full of foolish emotion, too glad for speech; and the brightening
intelligence of her countenance was curious to note. ‘I thought you
didn’t care for each other,’ she said archly; ‘but,’ she added drily,
‘I suppose I was mistaken.’
‘Don’t suppose anything, Lizzie, there’s a good girl. But let me know
when I may see her,’ I replied earnestly.
‘All right—I understand—I’ll let you know,’ she said, nodding her
head vigorously with an air of mystery and importance; and then I went,
not to have a cigar with Don, but to walk about the dark garden alleys,
alone with my thoughts.
Our patient improved steadily all night, so much so that the family
assembled at breakfast as usual. Then a great hunt was made for the
snake (at Lizzie’s instigation, on the children’s behalf), which lasted
a long while and was wholly unsuccessful. Then church-time came, and
the buggy was ordered to take the servants and the little girls to
church; and the hot day wore on. Towards evening, as I was loafing
about the garden, Lizzie came running across the croquet lawn—where
the balls and mallets were still lying about as we had left them,
though it _was_ Sunday—and told me that Rachel was up and dressed, and
that she chanced to be alone in the drawing-room.
I stole in to her in the twilight with my heart beating fast; and for a
few moments she did not notice me. She was standing by the open piano,
small and white and weak, with a shawl wrapped round her, gazing at the
silent key-board, with tears running down her face. No one could look
less like Delaroche’s Marie Antoinette than she looked then.
I took three long steps and reached her side; she gave a great start
and turned round to meet me. ‘I shall not again be able to play to you
for a long while!’ she said, looking up at me for sympathy in this new
trouble with her soft wet eyes.
When she said that—instead of making me the little speech I had
expected, thanking me for saving her life—I put out my arms. And
though we said no word, we forgave one another.
And how pleased Lizzie was when she saw the last of the Lindsays
transferred to my unworthy self.
IRRIGATION IN SOUTH AFRICA.
The irrigation of lands by water-channels connected with rivers is
accepted as an important means of agricultural development in countries
subject to protracted droughts, where rain falls only at distant and
uncertain intervals. The irrigation caused by the periodic overflow
of the Nile is a noted case in point. But for the annual overflow,
temporarily deluging the land for a foot or two, Lower Egypt would be
barren instead of a scene of fertility. In a country like England,
where there is, generally speaking, too much moisture, the chief
consideration is to dry the land sufficiently by draining, instead of
flooding it with water; the lesson being thus taught that as regards
the culture of soils every country must act according to circumstances.
In India, also in Ceylon, there are some remarkable instances of the
value of irrigation, and in these countries much more of the same kind
requires to be done to avert the horrors of lengthened drought and
famine. On this subject, we propose to say a few words regarding large
tracts in Southern Africa, which are very much in the condition of
those parts of Egypt fertilised by the waters of the Nile.
We speak first of the river Oliphant, which falls into the sea on
the west of Cape Colony, and which has various important affluents.
The land through which these streams flow is of a most desolate
character—broad belts of sand, interspersed with low scrubby bush,
swelling into moderate hills, with rugged mountains for a background.
Upon the country in the lower part of the Oliphant River rains have
no appreciable effect; but when the soil is thoroughly soaked by the
overflow of the streams, after the periodical inundations, and then
covered by the deposit brought down by the floods from the upper
districts, its fertility is wonderful. The average yield is more than
a hundredfold. The quantity of land of this character along the Lower
Oliphant alone was estimated by the government surveyor in 1859 as
eight thousand seven hundred acres.
Thus, like Egypt with its Nile inundations, those districts of Cape
Colony—otherwise almost barren—are annually fertilised. But unlike
Egypt, the country is unprovided with any means for utilising to the
full extent the advantages thus conferred. No appliances are prepared
for the purpose of storing the water thus brought down; no artificial
channels are cut for directing it and spreading it over a large area;
and when the short rainy season has passed, the inhabitants are content
to sit down and wait for the next ‘periodical.’
