SOUTH AFRICAN
ANECDOTES.
COLLECTED FROM VARIOUS
SOURCES, ORAL AND
WRITTEN.
_By_ A. ELLMAN.
Johannesburg:
“Transvaal Leader,” corner of Harrison and
Anderson Streets.
1914.
South African Anecdotes.
_Collected from various sources, Oral and Written._
_By_ A. ELLMAN.
Some forty years ago a schoolmaster was imported from Holland to teach
in the Zoutpansberg District. To their horror, the elders of the
district one day discovered that the children were taught that the
world turns on its own axis. The elders met and consulted regarding
these new doctrines, and finally agreed to refer the subject to the
minister, who requested the schoolmaster to explain. The schoolmaster
said: “I teach them about the heavenly bodies, and that the earth
revolves round the sun.” The minister answered: “Well, this may be
true, no doubt--and what the earth does in Holland, but it would be
more convenient at present if in the Zoutpansberg district you would
allow the sun still to go round the earth for a few years longer. We do
not like sudden changes in such matters.”
* * * * *
During the war, some troops marching to the relief of Kimberley halted
at Hanover Road after a weary day’s marching. “Call this Hanover Road!”
exclaimed a Tommy. “I call this h--l of a road.”
* * * * *
In the early days at Barberton there was a digger well known as
“Charlie the Reefer.” He was a successful digger, and soon after his
arrival at De Kaap he came into town with a bagful of nuggets, which
he exchanged for sovereigns at the Bank. He then proceeded to the
Landdrost’s office and said to the astonished official that he wished
to deposit ten pounds.
“What is that for?” asked the official.
“To pay my fine.”
Nothing was known of such a fine at the Landdrost’s office. “Oh, that’s
all right,” exclaimed the digger, “I am a careful man; I always pay my
fines in advance. I’m off on a spree, and am sure to get run in, and it
makes me feel more comfortable to know that the fine is provided for.”
* * * * *
When Sir Charles Warren first arrived at the Cape, he had with him a
silver presentation plate for Major (afterwards Sir) Owen Lanyon. The
Custom House officials insisted on opening the package containing the
plate, though the invoice stated exactly its nature. Sir Charles says
(in “On the Veld in the Seventies”) that he felt sure they would spoil
it with their rough hands, so he said he would rather knock it into the
sea than have any more bother with it, and gave it a good kick. This
had the desired effect on the Custom House officers. They gave in at
once, saying it could be of no value if he could kick it; and so he got
it through without any injury.
* * * * *
Many years ago church services used to be held at Barkley in the
canteen, and on one occasion, in the middle of the sermon, the preacher
noticed that several of those present were smiling. He looked round,
and found he had displaced a blackboard put up as a screen, thereby
disclosing the following notice:--“Free-and-Easy to-night. Gags free.”
* * * * *
There was once in the Cape an old miser named Van der Pool. The best
of wines were to be found in his cellars, but no one ever tasted them.
He hated spinach, but since spinach grew in his garden he used to eat
it, being loath to waste it. On one occasion his black cook, Saartje,
brought him a big dish of spinach, rotten with long keeping. What then
happened is given by Miss Juta (“The Cape Peninsula”) in Saartje’s own
words. “Saartje,” say ole Bass, very gentle, soft like, “go fetch me
from die cellar a best big bottle of ole Pontac.”
I run fetch ole Pontac. Ole Basses, he put die bottle just so in front
of him. “Now,” he say, “Saartje, you trek.” I trek no ferder dan die
door keyhole. I see ole Bass pur out best ole Pontac, and put die
spinach in front, too. “Now,” he say, “Hendrik, you see dis fine,
werry, werry, fine ole Pontac, you eat dis verdomte spinach first, den
you drink dis wine, wot’s been standing, Hendrik, kerl, for werry many
years.” Ole Bass, he eat, eat fast as I nebber seen him before; den,
when all spinach done, ole Bass he pour die wine back in die bottle. He
laf, laf, and he say, putting his finger to his nose: “Hi! Hendrick, I
fool you dis time, I think, fool you pretty well.”
* * * * *
President Kruger could enjoy a joke, even though directed against
himself. Volksraad Committees often met at the Presidency, on which
occasions they were regaled with coffee and cigars. Once a member
of a Volksraad Committee condoled with Mr. Kruger on his recent
severe financial losses. “What do you mean?” indignantly demanded the
President. “Oh, I am referring to your recent losses on the Stock
Exchange.” The President was now in a fury. “How dare you say that!”
he shouted. “Well, there must be something in it” was the unconcerned
reply. “But I tell you I have not lost a penny in any speculation
whatsoever!” again protested the President, indignantly. “Then how
is it we get no cigars to-day, President,” said the member, with an
injured air. “I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon!” was the answer,
and with a hearty laugh the President himself produced the fragrant
weed.
* * * * *
In the pre-war days in the Transvaal many of the higher positions in
the public service were filled by men whose only qualification was that
they were friends of the “powers that were.” An old friend of President
Kruger had fallen on evil days, and came to the President for help. “I
have lost my farm,” he said, “and now you must give me an appointment.”
The President regretted that he could not get him suitable employment
in the service of the State. “But surely there must be some post open
which you can give me,” the applicant pleaded. “Not one,” replied
the President, sorrowfully. “I have tried everywhere. All the chief
positions are filled up; and as to a clerkship, well, you know yourself
you are too stupid for that.”
