CROSSING THE GREAT FISH RIVER--TRAVELLING AT THE CAPE AS IT IS TO BE--
GRAHAMSTOWN, HER EARLY STRUGGLES AND PRESENT PROSPERITY.
Travelling in South Africa is occasionally interrupted by sudden storms
of rain which convert dry beds of streams into roaring torrents, and
perennial rivers into devastating floods.
At the Great Fish River I came on a specimen of the mighty power of
water in the ruins of a splendid bridge. The great floods of the
previous year had carried one-half of it away. The other half--denuded
of its flooring and all its woodwork, and standing out against the sky a
mere skeleton of iron girders--still connected the left bank of the
river with the massive tower of masonry in the middle. From this tower
to the other bank was a gulf impassable to horse or cart. The great
river itself flows in a deep channel. It was still somewhat flooded.
From its high banks we saw it roaring more than forty feet beneath the
level of the bridge. It was clear to the most ignorant eye that fording
the stream was impossible. I looked inquiringly at the driver.
"You'll have to go over on the rope," he said, with a sardonic smile.
"The rope?" said I, with an earnest gaze at the impassable gulf.
"Yes, the rope. There's a man crossing _now_."
I looked again, and observed something like a cobweb on the sky between
the central pier and the opposite bank. There was a black spot that
resembled a spider moving slowly along the cobweb. It was a fellow-man!
"And the mails and the luggage?" I asked.
"Go over same way."
"The cart and horses?"
"Don't go over at all. Get fresh ones on other side. There was once a
box on the river for hauling them over, but it's been damaged."
The process of crossing was begun at once.
The driver and some workmen shouldered the bags and baggage, while the
passengers--of whom there were three--followed to the central pier.
To men with heads liable to giddiness the passage from the bank to the
pier would have been trying, for, the floor having been carried away, we
had to walk on the open girders, looking down past our feet to the
torrent as to a miniature Niagara. The distance of forty feet seemed
changed to four hundred from that position. Fortunately none of us were
afflicted with giddy heads.
The flat space on the tower-top gained, we found two workmen engaged in
tying our baggage to a little platform about four feet square, which was
suspended by ropes to a couple of little wheels. These wheels travelled
on a thick cable,--the spider web before referred to. The contrivance
was hauled to and fro by a smaller line after the manner of our rocket
apparatus for rescuing life at sea, and, when we passengers afterwards
sat down on it with nothing but the tight grip of our hands on an iron
bar to save us from falling into the flood below, we flattered ourselves
that we had attained to something resembling the experience of those who
have been saved from shipwreck.
Many people hold the erroneous doctrine that travellers and traffic
create railways, whereas all experience goes to prove that railways
create travellers and traffic. Of course at their first beginnings
railways were formed by the few hundreds of travellers who were chiefly
traffickers, but no sooner were they called into being than they became
creative,--they turned thousands of stay-at-homes into travellers; they
rushed between the great centres of industry, sweeping up the people in
their train, and, with a grand contempt of littleness in every form,
caught up the slow-going cars and coaches of former days in their huge
embrace, and whirled them along in company with any number you chose of
tons and bales of merchandise; they groaned up the acclivities of
Highland hills, and snorted into sequestered glens, alluring, nay,
compelling, the lonely dwellers to come out, and causing hosts of men,
with rod and gun and hammer and botanical box, to go in; they scouted
the old highroads, and went, like mighty men of valour, straight to the
accomplishment of their ends, leaping over and diving under each other,
across everything, through anything, and sticking at nothing, until over
lands where, fifty years ago, only carts and coaches used to creep and
poor pedestrians were wont to plod, cataracts of travellers now flow
almost without intermission night and day--the prince rolling in his
royal bedroom from palace to palace; the huntsman flying to the field,
with his groom and horse in a box behind him; the artisan travelling in
comfort to his daily toil, with his tools and a mysterious tin of
victuals at his feet; thousands on thousands of busy beings hurrying
through the land where one or two crawled before; shoals of foreigners
coming in to get rid of prejudices and add "wrinkles to their horns,"
while everything is cheapened, and, best of all, knowledge is increased
by this healthy--though, it may be, rather rapid--moving about of men
and women.
Thus railways have created travellers and traffic. But they have done
much more; they have turned road-side inns into "grand hotels"; they
have clambered up on the world's heights, and built palatial abodes on
the home of the mountain-hare and the eagle, where weak and worn
invalids may mount without exertion, and drink in health and happiness
with the freshest air of heaven.
The principle cannot be disputed that the creation of railways between
great centres of industry has a direct tendency to stimulate that
industry and to create other subsidiary industries with their travellers
on business and travellers for pleasure. If railways ran over the
Karroo, adventurous capitalists would come from all ends of the earth to
see it; they would buy land when they found a convenient mode of running
their produce to the markets of the large towns and the ports on the
coast; they would start ostrich farms and breed horses, and grow wool,
and build mighty dams, and sink artesian wells, as the French have done
with some success I believe in Algiers. If railways were run up to the
diamond-fields, adventurous diggers would crowd in hundreds to the great
pit of Kimberley; some would succeed; those who failed would gravitate
into the positions for which they were fitted by nature in a land where
the want of labourers is a confessedly perplexing evil. The population
would not only be increased by much new blood from without, but by that
which results from prosperity and wealth within; off shoot, and as yet
unimagined, enterprises would probably become numerous; additional lines
would be pushed on into the gold regions; all sorts of precious gems and
minerals, including "black diamonds," are known to be abundant in the
Transvaal, and,--but why go on? Those who agree with me understand
these matters so well as to require no urging. As for those who don't
agree:
"The man convinced against his will
Is of the same opinion still."
