MATABELE LAND
AND
THE VICTORIA FALLS
[Illustration: Frank Oates.]
MATABELE LAND
AND
THE VICTORIA FALLS
A NATURALIST’S WANDERINGS IN THE INTERIOR
OF SOUTH AFRICA
_FROM THE LETTERS & JOURNALS OF THE LATE_
FRANK OATES, F.R.G.S.
EDITED BY C. G. OATES, B.A.
[Illustration]
LONDON
C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1881
_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_.
PREFACE.
In offering to the public the following pages, I feel, as editor, that
I owe a few words of apology and explanation to the reader by way of
preface--apology for the imperfections of the volume; explanation how
such imperfections have arisen. The traveller whose journey to the
Zambesi is here recounted died of fever a few days after he had left
that river on his way homewards, and the book has been compiled from
his note-books, and letters home. The latter were written with no
view of publication; the former were intended only for the writer’s
own subsequent use and as suggestive guides to memory. It is always a
question in such a case how far the surviving friends of the deceased
writer or traveller do well in publishing the unfinished labour of his
pen. What his own wish would have been cannot be known, or even guessed
at, unless specially expressed; and the reflection forcibly presents
itself to the mind that perhaps a certain injustice may be done to the
memory of the dead by publishing, in a form which may fairly challenge
the criticism of the general reader, a few hasty jottings by the
wayside, written under circumstances the least favourable to literary
composition, and a limited number of letters home, meant merely for
the perusal of the writer’s nearest and most indulgent friends. On
the other hand, however, it must be borne in mind that, much as must
inevitably be lost in editing pages such as these for want of the
inspiring touch which the writer himself could alone have finally
given them, there will probably be a directness and freshness of the
expressions which a traveller makes use of on the spot, hampered as
he then is by no oppressive consciousness that he is addressing that
imaginary “public”--consisting after all but of a number of individuals
like himself, all with the same human heart and interests,--which might
be wanting in his more matured work.
Guided, then, by the latter consideration, and by the reflection that
every day the number of our countrymen is increasing who look to South
Africa with a growing interest--whether as a land for colonization,
exploration, or scientific research,--I venture to add another to the
long list of already published books upon that country, hoping that the
reader may find therein matter of some general interest, and that, if
not, he will look leniently on the error of judgment which has led me,
together with those who have here shared my responsibility, to offer
for his perusal pages prepared at first mainly for private friends, but
which it was afterwards thought might possibly prove of interest to a
somewhat wider circle.
Further, with reference to the length of time which has elapsed between
the date of the writer’s death and the publication of this volume,
I can only claim in extenuation of this circumstance the fact that
a considerable period necessarily intervened before the traveller’s
journals and papers reached this country, that they required on their
arrival much care in their disposal, and that the whole of the natural
history collections had to be gone through systematically before being
finally placed in competent hands for arrangement and classification.
The delay, then, has enabled me to include in the volume the papers in
the appendix on the latter subject, contributed by such able hands,
which I believe will add interest to the whole; and that not only in
the case of scientific readers, but of all those who would realize in
a measure what it is which makes up the life and experiences of the
naturalist traveller in his wanderings in distant lands. I may add,
moreover, that the general state and condition of the country of which
these pages treat would appear, from the accounts of those who have
recently visited it, to remain substantially the same, or only changed
in points of minor interest. The abandonment, however, of the Tati
Gold-mine and the establishment of Kama in the Bamangwato sovereignty
perhaps demand attention.
In editing this work it has been my object to preserve, wherever
possible, the writer’s narrative in exactly his own words; and this
plan has been steadily adhered to throughout, those passages only being
omitted which appeared little likely to interest the general reader, or
in which--as several times occurred--old ground was re-traversed. In
such cases the intervening periods have been bridged over by a short
narrative of my own, intended merely to connect the story and weld the
whole together. The maps, it may be added, are all of them the result
of the traveller’s own special observations, recorded as he went along.
Of the illustrations in the body of the work, I may remark that they
are all from original drawings taken on the spot, or from the objects
they purport to represent. Some are from sketches by the late Frank
Oates; the remainder--and these the larger number--from those of his
brother, W. E. Oates, who accompanied him during a portion of his
journey. It may therefore perhaps be fairly claimed for them that,
whatever their artistic merits, these drawings are--what alone they
claim to be--faithful representations of the scenes and objects they
depict. In the “List of Illustrations” it will be found to which of the
two brothers each drawing may be respectively attributed.
And now there only remains to me the pleasing duty of returning my
warmest thanks to the many friends who have helped me with my task. To
those gentlemen who have contributed the valuable papers which form
the appendix to this volume, my thanks are especially due; I refer to
Professors Rolleston, Westwood, and Oliver, Dr. Albert Günther, Mr. R.
Bowdler Sharpe, and Mr. J. G. Baker. And in this connexion I have also
to thank Captain G. E. Shelley, who named the majority of the birds in
my late brother’s collection before they passed into the hands of Mr.
Sharpe, to be permanently deposited in the British Museum. From all of
these, and especially from Mr. Sharpe, I have received, besides, much
friendly help and advice with reference to the general arrangements of
the volume, as I have proceeded with my labours; as well, also, as from
Mr. H. W. Bates, the able Assistant Secretary of the Royal Geographical
Society, to whose kindness I am deeply indebted for many valuable
suggestions and much practical assistance. The four beautiful plates
which accompany Professor Westwood’s paper have been drawn by his own
hand to illustrate his descriptions of new or remarkable insects.
Of those gentlemen, moreover, who have contributed their professional
assistance, I must also in common gratitude add a word. Mr. Francis
Holl has bestowed much pains on the production of a portrait of my late
brother, from a photograph by Gowland of York, which I believe to be
very successful; Mr. Kaufmann’s chromo-lithographs are the result of
much careful effort on his part to catch the spirit and preserve the
effect of the original water-colour drawings from which they have been
taken; the lithographs in the appendix, drawn respectively by Messrs.
J. G. Keulemans, R. Mintern, W. H. Fitch, and (as already mentioned)
Professor Westwood, have been accurately rendered by the skilful
hands of Messrs. M. and N. Hanhart, and Messrs. Mintern Brothers;
and the wood-engravings have been skilfully and conscientiously
executed by Messrs. G. Pearson, J. D. Cooper, and E. Evans, all of
them with a faithful determination to do the fullest justice to their
respective subjects, and I believe with admirable result. The birds
and animals have been placed on wood chiefly by Mr. Smit, and some by
Mr. Davenport; whilst Mr. Charles Whymper has contributed two original
drawings of the author’s dogs and the designs upon the cover. Mr.
Edward Weller also and his son have spared no pains to make the maps
which accompany the volume as perfect and complete as possible; to
whom, as well as to all the others named, my grateful thanks are due,
and most heartily do I acknowledge what I owe them.
To enumerate more fully the names of those who have further assisted
me, either professionally or as private friends, I must now forbear
from undertaking; suffice it to say there are many, especially of the
latter class, without whose assistance and encouragement I should
probably never have succeeded in bringing my labours to a close. Let
me thank them now for the generous help and sympathy so ungrudgingly
given, and which, alas, it is so impossible for me to recompense.
It may be proper to add, before concluding--what I have failed
elsewhere to mention--that a considerable number of specimens in my
brother’s collection were destroyed at Shoshong in his lifetime by the
unroofing, during a gale, of the hut where they were stored, and that
some of the spirit jars of reptiles and beetles were afterwards left
behind when the collections were conveyed to England; circumstances
which led in all probability to the loss of many valuable specimens.
There are not many who will need to be reminded that to “inspan” and
“outspan,” words of frequent occurrence in the traveller’s journal,
mean, in South African parlance, to “yoke” and “unyoke,” and that
“spoor” means “footprints” or “track.” All other words of Dutch or
native origin introduced into the text are explained, I believe, where
they occur. The accent in the word “Matabele” falls, it may be added,
on the third of its four syllables.