* * * * *
A KAFFIR STORY.--Two Tambookies running from the field of battle hid
themselves in a hole, but the leg of one unfortunately protruding
caught the eye of some wary Icalaca. They pulled him out and were
preparing to slay him, when he cried: “Spare me, and I will tell you
something.” They paused, and he said: “There is yet another man in that
hole.” The second hidden warrior, hearing this, called out from his
place of concealment: “Don’t believe him, kill him at once; he tells
lies, there is no one in here.” But it availed him nothing, and, after
the custom of Kaffirs, the two prisoners were forthwith assegaied.
* * * * *
ANOTHER KAFFIR STORY.--Umthonthlo, a native chief, who was the
terror of his neighbours in the seventies, was once buying some guns
from a trader who thought to deceive him. Showing him two guns, the
trader asked the chief what he thought of them. “Oh,” said he, “this
one is a Friday gun, that one is a Monday gun.” When asked to explain,
he said: “Do I not know that all your artisans work well from Tuesday
to Friday, and then all get drunk, and their Monday’s work is worth
nothing at all? Never show me a Monday gun again.”
* * * * *
When the Reform prisoners were confined in the Pretoria Gaol they
were frequently visited by the late Mr. B. I. Barnato, and on the
occasion of one of his visits he chaffed them about the position that
they had found themselves in, remarking that they had tried to play
a game of poker with the Transvaal Government on a “Colley Thumper”
hand. None of them had heard of this term before, and Mr. Barnato was
asked to explain. He replied:--An English traveller with a not very
extreme knowledge of poker, found himself on one occasion engaged in a
game with an astute old Yankee on board an American steamer. Playing
cautiously, the Englishman did pretty well until he suddenly found
himself, to his great satisfaction, in possession of a full hand.
The players alternately doubled the stakes until they were raised to
£100. The Englishman then called the American’s hand, and the American
deliberately put down a pair of deuces, a four, a seven, and a nine.
The Englishman, with a triumphant smile, put down his full hand, and
proceeded to gather the stakes. “Stop,” said the Yankee, “the stakes
are mine; yours is only a full hand; mine is a ‘Colley Thumper,’ it
beats everything.” The Englishman had never heard of such a hand
before, but he determined not to show his ignorance, and reluctantly
relinquished the stakes. The game then proceeded until at length the
Englishman found himself in possession of a pair of deuces, a four,
a seven and a nine. Betting went on freely until the stakes were
raised to £500. The Englishman again called, and the Yankee put down
a straight. “Ah,” said the joyful Englishman, “mine is a ‘Colley
Thumper.’” “True,” said the American, “but you forget the rules. It
only counts once in an evening.”
* * * * *
The following story illustrates the Kaffir’s love of cattle. A German
trader once presented Panda, King of the Zulus, with a watch. “What is
the use of it?” said he. “To tell where the sun is? We can see it; when
cloudy we remain in our huts; at night we sleep. Does it give milk?”
“No.” “Does it give calves?” “No.” “Then take your watch away.”
* * * * *
With certain troops sent to quell a Kaffir rising in the Cape in 1875,
was a staff officer who was wearing one of the recently introduced
spike helmets. On seeing him, an old native said he knew which of the
soldiers would be most successful with the rebels, pointing out the
officer with the helmet, and adding: “A pretty ramming he will give
them.”
* * * * *
Years ago, when everything from South Africa was looked upon in England
as strange, an enterprising American conceived the idea of bringing
home a party of Kaffirs to astonish the citizens of London. Very
wisely, instead of going into the wilds to find them, he contented
himself with procuring some Kaffirs in the vicinity of Cape Town,
and having instructed them in native dances and clothed them in the
skin and war-paint of the savage Zulu, he brought them to London. The
“wild” Kaffirs soon became the rage. A Dutch farmer from the Cape,
named De Beer, who was then visiting England, strolled into the hall
in Leicester Square, where the performance was going on. On seeing
him, two of the “wild” Kaffirs rushed from the stage, and, seizing
him by the arm, shouted in Dutch: “Here is old baas De Beer.” De Beer
then discovered that these warlike savages were no other than his own
labourers, who had deserted from his service in the Cape for a reason
which he had never been able to discover.
* * * * *
One of the most conspicuous concessionaires before the war was Mr.
Edward Lippert, to whom the dynamite monopoly had been granted. This
circumstance caused a local wit to paraphrase Madame Roland’s famous
exclamation: “Oh, Lippert E., Lippert E., what crimes are committed in
thy name!”
* * * * *
President Kruger once accepted an invitation to a Parisian Ball, but no
sooner had he entered the ball-room when he precipitately retreated,
remarking “that they must have come too early, as the ladies were
evidently not dressed yet!”
* * * * *
In 1875 there was a police corps in the Cape Colony known as the
Frontier Armed Mounted Police, and the following anecdote is related by
Mr. H. A. Broeme, who was then a member of the Force, in his book, “The
Log of a Rolling Stone.” It was a point of etiquette with the corps
that if an express rider stayed overnight he should be offered the
very best bed in the station, even if the lawful occupant slept on the
floor, but there was a surly trooper who would always decline to extend
this hospitality, although he had by far the best bed, so the other
members determined one day to pay him out. One evening an express rider
came, shortly after which the “surly one” went “down town” by himself,
never offering anything to the tired rider. On his return he was met by
several of his fellow-troopers most apologetically. They were sorry to
inform him that the express rider had got a little bit drunk, and had
turned in, boots and spurs and all, into the surly trooper’s bed. Would
the surly trooper mind? “I call it a blooming piece of presumption,”
said he. “D----d if I’ll have it!” “You surely can’t turn him out now,”
urged the others. “It will discredit the station. Better doss down
alongside on the floor, old chap, till he wakes. Here are some spare
blankets.” This, with considerable reluctance and many oaths, he did,
and it is presumed slept very roughly until after daylight. Then a
fearful yell of rage was heard, and a pair of top boots, a peaked cap
and bolster were seen flying through the air. The sleeping express
rider was a dummy!
