The most striking building in Capetown is the Castle, which lies down

close to the sea and which was built by the Dutch,--in mud when they

first landed, and in stone afterwards, though not probably as we see it

now. It is a low edifice, surrounded by a wall and a ditch, and divided

within into two courts in which are kept a small number of British

troops. The barracks are without, at a small distance from the walls. In

architecture it has nothing to be remarked, and as a defence would be

now of no avail whatever. It belongs to the imperial Government, who

thus still keep a foot on the soil as though to show that as long as

British troops are sent to the Cape whether for colonial or imperial

purposes, the place is not to be considered free from imperial

interference. Round the coast at Simon’s Bay, which is at the back or

eastern side of the little promontory which constitutes the Cape of Good

Hope, Great Britain possesses a naval station, and this is another

imperial possession and supposed to need imperial troops for its

defence. And from this possession of a naval station there arises the

fiction that for its need the British troops are retained in South

Africa when they have been withdrawn from all our other self-governing

Colonies. But we have also a station for ships of war at Sydney, and

generally a larger floating force there than at Simon’s Bay. But the

protection of our ships at Sydney has not been made an excuse for having

British troops in New South Wales. I will, however, recur again to this

subject of soldiers in the Colony,--which is one that has to be treated

with great delicacy in the presence of South African Colonists.

There was lately a question of selling the Castle to the Colony,--the

price named having been, I was told, something over £60,000. If

purchased by the municipality it would I think be pulled down. Thus

would be lost the most conspicuous relic of the Dutch Government;--but

an ugly and almost useless building would be made to give way to better

purposes.

About thirty years ago Dr. Gray was appointed the first bishop of

Capetown and remained there as bishop till he died,--serving in his

Episcopacy over a quarter of a century. He has been succeeded by Bishop

Jones, who is now Metropolitan of South Africa to the entire

satisfaction of all the members of the Church. Bishop Gray inaugurated

the building of a Cathedral, which is a large and serviceable church,

containing a proper ecclesiastical throne for the Bishop and a stall for

the Dean; but it is not otherwise an imposing building and certainly is

anything but beautiful. That erected for the use of the Roman Catholics

has been built with better taste. Near to the Cathedral,--behind it, and

to be reached by a shady walk which is one of the greatest charms of

Capetown, is the Museum, a handsome building standing on your right as

you go up from the Cathedral. This is under the care of Mr. Trimen who

is well known to the zoologically scientific world as a man specially

competent for such work and whose services and society are in high

esteem at Capetown. But I did not think much of his African wild beasts.

There was a lion and there were two lionesses,--stuffed of course. The

stuffing no doubt was all there; but the hair had disappeared, and with

the hair all that look of martial ardour which makes such animals

agreeable to us. There was, too, a hippopotamus who seemed to be

moulting,--if a hippopotamus can moult,--very sad to look at, and a long

since deceased elephant, with a ricketty giraffe whose neck was sadly

out of joint. I must however do Mr. Trimen the justice to say that when

I remarked that his animals seemed to have needed Macassar oil, he

acknowledged that they were a “poor lot,” and that it was not by their

merits that the Capetown Museum could hope to be remembered. His South

African birds and South African butterflies, with a snake or two here

and there, were his strong points. I am but a bad sightseer in a museum,

being able to detect the deficiencies of a mangy lion, but unable from

want of sight and want of education to recognise the wonders of a

humming bird. But I saw a hideous vulture, and an eagle, and some

buzzards, with a grand albatross or two, all of which were as glossy and

natural as glass eyes and well brushed feathers could make them. A

skeleton of a boa-constrictor with another skeleton of a little animal

just going to be swallowed interested me perhaps more than anything

else.

Under the same roof with the Museum is the public library which is of

its nature very peculiar and valuable. It would be invidious to say that

there are volumes there so rare that one begrudges them to a distant

Colony which might be served as well by ordinary editions as by scarce

and perhaps unreadable specimens. But such is the feeling which comes up

first in the mind of a lover of books when he takes out and handles some

of the treasures of Sir George Grey’s gift. For it has to be told that a

considerable portion of the Capetown library,--or rather a small

separate library itself numbering about 5,000 volumes,--was given to the

Colony by that eccentric but most popular and munificent Governor. But

why a MS. of Livy, or of Dante, should not be as serviceable at Capetown

as in some gentleman’s country house in England it would be hard to say;

and the Shakespeare folio of 1623 of which the library possesses a

copy,--with a singularly close cut margin,--is no doubt as often looked

at, and as much petted and loved and cherished in the capital of South

Africa, as it is when in the possession of a British Duke. There is also

a wonderful collection in these shelves of the native literature of

Africa and New Zealand. Perhaps libraries of greater value have been

left by individuals to their country or to special institutions, but I

do not remember another instance of a man giving away such a treasure in

his lifetime and leaving it where in all human probability he could

never see it again.

The remaining, or outer library, contains over thirty thousand volumes,

of which about 5,000 were left by a Mr. Dessin more than a hundred years

ago to the Dutch Reformed Church in Capetown. These seem to have been

buried for many years, and to have been disinterred and brought into use

when the present public library was established in 1818. The public are

admitted free, and ample comforts are supplied for reading,--such as

warmth, seats, tables and a handsome reading-room. A subscription of £1

per annum enables the subscriber to take a set of books home. This seems

to us to be a munificent arrangement; but it should always be remembered

that at Boston in the United States any inhabitant of the city may take

books home from the public library without any deposit and without

paying anything. Among all the philanthropical marvels of public

libraries that is the most marvellous. I was told that the readers in

Capetown are not very numerous. When I visited the place there were but

two or three.

A little further up along the same shady avenue, and still on the right

hand side is the entrance to the Botanic Gardens. These, I was told,

were valuable in a scientific point of view, but were, as regards beauty

and arrangement, somewhat deficient, because funds were lacking. There

is a Government grant and there are subscriptions, but the Government

is stingy,--what Good Government ever was not stingy?--and the

subscriptions are slender. I walked round the garden and can imagine

that if I were an inhabitant of Capetown and if, as would probably be

the case, I made frequent use of that avenue, I might prolong my

exercise by a little turn round the garden. But this could only be three

times a week unless my means enabled me to subscribe, for on three days

the place is shut against the world at large. As a public pleasure

ground the Capetown gardens are not remarkable. As I walked up and down

this somewhat dreary length I thought of the glory and the beauty and

the perfect grace of the gardens at Sydney.

Opposite to the Museum and the Gardens is the Government House in which

Sir Bartle Frere with his family had lately come to reside. In many

Colonies, nay in most that I have visited, I have heard complaints that

Government Houses have been too small. Seeing such hospitality as I have

seen in them I could have fancied that Governors, unless with long

private purses, must have found them too large. They are always full. At

Melbourne, in Victoria, an evil-natured Government has lately built an

enormous palace which must ruin any Governor who uses the rooms placed

at his disposal. When I was there the pleasant house at Tourac sufficed,

and Lord Canterbury, who has now gone from us, was the most genial of

hosts and the most sage of potentates. At Capetown the house was larger

than Tourac, and yet not palatial. It seemed to me to be all that such a

house should be;--but I heard regrets that there were not more rooms. I

know no office in which it can be less possible for a man to make money

than in administering the government of a constitutional Colony. In a

Colony that has no constitution of its own,--in which the Governor

really governs,--the thing is very different. In the one there is the

salary and the house, and that is all. In a Crown Colony there is no

House of Commons to interfere when this and the other little addition is

made. We all know what coals and candles mean at home. The

constitutional Governor has no coals and candles.

Wherever I go I visit the post-office, feeling certain that I may be

able to give a little good advice. Having looked after post-offices for

thirty years at home I fancy that I could do very good service among the

Colonies if I could have arbitrary power given to me to make what

changes I pleased. My advice is always received with attention and

respect, and I have generally been able to flatter myself that I have

convinced my auditors. But I never knew an instance yet in which any

improvement recommended by me was carried out. I have come back a year

or two after my first visit and have seen that the things have been just

as they were before. I did not therefore say much at Capetown;--but I

thought it would have been well if they had not driven the public to buy

stamps at a store opposite, seeing that as the Colony pays salaries the

persons taking the salaries ought to do the work;--and that it would be

well also if they could bring themselves to cease to look at the public

as enemies from whom it is necessary that the officials inside should be

protected by fortifications in the shape of barred windows and closed

walls. Bankers do their work over open counters, knowing that no one

would deal with them were they to shut their desks up behind barricades.

But I am bound to say that my letters were sent after me with that

despatch and regularity which are the two first and greatest of

post-official virtues. And the services in the Colony generally are very

well performed, and performed well under great difficulties. The roads

are bad, and the distances long, and the transit is necessarily rough. I

was taken out to see such a cart as I should have to travel on for many

a weary day before I had accomplished my task in South Africa. My spirit

groaned within me as I saw it,--and for many a long and weary hour it

has since expanded itself with external groanings though not quite on

such a cart as I saw then. But the task has been done, and I can speak

of the South African cart with gratitude. It is very rough,--very rough

indeed for old bones. But it is sure.

I should weary my reader were I to tell him of all the civilized

institutions,--one by one,--which are in daily use in Capetown. There is

a Custom House, and a Sailors’ Home, and there are hospitals, and an

observatory,--very notable I believe as being well placed in reference

to the Southern hemisphere,--and a Government Herbarium and a lunatic

asylum at Robben Island. Of Mr. Stone, the Astronomer Royal and lord of

the Observatory, I must say one word in special praise. “Do you care for

the stars?” he asked me. In truth I do not care for the stars. I care, I

think, only for men and women, and so I told him. “Then,” said he, “I

won’t bother you to come to the Observatory. But if you wish to see

stars I will show them to you.” I took him at his word and did not then

go to the Observatory. This I had said with some fear and trembling as I

remembered well the disgust which Agazziz once expressed when I asked

permission not to be shown his museum at Cambridge, Massachusetts. But

Mr. Stone seemed to understand my deficiency, and if he pitied me he

abstained from expressing his pity. Afterwards I did make a special

visit to the Observatory,--which is maintained by the imperial

Government and not by the Colony,--and was shown all the wonders of the

Southern Heavens. They were very beautiful, but I did not understand

much about them.

There is a comfortable and hospitable club at Capetown, to which, as at

all colonial clubs, admission is given to strangers presumed to be of

the same social standing as the members. The hour of lunch seems to be

the hour of the day at which these institutions are most in request.

This is provided in the form of a table d’hôte, as is also a dinner

later on in the day. This is less numerously attended, but men of heroic

mould are thus enabled to dine twice daily.