My task is ended--in many respects a very mournful, yet a very pleasing
one; and if there be found but a few readers who derive either pleasure
or profit from a perusal of these pages, I shall feel amply rewarded
for my trouble.
C. G. O.
_May 1881._
MEMOIR.
“To be able to give one’s name to a bird, or a flower,
may seem to many but a poor ambition; and yet, materially
considered, it is quite as likely to be perpetuated as to
give it to a street or town, and is much more likely to
define the tastes and individuality of the giver.”--_Bret
Harte._
The saying has seldom been truer of any one than of the writer of the
succeeding pages, that “the child is father of the man.” His love of
nature generally, and of natural history in all its branches, was one
of Frank Oates’s earliest instincts; and to the study of our English
wild-birds--their ways and haunts, their comings and their goings--he
was especially devoted from boyhood. The pages of Waterton and Buffon,
treating of wider fields of study, supplied his imagination at that
period with richer food; and the plates of Audubon’s Birds, when access
could be had to them, were turned by him with feelings little short
of reverence. From his earliest days he had resolved to visit those
distant, and, to him, still mysterious lands, where the page of nature
was yet to the white man in great part an unread book; and those who,
after his death in the full prime of manhood, witnessed the arrival at
his English home of his large collections of natural history specimens,
brought from the interior of South Africa by the devoted service of a
friend, realized strangely how the boy’s ambition had been fulfilled
in after life, and felt that, though cut off in the very perfection of
his powers, the purpose of his being had not wholly failed. Those even
who knew him best were surprised indeed, when these evidences of his
work abroad arrived, to see how much he had accomplished in the brief
period--a little short of two years--of his absence. As, one after
another, the packing-cases were opened, each in its turn afforded to
the looker-on some fresh illustration of the untiring determination of
the deceased traveller to make the very utmost of his opportunities
whilst abroad. The voice that could alone have told the story of those
collections, the hand that had brought them thus together, were silent
and still in a far distant grave; but an utterance--the more pathetic
because it was inaudible--seemed to go forth, unbidden, from those
speechless records of devoted work and enterprise, and tell the secret
tale of a life in earnest sympathy with nature curtailed,--the hand, as
it were, yet warm from its labours.
There, on the one hand, lay the opened cases of rare and brilliant
bird-skins, each specimen with its separate label, in the collector’s
writing, carefully recording its habitat, and other particulars useful
to the student, accompanied in many instances by examples of nests
and eggs. There, on the other hand, were lesser boxes, filled with
varied specimens of insects, some from those very Victoria Falls
of the Zambesi, the rich and almost untried harvest-ground of the
naturalist, whose attractions had lured the wanderer to his untimely
grave. And there, again, were those large wide-necked bottles, familiar
to the collector, containing, some of them, strange-looking beetles,
others still stranger reptiles; there the packets of botanical drying
paper, each sheet enveloping its floral treasure. Turning again to
other cases, were found in numbers the singular implements of savage
warfare, or industry, and with them many of those rude yet tasteful
attempts at ornamentation suggested by native fancy; evidences--the
whole of them--of that untutored skill and delicate refinement of
workmanship which characterize many of the finer races of unlettered
savages. Whilst further, the mighty tusks of the huge African elephant,
the skins of the lion, the leopard, and the cheetah,--for it was
these beasts of prey that the traveller had especially loved to
hunt,--besides those of many an African antelope, with horns and heads
of equal grace and beauty, told silently of stirring adventures in the
bush. Lastly, but yet not least, were those scientific instruments he
had used in taking observations of his journey with so much faithful
perseverance; the note-books; the letters of friends (some of these
unopened, containing those trifling items of home news, so sweet to
the far-off traveller, which his eyes had never seen, for they had
arrived after his decease); the pencilled outlines of the country’s
scenery; the water-colour drawings of those fatal Falls; how much did
not these records breathe to the silent bystander, how much suggest of
what had been, and still more what _might have been_! Poor fellow!
not there himself to speak to us, those records of an earnest life,
those cared-for and well-worn letters which he _had_ received and
treasured, how far more eloquent they were to us than any words could
have been! They told us all, more than all, than any words which he
could, or at least would, have spoken--so lightly did he ever treat his
own achievements--and seemed to leave the world and ourselves poorer
and yet richer by his death!
But the subject has led me, in my capacity of editor of these pages,
beyond the proper limits of my duties, and I must crave the indulgence
of the reader for this long digression. My object is merely to relate,
as briefly as I can, such simple facts of Frank Oates’s earlier life
as may serve to illustrate the scope and bearing of the ensuing pages,
and bring to view the motives which led him to enter on his life of
travel. What I have said, indeed, may perhaps, it is true, help to
show--what I was anxious early to point out--how very catholic were the
interests of the deceased, how great the hold each separate department
of the world’s life, and history, and daily growth, had laid upon him.
Devoted to the study of natural history, as I have already pointed out,
and especially to that of birds--the pursuit of which might be called
his ruling passion--yet never did he close his eyes to all those varied
interests of other kinds, which were constantly opening round him in
his life of foreign travel. “He was not” indeed, as has lately been
said of the young French naturalist Jacquemont, who, like Frank Oates
himself, died early and in harness,--“He was not at all one of those
specialists who shut themselves up in a narrow speciality, and become
blind and deaf to the great interests of human life.”[1] Rather may it
be said of him, that his interests were perhaps too wide, and that he
overtaxed his strength and powers in following the promptings of his
nature. Speaking indeed in homely phraseology, whilst out in Africa, he
admitted himself that he had “too many irons in the fire,” and some of
the difficulties and vexations which beset him upon his journey must
be attributed to the delays which were occasioned by his desire of
embracing every opportunity which presented itself, not only of adding
a new specimen to his collection, but also of noting any fresh fact
with regard to the country and its inhabitants which came before his
notice. For, in addition to his natural history pursuits, he was, as
above intimated, engaged on this journey in taking observations of the
country which he passed through, and laying down his route, and also,
wherever possible, in seeking intercourse with the natives, and gaining
knowledge of their character.
This same tendency of his--to attempt too much--had once before also
served him in evil stead when at the University in earlier life.
Born on the 6th of April 1840, a son of the late Mr. Edward Oates,
of Meanwoodside, near Leeds--himself a lover of nature, and a man of
literary tastes--Frank Oates entered at Christ Church, Oxford, at the
close of 1860. And here his love of nature and her teachings soon
displayed itself by his choice of reading for a class in the Natural
Science Schools. His work, however, in this direction did not keep him
from study in many other departments of knowledge; and, besides his
studies, all out-door pursuits had each their respective fascination
for him. Of these, riding held with him, as it had always done, the
foremost place; and when the time of year or incidental circumstances
kept him from an occasional gallop with the hounds, he would have a
long day’s ride into the country instead, drinking in, the while, deep
draughts of enjoyment from the scenes he passed through. One such ride,
still showing him faithful to his love of birds, he describes himself
in a letter to one of his brothers on May Day, 1864, as follows:--
“I had a jolly ride,” he writes, “to Wychwood Forest a few days ago,
with S---- of Wadham. We both enjoyed it, as we both entered into the
loveliness of the scene. Unfortunately the day was cold, and few birds
were seen, though we did hear the nightingale once, and the cuckoo
once or twice. We were riding about the forest in the dark, with some
prospect of being lost, and did not get back to Oxford till eleven
o’clock, having ridden about thirty-six miles.”
The exhilaration of these long rides was almost a necessity to him,
counteracting, as they did in a measure, the strain of mental work.