* * * * *
Discipline was not the strong point of the corps in those easy-going
days. Occasionally, says the same writer, Sir Walter Currie, the
Officer Commanding, would take an inspection tour, but none were more
surprised than he if any of his men were brought up before him for
breach of discipline. A delinquent having once been brought before him
for not having cleaned his troop horse or equipments on saddle parade,
Sir Walter gazed at him absent-mindedly for a minute or so, and then,
turning to the Sergeant-Major, said:--“Sergeant-Major, fine the beggar
half-a-crown.” That was all.
* * * * *
A Free Stater was once charged before the Circuit Court with the crime
of murder, and the evidence against him was strong. Now a certain
trader, for commercial reasons, was anxious that the accused should be
discharged, but did not think that this was possible in view of the
evidence, but he thought that a verdict of culpable homicide might
be obtained by a judicious pulling of the strings. A friend of the
trader’s was one of the jurymen, and him he induced to stick out for
a verdict of culpable homicide. At the trial, the foreman, in reply
to the usual question put by the Registrar of the Court, declared
that they were all agreed save one. The jury were then locked up and
remained at their deliberations for three hours, and then the foreman
reported that they had come to an unanimous decision as to the verdict,
which was culpable homicide. On hearing the verdict the trader was
overjoyed, and hastened to congratulate his friend on his smartness in
being able to bring round the rest of the jury to his way of thinking.
“Yes,” said his friend, “it was hard work, I assure you.”
“Why? Were they all against you?”
“Yes, I should think they were. They all wanted to bring in a verdict
of ‘Not Guilty’”.
* * * * *
Amongst the pre-war Boer leaders, General De la Rey was one of the
most progressive, whilst his brother Piet, who was a member of the
Volksraad, belonged to the reactionary party. Piet seldom spoke in the
Raad, but on the occasion of the member for Johannesburg presenting a
petition for permission to use the English language in the Courts of
the Rand, he felt it his duty to say a few words. He said:--“English
to be used instead of Dutch in Republican public offices? Never!
Rather than that I would take up my old gun again and trek into the
wilderness, or to fight, as the President wished. Never will I consent
while alive to such an abomination--for”--resuming his seat--“my land
is my land, and my tongue is my tongue!” The General deeply resented
his brother’s speech. Now, Piet de la Rey’s eldest son, Jan, was
a Customs officer on the western frontier, and as such received a
percentage on what he collected, and from him, a few weeks after he
made the above speech, Piet received a letter from Jan expressing fear
“that I may incur great liability, as all the way-bills are in English,
and as you would never let us children learn that language, I have got
to believe what they tell me about them. So, please, father, advise me
what to do.”
Piet consulted the General. The latter read the letter without saying a
word. But Piet pleaded with him to tell him what advice to give to Jan.
“Tell him,” at last replied the General, “that your land is your land,
and your tongue is your tongue!”
* * * * *
In the seventies, when Sir Charles Warren was in Kimberley, he had
tea one evening with a Mrs. Barber. There were some nice cakes, and
he ate a good many. Then some more visitors came in, and he went
away. Mrs. Barber was then taking care of a meercat belonging to Sir
Charles. After he had left, and whilst she was feeding the meercat,
she said to her guests: “Bother that brute Warren, he eats such a
lot.” “Of course,” says Sir Charles (in his book “On the Veld in the
Seventies”), it very soon came round to me that Mrs. Barber had called
me a brute because I ate so many of her cakes. I took it as one of the
usual stories afloat, but when I next saw her I told her what had been
imputed to her. At first she was very indignant, but suddenly she said:
“But now I recollect I really did say it. I call the meercat ‘Warren,’
and was abusing it for eating so much!”
* * * * *
Mr. “Barney” Barnato once related the following story in the Christmas
number of the “Pelican.” When he first landed in Cape Town, en route
for the Diamond Fields, he put up at the Masonic Hotel. There he met
an individual clad in gorgeous raiment, ornamented with a profusion of
large diamonds, who asked his name and where he was going to, and on
hearing that the Fields were his destination, endeavoured to change his
resolution, saying that he had himself cleared out all the diamonds
that were there. Of course, “Barney” was a little cast down at this,
but still stuck to his determination to see for himself. Years after
he met the same stranger in Johannesburg. The stranger asked him how
he managed to become chairman of the De Beers Company. “By not taking
your advice,” was the prompt reply. The story was afterwards classed
by its author amongst his many successful works of fiction.
* * * * *
Once a well-known individual borrowed £10 from Mr. Barnato at
Johannesburg, and, although asked for the money several times, always
put off payment. One day “between the chains” Barnato said openly to
some friends:--“Mind you don’t lend ---- any money. He has £10 of mine,
and it is time he was stopped.” The man heard of this, and coming up
to him said:--“I hear you have been talking about me?” “Yes; I want my
money.” “Well, here is your £10, and don’t talk about me any more.” A
short time afterwards the same man asked Barnato for £25. “No, can’t
do it,” was the reply. “Why not? I don’t owe you anything.” “I know
you don’t, but you’ve disappointed me once, and I won’t risk another
disappointment.”
