expect
two or three Kafirs under them to do their work; and really no one
except ladies and gentlemen seem to do anything save by deputy. Now, if
we were only to import a small number of teachers and trained artisans
of the highest procurable degree of efficiency, we could establish
training-schools in connection with the missions which are scattered
all over the country, and which have been doing an immense amount of
good silently all these years. In this way we might gradually use up
the material we have all ready to our hand in these swarming black
people; and it appears to me as if it would be more likely to succeed
than bringing shiploads of ignorant, idle whites into the colony. There
is no doubt about it: Natal will never be an attractive country to
European immigrants; and if it is not to be fairly crowded out of the
list of progressive English colonies by its population of blacks, we
must devise some scheme for bringing them into the great brotherhood of
civilization. They are undoubtedly an intelligent people, good-humored
and easy to manage. Their laziness is their great drawback, but at such
a settlement as Edendale I heard no complaints, and certainly there
were no signs of it. No one learns more readily than a savage how good
are clothes and shelter and the thousand comforts of civilized people.
Unhappily, he learns the evil with the good, especially in the towns,
but that is our own fault. In a climate with so many cold days as this
the want of clothing is severely felt by the Kafirs, and it is one of
the first inducements to work. Then they very soon learn to appreciate
the comfort of a better dwelling than their dark huts, and a wish for
more nourishing food follows next. It is easier to get at the children
and form their habits and ideas than to change those of the grown-up
men, for the women scarcely count for anything at present in a scheme
of improvement: they are mere hewers of wood and drawers of water.
So the end of it all is, that I want a little money from some of you
rich people to encourage the Edendale settlers by helping them with
their existing schools, and if possible setting up training-schools
where boys could be taught carpentering and other trades, and the
girls housewifery; and I want the same idea taken up and enlarged, and
gradually carried out on a grand scale all over the country.
There are several Norwegian missions established on the borders of
Zululand, presided over by Bishop Schreuder; and I have been so
immensely interested in the bishop’s report of a visit he paid last
year to Cetywayo (there is a click in the C), the Zulu king, that
I have copied some of it out of a _Blue Book_ for you. Do you know
there is a very wrong impression abroad about blue books? They contain
the most interesting reading possible, full of details of colonial
difficulties and dangers which are not to be met with anywhere else,
and I have never been better entertained than by turning over the
leaves of one whenever it is my good fortune to come across it. I
remember one in particular upon Japan, beautifully written, and as
thrillingly sensational as any of Miss Braddon’s novels. However, you
shall judge for yourself of the bishop’s narrative. I will only mention
what he is too modest to cause to appear here—and which was told me
by other people—that he is one of the most zealous and fearless of
the great band of missionaries, beloved and respected by black and
white. In fact, my informant managed to convey a very good impression
of the bishop’s character to me when he summed up his panegyric in
true colonial phraseology, though I quite admit that it does not sound
sufficiently respectful when applied to a bishop: “He is a first-rate
fellow, all round.”
This document, which I have shortened a little, was addressed as a
letter to our minister for native affairs, and has thus become public
property, read and re-read with deep interest by us here, and likely, I
am sure, to please a wider circle:
UNTUNJAMBILI, August 20, 1875.
DEAR SIR: I beg to send you a short sketch of my last trip to and
interview with the Zulu king, in order to present to him your report
of your embassy, 1873, and leave it to your discretion to lay before
His Excellency the whole or a part of this sketch, got up in a language
foreign to me.
After an irksome traveling right across the Tugela from here to Undi, I
arrived the fifth day (August 5) at the king’s head kraal sufficiently
early to have a preliminary interview with the headmen then
present—viz., Umnjamana, Usegetwayo, Uganze, Uzetzalusa, Untzingwayo,
etc.—and, according to Zulu etiquette, lay before them the substance
of my message in the main points, the same as I, the day after (6th
August), told the king.
N.B. In the course of the evening one of the headmen hinted to me that
as regards the killing of people, all was not as it ought to be,
and that I ought to press the matter when I had the interview with
the king, as he needed to have his memory (I would rather say his
conscience, for his memory is still very good—even remarkably good)
stirred up, and that the present occasion was the very time to do that.
The result proved this to be a very safe and timely hint.
They spent the forenoon communicating in their bulky way this news to
the king, so it was midday before I got an interview with the king,
when I opened the interview verbatim, thus:
“My arrival here to-day is not on my own account. I have come at the
request of the chiefs across (the Tugela) to cause you to receive by
hand and by mouth a book which has come from Victoria, the queen of the
English—the book of the new laws of this Zulu country, which Somtseu
(Mr. Shepstone) proclaimed publicly at Umlambongwenya the day he, being
called to do so, set you apart to be king of the Zulus. Victoria, queen
of the English, says: ‘I and my great headmen (ministers) have read
the new laws of the Zulu country, which you, king, and all the Zulus,
agreed to with Somtseu; and as we adhere to our words, so also I wish
you, chief of the Zulus, to hold fast to these words of yours of this
law which you agreed to adhere to the day you were made king by Mr.