A characteristic story is told by a colonist who visited the locality
some years ago: ‘I strolled along the banks of the river, and was much
struck with the extremely fertile appearance of the soil, and the very
little which had been done for turning it to account. It seemed as
if the Creator had done everything for the country, and man nothing.
Scarcely any rain had fallen for some time past, and the river had
not overflowed its banks for more than a year. The stocks of grain
and vegetables were getting very low. The farmer was complaining much
about the long protracted drought; and when he had finished, I took the
liberty of pointing out how he could, by leading out the stream for the
purposes of irrigation, or by fixing a pump to be propelled by wind, on
the river’s bank, secure an abundant supply independent of the weather.
He seemed to listen with some interest to the development of my plans;
and I began to hope that he had decided upon doing something to relieve
himself of the difficulty; but eventually, after turning round and
scrutinising the whole horizon in the direction of the river’s source,
as if in search of some favourable symptom, he yawned heavily, and
merely observed in Dutch: “Oh, it will rain some day!”’
Of the Zout or Holle River, the most northerly of the tributaries of
the Oliphant, Mr P. Fletcher, the government surveyor, says: ‘By its
arteries it brings together the rich karroo soil of the Hantam and
Hardeveld and the rich sandy soil of Bushmanland. The best crop of oats
I have seen in Africa was in the deposit of this “periodical.” Other
portions are of a very saline character. At a rough guess, I believe
that in many spots a dam might be constructed three or four feet high,
and a couple of hundred feet long, which would flood several hundred
acres, thereby rendering them richly arable. I have measured some of
last year’s “slick” two feet deep; this, of course, was under the most
favourable circumstances; but by the use of dams, the deposit might
be regulated, the fresh slick might be allowed to deposit to its full
extent, so that in a few years the lands would be out of the reach of
ordinary floods, if desirable that they should be so. By this system
of irrigation, even the most saline basin would become available to
agriculture, and about nine or ten thousand acres on the banks of this
one periodical river might be brought under cultivation, which would
even excel the richest soil in the “Boland” (upper country).
‘Several tributaries to the Zout River have extensive karroo deposits;
some of their basins reaching to nearly one mile in breadth, and their
fall being so little, that, standing in their delta, a person cannot
sometimes judge with the eye which direction water would flow. Their
water-course, which winds through the middle of the deposit, is always
well defined, and shews a longitudinal section of the plain. Except in
ordinary heavy rains, those channels carry off all the water without
overflowing, while a few pounds would leave them in a condition to
produce fifty, eighty, or even one hundred-fold. Such is the nature
of several tributaries of the Hartebeeste River. I have not seen the
latter, but have been more than once informed that it has in some
places a deposit of five miles in breadth, that when it does overflow,
there is abundance of grass for all the cattle that visit that quarter.
If this description of the Hartebeeste River be correct, the products
it may be able to yield either in the form of grain or pasture for
cattle would appear to most people fabulous. We have here, and not here
only, but over an extensive portion of the whole colony, the richest
soil in the world lying at present for two-thirds of the year utterly
unoccupied, waste and worthless.’
The Hartebeeste is the last principal tributary, from the south,
of the Orange River, and rises in the same chain of hills as the
Tanqua, one of the tributaries of the Oliphant—namely, the Roggeveld
Berg, receiving affluent streams from the south-east and south-west,
draining in fact nearly the whole of the central northern part of the
colony. This district is at present almost neglected. The chain of
hills in fact, which runs from east to west across the centre of the
colony, cuts off the northern half from the mass of the colonists,
notwithstanding the fact that here is the most fertile land in South
Africa.