Capetown would be no city without a railway. The Colony at present has

three starting-points for railways from the coast, one of which runs out

of Capetown, with a branch to Wynberg which is hardly more than a suburb

and is but eight miles distant, and a second branch to Worcester which

is intended to be carried up the country to the distant town of Graaf

Reynet and so on through the world of Africa. The line to Wynberg is of

infinite importance to the city as giving to the inhabitants easy means

of access to a charming locality. Capetown itself is not a lovely spot

on which to reside, but the district at the back of the Table Mountain

where are Mowbray, Rondebusch, Wynberg and Constantia,--which district

is reached by the railway,--supplies beautiful sites for houses and

gardens. There are bits of scenery which it would be hard to beat either

in form or colour, so grand are the outlines of the mountain, and so

rich and bountiful the verdure of the shrubs and timbers. It would be

difficult to find a site for a house more charming than that occupied by

the bishop, which is only six miles from town and hardly more than a

mile distant from a railway station. Beyond Wynberg lies the grape

district of Constantia so well known in England by the name of its

wine;--better known, I think, forty years ago than it is now.

All these places, Rondebusch, Wynberg, Constantia and the rest lie on

that promontory which when we look at the map we regard as the Cape of

Good Hope. The Dutch had once an idea of piercing a canal across the

isthmus from sea to sea, from Table Bay to False Bay,--in which lies

Simon’s Bay where is our naval station,--and maintaining only the island

so formed for its own purposes, leaving the rest of South Africa to its

savagery. And, since the time of the Dutch, it has been suggested that

if England were thus to cut off the Table Mountain with its adjacent

land, England would have all of South Africa that it wants. The idea is

altogether antagonistic to the British notion of colonization, which

looks to a happy home for colonists or the protection natives, rather

than the benefit or glory of the Mother Country. But were such a cutting

off to be effected, the morsel of land so severed would be very

charming, and would demand I think a prettier town than Capetown.

Beyond and around Wynberg there is a little world of lovely scenery.

Simonstown is about twelve miles from Wynberg, the road passing by the

now growing bathing-place of Kalk bay. It is to Kalk bay that the ladies

of Capetown go with their children when in summer they are in search of

fresh air, and sea breezes, and generally improved sanitary

arrangements. A most delightful spot it would be if only there were

sufficient accommodation. The accommodation of course will come as years

roll on. Beyond Kalk bay are Simonstown and Simon’s Bay, where lives the

British Commodore who has the command of these waters. The road, the

whole way down, lies between the mountain and the sea. Beyond Simonstown

I rode out for six or seven miles with the Commodore along the side of

the hill and through the rocks till we could see the lighthouse at the

extremity of the Cape. It is impossible to imagine finer sea scenery or

a bolder coast than is here to be seen. There is not a yard of it that

would not be the delight of tourists if it were in some accessible part

of Europe,--not a quarter of a mile that would not have its marine villa

if it were in England.

Before I returned home I stayed for a week or two at an Inn, a mile or

two beyond Wynberg, called Rathfelders. I suppose some original Dutchman

of that name once kept the house. It is of itself an excellent place of

resort, cool in summer, being on the cool side of the Table Mountains

and well kept;--a comfortable refuge to sojourners who do not object to

take their meals at a public table; but peculiarly pleasant as being in

the midst of mountain scenery. From here there is a ride through the

mountains to Hout’s Bay,--a little inlet on the other side of the Cape

promontory,--which cannot be beaten for beauty of the kind. The distance

to be ridden may be about ten miles each way, and good riding horses are

kept at Rathfelders. But I did not find that very many had crossed the

pass. I should say that in the neighbourhood of Wynberg there are

various hotels and boarding houses so that accommodation may always be

had. The best known of these is Cogill’s Hotel close to the Wynberg

Railway Station. I did not stay there myself, but I heard it well spoken

of.

Altogether the scenery of the Promontory on which the Dutch landed, the

southern point of which is the Cape of Good Hope, and on which stands

Capetown, is hardly to be beaten for picturesque beauty by any landskip

charms elsewhere within the same area.

I was taken down to Constantia where I visited one of the few grape

growers among whom the vineyards of this district are divided. I found

him with his family living in a fine old Dutch residence,--which had

been built I was told by one of the old Dutch Governors when a Governor

at the Cape was a very aristocratic personage. Here he keeps a few

ostriches, makes a great deal of wine, and has around him as lovely

scenery as the eye of man can desire. But he complained bitterly as to

the regulations,--or want of regulations,--prevailing in regard to

labour. “If an idle people could only be made to work for reasonable

wages the place would become a very Paradise!” This is the opinion as to

labour which is left behind in all lands in which slavery has prevailed.

The man of means, who has capital either in soil or money, does not

actually wish for a return to slavery. The feelings which abolished

slavery have probably reached his bosom also. But he regrets the control

over his fellow creatures which slavery formerly gave him, and he does

not see that whether a man be good or bad, idle by nature and habits or

industrious, the only compulsion to work should come from hunger and

necessity,--and the desire of those good things which industry and

industry alone will provide.

On the other side of Capetown,--the other side from the direction

towards Wynberg,--there is another and the only other road out of

Capetown which leads down to Sea Point, where there is a second pleasant

suburb and a second clustering together of villa residences. Here the

inhabitants look direct on to Table Bay and have the surges of the

Atlantic close to their front doors. The houses at Sea Point are very

nice, but they have nothing of the Elysian scenery of Wynberg.

Continuing the road from Sea Point the equestrian, or energetic walker,

may return by the Kloof,--anglice Cleft,--which brings him back to town

by a very picturesque route between the Lion and Table Mountains. This

is almost too steep for wheels, or it would claim to be called a third

road out of the town.

I was taken to see two schools, the high school at Rondebusch, and a

school in the town for coloured lads. At the high school the boys were

away for their holidays and therefore I could see nothing but the

outside material. I do not doubt but that lads are educated there quite

as well as at similar institutions in England. It is under the guidance

of a clergyman of the Church of England, and is thoroughly English in

all its habits. I found a perfect menagery of interesting animals

attached to it, which is an advantage which English schools seldom

possess. The animals, which, though wild by nature, were at this place

remarkably tame, had, fortunately for me, not gone home for their

holidays,--so that, wanting the boys, I could amuse myself with them. I

will not speak here of the coloured school, as I must, as I progress,

devote a short chapter to the question of Kafir education.

In speaking of the Capital of the Colony I need only further remark that

it possesses a completed and adequate dock for the reception of large

ships, and a breakwater for the protection of the harbour. The traffic

from England to the Cape of Good Hope is now mainly conducted by two

Steam Ship Companies, the Union and Donald Currie & Co., which carry the

mails with passengers and cargo each way weekly. Many of these vessels

are of nearly 3,000 tons burden, some even of more, and at Capetown they

are brought into the dock so that passengers walk in and out from the

quay without the disagreeable aid of boats. The same comfort has not as

yet been afforded at any other port along the coast.

CHAPTER VI.

THE LEGISLATURE AND EXECUTIVE.

It has come to be understood that the appropriate mode of governing a

Colony is to have a King, Lords and Commons as we do at home. And if a

Colony be a Colony in the fashion described by me when endeavouring to

define the nature of a Colony proper, there cannot be a doubt that this

is the best mode. Where Englishmen,--or white men whether they be of

English or other descent,--have gone to labour and have thus raised a

community in a distant land under the British flag, the old

constitutional mode of arranging things seems always to act well, though

it may sometimes be rough at first, and sometimes at starting may be

subject to difficulties. It has been set on foot by us, or by our

Colonists, with a population perhaps not sufficient to give two members

to an English borough,--and has then started with a full-fledged

appanage of Governor, aide-de-camps, private secretaries, Legislative

Council, Legislative Assembly, Prime Minister and Cabinet,--with a

surrounding which one would have thought must have swamped so small a

boat;--but the boat has become almost at once a ship and has ridden

safely upon the waves. The little State has borrowed money like a proud

Empire and has at once had its stocks quoted in the share lists. There

have been causes for doubt, but I do not remember an instance of

failure. This has been so universally the result that the British

Government at home have become averse to Crown Colonies, and has of late

invited her children to go out alone into the world, to enjoy their own

earnings, and pay their own bills, and do as may seem good to them each

in his own sight. I find that there are many in the Cape Colony who say

that she undertook to govern herself in the proper parliamentary way not

because she especially desired the independence to be thus obtained, but

because the Colonial Office at home was anxious on the subject and put

pressure on the Colony.

At any rate in 1872 the Cape began to rule itself. The process of ruling

themselves rarely begins with Colonies all at once. The acme of

independence is reached when a Colony levies and spends its own taxes

and when the country is ruled by Ministers who are appointed because

they have a parliamentary majority at their back and who go out of

office when they are no longer so supported. There are various

preliminary steps before this state of perfection be reached and in no

Colony, I think, have these various steps been more elaborated than at

the Cape. In 1825 the Governor ruled almost as a despot. He was of

course subject to the Secretary of State at home,--by whom he might be

dismissed or, if competent, would be promoted; but he was expected to be

autocratic and imperious. I may say that he rarely fell short of the

expectation. Lord Charles Somerset, who was the last of those Governors

at the Cape, did and said things which are charming in the simplicity of

their tyranny. In 1825 an Executive Council was appointed. These were,

of course, nominees of the Government; but they divided the

responsibility with the Governor, and were a check upon the exercise of

his individual powers. The next step, in 1834, was to a Legislative

Council. These were to be the lawmakers, but all of them were elected by

the Governor. Six of the Council were the Governor’s executive

ministers, and the other six,--for the Council consisted of

twelve,--were unofficial nominees.

But the existence of such a Council--a little Parliament elected by the

Crown--created a desire for a popular Parliament and the people of the

Colony petitioned for a representative House of Assembly. Then there was

much hesitation, one Secretary of State after another and one Governor

after another, struggling to produce a measure which should be both

popular and satisfactory. For the element of colour,--the question as to

white men and black men, which has been inoperative in Canada, in the

Australias, and even in New Zealand,--was as early as in those days felt

to create a peculiar difficulty in South Africa. But at length the

question was decided in favour of the black man and a low franchise. Sir

Harry Smith the then Governor expressed an opinion that “by showing to

all classes that no man’s station was in this free country,”--meaning

South Africa,--“determined by the accident of his colour, all ranks of

men might be stimulated to improve and maintain their relative

position.” The principle enunciated is broad and seems, at the first

hearing of it, to be excellent; but it would appear on examination to be

almost as correct to declare to candidates for the household cavalry

that the accident of height should have nothing to do with their

chances. It may be open to argument whether the Queen would not be as

well defended by men five feet high as by those who are six,--but the

six-feet men are wanted. There may be those who think that a Kafir

Parliament would be a blessing;--but the white men in the Colony are

determined not to be ruled by black men.[7] It was intended, no doubt,

simply to admit a few superior Kafirs to the franchise,--a select body

whose appearance at the hustings would do good to the philanthropic

heart; but it has led to the question whether there may not be more

Kafirs than European voters. When it leads to the question whether there

shall be Kafir members of Parliament, then there will be a revolution in

the Colony. One or two the House might stand, as the House in New

Zealand endures four or five Maoris who sit there to comfort the

philanthropic heart; but should the number increase materially then

there would be revolution in the Cape Colony. In New Zealand the number

is prescribed and, as the Maoris are coming to an end, will never be

increased. In the Cape Colony every electoral district might return a

Kafir; but I think those who know the Colony will agree with me when I

say that the European would not consent to be so represented.

