OVER THE "GREAT KARROO" TO CAPE TOWN
A fearful dust-storm was raging over the Kimberley veldt. Gusts of
sand and dirt blew into their faces as Aunt Kotie kissed Petrus
good-by. He had just promised to spend his winter at High School in
Johannesburg with her. Lieutenant Wortley and George were glad to see
their little Boer friend again, but they feared a violent thunderstorm
and drenching. The wind was unroofing houses, blowing down trees, and
filling the air with rubbish and dirt at a terrific rate.
So the lieutenant hailed an old vehicle. There was just time between
trains for a glance at the famous Kimberley diamond mines, which
Petrus had never seen. The wheels of the old vehicle often sank a
foot deep as it rattled along through clouds of dust, past miserable
corrugated-iron shanties and mounds of débris, left after the diamonds
had been sorted out. Kimberley seemed to lie in a sea of sand.
To Petrus, the mine looked like a great human ant-hill whose
inhabitants were all surging busily about at hard work. They paused at
the brink of the gigantic caldron-like hole to take a look far down
at the hundreds of naked Kafirs whose bodies looked no larger than
rabbits. A man approached and asked if they would not like to be taken
down. So they jumped into a hoist, from which a bucket of the precious
"blue-stone" had just been discharged, and soon found themselves at the
bottom of the vast crater. It was a wonderful sight. There it was that
the most beautiful gems in all the world were found!
Hundreds of demon-like figures, hard at work, were emerging from the
earth and reëntering it on all sides. They were chiefly Kafirs.
"Oh, I wonder which one of these wretched-looking Kafirs is Mutla's
poor, sick brother, Diza!" exclaimed Petrus. "Mutla told me he is
afraid Diza will die if he doesn't get away from this underground
work here. If only he had the money he said he could get farm work
in Rhodesia. I heard the Predikant of uncle's church say there were
continual deaths among these wretched Kimberley mine boys who cannot
get away," continued Petrus, anxiously scanning the black faces for one
that might resemble Mutla's.
The boys hoped to catch a glimpse of a diamond. The ground had all
been squared off into different claims--which had cut it up into
blocks, cubes and rectangles. Each claim had its own wires and trollies
bringing up the precious "blue" to the surface. As the countless tubes
of the aerial tramway glided rapidly back and forth--upwards and
downwards through the labyrinthine network of wire-rope stretching
over the sides of the mine--the vast abyss seemed filled with flights
of birds fluttering to and fro.
"Uncle Abraham told me the story about the finding of the first rough
gem here," said Petrus to George. "The children of a Dutch farmer had
a small soapy-appearing stone for a plaything. They thought it was
nothing but a pebble. But a visitor noticed the strange stone one day
and offered to buy it. The mother laughed and gave it to him gladly.
Then it was examined by many experts and pronounced a valuable diamond."
"That was the beginning of one of the greatest industries the world has
ever known," added the lieutenant. "Then from the 'Premier Mine,' near
Pretoria, was taken the great 'Cullinan diamond,' which weighed a pound
and a half. That was the most valuable diamond ever found, its value
being $2,500,000."
"And it was called the 'Star of Africa,' and presented to King Edward,
wasn't it, Daddy?" exclaimed George.
"Yes, George. And part of it is set in His Majesty's scepter and part
in his crown," explained the lieutenant, as they were bobbing along in
the same old vehicle through the sand and dirt and wind-storm for their
train. Soon they were whirling towards Cape Town.
For nearly two nights and days the train continued on its way over vast
stretches of arid plains. Only a few small, dried-up, lavender-colored
"Karroo" bushes here and there were seen, with now and then a
flat-topped kopje. They were crossing the "Great Karroo"--a region of
limitless sky and sand. Desolation marked every mile of the way.
"It's just like that Kalahari Desert, Father! Some of it has gotten
inside this car, too!" protested George. A fine white alkaline powder
had penetrated the car, sifted into their baggage, down their collars,
into their eyes, hair, and everywhere it should not be. Even the food
tasted gritty. All the next day they were still passing over the same
great burning waste of sandy, sun-swept veldt. "'Karroo' is a Hottentot
name, meaning dry or barren," Petrus explained. Even the river-beds
were dried up. Towards evening, when a sudden hard rain fell over the
dry tussocky grass, the effect was magical. Hundreds of wild flowers
burst suddenly into bloom, glowing brightly in the wilderness.
The boys' excitement in watching for the possible appearance of
elephants and giraffes on the "Karroo" was giving way to doubt as none
appeared. Petrus had read of as many as five hundred giraffes in one
herd.
"All that, Petrus, was before the natives were given fire-arms,"
explained the lieutenant. "They were allowed to kill most of them off,
but there are still plenty of leopards and hyenas left."
"I've heard you say, Daddy, that before Livingstone came and civilized
the natives, white people scarcely dared live in Africa at all,"
interrupted George. "Then, after he taught them and doctored and
protected and helped them, they called him 'Messenger of God.'"
"Yes, before Livingstone the Englishmen believed that Africa was a
place little better than the Kalahari Desert, with its villainous salt
water," declared the lieutenant, with a scowl at the memory.