The Zak, as the upper part of the Hartebeeste is called, is another
instance of the wonderful effects upon the soil of periodical
inundations. The following particulars are given in Mr Noble’s book
on _Cape Colony_. In the dry season these streams are comparatively
small, and often a mere succession of pools; but after rains they run
briskly, and where level with the banks, overflow and soak the adjacent
flats. In many places so very even is the country that they may be
said to have no defined channel, and form extensive sheets of water
a few inches deep. The Zak River at two hundred and fifty miles from
its source thus varies in breadth from one to four miles; and further
on from Onderste Doorns to Leeuwenkop it widens as much as ten miles.
Along its course is the most valuable part of Great Bushmanland. Water
can be obtained in its bed even when dry, and its valley generally
affords pasture to cattle during both the winter and summer months.
After floods, there are extensive alluvial bottoms on each side of
it, where agricultural products of every kind might be raised. These
are now commonly used by the squatters as sowing lands, without any
labour or trouble beyond scratching in the seed. One overflowing of the
soil is sufficient to insure a crop even although no rain should fall
afterwards. The returns are something marvellous, especially those of
wheat.
In 1859 the number of Europeans settled on the irrigable portion of
the Oliphant was estimated at one hundred and twenty souls. When there
was an overflow of the river, they were active enough; day and night
they worked incessantly; the sun and the moon alike witnessed that they
did not eat the bread of idleness. But talk to them of improvements in
the way of artificial irrigation by dams or pumps, and they ridiculed
the idea. Such was the description given at that time; and such, with
very little alteration, is an accurate statement of affairs now. The
population of Calvinia and Clanwilliam, the two districts drained by
the Oliphant River, was in 1875, 15,856, of whom only 2046 were classed
as ‘urban.’ These figures of course include the natives as well as
the settlers; but they represent an enormous advance in population
since 1859. It is probable that if measures were taken to secure the
permanence of the advantages which are now only temporarily enjoyed,
the population and wealth of the districts would rapidly increase.
Of the fertility of the soil without any attempt at cultivation,
there are abundant evidences. A sandy plain apparently as barren as
the Sahara itself is suddenly transformed into an expanse of waving
grass for hundreds of miles, so soon as the annual rains occur. This
‘twaa-grass’ or Bushman grass is an excellent fodder for horses and
cattle, which thrive and grow fat upon it in a few weeks: even when
dried up in the winter it is better feeding than any available green
pasture. The natives scratch in their seeds and leave them to ripen,
which they do without the least attention, and whether the country is
visited by drought after the summer rains or not.
The principal drawback to the complete cultivation of the lands is
the absence of roads or water-carriage. The Orange River, though a
magnificent stream, and navigable in certain parts of its course, is
blocked by narrow gorges, shallows, falls, and other impediments, and
is useless as a water-way. In time probably, it may be made available,
by means of inter-communicating canals to enable the rapids, &c. to
be passed; but at present the community must look to the extension of
roads and railways for the means of fully utilising the produce which
would be raised if a ready market could be found. In this respect a
decided step has already been taken. A railway of ninety miles in
length has been constructed from Port Nolloth on the north-west coast,
in Namaqualand, to the upper mining districts, its terminus being at
Ookiep. On the most difficult portion of the route the cost has been
very little more than a thousand pounds a mile for this distance;
and it might be extended further eastward at a still less cost,
to the great advantage of the country drained by the Hartebeeste.
Another railway, or a good system of roadways, is wanted to open up
the Oliphant water-shed; and with these means of carrying away the
produce—all that is necessary—the immense natural resources of the
district would be fully developed. In the Fraserburgh district, where
the Upper Zak river rises, substantial houses, springs, wells, and dams
have already been constructed, and plantations and gardens are being
extended; but then from Fraserburgh excellent roads run east and west;
and the railway to Cape Town comes as far as Beaufort, situated sixty
or seventy miles south-east.
Finally, in Great Bushmanland, diamonds have been found; but there are
far greater and more permanent sources of wealth than diamond-fields.