Shepstone, who was sent to do that by the government of Natal.’ I have
now finished: this is the only word I have brought with me from the
chiefs across (the Tugela).”
The royal inscription of the copy was of course literally translated.
After having thus delivered the government message entrusted to me,
I added, in the way of explaining to the king and his councilors the
merits of the case at issue, by saying:
“You have heard the government word, but that you may clearly see the
line of this book of the new laws, I wish to explain to you as follows:
The day the Zulu nation brought the head of the king, laid low, four
oxen, to the government, the Zulu nation asked that Mr. Shepstone
might come and proclaim the new laws of Zululand, and set apart the
real royal child, because they no longer had power of themselves to
set apart for themselves a king. Mr. Shepstone came, and began by
consulting you, the Zulu nation, at Umlambongwenya on the fifth day of
the week, on all the points of the new law which he had been sent for
to proclaim; and he conversed with you until the sun went down, having
begun early in the day. He then left you Zulus to consult together and
investigate the new laws on the last day of the week and on the Sunday;
and when Mr. Shepstone returned to the wagons (camp) he wrote in a book
all the points of the new law; and on Monday he again came with all
his attendants, and it was in accordance with his previous arrangement
with you; and he came to the Umlambongwenya, the residence appointed
for the purpose, that he might set apart in becoming manner the young
king. We all were present: we heard him, standing publicly, holding
in his hand a paper, and pointing to it, saying, ‘That forgetfulness
may never, never happen, I have written in this paper all the points
of the new laws of the country which we agreed upon, two days ago and
to-day, in the presence of all the Zulu nation, the royal children and
the nobles;’ and he then handed that paper to his son, that it might be
accessible and speak when he himself is no more; and this proclamation
of the new laws was confirmed by the English custom of firing cannons
seventeen times, and according to the Zulu by the striking of
shields. On the second day of the week Mr. Shepstone returned to the
Umlambongwenya to take his leave of the king, and again the points of
the new law were explained; and Ut-tamn (Cetywayo’s brother) explained
to Mr. Shepstone the history of this house; and on the third day the
nobles all went to the wagons (camp), being sent to the king to take
leave, and Mr. Shepstone went home satisfied; and when he returned to
the colony he wrote this book of the narrative of his journey and his
work in Zululand; and, as is done (in the colony), then he sent it to
the governor, and the governor read it, and read it all, and said the
work of Somtseu is good, and the new laws of the Zulu country are good;
and, as is done there too, he sent it forward to Victoria, the queen of
the English; and Victoria sent back this book of the new laws by the
same way to the governor, and the governor returned it to Somtseu, and
here it is come back to its work (discharge its function) in Zululand,
where it was set up to rule over you. And as Victoria binds herself by
her words, so are you also, king, and you, the Zulu nation, bound by
this new law made for you here by Somtseu at Umlambongwenya. And this
is the generation of this book of the new law: It was born an infant;
it went across (the water), the child of a king, to seek for kingship,
and it found it; it was made king far away, and here it is returned
with its rank to its own country, Zululand; therefore do not say it is
only the book that speaks. No, I tell you, Zulus, of a truth, that this
book has to-day rank: it took that rank beyond (the water): it has come
back a king, and is supreme in this country.
“The words of the governor are finished, and my explanation is
finished; but there are small items of news which I wish to tell you
in your ears, which the authorities (in Natal) did not tell me, but
which I speak for myself because I wish to see for you and reprove you
gently, that you may understand.”
Uganze then commenced in his usual tattling way to make some remarks,
that they, as black people, did not understand books and the value
of such written documents; whereupon I said to him, “That won’t do,
Ganze, that you, after having applied, as in the present case, to
people who transact business through written documents, now afterward
say you do not understand the value of books. You all know very well
that book-rules are supreme with white people: it is therefore of no
use that you, after having obtained what you wanted from the white
people, now come and plead ignorance about book. If you don’t know
yourselves to read book, there is nothing else for you to be done
but to get a trustworthy person to read for you, or learn to read
yourselves.”
By these remarks I stopped effectually all further talk of that kind;
and, evidently displeased at Uganze’s talk, the king repeated very
correctly all I had endeavored to say. (You know the king has a good
memory.)
While I was translating, the king and his nobles often expressed their
astonishment, uttering occasionally that it was as if they were living
the thing over again, and that what was translated was exactly what was
spoken and transacted in your way to and under your stay at the place
of encampment; and, having finished, I told them that the fullness and
correctness of the details of the report was a natural result of the
habit of white people under such circumstances, daily to take down in
writing what transpired, in order not to forget it itself long time
afterward.