He also loved bathing, swimming, and sailing, the first two of which
Oxford supplied him with in liberal measure, whilst even the last-named
he found occasional opportunity of indulging his taste for on the Isis.
Then there were cricket and rowing, to both of which he gave a share
of his attention, with rifle-shooting at the butts, and fencing at the
gymnasium.
This is a tolerable list of occupations, in addition to which
Oxford had also its social attractions for him; for, besides the
undergraduates of his own standing whom he knew, he was further
privileged with the acquaintance of a few such men as the present Dean
of Westminster--then Regius Professor of Ecclesiastical History in the
University--the present distinguished Master of Balliol, the late Sir
Benjamin Brodie, and Professor Henry Smith; whilst the nature of his
studies brought him into frequent pleasant intercourse with Professor
Rolleston and others at the museum. The second year of his residence
he sustained a loss, which he long felt, in the death of his young
tutor, Mr. G. R. Luke, Senior Student of Christ Church, to whom he had
formed no slight attachment. Of this event, rendered doubly sad by the
circumstances under which it occurred, he wrote to a friend the day
afterwards (March 4, 1862) as follows:--
“Oxford,” he says, “has just lost one of its brightest lights, and I
a valuable friend, whom, I fear, I did not sufficiently appreciate in
his lifetime--poor Luke! It would be too much to say that there was not
so good, but I can confidently assert that I do not think there was a
better, man in Oxford. He was such a genuine, worthy, and conscientious
fellow as is rarely met with; and his kindness was equalled by his
noble spirit--his modesty by his high learning and abilities. And
this valuable life, difficult as it is to realize it, has been cut
short;--Luke was drowned in the river yesterday, having gone alone,
quite contrary to his custom, in a whiff. It seems that he was near
half an hour in the water, and dead when taken out. This sad accident,
coming so suddenly, must throw a damp over the feelings of many; and if
there is any gratitude amongst men, there must have been many a sigh
for him last night. I heard the news before six o’clock, and it had
reached Christ Church some time before, the accident having happened
about four. You may imagine my horror when, on entering my rooms to put
on my cap and gown for hall, I was met by my scout, and asked if I had
heard that Mr. Luke was drowned. In an hour or two I should have been
reading with him.”
And now enough may have perhaps been said to give some insight into
Frank Oates’s life at Oxford, and with one more quotation from his
letters, this period of his history shall be closed. His first year
at college an attack upon his chest in early spring had prevented his
residence during the summer term at the University, and led to his
spending as much of the succeeding winter as the Oxford terms admitted
of in Italy, where he gathered many pleasant reminiscences. The
following spring, too, he was late in coming up, owing to a return of
his ailment during the Easter vacation, when he was again a prisoner
to his room at home. Writing on April 23d (1862), during this period
of confinement, he says, “I see the tree-tops tipped with green, and
hear the thrush’s voice, telling me of old times, and asking me why
I keep house, and I’ve no doubt spring is here. So I want to be out
again, and to greet her as an old friend.” And presently he was out
again, revelling in the spring sunshine with his friends, the birds.
But this is not the intended quotation. Sufficiently recovered from
this illness for the journey back to Oxford, he returned there on May
9th to find the place “shaded with its great green trees, and with
its gray old walls looking almost joyous.” It was not, however, till
two evenings later that he “came in for the full benefit of the May
aspect of things,” as he describes it, when he took a long ramble
into the country to Wytham, and first saw the rich pastoral country
which surrounds Oxford in its summer dress. His account of this walk,
written (again to the same friend) on May 12th, tells forcibly of his
appreciation of all country sights and sounds.
“... Your letter arrived yesterday morning,” he says, “and of course my
evening was at once laid out for me, and now I come to what I ought to
have begun with--my ramble of last night. You perhaps thought, as it
grew dusk, that I was still lingering about the scene you describe;
and so I was. It was with really joyous feelings that I set out at six
o’clock, and trudged along the Sevenbridge Road. It was Sunday evening,
and the road was crowded with Oxford folks and the militia. The floods
which surrounded the road seemed an object of interest to them, but
I pushed on, bestowing a hurried glance now and then at the tufted
willows, and islands, and shores of long grass, which dotted over and
surrounded the lake-like fields, with the dappled sky reflected on
their watery surface. Botley reached, I inquired the way to Wytham. A
shady green lane was pointed out to me, and I was soon away in thought,
all alone in that quiet place; and so on I strolled, through the
fields, past the wood, through the village, and, as night closed in,
back again. If I were a word-painter I might describe my walk; but not
being one, should any attempt of mine thereat be intelligible to you,
it will only be because you know what I would describe, and can realize
my feelings.
“There had been some little rain, and it was still rather dull and
damp when I set out; but I should have gone if it had been worse, and
really the evening ended almost brightly. I enjoyed the freshness
of everything, and the wild-birds seemed to enjoy it; they did not
appreciate it as I did, but they enjoyed it more. The notes of many
a songster rang out from the thick cover of the wood on my left, and
amongst the well-known notes some strange music was mixed, now and then
becoming louder and more distinct. These must have been the wonderful
soft strains of the nightingale. The woodpeckers were laughing wildly,
and the rooks returning to the tops of the elms, and talking as is
their wont; the youngsters responding eagerly, and seeming as if they
were chattering and being fed at the same time. The cows were placidly
grouped about the hedges, or wandering leisurely to and fro, favouring
the passerby with a whiff of their scented breath. On the other side,
flooded fields were rich in the most luxuriant vegetation; whilst
continually, and, as it grew later, more continually, the cuckoos
answered one another from many a deep shade. I was glad to think that
you would be thinking me there, and hoped you would not fancy that I
should give up the excursion.”
Nor, passing now from reminiscences of his Oxford life, was his love of
the country and its associations, here sufficiently evinced, confined
to one particular sort of scenery; and the wild moorlands of his native
county attracted him as strongly as the quiet and peaceful beauties of
Oxfordshire, or even more so. During the Easter vacation of 1864 he
had been on a short walking tour into the Yorkshire dales with one of
his brothers and some other friends.
“There is always a sense of freedom,” he writes from near Leeds soon
afterwards, “in getting away to the moors and mountains which surround
us, and lie so near that they seem to invite Leeds men to visit them.
For though the river at Kirkstall is sadly changed from the stream
that leaves Malham Tarn, and the mountain air has lost somewhat of
its freshness when it sweeps over this place, the sight and sound of
railways are a constant reminder that a few minutes’ consignment to
the train, and the payment of a few shillings, are sufficient charm
to place one in the world of nature. May those moors and valleys
long continue desolate, if desolation may be understood to mean no
presence but that of the spirit of nature. I care not what that spirit
may be, but I feel a breathing life and an unsurpassable harmony,
where man has not utterly defiled the face of the country. What I
long for,” he concludes, “is a fishing tour in the neighbourhood of
Kilnsey or Wensleydale. I must be incorrigibly idle, and born to hate
anything that even looks like work; and yet I want to be active, to do
something, to find a field for my energies, such as they are.”
In the last passage the writer did himself some injustice, and what he
seems to have taken for “incorrigible idleness,” was in reality nothing
else than the demand of nature within him for some real rest and
relaxation from his Oxford studies. His scrupulous conscientiousness,
moreover, was already beginning to cause him much anxiety with regard
to his future life, as the time for his leaving Oxford was approaching.
That warning voice of nature, however, unhappily was not attended
to. He would have entered the Schools for his final examination the
succeeding autumn, or at latest the following spring; but in the latter
part of the summer of this year (1864), under the strain of overwork,
his health broke completely down, and for a period of some years he was
obliged to live in a state of enforced, and to him scarcely endurable,
inactivity. A great portion of this time he spent in the retired
parts of Wales, and the English Lake District, and some part of it in
Ireland. On one occasion, during this period, writing to one of his
brothers on his experiences of overwork, he says:--
“Let me advise you earnestly not to try _to do too many things_.