After much discussion, both at the Cape and in England, two Houses of

Parliament both elective were established and met together for the first

time in July 1854. The franchise was then established on the basis which

still prevails. To vote either for a member of the Legislative Council,

or of the House of Assembly, a man must occupy land or a building

alleged to be worth £25; or he must earn £50 per annum; or he must earn

£25 per annum,--about 10s. a week,--and his diet. The English reader

must understand that wages are very much higher in the Colony than in

England, and that the labouring Kafir who works for wages frequently

earns as much as the required sum. And the pastoral Kafir who pays rent

for his land, does very often occupy a tract worth more than £25. There

are already districts in which the Kafirs who might be registered as

voters exceed in number the European voters. And the number of such

Kafirs is increasing from day to day.

But even yet parliamentary government had not been attained in the Cape.

Under the Constitution, as established in 1854, the power of voting

supplies had been given, but the manner in which the supplies should be

used was still within the Governor’s bosom. His ministers were selected

by him as he pleased, and could not be turned out by any parliamentary

vote. That is the system which is now in existence in the United

States,--where the President may maintain his ministers in opposition to

the united will of the nation. At the Cape, after 1854, the Governor’s

ministers could sit and speak either in one House or in the other,--but

were not members of Parliament and could not vote. Nor, which was more

important, could they be turned out!

The next and last step was not taken till 1872, and was perhaps somewhat

pressed on the Colony by the Home Government, who wished to assimilate

the form of parliamentary constitution in all the Colonies which were

capable of enjoying it. The measure however was carried at the Cape by

majorities in both Houses,--by a majority of 34 to 27 votes in the House

of Assembly,--which on such a subject was a slender majority as showing

the wish of the Colony, and by 11 votes against 10 in the Legislative

Council. I think I am right in saying that two out of these eleven were

given by gentlemen who thought it right to support the Government though

in opposition to their own opinions. There were many who considered that

in such a condition of things the measure should have been referred back

to the people by a general dissolution. But so did not think the late

Governor, Sir Henry Barkly, or the Secretary of State at home. The

question was settled in favour of our old well-beloved form of

constitutional government; and the Cape Colony became like to the

Canadas and the Australias. The Governor has really little or nothing to

say to the actual government of the country,--as the Sovereign has not

with us. The Ministers are responsible, and must be placed in power or

turned out of power as majorities may direct. And the majorities will of

course be created by the will of the people, or, as it would be more

fair to say, by the will of the voters.

But there are two points in which, with all these Colonies, the

resemblance to England ceases. I have said that there were in the Cape

Colony, Kings, Lords and Commons. With us, at home, the Lords are

hereditary. An hereditary Upper House in a Colony would be impossible,

and if possible would be absurd. There are two modes of selecting such a

body,--one that of election by the people as is the case in Victoria,

and the other that of nomination by the Crown, as is the practice in New

South Wales. At the Cape the more democratic method has been adopted. It

may be a question whether in regard to the special population of the

Country, the other plan would not have been preferable. The second

difference is common to all our Colonies, and has reference to the power

which is always named first and which, for simplicity, I have described

as the King. With us the Crown has a veto on all parliamentary

enactments, but is never called upon to exercise it. The Crown with us

acts by its Ministers who either throw out a measure they disapprove by

the use of the majority at their back, or go out themselves. But in the

Colonies the veto of the third party to legislation is not unfrequently

exercised by the Secretary of State at home, and here there is a

safeguard against intemperate legislation.

Such is the form of government at the Cape of Good Hope. Of all forms

known to us it is perhaps the most liberal, as the franchise is low

enough to enable the ordinary labourer to vote for members of both

Houses. For in truth every working man in the Colony may without

difficulty earn 10s. a week and his diet; and no small holder of land

will occupy a plot worth less than £25. Had the matter in question been

the best form for the maintenance of liberty and assurance of liberty

among white people, I, at least, should have nothing to say against it;

but, seeing that the real people of the country is and will remain a

coloured population, I cannot but think that there is room for doubt. I

will not,--as I said before, venture to enquire into the far distant

future of the black races of South Africa. There are many who think that

the black man should not only be free but should be, and by his nature

is, the equal of the white man. As I am glad to see all political

inequalities gradually lessened among men of European descent, so should

I be glad to think that the same process should take place among all

men. But not only has not that time come yet, but I cannot think that it

has so nearly come as to justify us in legislating upon the supposition

that it is approaching. I find that the very men who are the friends of

the negro hold the theory but never entertain the practice of equality

with the negro. The stanchest disciple of Wilberforce and Buxton does

not take the negro into partnership, or even make him a private

secretary. The conviction that the white man must remain in the

ascendant is as clear in his mind as in that of his opponent; and though

he will give the black man a vote in hope of this happy future, he is

aware that when black men find their way into any Parliament or Congress

that Parliament or Congress is to a degree injured in public estimation.

A power of voting in the hands of negroes has brought the time-honoured

constitution of Jamaica to an end. The same power in the Southern States

of the American Union is creating a political confusion of which none

of us can foretell the end, but as to which we are all convinced that in

one way or another a minority of white men will get the better of a

majority of coloured men. In British South Africa the majority of

coloured men is so great that the country has to be compared to India or

Ceylon rather than to the Southern American States. When once the Kafir

shall have learned what voting means there will be no withstanding him,

should the system of voting which now prevails in the Cape Colony be

extended over a South African Confederation. The Kafir is not a bad

fellow. Of the black African races the South Eastern people whom we call

Kafirs and Zulus are probably the best. They are not constitutionally

cruel, they learn to work readily, and they save property. But they are

as yet altogether deficient in that intelligence which is needed for the

recognition of any political good. There can be no doubt that the

condition of the race has been infinitely improved by the coming of the

white man; but, were it to be put to the vote to-morrow among the Kafirs

whether the white man should be driven into the sea, or retained in the

country, the entire race would certainly vote for the white man’s

extermination. This may be natural; but it is not a decision which the

white man desires or by which he intends to abide.

I will quote here a few words from an official but printed report, sent

by Mr. Bowker, the late Commandant of the Frontier Mounted Police, to

the Chairman of the Frontier Defence Committee in 1876, merely adding,

that perhaps no one in the Cape Colony better understands the feeling

between the Kafirs and their white neighbours than the gentleman whose

words I use. “It must not be forgotten that while collectively the

Border farmers look upon the natives as their bitterest foes,

individually they have greater confidence in their Kafir servants than

in any European immigrant whose services can be obtained in the Colony.

It is much the same with the native servants. As a nation they hate the

white man, and look forward to the day when he will be expelled the

country; while individually they are as much or more attached to their

masters than would be the case with European servants.” This represents

exactly the condition of feeling in South Africa:--and, if so, it

certainly is not to such feeling that we can safely entrust an equality

of franchise with ourselves, seeing that they outnumber us almost by

five to one. It is said that they cannot combine. If they could the

question would be settled against us,--without any voting. But nothing

will teach men to combine so readily as a privilege of voting. The

franchise is intended to teach men to combine for a certain object, and

when freely given has always succeeded in its intention.

As far as it has yet gone Parliamentary Government has worked well in

the Cape Colony. There had been so long a period of training that a

sufficient number of gentlemen were able to undertake the matter at

once. I attended one hot debate and heard the leaders of the Opposition

attack the Prime Minister and his colleague in the proper parliamentary

manner. The question was one of defence against the border Kafirs;--and

the Premier who had brought in a measure which the Opposition, as it

appeared, was desirous of slaughtering peacemeal, was suspected of an

intention to let the measure drop. And yet he was asking for an

increased vote for defence, which,--so said the opposition,--ought not

to be granted till he had declared his entire purpose in that respect.

The object of the opposition of course was to say all the severe words

which parliamentary manners allowed, and it succeeded as well as do our

practised swordsmen at home. It was made to appear that the Prime

Minister was a very wicked man indeed, whose only object it was to rob

the Colony of its money. Of Mr. Paterson, who was the keenest of the

swordsmen, I must say that he was very eloquent. Of Mr. Southey and Mr.

Sprigg that they were very efficacious. It was of course the object of

the Ministers to get the vote passed with as little trouble as possible,

knowing that they had a majority at their back. Mr. Molteno the Premier

declared that he really did not know what gentlemen on the other side

wanted. If they could throw out the vote let them do it,--but what was

the use of their reiterating words if they had no such power. That

seemed to be the gist of the Premier’s arguments,--and it is the natural

argument for a Prime Minister who has never yet been turned out. Of

course he got his vote,--as to which I presume that no one had the least

doubt.

Mr. Molteno, who has been in parliamentary life for many years, having

held a seat since the creation of the first House of Assembly in 1854,

has been a very useful public servant and thoroughly understands the

nature of the work required of him; but I fancy that in a parliamentary

constitutional government things cannot go quite straight till there

has been at least one change,--till a Minister has been made to feel

that any deviation from responsibility may bring upon him at a moment’s

notice a hostile majority. We at home talk about a strong Government;

but a very strong Government is likely to be a fainéant Government, and

is rarely a faithful Government. A Minister should have before him a

lively dread. Mr. Molteno seemed to be too confident,--and to be almost

fretful because gentlemen made him sit there in the House when he would

have preferred being in his office or at home. I am far from saying that

the Cape can have a better Minister;--but if he could go out for a short

while and then come back it would probably be for his comfort.

I cannot finish these remarks without saying that the most sensible

speech I heard in the House was from Mr. Saul Solomon. Mr. Solomon has

never been in the Government and rarely in opposition, but he has been

perhaps of as much use to the Colony as any living man. He is one who

certainly should be mentioned as a very remarkable personage, having

risen to high honours in an occupation perhaps of all the most esteemed

among men, but for which he must have seemed by nature to be peculiarly

ill adapted. He is a man of very small stature,--so small that on first

seeing him the stranger is certainly impressed with the idea that no man

so small has ever been seen by him before. His forehead however is fine,

and his face full of intelligence. With all this against him Mr. Solomon

has gone into public life, and as a member of Parliament in the Cape

Colony has gained a respect above that of Ministers in office. It is

not too much to say that he is regarded on both sides as a safe

adviser; and I believe that it would be hardly possible to pass any

measure of importance through the Cape Legislature to which he offered a

strenuous opposition. He reminded me of two other men whom it has been

my privilege to know and who have been determined to seize and wear

parliamentary honours in the teeth of misfortunes which would have

closed at any rate that profession against men endowed with less than

Herculean determination. I mean Mr. Fawcett who in our own House at home

has completely vanquished the terrible misfortune of blindness, and my

old friend John Robertson of Sydney,--Sir John I believe he is now,--who

for many years presided over the Ministry in New South Wales, leading

the debates in a parliamentary chamber, without a palate to his mouth. I

regard these three men as great examples of what may be done by

perseverance to overcome the evils which nature or misfortune have

afflicted.

