Everyone remembers the rush to De Kaap some years ago. How everyone
said that everyone else would make fortunes in half no time, and the
country would be saved! Well, my brother Jim and I thought we would
like to make fortunes too; so we packed our boxes, donned flannel
shirts, felt hats and moleskin trousers, with a revolver each carelessly
slung at our sides, and started. We intended to dig for about a year or
so, and then sell out and live on the interest of our money--30,000
pounds each would do. It was all cut and dried. I often almost wished
it wasn't so certain, as now one hadn't a chance of coming back suddenly
and _surprising_ the loved ones at home with the news of a grand
fortune.
Full of excitement (certainties notwithstanding) we went down to Kent's
Forwarding Store, and there met Mr Harding, whose waggons were loaded
for the gold-fields. This was our chance, and we took it.
On November 10, 1883, we crossed Little Sunday's River and outspanned at
the foot of Knight's Cutting. The day was close and sultry, and Harding
thought it best to lie by until the cool of the evening before
attempting the hill. It wasn't much of a cool evening we got after all;
except that we had not the scorching rays of the sun beating down upon
us, it was no cooler at 10 p.m. than at mid-day. We were outspanned
above the cutting, and the oppressive heat of the day and the sultriness
of the evening seemed to have told on our party, and we were all
squatted about on the long soft grass, smoking or thinking. Besides my
brother and myself there were two young Scotchmen (just out from home)
and a little Frenchman. He was a general favourite on account of his
inexhaustible good-nature and unflagging high spirits.
We were, as I have said, stretched out on the grass smoking in silence,
watching the puffs and rings of smoke melt quietly away, so still was
the air. How long we had lain thus I don't know, but I was the first to
break the silence by exclaiming:
"What a grand night for a bathe!"
There was no reply to this for some seconds, and then Jim gave an
apathetic grunt in courteous recognition of the fact that I had spoken.
I subsided again, and there was another long silence--evidently no one
wanted to talk; but I had become restless and fidgety under the heat and
stillness, and presently I returned to the charge.
"Who's for a bathe?" I asked.