I killed the goose with a vengeance, and got no golden egg. I was
expecting in a few weeks [when taken ill] a degree with honours, and
a good start in life, and ... had to leave Oxford without even an
ordinary degree, which I knew more than enough to have taken the
Easter before, if it would have satisfied me. I should have been
surprised to have been told that season, when I was riding H----’s
little cob in Rotten Row, in the glory of summer and all the hope of
youth, that before the leaves had all left the trees that very horse
would have been H----’s death, and that I should be a hundred times
worse than dead.”[2]
Throughout the whole of this weary time, however, he never
relinquished--so indomitable was his spirit--the hope of a better time
approaching. Once at Liverpool, indeed, for a short stay in 1869, he
writes upon this subject, “I like to be where I can be amused and see
life without having to take part in it, though I would fifty times
rather be at work at something. I wonder,” he adds, “whether I ever
shall be again.” And he _was_ at work again, not quite two years
later, once more restored to health, and busily preparing for a trip
across the Atlantic, which had been recommended to him for the thorough
re-establishment of his health, and which accorded happily with the
early fancies of his boyhood. It was by this time almost too late for
him, even had he now wished it, to have thought seriously of adopting
one of the recognized professions. A few years earlier he had thought
both of the army and the bar; but with the love of adventure and
research so strong within him, it is scarcely probable, had he adopted
either, that he would have endured their trammels long. Once, too, it
had seemed not unlikely that his strong love of painting, which held
with his passion for natural history divided sway over his earlier
years, might have proved the more powerful impulse of the two, and led
him ultimately to the definite pursuit of art. In choosing against
it, however, he probably selected well, as the somewhat sedentary
life thereby involved would not so well have harmonized with his
constitutional need for physical activity.
On this expedition to America he was absent about a year,
a considerable portion of the time being spent in Central
America--chiefly in Guatemala,--and a part of it in California, camping
out amongst the Rocky Mountains. Unlooked for circumstances brought his
journey to a speedier close than he had intended; but if unaccompanied
by other results, he was at least successful in forming a collection of
birds and insects of some interest and value, and contracted several
valuable friendships. “His manliness and irreproachable conduct
and kindliness,” wrote Sir Henry Scholfield, the British Consul at
Guatemala, after his decease, “gained for him, during his short stay
here, a friend in every one he met.” And wherever else in the country
he made any sort of stay, he appeared to have been scarcely less
fortunate in this respect.
Soon after his return from America in 1872 he began to make
arrangements for a more extended journey--the one of which this
volume treats, and on which he started in March 1873. His plan on
this occasion was to reach the Zambesi from Natal, and if possible
visit some of the unexplored country to the north of that river. In
the latter hope he was destined to disappointment, and the number of
obstacles he met with in realizing the former serve to illustrate
some of the ordinary difficulties which may be encountered in African
travel. Of the results, however, such as they were, of this journey,
in which he lost his life, the reader must be left to form his own
judgment from the perusal of the ensuing pages. He had at least
acquired much of that needful experience of rough travel and adventure,
without which little can be accomplished in the way of exploration or
research. It is almost certain that, had he lived, his next journey
would have been of a more ambitious kind, remarkable as he was for that
love of enterprise which characterizes the true explorer; of this he
spoke merely as a “little trip.” His experiences, moreover, in this
two years’ travel, must still further have convinced him, if in a
different manner, of those evil effects of attempting too many things,
which his Oxford career had previously warned him of. The diversity
of his pursuits led him into many delays, each one of which no doubt
contributed its share, together with the obstructiveness of native
tribes, to that long detention on his journey which finally threw his
visit to the Zambesi into the unhealthy season of the year. It must be
granted, however, at the same time, that his love of adventure led him
into places where the field for inquiry was especially inviting, and
offered exceptional advantages; and also that his devotion to natural
history beguiled throughout his journey what might otherwise have
proved many a weary march. It is more than probable--so fully had the
need of this now been brought home to him--that on another journey,
had he been spared to make one, he would have concentrated his chief
energies upon fewer objects. What these might have been must remain,
indeed, matter of conjecture; but whatever else he had abandoned, the
pursuit of ornithology would certainly have held a place second only to
that of exploration.
In character and temperament Frank Oates was admirably fitted for
his work. “I like anything,” he once wrote when at Oxford, “that
seems difficult of attainment,”--the very zest of the pursuit proving
in such cases its own reward to him. So too, in disposition; he
had just the one which recommends itself to strangers. “There was
something singularly winning about him,” wrote a friend, upon his
death; “that peculiar combination of courage and gentleness, which is
one of the finest traits of character.” It was, in fact, this very
association of a genial nature with a remarkable openness and candour
of disposition, that won for him friends, especially amongst his own
countrymen, wherever his lot was cast, and so smoothed his way over
many difficulties. And if, as would sometimes happen, he fell amongst
unfriendly natives, he preserved himself on such occasions by a seeming
show of condescension, and a coolness under danger which commanded
their respect. A faithful and accurate observer, but little was lost
that came before his notice; and if at the time of his death--in
February 1875--he had not realized all that he had hoped from his
expedition, he may at least be said to have justified the choice that
he had made, and had contributed a measure of faithful labour to the
causes of progress and research.
On hearing of his death, the Dean of Christ Church, who had always
particularly regretted the illness which in earlier life had
prematurely closed his University career, wrote of the untimely
termination of his later efforts in a spirit of no less concern. “His
name,” wrote the Dean at this time, “must be added to the list of those
devoted and enterprising Englishmen, who ‘scorn delights and live
laborious days,’ who by their frank love of truth and justice have
made our name respected from one hemisphere to the other. I retain a
dear memory of him,” he concludes, “and grieve to think that so much
manly spirit has so soon been quenched.”
This manly love of truth here noticed, his zeal in action, and energy
for work, had marked Frank Oates conspicuously from a boy. Life was for
him no lounge, merely to be dreamed through, but an active, burning
reality, from which the fruit that the hour yielded was to be plucked
and harvested. From his earliest days, when he watched at springtide
the coming of the swallow, or lurked in autumn by the hedgerow, to note
the flocks of redwings as they passed--from the time when those authors
whom he loved had given him his first glimpses into that distant realm
of nature where his imagination loved to wander, and he hoped one day
to follow them--till the arrival of the period when that desire was
at length destined to be realized, and he had threaded the forests of
tropical America, and roamed through the thorny wastes of Southern
Africa, was he ever adding something to his knowledge of nature,
something to his love of science, or something to his appreciation of
the beautiful. With him, indeed, were no half measures. His interest
once fairly roused in any subject, he gave to it the strength of his
whole soul; a purpose once formed rarely failed in its fulfilment;
and such was the elasticity of his temperament that he would turn from
one subject to another, each as a mere refreshment from the last. To
this was added, in no common measure, a certain freshness and buoyancy
of the spirit, which enabled him in a moment to throw off the spell
which bound him, and join on occasion in the frolic of the hour. A
peculiar brightness characterized his being, and rendered the common
incidents of life attractive to him; and should any be found who regard
as incongruous the lightness of spirit which occasionally manifests
itself even in the ensuing pages, in connexion with more serious
subjects, such ones may read with interest the following extract from
the writings of the late Charles Kingsley, with reference to this
very tendency, as manifested in another posthumous author, whose book
was edited by a friend. “With a reverence for the dead,” he says,
“which will at once be understood and honoured, he [the editor] has
refrained, perhaps here and there too scrupulously, from altering a
single word of the documents as he found them, respecting even certain
scraps of Cambridge and Winchester slang, which may possibly offend
that class of readers who fancy that the sign of magnanimity is to
take everything _au grand sérieux_, and that the world’s work
must needs be done upon stilts; but which will be, perhaps, to the
more thoughtful reader only additional notes of power, of that true
English ‘Lebensglückseligkeit,’ as the German calls it, which makes
a jest of danger and an amusement of toil. Jean Paul makes somewhere
the startling assertion that no man really believes his religious
creed unless he can afford to jest about it. Without going so far as
that, I will say boldly,” adds the writer, “that no man feels himself
master of his work unless he can afford to jest about it; and that
a frolicsome habit of mind is rather a token of deep, genial, and
superabundant vitality, than of a shallow and narrow nature, which can
only be earnest and attentive by conscious and serious efforts.”[3]
There were few circles of society where Frank Oates was not welcome;
and once received in any of them, a place was ever after reserved for
him in their midst. Whatever raciness or originality of character was
to be met with where his lot for the time was cast, he failed not to
find it out; and he eagerly availed himself of every opportunity which
enabled him to see life in its less conventional aspects. A certain
chivalry endeared him to the weak, his fearlessness attached to him
the strong, and no act of kindness was ever lost upon or forgotten by
him. He wandered far afield; but at home or abroad it ever was the same
with him, and he had friends, go where he would: for the intellect, in
his case, never overruled the affections; and perhaps it has fallen to
the lot of few, dying at his comparatively early age, to leave so many
sorrowing hearts behind them.