What I have written is for the benefit of those who know little or
nothing about South Africa. I will only add to it my own conviction,
[see note 1], that the day is not far distant when a Cape man will
breakfast one morning in Capetown, and dine next day at Port Elizabeth,
(510 miles), run on to Grahamstown, (84 miles), to sup with a friend
there take the early train to Graaff-Reinet, (160 miles), so as to have
time for luncheon and a chat with a friend or relation before the
starting of the night train for Kimberley, (280 miles), where he has to
assist at the marriage of a sister with a diamond-digger who intends to
spend his honeymoon at the Cliff Hotel amid the romantic scenery of the
Catberg, and finish off with a week or two at Snowy Retreat, a
magnificent hotel, (yet to be), on the tiptop of the Compassberg
mountain.
This brings me back to the point at which I diverged--the Great Fish
River, which takes its rise in the Sneewberg range.
What tremendous floods are implied in the carrying away of this bridge!
What superabundance of water in that so-called land of drought! What
opportunities for engineering skill to catch and conserve the water, and
turn the "barren land" into fruitful fields! Don't you see this,
Periwinkle? If not, I will say no more, for, according to the proverb,
"a nod is as good as a wink to the blind horse."
Having crossed the bridge in safety we continued our journey in the new
vehicle with fresh horses, and reached Grahamstown at four in the
afternoon.
Between sixty and seventy years is not a great age for a city. Indeed,
as cities go, Grahamstown may be called quite infantile. Nevertheless
this youthful city has seen much rough work in its brief career.
Grahamstown was born in smoke, and cradled in war's alarms. It began
life in 1812, at which time the thieving and incorrigible Kafirs were
driven across the Great Fish River--then the colonial boundary--by a
strong force of British and Burgher troops under Colonel Graham. During
these disturbed times it was established as headquarters of the troops
which guarded the frontier.
When the infant was seven years old its courage and capacity were
severely put to the proof. In the year 1818-19--just before the arrival
of the "British settlers,"--it was deemed necessary to interfere in the
concerns of contending Kafir chiefs, and to punish certain tribes for
their continued depredations on the colony. For these ends, as well as
the recovery of stolen cattle, a strong force was sent into Kafirland.
While the troops were absent, a body of Kafirs assembled in the bush of
the Great Fish River, from which they issued to attack Grahamstown.
They were led by a remarkable man named Makana. He was also styled the
Lynx.
This Kafir, although not a chief, rose to power by the force of a
superior intellect and a strong will. He was well-known in Grahamstown,
having been in the habit of paying it frequent visits, on which
occasions he evinced great curiosity on all subjects, speculative as
well as practical.
Makana appears to have been an apt scholar. Being a man of eloquence as
well as originality, he soon acquired ascendency over most of the great
chiefs of Kafirland, was almost worshipped by the people, who
acknowledged him a warrior-chief as well as a prophet, and collected
around him a large body of retainers. It has been thought by some that
Makana was a "noble" savage, and that although he imposed on the
credulity of his countrymen, his aim was to raise himself to sovereign
power in order to elevate the Kafir race nearer to a level with
Europeans.
But whatever be the truth regarding his objects, the invasion of
Kafirland by the white men gave Makana an opportunity of which he was
not slow to avail himself. His followers had suffered, with others,
from the proceedings of the troops, and his soul was fired with a desire
to be revenged and "drive the white men into the sea,"--a favourite
fate, in the Kafir mind, reserved for the entire colonial family!
Makana was general enough to perceive that nothing effective could be
accomplished by the mere marauding habits to which his countrymen were
addicted. He had learned that "union is strength," and, making use of
his spirit-rousing power of eloquence, went about endeavouring to
concentrate the aims of the savages and to direct their energies. In
these efforts he was in some measure successful. He pretended to have
received heavenly revelations, and to have been sent by the great spirit
to avenge their wrongs; predicted certain success to the enterprise if
his followers only yielded implicit obedience to his commands, and thus
managed to persuade most of the various clans to unite their forces for
a simultaneous attack on the headquarters of the British troops. He
told them that he had power to call from their graves the spirits of
their ancestors to assist them in the war, and confidently affirmed that
it was decreed that they were to drive the white men across the
Zwartkops River into the ocean, after which they should "sit down and
eat honey!"
Early on the morning of the 22nd April 1819 this singular man led his
force of 9000 sable warriors towards Grahamstown, and the affair had
been conducted with so great secrecy that the few troops there were
almost taken by surprise.
Enemies in the camp are always to be more dreaded than open foes.