As the king and his nobles now entered upon a discussion of the merits
of the new laws as set forth in your report, and this discussion
evidently would take the turn of being an answer to the message
delivered, I found it necessary to tell them that I had received no
commission to bring back any answer to the government message; and
stated my own private opinion about not having received such commission
by saying most explicitly, “My opinion is that the chiefs across the
Tugela did not tell me to take back to them your answer, because your
right words to adhere to the new law are completed. They are many: no
more are necessary. The thing wanted now is your acts in accordance
with the law.”
Here, again, Uganze asked what I meant by _acts_; and the answer was,
“That you rule and manage this Zululand in accordance with the new
law, and never overstep it;” and I explained this further by telling
them frankly that many reports circulated in Natal of the extensive
killing of people all over the Zululand; that from the time I this
year had crossed the Tugela, Natal people had with one mouth asked me
if the killing of people in Zululand now really was carried on to such
an extent as reported, in spite of the new law; that I had not with
my own eyes seen any corpse, and personally only knew of them said to
have been killed; that I myself had my information principally from
the same sources as people in Natal, and often from Natal newspapers;
that I myself personally believed that there were some, and perhaps
too much, foundation for said reports: there were many who pretended
having seen corpses of people killed both with guns and spears. And,
after having lectured my Zulu audience very earnestly upon this vital
point, I concluded, saying, “Well-wishers of the Zulus are very sorry
to hear of such things, as they certainly had hoped that the new
constitution would have remedied this sad shedding of blood; while, on
the other hand, people who did not care whether the Zulu nation was
ruined or not, merely laughed at the idea that any one ever could have
entertained the hope of altering or amending the old-cherished Zulu
practice of bloodshed, as the Zulus were such an irrecoverable set of
man-butchers. Further, I tell you seriously, king, your reputation
is bad among the whites; and, although it is not as yet officially
reported to the government, still it has come to its ears, all these
bloody rumors, and nobody can tell what may be the consequences
hereafter—to-morrow.”
The king and his izinduna seemed wonderfully tame—even
conscience-smitten all along—while the rumors were mentioned, for I
had expected some of their usual unruly excitement; but nothing of
that kind was seen. But, although the king and his nobles present
had, as mentioned above, with astonishment uttered that your report
had reported exactly everything done and said there and then, he now
tried to point out that you, in your report, had left out to inform the
queen that he, in his transactions with you, had reserved to himself
the right of killing people who kill others, who lie with the king’s
girls, who sin against or steal the king’s property—that it is the
royal Zulu prerogative “from time immemorial,” at the accession to
the throne, to make raid on neighboring tribes. I went into details
of both questions, and proved by plain words of your report, as well
as by logical conclusion therefrom, the fallacy of both complaints;
and especially as to the pretended “from time immemorial,” that this
was nonsense, as that bloody system of raid only was from yesterday
(_chaka_), and therefore there were no reasons why it should not
be broken off to-morrow; and much more so as this raid-system only
tended to exasperate all neighboring tribes against the Zulus, and
eventually bring on their (Zulus’) ruin, for it was well known that all
neighboring tribes were gradually coming under the protection of the
white people. The king made, in self-defence, some irrelevant remarks,
and was of course supported by the izinduna in the usual Zulu-duda way,
but, most remarkably, in a very tame way; but I thought by myself, “It
is easy to make an end to this support and combination, for I shall
split your interest, and then combat you singly.” So I turned the
current of the discussion in this way, saying, “I do really believe
that there is going on killing people in such a manner that the king is
blamed in Natal for doings he first afterward is made aware of—viz.,
the grandees will, for example, kill a man of no note, take a few heads
of cattle to the king in order to shut his mouth, saying, ‘I found a
rat spoiling my things, and struck this rat of mine, and here is the
few cattle it left behind.’ Then the king will—although the thing
does not suit him—think by himself, ‘If I stir up in this poltroon
matter, my grandees will say that I trouble them;’ and so the thing is
growing on, and brings on such rumors and bad names over in Natal. But
was it not agreed upon, king, at your installation, that the common
saying, ‘My man,’ or ‘My people,’ must not be tolerated any longer? It
must cease in the mouth of the grandees in the country. Here in the
Zululand is now ‘my people’ of the grandees, but all are people of the
king. The grandees have no right to the people: the king is the owner
of them all solely. And was it not agreed upon that no Zulu—male or
female, old or young—could be executed without fair, open trial and the
special previous sanction of the king? But now, by the old practice
creeping into use again, and the grandees killing their so-called
people, and the king killing his, it is like the real owner and the
other imaginary owners killing independently cattle out of the same
herd, without telling each other, till the herd is cut up. By executing
people who really only belong to the king, the grandees will, in the
same degree as they do so, detract from and diminish the royal power
and prerogative, so that there in fact reign several kings in this same
kingdom, at least as far as the authority over life and death concerns.