And now, but one word further. The late Charles Kingsley--again to
quote his writings, still in the same connexion as before, with
reference, that is, to his friend, Charles Mansfield, traveller,
ornithologist, and devotee of science, the posthumous writer above
referred to--has said some touching words, which the editor of these
pages, too partial, it may be, in his estimate of the deceased, would
fain transcribe, and apply to the subject of the present memoir. “He
was one of those rare spirits,” writes Charles Kingsley,[4] “to whom
this life and this world have been, as far as human minds can judge,
little beyond a schoolhouse for some nobler life and world to come. Cut
off at the very climacteric of his years, just as he was beginning to
give the world evidence of his faculties, and just as he had acquired
the power of using them in an orderly and practical method, he has left
little behind but the _disjecta membra philosophi_.... Never have
I met a human being to whom as clearly as to him the thing which seemed
right was a thing to be done forthwith, at all hazards, and at any
sacrifice.... He had gathered round him [ere he died], friends, both
men and women, who looked on him with a love such as might be inspired
by some being from a higher world.... Oh, fairest of souls!” concludes
the writer, “Happy those who knew thee in this life! Happier those who
will know thee in the life to come!”
C. G. O.
[Illustration:
“Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended,
For faithful in death, his mute favourite attended.”
--SCOTT.
_See page 265._]
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Departure from England--St. Helena--Cape Town--Arrival at
Durban--Pietermaritzburg--Start up country--Pretoria; its
climate and vegetation--The High Veldt--Dutch Boers--The
Crocodile River--Bamangwato Page 1
CHAPTER II.
The journey resumed--Halt on the Seruli--Bushmen on the
Gokwe--The Shashe--The Tati Settlement--Adventure with a
lion--W. E. Oates returns to the coast; particulars of his
journey 23
CHAPTER III.
Frank Oates proceeds to the King’s Town--Crosses the
Ramaqueban--Dutch hunters on the Impakwe--The Inkwesi;
picturesque scenery--John Lee’s farm--Manyami’s Kraal--The
Shashani--Fine country--Kumala River 42
CHAPTER IV.
Arrival at Gubuleweyo--Interview with the King--Start
for the Zambesi--Hope Fountain--Inyati--Difficulty
of obtaining bearers--The Zambesi abandoned--Hunting
expedition on the Umvungu and Gwailo Rivers--Experiences of
a half-caste--Birds’ nests--The indunas’ tree--Hunting--A
lunar eclipse--Return to Gubuleweyo--Wild fruit 58
CHAPTER V.
Stay at Gubuleweyo--New Year’s Day--The Great Dance--Cattle
slaughtered--Departure of the King; the royal procession--A
dispute referred to him--Lobengula’s court 92
CHAPTER VI.
Return to Tati--Changed aspect of the country--Constant
delays--The Mashonas--At Manyami’s again--John
Lee’s--Letter home--The Inkwesi--Wild fruit--A hornbill’s
nest--The Impakwe and Ramaqueban Rivers--Graves of
Englishmen--White ants--Bushman remains--The Tati reached 116
CHAPTER VII.
Hunting trip on the Semokwe--A native musician--Gigantic
baobabs--Return to Tati--Journey to Shoshong--The
Bamangwato and Matabele nations--Fighting amongst
the natives--Start back for Tati--Misadventures and
delays--Fresh arrangements 139
CHAPTER VIII.
Again at Tati--Fresh causes of delay--Lions on the
Motloutsi--Threatened by natives--Forthcoming prospects 161
CHAPTER IX.
Fresh start for the Zambesi--The Ramaqueban again--A
lion shot--Singular building--Wild fruit--First Kraal of
the Makalakas--Stopped by the induna--Return to Tati--To
Gubuleweyo and back--Fresh leave obtained--Altered
arrangements for the journey 172
CHAPTER X.
Third start for the Zambesi--Again stopped by
natives--Fresh leave from the King--The journey
resumed--Frank Oates’s companion obliged to leave him--He
goes forward alone--Breakdown of his waggon--Annoyances
from the natives--Help from Tati--Return there--Letters
home--Future plans 192
CHAPTER XI.
Final start from Tati--Bushman remains--A
game-drive--Wild dogs--The Makalakas again--The Matengwe
River--English hunters met with--The Nata River--The
Pantamatenka--Christmas Day--Start on foot for the
Zambesi--The goal at last 229
CHAPTER XII.
Main features of the Falls--The return commenced--Frank
Oates attacked by fever--Course of the illness; improvement
and relapse--His death--Dr. Bradshaw takes his effects to
Bamangwato--His favourite dog--Arrival of W. Oates and Mr.
Gilchrist in Natal--Conclusion 253
APPENDIX.
I. ETHNOLOGY, by George Rolleston, M.D., F.R.S., Linacre
Professor of Anatomy and Physiology in the University
of Oxford 273
II. ORNITHOLOGY, by R. Bowdler Sharpe, F.L.S., F.Z.S.,
Senior Assistant, Zoological Department, British
Museum 294
III. HERPETOLOGY, by Albert Gunther, M.A., Ph.D., M.D.,
F.R.S. 329
IV. ENTOMOLOGY, by J. O. Westwood, M.A., F.L.S., etc., Hope
Professor of Zoology, in the University of Oxford 331
V. BOTANY, by D. Oliver, F.R.S., F.L.S., Professor of
Botany in University College, London 366
VI. LIST OF MAKALAKA WORDS AND PHRASES, from one of Mr. F.
Oates’s Note-Books, 1874–5 370
INDEX 371
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PORTRAIT OF MR. FRANK OATES _Frontispiece_
CHROMOLITHOGRAPHS.
HIGH VELDT, TRANSVAAL. From a water-colour drawing by
W. E. Oates _To face page 8_
TATI SETTLEMENT. From a water-colour drawing by W. E.
Oates _To face page 30_
HUNTERS’ CAMP, SEMOKWE RIVER. From a water-colour
drawing by W. E. Oates _To face page 143_
SHOSHONG, BAMANGWATO. From a water-colour drawing
by W. E. Oates _To face page 155_
DRY BED OF THE INKWESI RIVER. From a water-colour
drawing by W. E. Oates _To face page 208_
VICTORIA FALLS, ZAMBESI (WESTERN EXTREMITY). From
a water-colour drawing by Frank Oates _To face page 258_
WOODCUTS.