The people of Capetown think of the two chambers in which the two Houses

sit with something of shame, declaring that they are not at all what

they ought to be,--that they are used as makeshifts, and that there has

never yet been time, or perhaps money at hand, for constructing proper

Houses of Parliament. Had I not heard this I should have thought that

each of them was sufficiently commodious and useful, if not quite

sufficiently handsome or magnificent.

CHAPTER VII.

WESTERN PROVINCE.--KNYSNA, GEORGE, AND THE CANGO CAVES.

When I had spent a few weeks in Capetown and the immediate neighbourhood

I went into the Eastern Province of the Cape Colony, and thence on to

Natal, the Transvaal, the Diamond Fields, and the Orange Free State

Republic,--as I hope to tell my readers in this and the next volume; but

as I afterwards came back to the Western Province,--of which I had as

yet seen but little,--and used what remainder of time was at my command

in visiting what was easiest reached, I will now go forwards so as to

complete my narrative as to the West before I speak of the East. In this

way my story may be more intelligible than if I were to follow strictly

the course of my own journeyings. I have already alluded to the

political division of the Cape Colony, and to the great desire which has

pervaded the men of the East to separate themselves from the men of the

West;--and when, a few chapters further on, I shall have brought myself

eastwards I shall have to refer to it again. This desire is so strong

that it compels a writer to deal separately with the two Provinces, and

to divide them almost as completely as though they had been separated.

South Africa is made up of different parts. And as there are the four

divisions which I have named above, so are there the two Provinces of

the Cape Colony, which are joined under the same Parliament and the same

Governor but which can hardly be said to have identical interests. The

West no doubt is contented with the union, having the supremacy; but the

East has been always clamorous for Separation.

After a very long coach journey from Bloemfontein down to Fort

Elizabeth, of which I shall have to say a few words further on, I went

by steamer to Mossel Bay on my way back to Capetown. Mossel Bay is the

easternmost harbour in the Western Province, collecting a Custom Revenue

of £20,000. It is fourth in importance of the ports of the Colony, those

ranking higher being Capetown itself, Fort Elizabeth, and East

London,--the two latter belonging to the Eastern Province. It contains

about 1,400 inhabitants, and has three hotels, a bank, a Custom House,

and a Resident Magistrate. I doubt, however, whether all these

attractions would have taken me to Mossel Bay had I not been told of the

scenery of the Outeniqua mountains and of the Knysna river. It had been

averred to me that I should do injustice to South Africa generally if I

did not visit the prettiest scenery known in South Africa. Having done

so I feel that I should have done injustice at any rate to myself if I

had not taken the advice given me.

Of all the beneficent Institutions of Mossel Bay which I have named I

became personally acquainted with but one,--the Resident Magistrate, who

was so beneficent that at a moment’s notice he offered to make the trip

to the Knysna with me. By this I gained a guide, philosopher, and

friend,--and a very pleasant companion for my excursion. In such

tourings solitude will often rob them of all delight, and ignorance of

all instruction. It is impossible to see the things immediately under

the eye, unless there be some one to tell you where to look for them. A

lone wanderer may get up statistics, and will find persons to discuss

politics with him in hotel parlours and on the seats of public

conveyances. He may hear, too, the names of mountains and of rivers. But

of the inner nooks of social life or of green hills he will know nothing

unless he can fall into some intimacy, even though it be short-lived,

with the people among whom he is moving.

We had to be in a hurry because a Cape Colony Resident Magistrate cannot

be absent long from his seat of justice. If he be not on the spot there

is no one to whom misfortune can appeal or whom iniquity need dread. In

an English town a Mayor has his aldermen, and the Chairman of the Bench

his brother magistrates;--but at Mossel Bay the Resident is as necessary

at ten o’clock on a Monday morning as is the Speaker to the House of

Commons at four o’clock in the afternoon. So we started at once with a

light cart and a pair of horses,--which was intended to take us as far

as George, a distance of 30 miles.

We went through a country teeming with ostriches. Ostrich-farming on a

great scale I will describe further on. Here the work was carried on in

a smaller way, but, as I was told, with great success. The expenses were

small, and the profits very great,--unless there should come

misfortunes, as when a valuable bird will break his leg and so destroy

himself, or when a hen supposed to be worth £50 or £60 won’t lay an egg.

I think that in ostrich-farming, as in all commercial pursuits, the many

little men who lose a little money,--perhaps their little all,--and then

go quietly to the wall, attract less attention than the prosperous few.

I am bound however to say that in this district I saw many ostriches and

heard of much success.

As evening was coming on, when we had got half way to George, we found

that our horses were knocked up. We stopped therefore at a woolwashing

establishment, and sent round the country to beg for others. Here there

was also a large shop, and a temperance hotel, and an ostrich farm, all

kept by the same person or by his son. Word came to us that all the

horses in the place had done, each of them, an extra hard day’s work

that day; but, so great a thing is it to be a Resident Magistrate, that

in spite of this difficulty two horses were promised us! But they had to

be caught. So we walked up to see the woolwashers finish their day’s

work, the sun having already set.

Their mode of woolwashing was quite new to me. The wool, which seemed to

have been shorn in a very rough manner,--cut off in locks after a

fashion which would have broken the heart of an Australian Squatter,

wool chopped as you would chop a salad,--was first put into a square

caldron of boiling, or nearly boiling water. Then it was drawn out in

buckets, and brought to troughs made in a running stream, in which the

dirt was trodden out of it by coloured men. These were Hottentots, and

Negroes,--the children of the old slaves,--and one or two Kafirs from

the East. The wool is then squeezed and laid out on drying grounds to

dry. The most interesting part of the affair was the fact that these

coloured men were earning 4s. 6d. a day wages each. Some distance

further on the next day we came on two white men,--navvies,--who were

making a dam and were earning only 1s. 7d. a day, and their diet. That

might together be worth 2s. 6d. They explained to us that they had found

it very hard to get any job, and had taken this almost in despair. But

they wouldn’t have trod the wool along with the black men, even for 4s.

6d.

Just as the night was set in we started at a gallop with our tired

horses. I know so well the way in which a poor weary brute may be

spirited up for five minutes; not, alas, without the lash. A spur to a

tired horse is like brandy to a worn-out man. It will add no strength,

but it will enable the sufferer to collect together and to use quickly

what little remains. We had fifteen miles to do, and wearily, with sad

efforts, we did twelve of them. Then we reached a little town, Blanco,

and were alive with hopes of a relay. But everybody in Blanco was in

bed, and there was nothing for us but to walk, the driver promising that

if we would allow the poor animals twenty minutes to look about them,

they would be able to crawl on with the cart and our portmanteaus. And

so we walked on to George, and found our dinner of mutton chops ready

for us at eleven o’clock. A telegram had been sent on so that a vehicle

might be prepared for us before daybreak on the morrow.

As I entered George,--the geographers I believe call the place

Georgetown, but the familiar name is George,--by star light, just able

to discern the tops of the mountains above it, I felt that it was a

pretty place. On the following morning, as I walked up and down its

so-called principal street, waiting between 5 and 6, for the wicked

mules which were an hour late, I swore that it was the prettiest village

on the face of the earth,--the prettiest village at any rate that I had

ever seen. Since that I have moderated my enthusiasm so far that I will

admit some half dozen others to the same rank. George will probably

resent the description, caring more for its importance than its

prettiness. George considers itself to be a town. It is exactly what in

England we would describe to be a well-to-do village. Its so-called

street consists of a well made broad road, with a green sward treble the

width of the road on each side. And here there are rows of oak

trees,--real English oak trees, planted by some most beneficent because

patient inhabitant of the earlier days. A man who will plant a poplar, a

willow, or even a blue-gum in a treeless country,--how good is he! But

the man who will plant an oak will surely feel the greenness of its

foliage and the pleasantness of its shade when he is lying down, down

beneath the sod!

In an English village there are gentlemen’s houses, and cottages, and

shops. Shops are generally ugly, particularly shops in a row, and the

prettiness of a village will depend mostly on the number of what may be

called gentlemen’s houses, and on the grouping of them. Cottages may be

lovely to look at;--sometimes are; but it is not often. 15_s._ a week

and roses form a combination which I have seen, but of which I have

read in poetry much more than I have seen. Perhaps the ugliest

collection of ruined huts I ever visited was “Sweet Auburn, loveliest

village of the plain.” But the pretty English villages will have a

parson, a doctor, an officer’s widow, a retired linen-draper, and

perhaps the Dowager Squiress, living in houses of different patterns,

each standing in its own garden, but not so far from the road as to

stand in its own ground. And there will be an inn, and the church of

course, and probably a large brick house inhabited by some testy old

gentleman who has heaps of money and never speaks to any body. There

will be one shop, or at the most two, the buying and selling of the

place being done in the market-town two miles off. In George the houses

are all of this description. No two are alike. They are all away from

the road. They have trees around them. And they are quaint in their

designs, many of them having been built by Dutch proprietors and after

Dutch patterns. And they have an air of old fashioned middle class

comfort,--as though the inhabitants all ate hot roast mutton at one

o’clock as a rule of their lives. As far as I could learn they all did.

There are two churches,--a big one for the Dutch, and a little one for

the English. Taking the village and the country round, the Dutch are no

doubt in a great majority; but in George itself I heard nothing but

English spoken. Late on a Sunday evening, when I had returned from the

Knysna, I stood under an oak tree close to the corner of the English

church and listened to a hymn by star light. The air was so soft and

balmy that it was a pleasure to stand and breathe it. It was the

longest hymn I ever heard; but I thought it was very sweet; and as it

was all that I heard that Sunday of sacred service, I did not begrudge

its length. But the South Africans of both colours are a tuneful people

in their worship.

The comfort of the houses, and the beauty of the trees, and the numbers

of the gardens, and the plentiful bounty of the green swards have done

much for George;--but its real glory is in the magnificent grouping of

the Outiniqua mountains under which it is clustered. These are

altogether unlike the generality of South African hills, which are

mostly flat-topped, and do not therefore seem to spring miscellaneously

one from another,--but stand out separately and distinctly, each with

its own flat top. The Outiniquas form a long line, running parallel with

the coast from which they are distant perhaps 20 miles, and so group

themselves,--as mountains should do,--that it is impossible to say where

one ends and another begins. They more resemble some of the lower

Pyrenees than any other range that I know, and are dark green in colour,

as are the Pyrenees.

The Knysna, as the village and little port at the mouth of the Knysna

river are called, is nearly 60 miles from George. The rocks at the

entrance from the sea are about that distance, the village being four or

five miles higher up. We started with four mules at 6.30,--but for the

natural wickedness of the animals it would have been at 5.30,--and went

up and down ravines and through long valleys for 50 miles to a place

called Belvidere on the near side of the Knysna river. It would be hard

to find 50 miles of more continuously picturesque scenery, for we were

ever crossing dark black streams running down through the close ravines

from the sides of the Outiniqua mountains. And here the ravines are very

thickly wooded, in which respect they differ much from South African

hill sides generally. But neither would it be easy to find 50 miles more

difficult to travel. As we got nearer to the Knysna and further up from

the little streams we had crossed, the ground became sandy,--till at

last for a few miles it was impossible to do more than walk. But the

mules, which had been very wicked in the morning, now put forth their

virtues, and showed how superior they could be under stress of work to

their nobler half-brother the horse.