* * * * *
About the year 1877, Sir Charles Warren was travelling in a post-cart
from Cape Town to Kimberley and had as a fellow-passenger a very
taciturn young man who was diligently studying his prayer-book.
Warren’s curiosity was roused, but, being of a reserved nature, said
nothing. Eventually his curiosity overcame his reserve, and he asked
the young man what he was reading. “The Thirty-nine Articles” was the
reply, and in this manner the two got to know each other. The young
man was Cecil Rhodes, on his way back from Oxford to Kimberley for
the long vacation, and he was characteristically using his time in
the post-cart before he plunged again into the midst of diamonds and
finance, in learning the Thirty-nine Articles for his next examination
at Oxford.
* * * * *
Early in the eighties General Gordon was employed by the Cape
Government (of which the late Mr. Sauer was then a member as Secretary
for Native Affairs) to go to Basutoland to arrange terms of peace with
the Basutos. Rhodes was also in Basutoland at that time, and the two
men saw a good deal of each other. During one of their conversations,
Gordon said to Rhodes:--“You always contradict me. I never met such
a man for his own opinion. You think your views are always right and
everyone else wrong.” Rhodes determined to get his own back. Noticing
that the Basutos were making much of Gordon and very little of Sauer,
he said to Gordon:--“Do you know, I have an opinion that you are
doing very wrong. You are letting these Basutos make a great mistake.
They take you for a great man, look up to you, and pay no attention
to Sauer, whereas he is the great man here, and you are only in his
employment. You ought to explain to the Basutos the truth, that he is
somebody and you are nobody.” This was said jokingly, but Gordon took
it quite seriously. At the next indaba, accordingly, Gordon stepped
out before the chiefs, and, pointing to Mr. Sauer, explained, to their
astonishment:--“You are making a mistake in taking me for the great
man of the Whites. I am only his servant, only his dog; nothing more.”
After the indaba was over, he said to Rhodes:--“I did it because it was
the right thing--but it was hard, very hard.”
* * * * *
General Gordon once told Mr. Rhodes the story of the offer of a roomful
of gold which had been made to him by the Chinese Government after he
had subdued the Tai-Ping rebellion. “What did you do?” asked Rhodes.
“Refused it, of course; what would you have done?” “I would have taken
it,” said Rhodes, “and as many more roomfuls as they would give me. It
is of no use for us to have big ideas if we have not the money to carry
them out.”
* * * * *
When Dr. Jameson was Administrator of Rhodesia, he was one afternoon
lying on his bed in his tent, when a burly, drunken prospector suddenly
lurched inside, and, drawing his revolver, said:--“You are a good old
doctor, but I am b----y well going to shoot you.” Jameson remained
motionless (says his biographer, Mr. G. Seymour Fort), puffed a whiff
of cigarette smoke through his lips, and coolly replied:--“Yes, that’s
all right, but don’t you think you had better have a drink first?” The
man agreed. Jameson called his servant and told him to take the man
to the canteen, at the same time pointing with his finger not to the
canteen but to the police camp. Off went the prospector, quite pleased,
but soon discovered the ruse. A desperate struggle took place, the
servant was thrown heavily to the ground, and the prospector was only
just overtaken by the police as he was re-entering the tent, revolver
in hand, and black murder in his heart.
* * * * *
When Cecil Rhodes was at Oxford, he looked so little like an Oxonian
that he was able to deceive even the Proctor. “The Proctor,” related
Mr. Rhodes, “took off his cap to me with the utmost politeness, and I
did the same to him. ‘Well, sir,’ said the Proctor to me, ‘your name
and college?’ ‘My name is Rhodes,’ I replied, ‘and I have just come
here from the Cape of Good Hope, and am making a short stay in Oxford;
and now, sir, may I ask your name and college?’” Whereupon the Proctor
apologised for what he supposed to be his mistake, and Cecil Rhodes
escaped unfined.
* * * * *
Mr. Louis Cohen, one of Mr. Barney Barnato’s earliest partners on
the Diamond Fields, says that there was one man on the Fields whose
business they both envied. He seemed to have a regular and large
connection, and made constant rounds, riding one old yellow, rather
lame, pony. The partners tried to follow him to see which way he went,
but without avail. One day Barnato said to Cohen: “That chap ---- has
a rare good connection; we must get hold of a bit of it somehow.” “All
right,” said Mr. Cohen, “we want it badly enough.” “I know what we have
to do to get ----’s customers. I have seen him come home three days
running.” Mr. Cohen thought Mr. Barnato was fooling, and replied rather
sharply:--“If you had seen him go out and followed him up it would have
been more to the purpose, I should think.” But Barnato soon convinced
him that he was quite serious. “Look here,” said he, “I’ve seen him
come back from his rounds three days running, and he always stops first
at Hall’s canteen. Mind this, however, he does not guide the pony to
the place, but just sits still all the while with loose rein, and the
pony stops of his own accord. Now, it is my firm conviction that all
day long he rides just the same way, and that the pony knows all the
stopping places. I’ve known this for some days, but it didn’t help so
long as he had the pony; to-day he has seen some other beast he likes
better, and wants to sell the lame pony.” The partners bought the
pony, with the successful results anticipated by Barnato. “I wonder,”
says Mr. Cohen, “whether any other man than Barnato would have been
so closely observant as to notice that the pony finished his rounds
without guidance and so probably knew all the usual stopping places of
each day.”