HEAD OF PALLAH. Drawn by Charles Whymper _Title-page_
PAGE
“FAITHFUL IN DEATH.” Drawn by Charles Whymper xxxvi
PRETORIA, TRANSVAAL. From a water-colour drawing by
W. E. Oates 7
BOER’S FARM, HIGH VELDT, TRANSVAAL. From a drawing
by W. E. Oates 9
GAME ON THE HIGH VELDT, TRANSVAAL. From a drawing
by W. E. Oates _To face page 12_
LIMPOPO OR CROCODILE RIVER. From a water-colour drawing
by W. E. Oates 19
SNUFF-BOXES MADE FROM GOURDS. From a drawing by
W. E. Oates 22
DOUBLE-BANDED SAND-GROUSE (_Pterocles bicinctus_). From
a drawing by W. E. Oates 27
BOERS’ FARMS, CROCODILE RIVER. From a water-colour
drawing by W. E. Oates 38
SOUTH AFRICAN WART HOG (_Phacochærus æthiopicus_).
From a drawing by W. E. Oates 41
MANYAMI. From a sketch by Frank Oates 52
MANYAMI’S ATTENDANT. From a sketch by Frank Oates 52
FEATHER HEAD-DRESS. From a drawing by W. E. Oates 56
HEAD-DRESS OF ZEBRA SKIN AND FEATHERS. From a drawing
by W. E. Oates 57
BIRDS’ NESTS. From a drawing by W. E. Oates 77
THE FIRST ELEPHANT. From a sketch by Frank Oates 84
KNOB-BILLED GOOSE (_Sarkidiornis melanonotus_). From a
drawing by W. E. Oates 91
DANCING-STICK, BOW AND ARROWS, AND KNOB-KERRIES.
From a drawing by W. E. Oates 95
OX-HIDE SHIELD. From a drawing by W. E. Oates 100
ASSEGAI-HEADS AND BATTLE-AXE. From a drawing by W. E.
Oates 102
MUSICAL INSTRUMENT. From a drawing by W. E. Oates 115
NATIVE HUNTING-KNIVES. From a drawing by W. E. Oates 120
AFRICAN GREY HORNBILL (_Tockus nasutus_). From a drawing
by W. E. Oates 132
YELLOW-BILLED HORNBILL (_Tockus flavirostris_). From a
drawing by W. E. Oates 133
GIGANTIC ANT-HILL. From a water-colour drawing by W.
E. Oates 135
WOODEN VESSEL. From a drawing by W. E. Oates 138
SALT PAN, BAMANGWATO. From a water-colour drawing by
W. E. Oates 147
CHURCH AND MISSION STATION, SHOSHONG, BAMANGWATO.
From a water-colour drawing by W. E. Oates 149
“ROCK” AND “RAIL.” Drawn by Charles Whymper 160
WATTLED STARLING (_Dilophus carunculatus_). From a drawing
by W. E. Oates 171
NATIVE BUILDING, SHASHE RIVER. From a water-colour drawing
by Frank Oates 176
KLIPSPRINGER (_Oreotragus saltatrix_). From a sketch by
Frank Oates 195
VERREAUX’S WHYDAH BIRD (_Vidua Verreauxi_), AND THE
SHAFT-TAILED WHYDAH BIRD (_Vidua regia_). From
a drawing by W. E. Oates _To face page 220_
BLUE WILDEBEEST (_Catoblepas taurina_). From a drawing by
W. E. Oates 228
CAMP IN THE VELDT. From a water-colour drawing by Frank
Oates 230
AFRICAN DWARF GOOSE (_Nettapus auritus_). From a drawing
by W. E. Oates 243
WOODEN PILLOW. From a drawing by W. E. Oates 252
VICTORIA FALLS, ZAMBESI (THE OUTLET). From a water-colour
drawing by Frank Oates 256
“RAIL.” From a Photograph 271
COLOURED PLATES.
PLATE.
(APPENDIX.)
A. SAXICOLA SHELLEYI. Drawn by J. G. Keulemans _To face page_ 328
B. BRADYORNIS OATESII. Drawn by J. G. Keulemans „ 328
C. CORONELLA TRITÆNIA. Drawn by R. Mintern „ 330
D. DRYIOPHIS OATESII. Drawn by R. Mintern „ 330
E-H. NEW AND REMARKABLE INSECTS. From drawings
by Professor Westwood „ 364
J. ANTHERICUM OATESII. From drawings by W. H. Fitch „ 368
K. ADIANTUM OATESII. From drawings by W. H. Fitch „ 368
MAPS.
ROUTE FROM SHOSHONG TO TATI _To face page_ 23
ROUTE FROM TATI TO THE UMGWANYA RIVER „ 43
ROUTE FROM TATI TO THE VICTORIA FALLS „ 173
GENERAL MAP OF SOUTH-EASTERN AFRICA _At end._
CHAPTER I.
Departure from England--St. Helena--Cape Town--Arrival at
Durban--Pietermaritzburg--Start up country--Pretoria; its
Climate and Vegetation--The High Veldt--Dutch Boers--The
Crocodile River--Bamangwato.
On the 5th of March 1873, Frank Oates and his brother, W. E. Oates,
sailed from Southampton for Natal on board the Union Company’s
steamship “African.” It was the intention of the former, as already
explained in the introduction to this volume, to make a journey to the
Zambesi, and, if possible, push on thence to some of the unexplored
country northwards. His brother contemplated a shorter trip in the same
direction, which was to occupy about a year.
The only land sighted, after leaving England and passing the Needles,
were the islands of Porto Santo, Madeira, and Teneriffe, and one of the
Canaries, besides Cape Verd on the African coast, until on March 25th
the vessel reached St. Helena, where she touched and remained a few
hours. The fruit in the island at this time (including figs, bananas,
and very fine peaches) was in perfection, whilst scarlet geraniums,
fuchsias, and petunias--all growing wild--were in full bloom. Head
winds, after leaving St. Helena, considerably delayed the vessel’s
progress, and Cape Town was only reached on the 3d of April. Here
passengers for Natal were transferred from the “African” to a coasting
steamer, the “Zulu,” which sailed five days later, and reached Durban
on the 19th of the month. The view here across the bay was pretty
enough, with ships lying at anchor inside and out, and the lighthouse,
a marked feature on the green headland opposite. The brothers left
Durban for Pietermaritzburg to prepare for their expedition into the
interior soon after landing, the journey, in a six-horse waggon,
occupying about twelve hours. The country passed through was for the
most part hilly, with very little timber. Here and there some fields
of Indian corn (“mealies”) were seen, and also some pretty bits of
mountain scenery with abrupt crags, but the land is chiefly pasture,
and the general aspect of the country not unlike that of the American
prairie. A number of ox-waggons were met and passed upon the road. Near
Maritzburg a few trees were seen; the approach is pretty, and the place
has an English air about it.
At Maritzburg the brothers remained about three weeks, making
preparations for their journey northwards. Their plan was to go by the
usual trade route through the Transvaal, and then on to Shoshong, the
town of Sekomi, chief of the Bamangwato, from here either taking the
direct route towards the Zambesi by the Tati River, or making a circuit
in a north-westerly direction by way of Lake Ngami. They accordingly
each purchased a waggon and the requisite number of oxen for the
journey, and engaged some native attendants. Before leaving Maritzburg,
W. E. Oates wrote home as follows:--
_May 14th, 1873._
... “We only stayed a few days in Durban, and came on here, as this is
a much better place for getting an outfit for the interior. It is 54
miles from Durban, and not a particularly interesting place. There are
hills all round, without much vegetation, and covered with long coarse
grass. It is much cooler than it is at Durban, as it is 2000 feet above
the level of the sea. It is winter now, and rather cool at night,
but still very hot during the day. We arrived here three weeks ago
to-morrow, and to-morrow we intend making a start up country. We have
each got a waggon and fourteen oxen, besides five ponies between us,
and three Kafirs to each waggon. We are going with a man called Gray,
who is going up to Lake Ngami to trade. He is quite a young fellow, and
has only been out here four years. He knows the country through which
we are going, and says it is extremely healthy, and the native tribes
all friendly. He has taken five waggons, and left on the 11th instant,
but as his waggons are heavily laden, we expect to overtake him in a
week.[5]
“Buckley and Gilchrist started with their waggon yesterday, but Frank
is not ready, he has so many things to get.[6]
“We have got some blankets, beads, knives, etc., as there is no good
taking money, and everything you want you must pay for in that way.