At Belvidere we found an Inn and a ferry, and put them both to their

appropriate use, drinking at the one and crossing the other. Here we

left our mules and proceeded on foot each with his own bag and baggage.

On the further side there was to be a walk of three miles, and it was

very hot, and we had already trudged through some weary miles of sand.

And though we had compelled the ferryman to carry our bags, we were

laden with our great coats. But, lo, Providence sent the mounted

post-boy along our path, when the resource of giving him the great coats

to carry, and taking his pony for my own use was too evident to require

a moment’s thought. He saw it in the same light and descended as though

it were a matter of course. And so I rode into the village, with the

post boy and the post boy’s dog, the ferryman and the Resident

Magistrate following at my heels.

Here was another English village, but quite of a different class;--and

yet picturesque beyond expression. “The” Knysna as the place is called

is a large straggling collection of houses which would never be called

other than a village in England, but would strike an investigating

visitor as a village rising townwards. It is, in a very moderate way, a

seaport, and possesses two inns. The post boy with unflinching

impartiality refused to say which was the better, and we went to the

wrong one,--that which mariners frequented. But such is South African

honesty that the landlord at once put us right. He could put us up no

doubt;--but Mr. Morgan at the other house could do it better. To Mr.

Morgan, therefore, we went, and were told at once that we could have a

leg of mutton, potatoes, and cabbages for dinner. “And very glad you

ought to be to get them,” said Mrs. Morgan. We assented of course, and

every thing was pleasant.

In fifteen minutes we were intimate with everybody in the place,

including the magistrate, the parson, and the schoolmaster; and in half

an hour we were on horse back,--the schoolmaster accompanying us on the

parson’s nag,--in order that we might rush out to the Heads before dark.

Away we scampered, galloping through salt water plashes, because the sun

was already disappearing. We had just time to do it,--to gallop through

the salt water and up the hills and round to the headland, so that we

might look down into the lovely bright green tide which was rushing in

from the Indian ocean immediately beneath our feet. From where I stood I

could have dropped a penny into the sea without touching a rock.

The spot is one of extreme beauty. The sea passes in and out between two

rocks 160 yards apart, and is so deep that even at low tide there are 18

feet of water. Where we stood the rocks were precipitous, but on the

other side it was so far broken that we were told that bucks when

pressed by hounds would descend it, so as to take the water at its foot.

This would have seemed to be impossible were it not that stags will

learn to do marvellous things in the way of jumping. On our right hand,

between us and the shore of the outer Ocean, there was a sloping narrow

green sward, hardly broader than a ravine, but still with a sward at its

foot, running down to the very marge of the high tide, seeming to touch

the water as we looked at it. And beyond, further on the left, there

were bright green shrubs the roots of which the sea seemed to wash. A

little further out was the inevitable “bar,”--injurious to commerce

though adding to the beauty of the spot, for it was marked to us only by

the breakers which foamed across it.

The schoolmaster told us much of the eligibility of the harbour. Two men

of war,--not probably first-class ironclads, modest little gun boats

probably,--had been within the water of the Knysna. And there were

always 18 feet of water on the bar because of the great scour occasioned

by the narrow outlet, whereas other bars are at certain times left

almost waterless. A great trade was done,--in exporting wood. But in

truth the entrance to the Knysna is perhaps more picturesque and

beautiful than commercially useful. For the former quality I can

certainly speak; and as I stood there balancing between the charms of

the spot and the coming darkness, aggravated by thoughts which would

fly off to the much needed leg of mutton, I felt it to be almost hard

that my friend the magistrate should have punctilious scruples as to his

duties on Monday morning.

The description given to me as to trade at the Knysna was not altogether

encouraging. The people were accustomed to cut wood and send it away to

Capetown or Fort Elizabeth, and would do nothing else. And they are a

class of Dutch labourers, these hewers of wood, who live a foul unholy

life, very little if at all above the Hottentots in civilization. The

ravines between the spurs of the mountains which run down to the sea are

full of thick timber, and thus has grown up this peculiarity of industry

by which the people of the Knysna support themselves. But wood is

sometimes a drug,--as I was assured it was at the time of my visit,--and

then the people are very badly off indeed. They will do nothing else.

The land around will produce anything if some little care be taken as to

irrigation. Any amount of vegetables might be grown and sent by boat to

Capetown or Algoa Bay. But no! The people have learned to cut wood, and

have learned nothing else. And consequently the Knysna is a poor

place,--becoming poorer day by day. Such was the description given to

us; but to the outward eye everybody seemed to be very happy,--and if

the cabbage had been a little more boiled everything would have been

perfect. The rough unwashed Dutch woodcutters were no doubt away in

their own wretched homes among the spurs of the mountains. We, at any

rate, did not see them.

Cutting timber is a good wholesome employment; and if the market be bad

to-day it will probably be good to-morrow. And even Dutch woodcutters

will become civilized when the schoolmaster gradually makes his way

among them. But I did express myself as disappointed when I was told

that nothing was ever done to restore the forests as the hill-sides are

laid bare by the axe. There will be an end to the wood even on the spurs

of the Outiniqua range, if no care be taken to assist the reproduction

of nature. The Government of the Cape Colony should look to this, as do

the Swiss Cantons and the German Duchies.

The Knysna is singularly English, being, as it is, a component part of a

Dutch community, and supported by Dutch labour. I did not hear a Dutch

word spoken while I was there,--though our landlady told us that her

children played in Dutch or in English, as the case might be. Our

schoolmaster was English, and the parson, and the magistrate, and the

innkeeper, and the tradesmen of the place who called in during the

evening to see the strangers and to talk with the magistrate from

distant parts about Kreli and the Kafirs who were then supposed to be

nearly subdued. It is a singularly picturesque place, and I left it on

the following morning at 5 A.M. with a regret that I should never see

the Knysna again.

There was to have been a cart to take us; but the horse had not chosen

to be caught, and we walked to the ferry. Then, at the other side, at

Belvidere, the wicked eggs would not get themselves boiled for an hour,

though breakfast at an appointed time, 6 A.M., had been solemnly

promised to us. Everything about the George and the Knysna gratified me

much. But here, as elsewhere in South Africa, punctuality is not among

the virtues of the people. Six o’clock means seven, or perhaps twenty

minutes after seven. If a man promises to be with you at nine, he thinks

that he has done pretty well if he comes between ten and eleven. I have

frequently been told that a public conveyance would start at four in the

morning,--or at five, as it might be,--and then have had to walk about

for half an hour before a horse has made its appearance. And it is

impossible for a stranger to discount this irregularity, so as to take

advantage of it. It requires the experience of a life to ascertain what

five o’clock will mean in one place, and what in another. When the

traveller is assured that he certainly will be left behind if he be not

up an hour before dawn, he will get up, though he knows that it will be

in vain. The long minutes that I have passed, during my late travels,

out in the grey dawn, regretting the bed from which I have been

uselessly torn, have been generally devoted to loud inward assertions

that South Africa can never do any good in the world till she learns to

be more punctual. But we got our breakfast at Belvidere at last, and

returned triumphantly with our four mules to George.

In the neighbourhood of George there is a mission station called

Pacaltsdorp, for Hottentots, than which I can imagine nothing to be less

efficient for any useful purpose. About 500 of these people live in a

village,--or straggling community,--in which they have huts and about an

acre of land for each family. There is a church attached to the place

with a Minister, but when I visited the place there was no school. The

stipend of the minister is paid by some missionary society at home, and

it would seem that it is supported chiefly because for many years past

it has been supported.

The question has frequently been raised whether the Hottentots are or

are not extinct as a people. Before the question can be answered some

one must decide what is a Hottentot. There is a race easily recognized

throughout South Africa,--found in the greatest numbers in the Western

Province of the Cape Colony,--who are at once known by their colour and

physiognomy, and whom the new-comer will soon learn to call Hottentots

whether they be so or not. They are of a dusty dusky hue, very unlike

the shining black of the Kafir or Zulu, and as unlike the well shaded

black and white of the so-called “Cape Boy” who has the mixed blood of

Portuguese and Negroes in his veins. This man is lantern-jawed,

sad-visaged, and mild-eyed,--quite as unlike a Kafir as he is to a

European. There can be no doubt but that he is not extinct. But he is

probably a bastard Hottentot,--a name which has become common as applied

to his race,--and comes of a mingled race half Dutch and half South

African.

These people generally perform the work of menial servants. They are

also farm labourers,--and sometimes farmers in a small way. They are not

industrious; but are not more lazy than men of such a race may be

expected to be. They are not stupid, nor, as I think, habitually

dishonest. Their morals in other respects do not rank high. Such as they

are they should be encouraged in all ways to work for hire. Nothing can

be so antagonistic to working as such a collection of them as that at

Pacaltsdorp, where each has land assigned to him just sufficient to

enable him to live,--with the assistance of a little stealing. As for

church services there are quite enough for their wants in the

neighbourhood, of various denominations. The only excuse for such an

establishment would be the existence of a good school. But here there

was none. Pacaltsdorp is I believe more than half a century old. When it

was commenced the people probably had no civilizing influences round

them. Now the Institution hardly seems to be needed.

From George I went over the Montague Pass to Oudtshoorn. My travels

hitherto had chiefly been made with the view of seeing people and

studying the state of the country,--and at this time, as I have

explained above, my task was nearly completed. But now I was in search

of the picturesque. It is not probable that many tourists will go from

England to South Africa simply in quest of scenery. The country is not

generally attractive, and the distances are too long. But to those who

are there, either living in the Colony, or having been carried thither

in search of health or money, the district of which I am now speaking

offers allurements which will well repay the trouble of the journey. I

am bound however to say that the beauties of this region cannot be seen

at a cheap rate. Travelling in South Africa is costly. The week which I

spent in the neighbourhood of George cost me £30, and would have cost me

much more had I been alone. And yet I was not overcharged. The

travellers in South Africa are few in number, and it is much travelling

which makes cheap travelling.

Montague Pass is a road through the Outiniqua mountains,--which was made

by Mr. White and called by the name of Mr. Montague who was the Colonial

Secretary when the line was opened. It is very fine, quite equal to some

of the mountain roads through the Pyrenees. There are spots on which the

traveller will quite forget South African ugliness and dream that he is

looking at some favoured European landskip. Throughout the whole of

those mountains the scenery must be very grand, as they group themselves

with fantastic intermingling peaks, and are green to the top. The ascent

from the side nearest to George, which the tourist will probably walk,

is about four miles, and the views are varied at almost every step,--as

is the case in all really fine mountain scenery.