* * * * *
In his biography of Mr. B. I. Barnato, Mr. Seymour says that one
evening Mr. Barnato and Mr. Louis Cohen went to the Court Theatre,
London. No seats had been booked; Barnato, as usual, had no money on
him, and Louis Cohen had only a sovereign. Barnato borrowed this,
saying that he would engineer the other shilling for their stalls
somehow. Under the portico of the theatre was a man not quite blind,
but with defective sight, who solicited charity. Barnato turned to
Cohen and said:--“Do you mind, Lou, if we go to the circle instead
of the stalls?” “Oh, no; just as you please.” Barnato then went to
the office and asked for two circle seats. “Very sorry, sir, but all
are gone. I can give you two side stalls if they will do.” A huge
smile broke over Barnato’s face. “I have not come prepared to pay for
stalls,” said he. “Very well, sir. You can have stalls for circle
prices.” Barnato took his vouchers for the seats, went out to the man,
gave him the whole five shillings change, and, turning to Cohen, said:
“Now that is what I call finance.”
* * * * *
This is how Kimberley acquired its name. In 1871 the farm “Vooruitzigt”
was proclaimed as a diamond digging. This name was declared by
Lord Kimberley, then Secretary of State for the Colonies, to be
unpronounceable. Some one then suggested the name “New Rush.” This Lord
Kimberley declared to be too suggestive of rowdiness. Some one else
then suggested that the town should be called after the Minister. This
was adopted, and so the town was christened Kimberley.
* * * * *
Mr. Rhodes was very careless about trifling personal matters. There
was a function in connection with the Kimberley Exhibition at which
he was taking a leading part. When he arrived at the gates of the
Exhibition, he found he had mislaid his pass, and the gatekeeper, not
knowing him, refused him admission. Putting his hand into his pocket,
Mr. Rhodes enquired the price of admission. “Two shillings,” replied
the gatekeeper. Mr. Rhodes then discovered that he hadn’t any money
about him. “I am afraid I have left my purse behind,” he said, “but
I suppose my watch will do.” He then discovered that he had mislaid
his watch also, and told the gatekeeper who he was. That functionary,
however, was unconvinced, and it is probable that Mr. Rhodes would
not have gained admission to the Exhibition had not some one lent him
the required florin. Mr. Rhodes subsequently sent the gatekeeper five
pounds as a reward for having so unhesitatingly done his duty.
* * * * *
Mr. Stuart Cumberland, in his book, “What I think of South Africa,”
relates the following anecdote about “Barney” Barnato:
“I was a witness,” he says, “of a little joke Barney played
upon a very august corporation. He was asked to write upon a
form his name, place of residence and occupation. Down went the
first, ‘B. I. Barnato,’ then ‘Spencer House,’ but when he came
to occupation he hesitated. ‘How shall I describe myself?’ he
asked. ‘Gentleman? no, that’s too elastic.’ ‘Dramatic author,’
I meekly suggested. (Barnato was then working at a play with
Haddon Chambers). ‘That might do,’ he said, ‘only we should
have Haddon Chambers saying I wasn’t, and then how should I
stand? I have it--_toff_.’ And down went ‘toff’ on the
paper. Presently the form came back with the enquiry what ‘toff’
meant. ‘Oh,’ replied Barnato, with an imperturbable countenance,
‘that’s the Hebrew for financial gentleman.’”
* * * * *
When the synagogue of the Johannesburg Hebrew Congregation was
built, President Kruger was invited to perform the opening ceremony.
He accepted the invitation, but the amazement of the hundreds of
Israelites present may be imagined when the President announced, in his
loudest tones:--“In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I declare this
building open.”
* * * * *
Mr. Rhodes was very fond of discussing the various points of English
politicians, and there was one member of the Gladstone Government
of 1892 whom he cordially detested. He told me once, says Sir Lewis
Michell, how he found himself seated next him at a dinner-party in
London, and was so bored with him that in the middle of one of his
arguments on some political problem he turned away from him and began
talking to his other neighbour. “It was very rude of me, I know,” he
said, “very rude. People who live in London can’t do these things--I
can. I can do it on the basis of a barbarian!”
* * * * *
An old pioneer, invalided from Rhodesia by fever once called on Mr.
Rhodes at Groote Schuur for relief. Out of work, out at elbows, and
reduced to a pitiable state from privation, he was about to venture to
state his case, when, to his inexpressible delight, he was hailed by
name. Rhodes had recognised him, despite all changes. Putting his hand
on the man’s shoulder, Rhodes said:--“Not a word, a good square meal
first!” And to the kitchen he took him for that purpose, telling him to
return to the stoep afterwards. He then heard his story, and gave him
an order on his secretary in town to give him money for what clothes he
wanted, and telling him to return the next day, which he did. He found
Rhodes in a passion. “You only took ten shillings,” he cried. The man
had been ashamed to ask for more. Rhodes at once took him to town in
his own cart, went himself to the outfitters, completely clothed him,
gave him money and a free pass back to his work. “I never,” he said,
“forget an old face.”
* * * * *
An officer of the Cape garrison purchased a pair of leopards, and
requested permission to bring them into his quarters in the Castle,
but, as there were many young children in the barracks at the time,
he was refused. He therefore left them in charge of a Malay in the
neighbourhood. On going to claim them, the Malay said to him, much to
the officer’s consternation:--“There are the pair,” pointing to one
animal,“but one has eaten the other.”
* * * * *
The ignorance of colonial affairs formerly displayed in England is
illustrated by the story of a War Office official who desired to
know the reason why the chaplain at Grahamstown could not perform
his evening service at Kingwilliamstown, being, presumably, entirely
ignorant of the fact that the two towns are ninety miles asunder.