The waggons are very comfortable and hold a great deal, including a
mattress which lies on the top of the boxes. We are taking coffee,
sugar, tea, flour, oatmeal, pickles, some brandy, and several other
things for our own use. The Kafirs are supposed to get nothing but
meal, which they boil in a large pot and eat with the help of pieces
of stick. They occasionally get a little coffee also.... There is
very little here in the way of fruit and vegetables. The only fruit
now is oranges, though there are peaches and apricots in the season.
Altogether, there seems very little pains taken to cultivate the land,
as the niggers are too lazy to work, and white labour is expensive.”
On May 15th the waggons of the two brothers started, with W. E. Oates’s
servant, Thomas Bell, who had accompanied him from England, and made
their first halt about four miles from Maritzburg.
Frank Oates, still at Maritzburg, writes thence the following day, May
16th:--
“Our waggons left yesterday, and we went with them on horseback,
Willie remaining to sleep with them, and I returning here for the
night. W. has ridden in here this morning, and we shall both go on
again to the waggons, which travel very slowly. I think we have been
fortunate in getting good oxen for them. We have also a young horse, a
very pretty bay, which had only begun to be broken a fortnight when we
got him, but which is four years old, and likely to turn out very well.
We have also another bay horse, which W. rides. These two are about 14½
hands high. We have three smallish ponies--one a very pretty brown one,
and two little rough black ones. Of course we are taking dogs also. We
bought four pointers, and have likewise had a rough dog given us, and
another promised, and shall try to pick up as many as we can as we go
along, for they are invaluable to have about the camp.... We go with
Gray as far as Bamangwato, and shall then either go on with him to Lake
Ngami, or visit the Victoria Falls direct, or we may go first to the
Lake, and make little explorations to the north and north-west, and
in the May following go on to the Victoria Falls, and thence return
here.... Gray is on excellent terms with the King Lecheletebe, a good
native, who would assist us in every way in his power. If we go to the
Falls we pass through the country of Lobengula, the son of Mosilikatze,
whose name you will see in maps. Lobengula is reported to be a ‘decent
chap’ by a friend of ours, a doctor here, from Dewsbury, whose
Christian name is Oates. We go by Mooi River, Colenso, Ladysmith,
Newcastle, Pretoria, Crocodile River, and Bamangwato.... This country
is not to be compared with America. The most of it about here is hilly,
the hills in places becoming mountains, and all covered with coarse
dry grass, and scarcely a stick of timber. There is nothing to compare
with the lovely tropical scenery of Central America, or the magnificent
mountains, prairies, lakes, and rivers of the United States. I never
expect to admire any country so much as I do the western world. Perhaps
one reason that the North American Indians were for savages a superior
race was their fine scenery.”
Again, from the Umgeni River, a few miles upon the journey, he writes,
May 17th:--
“We are now fairly on our way. Last night was my first night in the
waggon, and W.’s second. We are 13 miles on our way. Our waggons are
most comfortable. We have a wooden framework in each waggon, surmounted
by a substantial mattress and lots of blankets. We have tin wash-hand
basins, cups, and plates, and fare luxuriously. Bell is now cooking
some chops. I am reminded of some very pleasant days in the wilds of
America.”
[Illustration: PRETORIA, TRANSVAAL.]
Ladysmith was reached on the 24th of May and Newcastle on the 31st, a
halt of two or three days being made at each place. On the 23d of June
the party arrived at Pretoria, and Frank Oates writes from that place,
June 27th:--
“We have now been ‘trekking’ (_i.e._ travelling in waggons) for
six weeks from yesterday. We have, however, gone slowly, and have
been delayed once or twice. We stayed a few days at Ladysmith and
Newcastle, two towns, as they are called here (we should call them
small villages); we then got into the Transvaal Republic, and had a
very bad tract of country to cross, the high veldt. This country is
very high, about 5000 feet above the sea, and as it was dead of winter
when we crossed it the cold at night was rather severe. One of the
coldest nights I think we had, was that of the 8th of June, when the
thermometer showed 8 degrees of frost Fahrenheit. This may not seem
very much, but the days being hot you feel the cold a good deal, and
are glad of a good lot of blankets. In this respect I had taken care
that we should be all right. The morning after the night I speak of
my hand was numb with the cold, and I dropped and smashed my only
thermometer.[7] My aneroid barometer, which tells me the height above
the sea really very accurately as far as I can judge, is still all
right, but my sextant suffered so much on board the ‘Zulu’ that I have
some difficulty, being a novice, in making use of it.
“In crossing the high veldt the cattle suffer not only from the cold
nights but the poverty of the grass, which will get worse and worse
till the rainy season, which will be about September.[8] The disease
called ‘red water,’ which is so bad on the coast, and which has caused
so many oxen to die and the price to rise so much, does not seem to
extend beyond Natal. Out of twenty-eight oxen we lost only three, which
is considered a very small percentage. A few of our oxen got into low
condition, and we have got seven new ones coming along the road. We
shall try to leave the poor ones at some farm, or exchange them for fat
ones.
[Illustration: HIGH VELDT, TRANSVAAL.]
[Illustration: BOER’S FARM, HIGH VELDT, TRANSVAAL.]
“We arrived here (at Pretoria) on the morning of the 23d of June. It is
very different from what it was in crossing the Drakensberg. There is
scarcely ever ice here, and now (the coldest season) the temperature
is perfection--neither hot during the day nor cold at night. There are
orange-trees with fruit on them in the gardens, and high hedges of
monthly roses in flower; there are also a few large trees (blue gums),
something like poplars in mode of growth, but with dark foliage. These
are planted here, for the country does not seem to bear much timber
naturally. There is plenty of scrub on the slopes of the high land as
you descend, and I believe there is a large extent of bush country
round here, and when we get into the regular bush, plenty of timber, I
imagine, such as it is; but this part of Africa is no timber country.
On the high veldt there is nothing but parched grass, in many places
burnt for a whole day’s trek, as fires are of everyday occurrence. On
one occasion we had £5 to pay a man in front of whose house our men had
set fire to the veldt whilst lighting our camp fire. The farms are
few and far between in that desolate region; they grow Indian corn and
a few peaches, and have a few cattle and sheep. The Boers are rather
good sort of people, and though trying to get every penny they can in a
bargain, honest, I should say, on the whole, and hospitable. I cannot
speak any Dutch yet, so communication is limited, having to be carried
on through an interpreter.
“Here in Pretoria are a great many English. The English keep stores;
the Dutch Boers stick to farming. The latter come in with their
waggons of grain, wood, and other produce, which is sold by auction
at 8 A.M. in the market-place. ‘Mealies’ (unground Indian
corn) fetch fifteen shillings a muid, which is about 200 lbs. This
the Englishmen buy, get ground for two-and-sixpence a muid, and ask
twenty-two and sixpence, or even twenty-five shillings for, and
make a good thing of the numbers of people passing through here to
the Marabastadt and Leydenburg gold-fields. The latter fields were
newly discovered and much talked about when we were at Durban and
Pietermaritzburg, but do not seem as good as the Marabastadt. No one
thinks much of the Tati or Baines’s gold-fields in Mosilikatze’s
country.