From the foot of the hill on the side away from George the road to

Oudtshoorn passes for about thirty miles through the Karoo. The Karoo is

a great Institution in the Cape Colony and consists of enormous tracts

of land which are generally devoted to the pasture of sheep. The karoo

properly is a kind of shrub which sheep will eat, such as is the salt

bush in Australia. Various diminutive shrubs are called “karoo,” of

which most are aromatic with a rich flavour as of some herb, whereas

others are salt. But the word has come to signify a vast flowery plain,

which in seasons of drought is terribly arid, over which the weary

traveller has often to be dragged day after day without seeing a tree,

or a green blade of grass; but which in spring becomes covered with

wild flowers. A large portion of the Western Province is called Karoo,

and is very tedious to all but sheep. That over which I passed now was

“Karoo” only in its produce, being closely surrounded by mountains. The

sheep, however, had in most places given way to ostriches,--feathers at

present ruling higher in the world than wool. I could not but hope as I

saw the huge birds stalking about with pompous air,--which as you

approached them they would now and again change for a flirting gait,

looking back over their shoulders as they skipped along with ruffled

tails;--I have seen a woman do very much the same;--that they might soon

be made to give place again to the modest sheep.

Oudtshoorn,--a place with a most uncomfortably Dutch name,--is an

uninteresting village about two miles long; which would, at least, be

uninteresting were it not blessed with a superlatively good hotel kept

by one Mr. Holloway. Mr. Holloway redeems Oudtshoorn, which would

otherwise have little to say for its own peculiar self. But it is the

centre of a rich farming district, and the land in the valleys around it

is very fertile. It must be remembered that fertility in South Africa

does not imply a broad area of cultivated land, or even a capacity for

it. Agriculture is everywhere an affair of patches, and frequently

depends altogether on irrigation. Near Oudtshoorn I saw very fine

crops,--and others which were equally poor,--the difference having been

caused altogether by the quantity of water used. The productiveness of

South Africa is governed by the amount of skill and capital which is

applied to the saving of rain when rain does fall, and to the

application of it to the land when no rain is falling. How far the

water sent by God may, with the assistance of science, be made

sufficient for the cultivation of the broad plains, I, at least, am

unable to say. They who can measure the rainfalls, and the nature of the

slopes by which the storms and showers may be led to their appointed

places, will after a while tell us this. But it is patent to all that

extensive cultivation in South Africa must depend on irrigation.

I had come to Oudtshoorn chiefly to see the Cango Caves. I wish some of

my readers would write the name of the village in order that they may

learn the amount of irritation which may be produced by an unfortunately

awkward combination of letters. The Cango Caves are 24 miles distant

from the place, and are so called after the old name of the district.

Here too they make brandy from grapes,--called euphoniously “Old Cango.”

The vituperative have christened the beverage Cape Smoke. “Now I’ll give

you a glass of real fine Old Cango,” has been said to me more than once.

I would strongly advise weak-headed Europeans, not to the manner born,

to abstain from the liquor under whatever name it may make its

appearance. But the caves may be seen without meddling with the native

brandy. We brought ours with us, and at any rate believed that it had

come from France.

The road from the village to the caves is the worst, I think, over which

wheels were ever asked to pass. A gentleman in Oudtshoorn kindly offered

to take us. No keeper of post horses would let animals or a carriage for

so destructive a journey. At every terrific jolt and at every struggle

over the rocks my heart bled for our friend’s property,--of which he

was justly proud. He abstained even from a look of dismay as we came

smashing down from stone to stone. Every now and then we heard that a

bolt had given way, but were assured in the same breath that there were

enough to hold us together. We were held together; but the carriage I

fear never can be used again. The horses perhaps with time may get over

their ill usage. We were always going into a river or going out of it,

and the river had succeeded in carrying away all the road that had ever

been made. Unless the engineers go seriously to work I shall be the last

stranger that will ever visit the Cango Caves in a carriage.

I have made my way into various underground halls, the mansions of bats

and stalactites. Those near Deloraine in Tasmania are by far the most

spacious in ascertained length that I have seen. Those at Wonderfontein

in the Transvaal, of which I will speak in the next volume, may be, and

probably are, larger still, but they have never been explored. In both

of these the stalactites are much poorer in form than in the caves of

the Cheddar cliffs,--which however are comparatively small. The Mammoth

Caves in Kentucky I have not visited; but I do not understand that the

subterranean formations are peculiarly grand. In the Cango Grottoes the

chambers are very much bigger than in the Tasmanian Caves. They also

have not been fully explored. But the wonderful forms and vagaries of

the stalactites are infinitely finer than anything I have seen

elsewhere. We brought with us many blue lights,--a sort of luminary

which spreads a powerful glare to a considerable distance for three or

four minutes,--without which it would be impossible to see the shapes

around. The candles which we carried with us for our own guidance had

little or no effect.

In some places the droppings had assumed the shape of falling curtains.

Across the whole side of a hall, perhaps sixty feet long, these would

hang in regular pendent drapery, fold upon fold, seeming to be as equal

and regular as might be the heavy folds protecting some inner sacred

chapel. And in the middle of the folds there would be the entrance,

through which priests and choristers and people might walk as soon as

the machinery had been put to work and the curtain had been withdrawn.

In other places there would hang from the roof the collected gathered

pleats, all regular, as though the machinery had been at work. Here

there was a huge organ with its pipes, and some grotesque figure at the

top of it as though the constructor of all these things had feared no

raillery. In other places there were harps against the walls, from

which, as the blue lights burned, one expected to hear sounds of perhaps

not celestial minstrelsy. And pillars were erected up to the

ceiling,--not a low grovelling ceiling against which the timid visitor

might fear to strike his head, but a noble roof, perfected, groined,

high up, as should be that of a noble hall. That the columns had in fact

come drop by drop from the rock above us did not alter their appearance.

There was one very thick, of various shapes, grotesque and daring,

looking as though the base were some wondrous animal of hideous form

that had been made to bear the superstructure from age to age. Then as

the eye would struggle to examine it upwards, and to divide the details

each from the others, the blue light would go out and the mystery would

remain. Another blue light would be made to burn; but bats would come

flitting through, disturbing all investigation;--and the mystery would

still remain.

There were various of these halls or chambers, all opening one to

another by passages here and there, so that the visitor who is never

compelled to travel far, might suppose them all to be parts of one huge

dark mansion underground. But in each hall there were receding closets,

guarded by jutting walls of stalactite breast high, round which however

on closer search, a way would be found,--as though these might be the

private rooms in which the ghouls would hide themselves when thus

disturbed by footsteps and voices, by candles and blue lights from

above. I was always thinking that I should come upon a ghoul; but there

were inner chambers still into which they crept, and whither I could not

follow them.

Careful walking is necessary, as the ground is uneven; and there are

places in which the ghouls keep their supply of water,--stone troughs

wonderfully and beautifully made. But except in one place there is no

real difficulty in moving about, when once the visitor to the Caves has

descended into them. At this place the ascent is perplexing, because the

ground is both steep and slippery. I can imagine that a lady or an old

man might find it difficult to be dragged up. Such lady or old man

should either remain below or allow his companions to drag him up. There

is very little stooping necessary anywhere. But it has to be borne in

mind that after entering the mouth of the cave and reaching the first

chamber, the realms I have described have to be reached by an iron

ladder which holds 38 steps. To get on to this ladder requires some

little care and perhaps a dash of courage. The precautions taken,

however, suffice, and I think I may say that there is no real danger.

We called at a Dutch Boer’s house about a mile from the Caves, and were

accompanied by three members of the Boer’s family. This is usual, and, I

believe, absolutely necessary. I paid one of the men a sovereign for his

trouble,--which sum he named as his regular price for the assistance

provided. He found the candles, but some of our party took the blue

lights with them. Nothing could have been seen without them.

From Oudtshoorn I travelled back through the Outiniqua mountains by

Robinson’s pass to Mossel Bay, and thence returned by steamer to

Capetown.

CHAPTER VIII.

WESTERN PROVINCE, THE PAARL, CERES, AND WORCESTER.

My last little subsidiary tours in South Africa were made from Capetown

to the country immediately across the Hottentot mountains after my

return from Oudtshoorn and the Cango Caves. It had then become nearly

midsummer and I made up my mind that it would be very hot. I prepared

myself to keep watch and ward against musquitoes and comforted myself by

thinking how cool it would be on my return journey, in the Bay of Biscay

for instance on the first of January. I had heard, or perhaps had

fancied, that the South African musquito would be very venomous and also

ubiquitous. I may as well say here as elsewhere that I found him to be

but a poor creature as compared with other musquitoes,--the musquito of

the United States for instance. The South African December, which had

now come, tallies with June on the other side of the line;--and in June

the musquito of Washington is as a roaring lion.

On this expedition I stopped first at The Paarl, which is not across the

Hottentot mountains but in the district south of the mountains to which

the Dutch were at first inclined to confine themselves when they

regarded the apparently impervious hills at their back as the natural

and sufficient barrier of their South African dominions.

There is now a railway out of Capetown which winds its way through these

mountains, or rather circumvents them by a devious course. It branches

from the Wynberg line a mile or two out of Capetown, and then pursues

its way towards the interior of Africa with one or two assistant

branches on the southern side of the hills. The Wynberg line is

altogether suburban and pleasant. The first assistant branch goes to

Malmesbury and is agricultural. Malmesbury is a corn producing country

in the flats north of Capetown, and will, I hope, before long justify

the railway which has been made. At present I am told that the branch

hardly pays for the fuel it consumes. It no doubt will justify the

railway as wheat can be grown in the district without irrigation, and it

will therefore become peopled with prosperous farmers. Then there is a

loop line to Stellenbosch, an old and thriving little Dutch town which I

did not visit. It is very old, having been founded in 1684. In 1685 the

French Refugees came of whom a large proportion were settled at

Stellenbosch. The main line which is intended to cross the entire Colony

then makes its way on to The Paarl and Wellington,--from whence it takes

its passage among the mountains. This is of course in the Western

Province,--which I must persist in so designating though I know I shall

encounter the wrath of many South African friends of the West. In the

Eastern Province there are two lines which have been commenced from the

coast with the same mission of making their way up into the whole

continent of Africa, one of them starting from Port Elizabeth, intending

to go on by Cradock, with a branch already nearly finished to

Grahamstown, and the other from East London travelling north by King

Williamstown and Queenstown. The rivalry between the three is great. It

is so great even between the two latter as to have much impaired the

homogeneity of the Eastern Province. At present the chief object of them

all is to secure the trade to Kimberley and the Diamond Fields. That by

which I was now travelling is already open to Worcester, across the

mountain, for all traffic, and for goods traffic forty miles beyond

Worcester, up the valley of the Hex River.

I stopped at The Paarl to see the vineyards and orange groves, and also

the ostriches. These are the industries of The Paarl, which is in its

way a remarkable and certainly a very interesting place. It was only

during the last month of my sojourn in South Africa that I came to see

how very much lovely scenery there is within reach of the residents of

Capetown. As in all countries of large area, such as South Africa, the

United States, the interior of Australia, and Russia generally,--of

which I speak only from hearsay,--the great body of the landskip is

uninteresting. The Transvaal, the Orange Free State, Griqua Land West,

and the Karoos of the Cape Colony are not beautiful. This the traveller

hears, and gradually sees for himself. But if he will take the trouble

he may also see for himself spots that are as entrancing as any among

the more compressed charms of European scenery. The prettinesses of The

Paarl, however, come from the works of man almost as much as from those

of Nature.