* * * * *
During the Boer War of 1881, when Pretoria was under martial law, a
certain garrison officer was summoned upon two boards of enquiry--one
referring to the case of a sick soldier, and the other to an attack of
glanders in a horse. Mistaking the board when called in to give his
opinion as to what was best to be done, he horrified the Court by
advising them “to shoot him at once!”
* * * * *
Mr. Rhodes was once accused of changing his views rather hurriedly.
“Yes,” he replied, “as hurriedly as I could, for I found I was wrong.”
* * * * *
Once, when twitted with his preference for young men, Mr. Rhodes
retorted:--“Of course, of course, they must soon take up our work; we
must teach them what to do and what to avoid.”
* * * * *
On another occasion, his sentimental attachment to the Boers was the
matter of a jest. “They were the voortrekkers,” he replied, “the real
pioneers. They have always led the way. It is your business to see that
the flag follows.”
* * * * *
In 1881, during the visit of a showman named Duval to Kimberley, the
following conversation between a country Dutchman and a town Dutchman
was overheard on the market square of that town:--“What large bills are
those on the walls?” asked the former. “Oh,” was the reply, “that is
the advertisement of Duval, and Kimberley people go and see him every
night.” The countryman expressed his abhorrence of “de duivel,” and
declared he would not visit his Satanic Majesty’s play. The townsman
then explained himself, but unfortunately added a description of the
sudden metamorphoses effected by the actor. The countryman then put
down his foot and raised his hand, declaring:--“Nu weet ek dat hij de
duivel is; mij Bijbel zeg net zo van hem. Ik zal nooit om zo’n ding
zien.” A free translation of which is:--“Now I know he is the devil; my
Bible speaks of him just so. I will never go to such a thing.”
* * * * *
Mr. Rhodes once received a letter from an educated native, which
contained the following passage:--
“I never forgotten the well-treatment I received from you at
Queenstown. I consider you my father, and beg to inform you that I want
to come and work for you at Cape Town.”
It is evident, says Sir Lewis Michell, that employment was given, for
the letter is endorsed, in the handwriting of Rhodes:--“The faithful
native! He worked a week, but found household duties beneath his
dignity.”
* * * * *
There is a certain type of man in South Africa whose cry is: “Ah, you
should have seen it before the war!” When the British Association paid
their visit to South Africa a few years ago, and were admiring the
beauties of the Southern Cross, a pre-war resident coming up gloomily
from behind, cried: “Ah, you should have seen it before the war!”
* * * * *
Sir Bartle Frere once visited a farm owned by a man named Oberholzer,
with whom he had a long conversation, astronomy being amongst the
subjects discussed. Having explained that the planets shining above
them were worlds like ours and composed of rocks and minerals much the
same, Oberholzer pointed to the moon and expressed the opinion that,
although it might contain many valuable minerals, he was sure there
were no diamonds there.
“Why do you think that?” asked Sir Bartle Frere.
“Because,” replied the farmer, “if there were diamonds there you
English would have annexed it long ago.” (At that period the dispute
over the annexation of Griqualand West with its Diamond Fields had only
just been settled.)
* * * * *
In 1896, whilst Rhodes was returning from England to South Africa by
the eastern route, he decided to interview the Sultan of Turkey for
the purpose of getting some stud Angora goats from him in order to
endeavour to effect an improvement in the South African herds, which,
owing to in-breeding and neglect, had deteriorated very greatly. His
friends laughed at him, and said he could not possibly succeed; they
even said: “You will not as much as be granted an interview.” “Well,”
he replied, “I shall try, and if I fail it will be some satisfaction to
know I have made an attempt.” The services of Sir Phillip Currie, as
he then was, the British Ambassador at Constantinople, were enlisted
on his behalf, and to his delight an interview was arranged for the
following morning. About 10 a.m. the next day, he turned up at the
Palace in his ordinary garb--a suit of flannel--and was met there by
the Ambassador, whose face fell very much on seeing his costume. “Good
gracious,” he said, “you can’t go to see the Sultan like that; you must
go and get your frock coat.” “That is impossible,” replied Mr. Rhodes,
“for I don’t possess one.” In the end a compromise was effected by
his taking off his flannel jacket and squeezing into the Ambassador’s
overcoat, which was very much too small for him. He met the Sultan,
who was much taken with him, and agreed to let him have a considerable
number of his Angoras, the benefit of which South Africa is reaping
to-day.
* * * * *
When Sir George Grey was Governor of the Cape Colony he had occasion to
travel up-country in a Cape cart, and on the road stopped at a wayside
inn for breakfast. The bill for half-a-dozen boiled eggs and the same
number of cups of tea was two pounds ten shillings. As the party were
taking their seats in the Cape cart again Sir George observed to
mine host “that eggs must be scarce on that line.” “Your Excellency,”
observed the innkeeper, “eggs is plentiful. It is Governors that is
scarce on this road.”
* * * * *
During one of the Matabele wars, Cecil Rhodes was lying down by his
wagon, reading a book, his companions having left him for some purpose
or other, when a trooper came across from the laager and said, “Good
day.” “Good day” replied Rhodes. “Have you got any fish?” asked the
man. Rhodes tumbled to the situation at once. “No,” said he, “I am
sorry to say I’ve got no fish.” “Got no _fish_,” said the trooper,
“have you got any _jam_?” “No,” replied Rhodes, “I’m sorry to say
I’m out of jam.” “You’ve got no fish, and got no jam; what _have_
you got?” said the man. “You may as well ask that,” said Rhodes, “I’ve
got precious little left, and what I have got they are trying to take
away from me as fast as they can.” “I am sorry for that,” said the
man, “but (looking at some six or eight books lying on the ground)
you’ve got some books, I see, and (picking up one on Buddism) pretty
deep subjects, too!” “Well,” said Rhodes, “I certainly do read a bit,
that’s my recreation. You see, it’s pretty hard work selling fish
and jam _all_ day.” “I should think it must be,” said the man.