"Oh, Lieutenant Wortley! One of Aunt Kotie's Zulus looked exactly
like that Zulu who threw his assegai at our cart that day. He eyed
me closely every minute. I believe he is that very one!" excitedly
exclaimed Petrus. "Aunt Kotie said he'd not been with her long."
"Dirk? He'd better keep his distance from George and me if he knows
what is good for him!" said the lieutenant, with a threatening look.
"Yes, Dirk! That's just what Aunt Kotie called him. I wish he'd go
back to Zululand or the Kalahari Desert and stay there forever!"
exclaimed Petrus. The view was fast changing from the "Karroo" and
becoming more rugged. The train curved in and out of the narrowing
valleys and zigzagged up and down between beautiful ravines and rugged
kloofs. Soon the lofty cathedral-like jagged peaks of the Hottentot's
Holland Mountains came in view. Before the boys scarcely knew it they
had reached Cape Town and were rushing through the city's streets in a
tram for their hotel.
"Oh!" exclaimed both boys at once, as they caught a fine view of
towering "Table Mountain." They wanted to go at once down to the dock
where they could get a better view of it, but the lieutenant said they
must have something to eat first and rest a bit.
"But we are not tired!" protested the boys, as soon as they had eaten
a slight meal. So their sightseeing commenced at once. The streets
of the Colonial metropolis were thronged with a strange medley of
busy humanity. Ladies in carriages bent on shopping, Europeans in
white suits, turbaned Malay priests in gorgeous silken robes, and
British officers and soldiers from the barracks--everywhere. There had
been violent anti-German riots, so that now strong forces of police,
soldiers, and fire brigades were all being held in readiness to stop
further disturbances. General Botha had issued a message of protest.
After the lieutenant had taken George and Petrus down Adderly
Street--the Broadway of Cape Town--and shown them the Parliament and
Government Houses, the Fine Arts Gallery and the South African College,
where Koos expected some day to study, the boys begged to be taken down
to the dock.
The Malay driver of a passing hansom cab soon left them at the dock,
where they found a strange and motley crowd of shabbily dressed
Kafirs, sea-faring men, scantily clad Kroomen from the coast, Russians,
Greeks, Italians, Dutch and Polish Jews--all coming and going, with
here and there Malays, whose wooden sandals with their strange toe
posts, made a clattering noise as they walked.
Beneath the towering granite wall of "Table Mountain"--with its summit
enveloped in a perpetual cloud-mist--lay "Table Bay," whose cobalt-blue
waters looked smooth as glass--save for the long curving line of tidal
ripples where the water and yellow sand met. A swarm of drowsy sea-fowl
lightly rose at the approach of a ship. The thought thrilled Petrus. He
was enjoying his first glimpse of the ocean.
"This is one of the most beautiful ports in the world," said the
lieutenant, as he hailed a passing motor for a drive along the famous
"Kloof Road." Soon they were passing through Cape Town's beautiful
and picturesque suburbs with its villas half-buried in sub-tropical
foliage. Although there remained but a few days until Christmas,
flowers were blooming everywhere, roses, purple-blossomed "kafirboom,"
in airy sprays, spiky aloes with their blood-red flowers, lobelias, and
the lovely "Lily of the Nile" which bloomed the year round.
Barely time remained for a quick run out to see "Groote Schuur," the
fine old home of Cecil Rhodes--a handsome, low, gabled residence, with
an avenue of towering pines leading up to it.
"And was Rhodes buried, like Livingstone, in Westminster Abbey?" asked
George.
"No," replied his father. "He was buried on the summit of a
lonely mountain in the heart of the great land he developed for
England--Rhodesia. His tomb, which was cut out of the native rock, lies
in a spot full of grandeur, which he loved and called: 'The View of
the World.' A part of his dream for the development of Africa was the
vast scheme, now nearing completion, of the 'Cape to Cairo' railroad--a
great British stretch of steel from Cape Town to the Mediterranean.
People laughed at the wild project of a railway that should run through
the entire length of the African continent. Much of the route--all
that part in the region of the Equator--would pass through territory
inhabited by wild and war-like native tribes, and jungles infested
by lions and other wild beasts. But Rhodes toiled away at his vast
undertaking until to-day its completion is a matter of but a few more
years."
As they passed Newlands, at the foot of the mountain, Petrus and George
noticed many picnickers and gay coaching parties "too-tooing" along the
beautiful "Kloof Road." Farther on, a lively game of cricket was being
played by fine athletic-looking British and South African boys side
by side, and there were Malays, in red fezzes and gorgeously colored
blazers, playing an interesting game of golf.
Petrus' one beautiful day of sightseeing in Cape Town was about over.
Already darkness was fast settling over "Table Mountain" and the
city below it, as the little party returned to their hotel through
the business streets of the city, which they found thronged with the
troops, police, and immense crowds which had gathered in a rather
threatening spirit, and were singing, as with one voice, "Rule
Britannia." In large headlines all the evening papers told Cape Town's
citizens the startling news that one more great power had gone mad and
thrown herself into the fearful "world-war."