Sheep and oxen can be raised, and their wool and hides turned to
profitable account. Wheat, grapes, and vegetables of all kinds will
grow in abundance. In fact, for pastoral and agricultural qualities
the country is unsurpassed. Here then is a field for the enterprising
emigrant from our own country. Capital alone is wanting for its
development; and capital however small, judiciously expended, must
be at once remunerative. We are glad to be able to add that an Act
has been passed by the Cape Parliament for granting facilities to
landowners for obtaining by loan or otherwise the means of improving
their lands by irrigation or other similar permanent works.
Other districts prove how the colonists have succeeded in turning what
was, more really than Great Bushmanland or the Lower Oliphant can be
said to be, a ‘howling desert’ into valuable farms, by opening up
springs, making dams, forming irrigation channels, and planting trees
where no trees existed, and where water was only an occasional and very
ephemeral visitor. There is no reason indeed why the ‘Nile lands of
South Africa’ should not rival in productiveness the great ‘world’s
wonder’ in the north of the continent; after which, from natural
circumstances, they have been not inaptly named.
ALBATROSS NOTES.
Far out in the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, often two thousand miles
and more from the nearest land, sails the albatross in its graceful
and powerful flight; now following in the wake of the ship, to catch
any chance morsel that may have fallen from the cook’s waste-basket;
now skimming along the water, and occasionally snapping up some small
ocean-waif from the crest of a wave; or with a few vigorous strokes of
its broad wings, gliding easily round and round the vessel, though she
may be going at the rate of a dozen knots an hour.
No passenger to southern lands can have failed to note the
extraordinary powers of flight of this magnificent bird, and the
wonderful ease with which it sweeps for some minutes together through
the air on expanded motionless pinions, rising and falling slightly,
and taking advantage of the gravity of its own body and the angle at
which the wind strikes its feathered sails to prolong the course of
its flight with the least possible effort. Seldom, except in very
calm weather, may it be seen to alight upon the water, from which it
rises with difficulty, running for some distance along the surface.
The ends of the wings clear of the water, it turns towards the breeze,
and rises into the air in a gentle curve, in exactly the same manner
as a paper kite. That the albatross follows a ship for many days in
succession, sleeping at night upon the water, and coming up with her in
the morning, there can be no doubt. We have watched them for several
consecutive evenings during fine weather, in the latitude of the
trade-winds, settling down on the water at sundown, and preening their
feathers, until they became mere specks in the field of the telescope;
but they were with us again in the morning soon after sunrise; some
strangers among them perhaps, but several which, from some peculiarity
of marking, we knew to be our companions of the day before. In one
instance, a conspicuous mark had been made by a pistol-bullet in the
wing of an old brown-headed and curiously pied bird, by which he could
be identified beyond doubt. The second or third flight-feather had
been shot away, leaving a clearly defined gap in the wing as it came
between the light and the eye; and this bird followed us for three days
after having been fired at, though we had been sailing an average of
nearly eight knots an hour. One of the most striking examples of their
endurance on the wing, however, is the fact, which we have more than
once observed, that the same birds which had been unweariedly following
us in the day, accompanied us throughout the whole of the succeeding
night, as could be easily verified by the light of the moon.
It is a not uncommon practice with passengers to endeavour to catch
these noble birds by a bait fastened to a hook and buoyed with corks.
That such a cruel practice should ever be tolerated, even ‘to relieve
the monotony of the voyage,’ is to us inconceivable, and can only be
accounted for as the last resource of a brutally morbid fancy.