“Well, I’m sorry for you, for you’re a civil-spoken kind of chap, and
I’m still more sorry that you’ve got no fish or jam, but it can’t be
helped--good day.” “Good day,” said Rhodes, and the man went back to
the laager. One wonders, says Sir Lewis Michell, in narrating this
anecdote, what the man’s feelings were when he saw Rhodes riding with
Plumer the next morning at the head of the column, and discovered that
the man he had mistaken for a purveyor of tinned stores to the troops
was the greatest Englishman of modern times.
* * * * *
About thirty years ago, a certain Cape Governor had occasion to visit a
small dorp in the northern part of the Cape Colony. This dorp consisted
of about a dozen houses, mostly built of tin, but an enormous area of
hill, vale and plain spread around it on every side. At the end of the
address which was presented by the Mayor and Corporation, there was a
request that the Governor might be pleased to sanction an allotment
from the revenue of the Colony of some thousands sterling for the
purpose of carrying out a complete system of municipal drainage. One of
the houses composing the town stood on a broad eminence; the remaining
structures occupied detached points in a rather swampy valley. “I
wondered what he would say,” says Sir William Butler, who was present
on the occasion in question as a member of the Governor’s staff,
“when the time came for the Governor to reply.” “Gentlemen,” said the
Governor, after thanking the municipality, “I entirely sympathise
with you in your natural desire to have your promising town placed
in a position in regard to its drainage and sanitary conditions which
will enable it to fulfil the requirements of its undoubted future,
but the scheme you propose would be a costly one, and the finances of
the Colony are not for the moment too redundant. Would it not be less
expensive if we were to move the town up to the top of that hill where
the single house now stands. It would then practically drain itself.”
* * * * *
Once there was a slump in Johannesburg, and a deputation from the Rand
went to interview President Kruger in Pretoria. “Times are bad,” they
said, and it was not their fault. The Government must do something for
them. Oom Paul listened in silence, smoking. At last he took his pipe
from his mouth, and replied: “Gentlemen, you remind me of a pet monkey
I once had. He was very fond of me; he would never leave me alone.
When anything happened that he did not like, he always ran to me. One
winter’s night he was at my feet by the fire. Monkeys never sit quiet
for long, and he kept twisting himself round about until at last he got
his tail into the fire. He did it himself, gentlemen; I didn’t even
know he was doing it, but all the same he turned and bit me in the leg.”
* * * * *
A certain smouser once visited a farmer, bought his wool, and after
the wool had been weighed and the price per pound fixed, the smouser
said: “So many pounds at so much comes to so much,” mentioning a sum
about half the actual total. “No,” said the farmer, “it should be
so much,” stating the real figure, and, to the smouzer’s amazement,
produced a ready reckoner! With an air of surprise, the smouser said:
“Let’s look at that book.” The farmer handed the book to the smouser
and triumphantly pointed out the place. The smouser looked at the
calculation, then turned to the title page and pointing to the date of
publication, exclaimed, with an exultant laugh: “Why, you’ve got hold
of last year’s ready reckoner,” and actually convinced the farmer that
he had been swindled, not by the smouser, but by the man who had sold
him the book!
* * * * *
A certain Frenchman, on hearing the news of the relief of Kimberley by
General French, exclaimed: “Bon! Fashoda finds itself avenged. Behold,
ze English are in the ze consomme, for ze French are in Kimberley.”
* * * * *
During the Zulu War of 1878, a Zulu spy was captured by some members
of an irregular corps. The Sergeant-Major of the corps asked the O.C.
what should be done with the spy. The officer at that particular moment
was suffering from an injured shin and, being in a bad temper in
consequence, replied shortly: “Oh, hang the bally spy!” Subsequently
a court-martial was summoned to try the spy, and the Sergeant-Major
was ordered to march up the prisoner. The Sergeant-Major, who was an
Irishman, stared open-mouthed for a few seconds, and then said: “Plaze,
sor, I can’t, sure, he’s hung, sor.” “Hung!” exclaimed the Commandant,
who was standing within ear-shot. “Who ordered him to be hung?” “The
O.C., sor,” replied the Sergeant-Major. “I ordered him to be hung?”
then ejaculated the O.C., who was also present. “What do you mean?”
“Shure, sor, when I asked you what was to be done with the spy, did you
not say, sor, ‘Oh, hang the spoy,’ and there he is,” pointing to the
slaughter poles, and sure enough there he was. The court-martial was
postponed _sine die_.
* * * * *
In 1879, when Field-Marshal Sir Evelyn Wood--then Colonel Evelyn
Wood--was in command of the column then encamped at Kambulu, in
Natal, a trader came into the camp with wagons and asked permission
to sell groceries to the troops. Permission was granted to him on the
understanding that he had no alcohol of any description. It was later
discovered that he was selling gin to the soldiers at a shilling a
glass, and Colonel Wood executed summary justice by having the trader
tied to the wheel of his own wagon and giving him two dozen lashes.