The grandees are concealed behind their king in the bad rumors over in
Natal; so the king gains a bad name and blame for the whole, while the
grandees gain the satisfaction of succeeding in killing people they
dislike.”
The king assented to these my remarks; so the izinduna found themselves
deserted and silenced. Umnjamana only tried to put in a few very tame
remarks of his usual ones, but I quickly brought him to his senses by
remembering him sharply of his sayings and doings at the installation.
I now thought it high time to cut the further parlance short by
saying, “I find that I am going to be dragged into an argument about
matters that are no business of mine, and I will therefore talk no more
of these things, for the new law-owners are still alive; and, moreover,
the new law is there invested with undeniable royalty; so that even
when Her Majesty Victoria, her present councilors and the rest of us
are no more, the Umteto will be there, and numerous copies of it are in
the hands of the white people, so that they at present and in future
times will be able to compare whether the doings of yours (Zulu) are
in accordance or at variance with that law, and take their measures
accordingly. Victoria binds herself by books, and so you are bound by
this book of new law that now is ruling supreme: that is the long and
short of it, for this book of the law will decay with the country.... I
have now talked myself tired, finished my verbal errand to you, king,
and now I will hand over to you this splendid copy of the new law.” He
then said, “Lay it down here” (pointing to the mat under his feet).
“No,” I replied, “that won’t do: the book is not at your feet, but you
are at the feet of the book; and if my hands are not too good to hand
it over to you, your hands ought not to be too good to receive it.
Don’t make any difficulty.” So he received the copy with his hands,
laid it himself on the mat, placed both his elbows on his knees, and
holding bent over his head between his hands, uttered that peculiar
native “Oh dear! oh dear! what a man this is!”
The king evidently felt himself so out of his depth that he quite
forgot his usual final topics, begging for a royal cloak (the standing
topic of late) or some similar thing, and dropped into begging for a
dog to bark for him at night.
Lastly, in order to test him how he now was disposed toward
mission-work, I told him that, as my business with him was finished, I
should immediately, without sleeping that night at Undi, commence my
homeward journey, for I had left much work to be done behind, having
commenced a new station over in Natal, as here in Zululand is no
work for us missionaries as long as he prohibited his subjects from
becoming Christians; therefore it was at present quite sufficient for
me in Zululand, where it, under present circumstances, was useless to
get new stations only to live and not work on, while we over in Natal
could buy, and from government, who approved of the mission-work,
get land for stations; moreover, the people—for example, over at
Untunjambili—were very anxious to be taught. With an heedful air the
king asked, “Do the Kafirs really wish to be taught?” “Yes, they really
do,” I answered him.
Thinking that it would do them (the king and councilors) good to
hear a bit of those proceedings, I inserted a few words about the
contemplated and proposed federation between the colony of Natal, Cape,
the Transvaal, and Orange States by mentioning that an important
letter from the great people beyond the water had come and proposed a
grand meeting of men chosen from these four states to deliberate of the
best mode of establishing such federation among themselves, and the
advantage and importance of this federation, which I tried to point
out by a few practical instances. The king and his induna now insisted
upon my not leaving before next morning, as the king wanted to prepare
for me (get me some living beef); and in the course of the evening I
got a special message from him to you to get from a doctor medicine for
a complaint he had in the chest, rising at times from regions about
the liver, and medicine for an induna who of late had been completely
deaf. The messenger also told that the king already had sent to you
for medicines, but as yet got no answer. I think that he has found out
that it comes very expensive to call a dotela from Natal, and that it
therefore would be cheapest to get the aid of genuine doctors through
your kind unpaid assistance.
Under the conversation with the king the headman Usagetwayo (a rather
stupid man, but whose assumed grandeur is so great and supercilious
that he pretends never to know anybody, but always must ask somebody
who this is) asked in his well-known hoarse way, “Who is he there
who speaks with the king?” (meaning me). Umnjamana answered, “Bishop
Schreuder, native man: he is Panda’s old headman. You are joking
in saying you don’t know him: it was he for whom they cut off the
large bit of land at Enlumeni.” (One of my Christian natives present
overheard this conversation getting on in a subdued tone while I was
speaking with the king.)
When our interview commenced the king seemed rather sulky, but got
gradually brighter, at least very tame, which hardly could have been
expected after such dusky beginning, for which there were also other
reasons, needless to specify here. I remain, etc.,
H. SCHREUDER.