It is a very long town,--if town it is to be called,--the main street

running a length of eight miles. Through all this distance one spot is

hardly more central than another,--though there is a market-place which

the people of The Paarl probably regard as the heart of the town. It is

nowhere contiguous, the houses standing, almost all, separately. It is

under the paarl, or pearl rock,[8]--which strangers are invited to

ascend, but are warned at the same time that the ascent in summer may be

very hot. I thanked my friend for the caution and did not ascend the

mountain. I was of course told that without ascending I could not see

The Paarl aright. I did not therefore see it aright, and satisfy my

conscience by instructing others how they may do so. The town from one

end to the other is full of oak trees, planted as I was told by the

Dutch. They did not look to be over seventy years of age, but I was

assured that the growth though certain had been slow. It is perhaps the

enormous number of oak trees at The Paarl which more than anything else

makes the place so graceful. But many of the houses too are graceful,

being roomy old Dutch buildings of the better class, built with gables

here and there, with stables and outhouses around them, and with many

oaks at every corner, all in full foliage at the time of my visit. At

The Paarl there are no bad houses. The coloured people who pick the

grapes and tread the wine vats and hoe the vines live in pretty

cottages up the hill side. There is nothing squalid or even untidy at

The Paarl. For eight miles you are driven through a boskey broad

well-shaded street with houses on each side at easy intervals, at every

one of which you are tempted to think that you would like to live.

What do the people do? That is of course the first question. It was

evident from the great number of places of worship that they all went to

church very often;--and from the number of schools that they were highly

educated. Taking the population generally, they are all Dutch, and are

mostly farmers. But their farming is very unlike our farming,--and still

more unlike that of the Dutch Boers up the country,--the main work of

each individual farmer being confined to a very small space, though the

tract of adjacent land belonging to him may extend to one or two or

three thousand acres. The land on which they really live and whereby

they make their money is used chiefly for the growth of grapes,--and

after that for oranges and ostriches. The district is essentially wine

making,--though at the time of my visit the low price of wine had forced

men to look to other productions to supplement their vines.

I was taken to the house of one gentleman,--a Dutchman of course,--whose

homestead in the middle of the town was bosomed amidst oaks. His

vineyard was a miracle of neatness, and covered perhaps a dozen

acres;--but his ostriches were his pride. Wine was then no more than £3

the “ligger,”--the ligger, or leaguer, being a pipe containing 126

gallons. This certainly is very cheap for wine,--so cheap that I was

driven to think that if I lived at The Paarl I would prefer ostriches.

It seemed to be thought, however, that a better time would come, and

that the old price of £5 or £6 the ligger might again be reached. I am

afraid there is some idea that this may be done by the maternal

affection of the Mother Country,--which is to be shewn in a reduction of

the duties, so that Cape wine may be consumed more freely in England. I

endeavoured to explain that England cannot take wine from the Colonies

at a lower rate of duty than from foreign countries. I did not say

anything as to the existing prejudice against South African sherries. I

was taken into this gentleman’s house and had fruit and wine of his own

producing. The courtesy and picturesque old-fashioned neatness of it all

was very pleasing. He himself was a quiet well-mannered man, shewing no

excitement about anything, till it was suggested to him that a mode of

incubating ostriches’ eggs different to his own might be preferable.

Then he shewed us that on a subject which he had studied he could have a

strong opinion of his own. This was in the town. The owner, no doubt,

had a considerable tract of land lying far back from the street; but all

his operations seemed to be carried on within a quarter of a mile of his

house.

I was afterwards driven out to two country farms, but at both of them

the same thing prevailed. Here there were large vineyards, and oranges

in lieu of ostriches. At one beautiful spot, just under the mountains,

there was a grove of 500 orange trees from which, the proprietor told

me, he had during the last year made a net profit of £200 after paying

all expenses. £200 will go a long way towards the expenditure of a

Dutch farmer’s house. Of course there was no rent to be paid as the

whole place belonged to him,--and had probably belonged to his ancestors

for many generations. He was lord also of a large vineyard which he told

me had cost a great deal of labour to bring to its present perfection of

cleanliness and fertility.

Here too we were taken into the house and had wine given to us,--wine

that was some years old. It certainly was very good, resembling a fine

port that was just beginning to feel its age in the diminution of its

body. We enquired whether wine such as that was for sale, but were told

that no such wine was to be bought from any grower of grapes. The

farmers would keep a little for their own use, and that they would never

sell. Neither do the merchants keep it,--not finding it worth their

while to be long out of their money,--nor the consumers, there being no

commodity of cellarage in the usual houses of the Colony. It has not

been the practice to keep wine,--and consequently the drinker seldom has

given to him the power of judging whether the Cape wines may or may not

become good. At dinner tables at the Cape hosts will apologise for

putting on their tables the wines of the Colony, telling their guests

that that other bottle contains real sherry or the like. I am inclined

to think that the Cape wines have hardly yet had a fair chance, and have

been partly led to this opinion by the excellence of that which I drank

at Great Draghenstern,--which was the name either of the farm or of the

district in question.

As we had wandered through the grove we saw oranges still hanging on the

trees, high up out of reach. The season was over but still there were a

few. It is a point of honour to keep them as long as possible,--so that

towards December they become valuable treasures. I had one given to me

when we started, as being the oldest of the party. It was scrupulously

divided, and enjoyed no doubt very much more than had we been sent away

with our cart full.

Here too the house was exceedingly picturesque, being surrounded by oak

trees. There was no entrance hall, such as has been common with us for

many years; but the rooms were lofty, spacious, and well built, and the

neighbouring wilderness of a garden was wonderfully sweet with flowers.

The owner was among the vines when we arrived, and as he walked up to us

in the broad place in front of his house, he informed us that he was

“jolly old ---- ----” This he said in Dutch. His only word of English was

spoken as we parted. “Good bye, old gentleman,” he holloaed out to me as

I shook hands with him. Here as elsewhere there was no breadth of

cultivation. The farm was large, but away from the house, and on it

there were only a few cattle. There can be no cultivation without

irrigation, and no extended irrigation without much labour. Like other

farmers in South Africa jolly old ---- ---- complained that his industry

was sadly crippled by want of labour. Nevertheless jolly old ---- ----

seemed to me to be as well off as a man need be in this world. Perhaps

it was that I envied him his oaks, and his mountains, and his old

wine,--and the remaining oranges.

We visited also a wool-washing establishment which had just been set up

with new fashioned machinery, and then we had seen all that The Paarl

had to shew us in the way of its productions. I should perhaps say that

I visited the stores of a great wine company, at which, in spite of the

low price of the article in which they deal, good dividends are being

paid. At the wine stores I was chiefly interested in learning that a

coloured cooper whom I saw at work on a cask,--a black man,--was earning

£300 a year. I enquired whether he was putting by a fortune and was told

that he and his family lived from hand to mouth and that he frequently

overdrew his wages. “But what does he do with the money?” I asked.

“Hires a carriage on Sundays or holy days and drives his wife about,”

was the reply. The statement was made as though it were a sad thing that

a coloured man should drive his wife about in a carriage while labour

was so scarce and dear, but I was inclined to think that the cooper was

doing well with his money. At any rate it pleased me to learn that a

black man should like to drive his wife about;--and that he should have

the means.

I was very much gratified with The Paarl, thinking it well for a Colony

to have a town and a district so pretty and so prosperous. The

population of the district is about 16,000, and of the town about 8000.

It is, however, much more like a large village than a small town,--the

feeling being produced by the fact that the houses all have gardens

attached to them and are built each after its own fashion and not in

rows.

From this place I and the friend who was travelling with me went on by

cart to Ceres. It would have been practicable to go by railway at any

rate to the Ceres Road Station, but we were anxious to travel over two

of the finest mountain roads in South Africa, Bain’s Kloof, and

Mitchell’s Pass, both of which lay on the road from The Paarl to Ceres.

To do so we passed through Wellington and Wagon-maker’s valley, which

lay immediately under the Hottentot mountains. I have described grapes

and oranges as being the great agricultural industries of The Paarl

district;--but I must not leave the locality without recording the fact

that the making of Cape carts and wagons is a specialty of The Paarl and

of the adjacent country. It is no more possible to ignore the fact in

passing through its streets than it is to ignore the building of

carriages in Long Acre. The country up above The Paarl has been called

Wagon-maker’s valley very far back among the Dutch of the Cape, and the

trade remains through the whole district. And at Wellington there is I

believe the largest orange grove in the country. Time did not allow me

to see it, but I could look down upon it from some of the turns in the

wonderful road by which Mr. Bain made his way through the mountains.

Rising up from Wellington is the Bain’s Kloof road which traverses the

first instalment of the barrier mountains. It is the peculiarity of

these hills that they seem to lie in three folds,--so that when you make

your way over the first you descend into the valley of the Breede

River,--and from thence ascend again on high, to come down into the

valley of Ceres, with the third and last range of the Hottentots still

before you. Bain’s Kloof contains some very grand scenery, especially

quite at the top;--but is not equal either to Montague Pass,--or to

Mitchell’s Pass which we were just about to visit. Descending from this

we crossed at the fords two branches of the Breede River,--at one of

which the bridge was impassable, there never having been a bridge at the

other,--and immediately ascended Mitchell’s Pass. The whole of the

country north and east of Capetown as far as the mountains extend is

made remarkable by these passes which have been carried through the

hills with great engineering skill and at an enormous cost to the

Colony. It has chiefly been done by convict labour,--the labour of its

own convicts--for the Colony, as my reader will I hope remember, has

never received a convict from the Mother Country. But convict labour is

probably dearer than any other. The men certainly are better fed than

they would be if they were free. Houses have to be built for them which

are afterwards deserted. And when the man has been housed and fed he

will not work as a freeman must do if he means to keep his place. But

the roads have been made, and Mitchell’s Pass into the valley of Ceres

is a triumph of engineering skill.

To see it aright the visitor should travel by it from Ceres towards the

Railway. We passed it in both directions and I was never more struck by

the different aspect which the same scenery may bear if your face be

turned one way or the other. The beauty here consists of the colour of

the rocks rather than of the shape of the hills. There is a world of

grey stone around you as you ascend from the valley which becomes almost

awful as you look at it high above your head and then low beneath your

feet. As you begin the ascent from Ceres, near the road but just out of

sight of it, there is a small cataract where the Breede runs deep

through a narrow channel,--so narrow that a girl can jump from rock to

rock. Some years since a girl was about to jump it when her lover,

giving her a hand to help her, pulled her in. She never lived to become

his bride but was drowned there in the deep black waters of the narrow

Breede.