A few weeks later Colonel Wood received a summons issued on behalf
of the trader, claiming damages to the tune of £5,000. This summons
he ignored. “Some time afterwards,” says Sir Evelyn Wood, in “From
Midshipman to Field Marshal,” “I was riding one morning into Utrecht
when I met a horseman, who, stopping me, asked if he was on the right
road to Colonel Wood’s camp, and also whether the road was safe. I told
him he was quite safe until he got to Balte Spruit. ‘What sort of a man
is this Colonel Wood?’ he asked. ‘Well,’ I replied, ‘some people like
him and some people dislike him.’ ‘I have been told that he is very
rough.’ ‘Yes, that is so--when he is vexed.’ ‘I am an officer of the
High Court of the Transvaal, and I am going to him with a writ; do you
think he will be violent with me?’ ‘Oh, no, I am certain he won’t.’
‘Then you think there is no risk so far as he is concerned?’ ‘None
whatever; but you had better not mention your business in the camp, as
his own battalion is at Kambulu Hill, and it might be bad for you if
the men got to know your errand.’ ‘Why, what do you think they will do
to me--kill me?’ ‘Oh, no; the worst that would happen to you would be
to be tarred and feathered.’ ‘I don’t like this job that I am on. I
think, if you will allow me, I’d like to turn back and ride with you
to Utrecht and send the document by post.’ Accordingly we rode along
together, and I showed him the post office in the little town before I
went about my business.”
* * * * *
When Mark Twain visited South Africa, he was asked by an eminent
Africander what he thought of South African affairs. “Well,” replied
Mark Twain, “after I had been in Cape Town a week and had heard both
sides of the question, I thought I had mastered it. Then I went to
Kimberley, and met with a totally different view. Up in Bulawayo there
was quite another story, and in Johannesburg a different opinion was
heard, while in Pretoria I might as well have been in another country.
When I reached Bloemfontein----” “Yes?” said the eminent Africander,
“what conclusion did you come to?” “Well,” said Mark Twain, “the only
conclusion I could arrive at was that the South African question was a
very good subject for a fool to let alone.”
* * * * *
A shooting story told by Mr. Carl Jeppe in “The Keleidoscopic
Transvaal.” Mr. D. S. Mare, magistrate of Zoutpansberg, was out lion
shooting with the late Barend Vorster, a mighty hunter before the
Lord. A lioness had been wounded, driven out of cover, and stood at
bay. The landdrost jumped off his horse, fired, and missed. It was now
Vorster’s turn, since there was not time for his friend to reload.
In dismounting, Vorster dropped his watch and stopped to pick it up.
The lioness seemed about to charge, and Mare urged his friend to
shoot. Vorster replied grumblingly that the glass of his watch had
been broken. “Never mind that now; the lioness is ready to spring,”
Mare replied. “Do you know,” said Vorster, “I shall have to send the
watch to Pretoria, and that it will cost me five shillings to get it
repaired?” “Good heavens,” cried the magistrate, “don’t you see you
have not a moment to loose?” “It’s all very well for you to talk,”
Vorster replied; “it’s not your watch that is broken!” At last,
however, he fired, and with unerring aim gave the lioness the _coup
de grace_.
* * * * *
The following is an exact copy of a letter written by a half-educated
Kaffir in the De Beers Diamond Mine Compound to his sweetheart
outside:--
Dear Miss Judea Moses,--My dear, I am take this lettle time of write
you this few lines hoping that it will find you in a good state of
health, as it leaves me here in the Compound My dear Girl I am very
sorry that you did not write my ansert back My dear Judea Moses be so
kind and let me know how it is with you my dear girl I mean to say you
must cry out and shout thou in the habitant of Zion, for great is the
holy one of israel My dear Miss Judea i glided by lawns and grassy
plots My dear friend please andswer me as soon as you get this letter
My dear oft in sadness or in illness I have watched thy current glide
till the beauty of its stillness overflowed me like a tide I steal
my lawns and grassy plots I slide by hazel covers i move the sweet
forget-me-nots that grow for happy lovers My dear darling miss J.
Moses Here I shall drup writing with Best loves good By 2222 kisses to
youe.
* * * * *
Two middies, many years ago, returning to Simonstown from Cape Town,
where they had been on a jaunt, arrived one dark night at Muizenburg.
It was too late and too dark to continue their journey, so they put up
at an inn known as “Father Peck’s.” When the bill was presented to them
the following morning they discovered they had no money. “We’ll paint
you a signboard,” they said to the landlord. This they did, adding the
following lines:--
Multum in parvo, pro bono publico,
Entertainment for man and beast all of a row.
Lekker kost as much as you please,
Excellent beds without any fleas.
Nos patriam fugimus now we are here,
Vivamus, let us live by selling beer.
On donne a boire et a manger ici,
Come in and try, whatsoever you be.
* * * * *
“Piet, my vrouw” is the name of a well-known South African bird,
which owes its name to the following incident:--Le Vaillant, the
French traveller, and a Hottentot named Piet, were out shooting, and
Le Vaillant shot and killed a female bird. Piet brought up the bird.
“Go back,” said the Frenchman, “to the spot where you found this
bird, for surely there you will find its mate.” Piet weepingly asked
to be excused. “Please, Baas, I cannot fire at the male bird.” “Go--I
insist!” said Le Vaillant. “No, no, Baas!” pleaded Piet. “And why not?”
demanded Le Vaillant. “Well, Baas,” explained Piet, “no sooner did I
shoot the female when the male bird began to pursue me with great fury,
continually repeating, ‘Piet, mij vrouw! Piet, mij vrouw!’”
* * * * *