Makana had taken care to provide himself with a spy and informer, in the
person of Klaas Nuka, the Government Interpreter to Colonel Wilshire,
who was at that time in command of the troops. Three days previous to
the attack, this villain--well aware of Makana's approach--informed the
Colonel that Kafirs had been seen in the precisely opposite direction.
The unsuspecting Colonel at once fell into the trap. He detached the
light company of the 38th regiment to patrol in the direction pointed
out. Thus was the garrison of the town, which consisted of 450 European
soldiers and a small body of mounted Hottentots, weakened to the extent
of 100 men.
On that same April morning Colonel Wilshire was quietly inspecting a
detachment of the mounted Cape Corps, when the Hottentot Captain Boezac,
chief of a band of buffalo-hunters, informed him that he had just
received information of Makana's advance. The Colonel, mounted on a
fleet charger, at once rode off with an escort of ten men to
reconnoitre. He came unexpectedly on the enemy in a ravine not far from
the town. They were taking a rest before rushing to the assault, and so
sure were these poor savages of their irresistible power, that thousands
of their wives and children followed them with their mats, pots, and
cooking-jars ready to take possession of the place!
Colonel Wilshire retreated instantly, and there was need for haste. The
Kafirs pursued him so closely that he reached his troops only a few
minutes before them.
The small band of defenders more than made up for the difference in
numbers, by the deadly precision of their fire. The Kafirs came on in a
dense sable mass, led by their various chiefs, and generalled by the
Lynx, who had impressed his followers with the belief that the muskets
of the foe were charged only with "hot water!"
The field pieces of the troops were loaded with shrapnel shells, which
at the first discharge mowed long lanes in the advancing masses, while
musketry was discharged with deadly effect. But Kafirs are stern and
brave warriors. On they came with wild cries, sending a shower of short
spears, (assagais), before them, which, however, fell short. Regardless
of the havoc in their ranks, they still came on, and the foremost men
were seen to break short their assagais, with the evident intention of
using them more effectively as daggers in hand-to-hand conflict. This
was deliberately done by Makana's orders, and showed his wisdom, for,
with the great bodily strength, size, and agility of the Kafirs, and
their overwhelming numbers, the attack, if promptly and boldly made at
close quarters, could not have failed of success.
At this moment the Hottentot Captain Boezac created a diversion. He
rushed with his band of a hundred and thirty men to meet the foe. These
buffalo-hunters had among them some of the coolest and best marksmen in
the country. Singling out the boldest of those who advanced, and were
encouraging their followers in the final charge, Boezac and his men laid
low many of the bravest chiefs and warriors. This gave the Kafirs a
decided check. The troops cheered and fired with redoubled speed and
energy. Lieutenant Aitcheson of the Artillery plied the foe with a
withering fire of grapeshot. Boezac and his hunters, turning their
flank, pressed them hotly in rear, and the Hottentot cavalry charged.
The Kafirs recoiled, though some of the boldest, scorning to give in,
rushed madly among the soldiers, and perished fighting. Then a wild
panic and a total rout ensued, and the great host was scattered like
chaff, and driven into the ravines.
Brief though this fight had been, the carnage among the Kafirs was
terrible. One who was an eye-witness of the fight tells us that the
bodies of about 2000 Kafir warriors strewed the field of battle, and
that many others perished of their wounds in the rivulet leading down to
the Cape Corps' barracks. Nuka, the faithless interpreter, was shot,
but Makana escaped.
A few months afterwards, however, he delivered himself up, and the other
chiefs sued for peace. With Makana's surrender the war of 1819 ended.
The Lynx himself was sent prisoner to Robben Island. After nearly two
years' confinement he attempted to escape in a boat with some other
prisoners, but the boat was upset in the surf on Blueberg beach, and
Makana was drowned, while his companions escaped.
As Grahamstown grew in years and size, she bore her part well, both in
the suffering and the action which the colony has been called on to
endure and undertake, during all the vicissitudes of its career--in
peace and in war. What that part has been would take a volume to tell.
She is now a large and beautiful town--the capital of the Eastern
Province--situated on the slopes of the Zuurberg range, near the head
waters of the Kowie River, 1760 feet above the sea, and thirty-six miles
distant therefrom. She is also the focus where all the roads from the
interior converge to enter the only available gap through the
mountains--Howison's Poort.
Very pleasant to dwell in is this "City of the Settlers"--_alias_ the
"city of gardens," with its agreeable society, fresh breezes, and
charming situation; its "twenty miles" of well-gravelled and tree-lined
streets; its handsome shops and stores, its fine public buildings--
notably the Cathedral, and the Albany Hall--its three great reservoirs,
with their "twenty-four million gallons" of water, and its "twelve
miles" of main pipes, by means of which its inhabitants are watered.
But I must not linger in Grahamstown now. When there in the body, I was
sorely tempted to do so, too long, by the kindness of friends and the
salubrity of the weather. Adieu, Grahamstown! thou art a green spot in
memory, as well as in reality.
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Note 1. The map of the present railways on page vi will enable the
reader to judge how far this has been realised.