The albatross is essentially the scavenger of the ocean, and we doubt
whether it makes any attempt to capture living fish unless when very
hungry, for we have seen flying-fish rising in quantities while the
albatrosses made no attempt to catch them. That the nautilus is
sometimes eaten is evident, for we have taken it from the stomach; but
the chief food is dead fish and other refuse. In the South Atlantic
we passed the dead body of a small whale, on and around which were at
least a hundred of these birds, either gorged or gorging themselves
with the blubber; and guns discharged at them failed to induce many of
them to take wing. We had on one occasion an opportunity of observing
how rapidly these birds collect about a carcase. Like vultures or
ravens, when an animal dies they discover it very speedily, and flock
to the scene of the banquet. On a hot still evening in the South
Atlantic a horse died, and when cast overboard next morning, the
gases already formed by decomposition enabled it to float. The few
albatrosses in our company immediately settled down upon it; but in
less than an hour we could see through the telescope a great cloud
of the birds on the sea and hovering round the unexpected prize, the
almost entire absence of wind having kept us within two or three
miles of the spot. It may be that the (usually) white plumage enables
stragglers, far out of human ken, to see their fellows gathering in the
neighbourhood of food; others again from still more remote distances
may see them, and so on; until stragglers over hundreds of miles of
space may be gathered to one common rendezvous.
The greater part of the year is passed by them at a distance from
land; but they flock to barren and almost inaccessible rocks to breed.
There the female lays her one dirty-white egg in a slight depression
upon the bare earth, the sitters being frequently so close together
that it is difficult to walk without touching them. They are totally
indifferent to the presence of man, and merely indicate their resent of
his intrusion into their nursery by snapping at him as he passes. The
parents share the labour of incubation and rearing the young, and when
this is over, they all go seawards together, and silence and solitude
once more reign where all had lately been clamorous and busy life.
The range of the albatross is very considerable, and it may be met
with to the extreme limits of the temperate zones of both hemispheres,
in the South Atlantic and North and South Pacific Oceans, both at sea
and near headlands and isolated rocks. During the months of May and
June in the northern, and the months of November and December in the
southern hemisphere these rocks are tenanted by countless numbers of
albatrosses and their smaller brown relations, known to sailors under
the name of ‘Mollymawks.’ No one who has visited an albatross nursery
will readily forget the scene. Placidly sitting upon the one precious
egg is the parent, male or female as the case may be; and as far as the
eye can reach over the surface, the rock is crowded with the sitters,
indifferent to the presence of the human visitor. They know nothing
of man’s destructive nature, and they fear him not. Many of them have
never seen that curious biped before, and those which have chanced
to see him on his ships and to have suffered from his guns, are more
likely to have then regarded him as a part of the white-sailed monster
which traversed their ocean domain, than a separate creature; and fail
to recognise him as he ‘molests their ancient solitary reign.’
While viewing the interminable white forms thus crouching upon the
earth, above wheel in graceful circles hundreds of their mates, sending
congratulations in a hoarse piping voice to those beneath on the
progress of the all-important business of rearing the family. Here and
there sit callow uncouth nestlings; and from seawards come the parents
to discharge the contents of their maws into the insatiable stomachs of
the expectant young. Now and again one of the ‘bread-winners’ of the
family swoops past the observer on its twelve feet of outspread wings,
so near that he feels the shock of the divided air, and can realise
the immense strength of the muscles which propel the creature, who,
however, is a coward in spite of his size; for the skua gull, a bird
many times smaller than himself, will often attack him and compel him
to disgorge the product of his last foraging expedition.
As soon as the albatross has reared its young, a penguin frequently
takes possession of the deserted nest, and in the very cradle of a bird
destined to traverse the ocean on unwearied wings lies a nestling whose
wings will never develop into anything more than a pair of paddles!
Great numbers of albatrosses are caught by the natives of the North
Pacific coasts, who use the inflated intestines as floats for their
fishing-nets, and barter the hollow wing-bones with traders for the
European markets—these bones being familiar to us as pipe-stems. The
large webbed feet when inflated make good tobacco-pouches. We have
also seen the quills of the flight-feathers converted into floats for
roach-fishing; and many a Thames angler patiently watches from his
chair in the punt a feather which has probably helped to carry its
former owner over the length and breadth of the Pacific.
A NOVEL LIFE-BOAT.