Ceres is one of those village-towns by which this part of the Colony is

populated, and lies in a Rasselas happy valley,--a basin so surrounded

by hills as to shew no easy way out. The real Rasselas valley, however,

was, we suppose, very narrow, whereas this valley is ten miles long by

six broad, and has a mail cart road running through it. It lies on the

direct route from Capetown to Fraserburg, and thence, if you choose to

go that way, to the Diamond Fields and the Orange Free State.

Nevertheless the place looks as though it were, or at least should be,

delightfully excluded from all the world beyond. Here again the houses

stand separate among trees, and the river flowing through it makes

everything green. I was told that Ceres had been lately smitten with too

great a love of speculation, had traded beyond her means, and lost much

of her capital. It was probably the reaction from this condition of

things which produced the peculiarly sleepy appearance which I observed

around me. A billiard room had been lately built which seemed just then

to monopolize the energy of the place. The hotel was clean and

pleasant,--and would have been perfect but for a crowd of joyous

travellers who were going down to see somebody married two or three

hundred miles off. On our arrival we were somewhat angry with the very

civil and considerate landlady who refused to give us all the

accommodation we wanted because she expected twelve other travellers. I

did not believe in the twelve travellers, and muttered something as to

trying the other house even though she devoted to the use of me and my

friend a bedroom which she declared was as a rule kept for ladies. We of

course demanded two rooms,--but as to that she was stern. When a party

of eleven did in truth come I not only forgave her, but felt remorse at

having occupied the best chamber. She was a delightful old lady, a

German, troubled much in her mind at the time by the fact that a

countryman of hers had come to her house with six or seven dozen

canaries and had set up a shop for them in her front sitting room. She

did not know how to get rid of them; and, as all the canaries sang

continuously the whole day through, their presence did impair the

comfort of the establishment. Nevertheless I can safely recommend the

hotel at Ceres as the canaries will no doubt have been all sold before

any reader can act on this recommendation.

The name of Ceres has been given to the valley in a spirit of prophecy

which has yet to be fulfilled. The soil no doubt is fertile, but the

cereal produce is not as yet large. Here, as in so large a proportion of

South Africa, irrigation is needed before wheat can be sown with any

certainty of repaying the sower. But the valley is a smiling spot, green

and sweet among the mountains, and gives assurance by its aspect of

future success and comfort. It has a reputation for salubrity, and

should be visited by those who wish to see the pleasant places of the

Cape Colony.

From Ceres we went back over Mitchell’s Pass to the railway, and so to

Worcester. Worcester is a town containing 4,000 inhabitants, and is the

capital of a “Division.” The whole Colony is portioned out into

Divisions, in each of which there is located a Resident Magistrate or

Commissioner, who lives at the chief town. The Division and the Capital

have, I believe always, the same name. Worcester is conspicuous among

other things for its huge Drotsdy, or Chief Magistrate’s mansion. In the

old Dutch days the Drotsdy was inhabited by the Landroost, whose place

is now filled by the English Commissioner. I grieve to say that with the

spirit of economy which pervades self-governing Colonies in these modern

days, the spacious Drotsdy houses have usually been sold, and the

Commissioners have been made to find houses for themselves,--just as a

police magistrate does in London. When I was at George I could not but

pity the Commissioner who was forced day after day to look at the

beautiful Drotsdy house, embowered by oak trees, which had been

purchased by some rich Dutch farmer. But at Worcester the Drotsdy, which

was certainly larger than any other Drotsdy and apparently more modern,

was still left as a residence for the Commissioner. When I asked the

reason I was told that no one would buy it.

It is an enormous mansion, with an enormous garden. And it is approached

in front through a portico of most pretentious and unbecoming columns.

Nothing could be imagined less like Dutch grandeur or Dutch comfort. The

house, which might almost contain a regiment, certainly contained a

mystery which warranted enquiry. Then I was told the story. One of the

former great Governors, Lord Charles Somerset,--the greatest Governor

the Colony ever had as far as a bold idea of autocratic authority can

make a Governor great,--had wanted a shooting lodge under the mountains,

and had consequently caused the Drotsdy house at Worcester to be

built,--of course at the expense of the Crown. I can never reflect that

such glorious days have gone for ever without a soft regret. There was

something magnificent in those old, brave, unhidden official peculations

by the side of which the strict and straight-laced honesty of our

present Governors looks ugly and almost mean.

Worcester is a broad town with well arranged streets, not fully filled

up but still clean,--without that look of unkempt inchoation which is so

customary in Australian towns and in many of the young municipalities of

the United States. The churches among its buildings are

conspicuous,--those attracting the most notice being the Dutch Reformed

Church, that of the Church of England,--and a church for the use of the

natives in which the services are also in accordance with the Dutch

Reformed religion. The latter is by far the most remarkable, and belongs

to an Institution which, beyond even the large Drotsdy house, makes

Worcester peculiarly worth visiting.

Of the Institution the Revd. Mr. Esselin is the Head, but was not the

founder. There were I think two gentlemen in charge of a native mission

before he came to Worcester;--but the church and schools have obtained

their great success under his care. He is a German clergyman who came

to the place in 1848, and has had charge of the Institution since that

date. That he has done more than any one else as a teacher and preacher

among the coloured races, at any rate in the Western Province, I think

will hardly be denied. But for Lovedale in the East of which I shall

speak further on, I should have claimed this pre-eminence for him as to

all South Africa. This I believe is owing to the fact that under his

guidance the coloured people have been treated as might any poor

community in England or elsewhere in Europe which required instruction

either secular or religious. There has been a distinct absence of the

general missionary idea that coloured people want special protection,

that they should be kept separate, and that they should have provided

for them locations,--with houses and grounds. The ordinary missionary

treatment has I think tended to create a severance between the natives

and the white people who are certainly destined to be their masters and

employers,--at any rate for many years to come; whereas M. Esselin has

from the first striven to send them out into the world to earn their

bread, giving them such education as they have been able to receive up

to the age of fifteen. Beyond that they have not, except on rare

occasions, been kept in his schools.

The material part of the Institution consists of a church, and four

large school-rooms, and of the pastor’s residence. There are also other

school-rooms attached of older date. The church has been built

altogether by contributions from the coloured attendants, and is a

spacious handsome building capable of containing 900 persons. M. Esselin

told me that his ordinary congregation amounted to 500. I went to the

morning service on Sunday, and found the building apparently full. I

think there was no white person there besides the clergyman, my

companion, and myself. As the service was performed in Dutch I did not

stay long, contenting myself with the commencing hymn--which was well

sung, and very long, more Africano. I had at this time been in various

Kafir places of worship and had become used to the Kafir physiognomies.

I had also learned to know the faces of the Hottentots, of old Cape

negroes, of the coloured people from St. Helena, and of the Malays. The

latter are not often Christians; but the races have become so mixed that

there is no rule which can be accepted in that respect. Here there were

no Kafirs, the Kafirs not having as yet made their way in quest of wages

as far west as Worcester.[9] The people were generally Hottentot, half

negro,--with a considerable dash of white blood through them. But in the

church I could see no Europeans. It is a coloured congregation, and

supported altogether by contributions from the coloured people.

The school interested me, however, more than the church. I do not know

that I ever saw school-rooms better built, better kept, or more cleanly.

As I looked at them one after another I remembered what had been the big

room at Harrow in my time, and the single school-room which I had known

at Winchester,--for there was only one; and the school-room, which I had

visited at Eton and Westminster; and I was obliged to own that the

coloured children of Worcester are very much better housed now during

their lessons than were the aristocracy of England forty or fifty years

ago. There has been an improvement since, but still something might be

learned by a visit to Worcester. At Worcester the students pay a penny a

week. At the other schools I have named the charges are something

higher.

There are 500 children at these schools among whom I saw perhaps half a

dozen of white blood. M. Esselin said that he took any who came who

would comply with the general rules of the school. The education of

coloured children is, however, the intention of the place. In addition

to the pence, which do not amount to £100 a year, the Government

grant,--given to this school, as to any other single school kept in

accordance with Government requirements,--amounts to £70 per annum. The

remaining cost, which must be very heavy, is made up out of the funds

raised by the congregation of the church. Under M. Esselin there is but

one European master. The other teachers are all females and all

coloured. There were I think seven of them. The children, as I have said

before, are kept only till they are fifteen and are then sent out to the

work of the world without any pretence of classical scholarship or

ecstatic Christianity.

Having heard of a marvellous hot spring or Geyser in the neighbourhood

of Worcester I had myself driven out to visit it. It is about 8 miles

from the town at, or rather beyond, a marshy little lake called Brand

Vley, the name of which the hot spring bears. It is adjacent to a Dutch

farmhouse to which it belongs, and is to some small extent used for

sanitary purposes. If, as I was told, the waters are peculiarly

serviceable to rheumatic affections, it is a pity that such sanitary

purposes should not be extended, and be made more acceptable to the

rheumatic world at large.

There is but one spring of boiling water. In New Zealand they are very

numerous, bubbling up frequently in close proximity to each other,

sometimes so small and unpronounced as to make it dangerous to walk

among them lest the walker’s feet should penetrate through the grass

into the boiling water. Here the one fountain is very like to some of

the larger New Zealand springs. The water as it wells up is much hotter

than boiling, and fills a round pool which may perhaps have a

circumference of thirty feet. It is of a perfectly bright green colour,

except where the growth of a foul-looking weed defaces the surface. From

this well the still boiling water makes its way under ground, a distance

of a few yards into a much larger pool where it still boils and bubbles,

and still maintains that bright green colour which seems to be the

property of water which springs hot from the bowels of the earth.

At a little distance a house has been built intended to contain baths,

and conduits have been made to bring a portion of the water under cover

for the accommodation of bathers,--while a portion is carried off for

irrigation. We made our way into the house where we found a large Dutch

party, whether of visitors or residents at the house we did not know;

and one of them, a pretty Dutch girl prettily dressed, who could speak

English was kind enough to show us the place. We accompanied her,

though the stench was so foul that it was almost impossible to remain

beneath the roof.[10] It was difficult to conceive how these people

could endure it and live. The girl opened the bath rooms, in which the

so-called baths, constructed on the floor, were dilapidated and ruined.

“They are all just now near broke to pieces,” she said. I asked her what

the patients paid. “Just sixpence a day,” she replied, “because one

cannot in these hard days charge the people too much.” I presume that

the patients were expected to bring their diet with them,--and probably

their beds.

And yet an invaluable establishment might be built at this spot, and be

built in the midst of most alluring scenery! The whole district of which

I am now speaking is among the mountains, and the Worcester railway

station is not more than eight or ten miles distant. The Auckland

Geysers in New Zealand cannot be reached except by long journeys on

horseback, and accommodation for invalids could be procured only at

great cost. But here an establishment of hot baths might be made very

easily. It seemed at any rate to be a pity that such a provision of hot

water should be wasted,--especially if it contain medicinal properties

of value. We were forced to return to Worcester without trying it, as

there were not means of bathing at our command. No possible medicinal

properties would have atoned for the horrors of undressing within that

building.

CHAPTER IX.

ROBERTSON, SWELLENDAM, AND SOUTHEY’S PASS.