“I fear the English who are here are a bad lot, with few exceptions.
One man who cheated me I asked if he had a conscience. He replied that
no one here had them.
“Though here and there you see a garden with a few trees in it, and,
as I mentioned, orange-trees and rose-bushes, do not imagine a scene
of the least beauty. The town itself, the seat of the government, does
not contain a single good building. It is like some little frontier
town in America. There is not even a book-shop in it. The country
immediately around is flat and devoid of trees, though in the distance
are some ranges of hills. The day we reached Pretoria, the mail, a
fortnightly one, arrived from Pietermaritzburg with a paper containing
English news, very bare items though, up to May 15th. It seems dreadful
that we were nearly six weeks in coming here, and the mail came in six
days. The mail brings passengers also, but they are allowed hardly any
baggage. It goes out again to-day to Pietermaritzburg, so I am writing
this letter by the light of my lantern as I recline in my waggon. I
think it is now about 6 A.M., but the sun does not rise till
after 7.
“Gray, the trader, left us at Newcastle, and had left here before we
arrived for Bamangwato, _en route_ for Lake Ngami, where our
programme was to accompany him.[9] We are not certain whether we shall
follow him or alter our plans. I will write again, letting you know
what we have decided. If I leave a second letter here, it will go to
Pietermaritzburg a fortnight hence, so you will get it in England soon
after you get this.”
Four days later W. E. Oates writes, also from Pretoria, “We have
now been here a week, and are going to start off again to-day for
Bamangwato. Buckley and his friend Gilchrist came up on Saturday, and
we have decided to keep together. Gray, the trader we talked about,
left here for Bamangwato about a fortnight since.... I fear we are now
too late to get to the Victoria Falls, as the country is not healthy
after September. We have been rather more than six weeks in getting
from Maritzburg here, and a more wretched country can hardly be
conceived--not a tree to be seen, and half the country burnt black, as,
if the grass is set on fire, it burns for weeks. The days are intensely
hot (not a drop of rain since we left Maritzburg); the nights very
cold, with sharp frosts. Countless herds of antelopes are to be seen
every day; wildebeest (gnu), blesbok, springbok, and many others called
by Dutch names. There are also hyænas, jackals, crows, and vultures.
[Illustration: GAME ON THE HIGH VELDT, TRANSVAAL.]
“The Dutch Boers have farms at intervals. They seem miserably poor; no
milk, eggs, meat. I don’t know how they live. It is much warmer here,
and after to-morrow we get into what is called the bush veldt, where
there are lots of trees, and then it begins to get hot. The country
we have passed over is from 4000 to 6000 feet above the level of the
sea, and on the high veldt there is scarcely any water; the road in
many places very bad and strewn with the bones and skeletons of oxen,
wildebeest, and other animals, which have been picked clean by the
vultures. How people can pass their lives in such dreary solitudes
it is difficult to conceive.... We, however, are very comfortable and
well. We have large supplies with us, more than necessary, I think; but
we can sell at Bamangwato what we do not want for nearly double what
we gave for it at Maritzburg. This is the last place where there is a
regular mail, though traders go from Bamangwato, and will take letters.
The waggons make snug dwelling-houses. The mattress goes at the top of
the things, and you have the canvas all round. You get in at the front,
and let a canvas curtain down. There are canvas pockets at the sides,
where you put what you want handy.
“We have been exceedingly lucky with our oxen, as many people have lost
nearly all they had from the epidemic which is raging in Natal. One
man lost his whole span of eighteen. We have only lost three; partly,
I think, because we haven’t hurried them. They have got poor, owing to
the wretched grass on the high flats. They say, however, they fatten
immediately they get into the bush veldt.
“Pretoria is a miserable little place, though the capital of the
Transvaal. The store-keepers are English, or Africanders (as the native
whites are called).... The niggers are idle and insolent. It is said
the only way to treat them is to thrash them well, and though we have
never resorted to this, I have often felt inclined to do so. We have
five with us--three Hottentots and two Kafirs. The Kafirs who are total
savages are much better to get on with.... It seems odd that I have
such a little to tell you about after so long an absence, but one day
here is almost exactly like another, and the country hitherto the same
day by day.”
The travellers left Pretoria for Bamangwato on the 30th of June, and
after three days’ trekking to the north-west, crossed the Crocodile
River, keeping for some time afterwards at no great distance from
its banks. “On leaving the waggon, to shoot,” writes Frank Oates
on the 5th of July, “I rode up to the river, which is far the most
beautiful thing I have yet seen in South Africa. Trees of various
kinds--some resembling willows and oaks, the former in leaf, the latter
bare--fringed the river’s banks, which are steep. Long grass and bush
grew in the country round, and where we outspanned at breakfast there
was some very fine grass, tall and drooping, with a tassel. Here too,”
he concludes, “we got amongst plenty of birds, and to-day is the first
that I have felt the country cease to be disappointing.”
The following day the road again continued in close proximity to the
river. The country was level and covered with trees like those in a
fine park, none of them, however, very large. The Hex and Eland’s
Rivers, tributaries to the Crocodile, were crossed near together the
day after, and on the 12th a halt of twenty-four hours was made at
Holfontein, a good watering-place upon the road, where many birds
were met with, including parrots, doves, and hoopoes. Two days later
the Crocodile, which had now for some time been lost sight of, again
came in view--a grand stream--and a fine blue distant mountain range
stretched to the right and right rear. A halt of two or three days was
made by the river’s bank, to give the oxen time to rest. Here buffalo,
blue wildebeest, springbok, and other game was found, including wild
pigs and pallah; and a little further north eland was met with, and
many of the lesser antelopes. About this time the dews, which had
hitherto been heavy, ceased altogether; possibly, in part, owing to the
change of locality. The road now for some time again continued near the
left bank of the Crocodile, until the 24th, when, soon after crossing
the Notuani, another of its tributaries, the course of the river was
finally abandoned, and on the 27th the blue tops of the Bamangwato
“kopjes” (low hills) came in sight. The place itself was reached two
days later.
Here a short halt was again made for a few days, to engage fresh Kafirs
and prepare for the continuation of the journey northwards. Owing to
the want of water in the country between here and Lake Ngami, the part
of the proposed expedition which included a visit to the lake had to
be abandoned, Frank Oates resolving to proceed, if possible, direct to
the Zambesi, the rest of the party accompanying him north as far as
the Tati river in search of sport, to return thence by the same route
as they had come. Mr. Gray, the trader, had arrived at Bamangwato a
few days earlier, and decided to wait there till the rains should come
before proceeding on his journey to the lake. The following extracts
from letters, sent home about this time by Frank Oates and his brother
from Bamangwato, give some further details of the journey up to this
point, and of the future plans and arrangements of the party. W. E.
Oates writes as follows on July 30th:--
“We got here yesterday afternoon all right, though for the last four
days there has been scarcely any water on the road. When we left the
Crocodile River (on the 25th) we filled our water-casks, and the next
night got to some brackish water, which the oxen drank. We trekked all
the following day and half through the night, when we reached some
water-pits made by the Kafirs, from which the water had to be ladled
out in buckets for the oxen. We had then about 25 miles to go without
water to get here, which took us two days, all through heavy sand,
through which the oxen go about two miles an hour. This is a wretched
place; an immense number of Kafir huts, and a few stores belonging to
white men. The name of the place is Shoshong, and the king, Sekomi,
lives here. He is a hideous old nigger, and this morning came down to
our waggons, to beg coffee and sugar. He had about a dozen dirty old
wretches with him, who carried jackals’ tails, and attend him whenever
he goes in state. He jumped up on Frank’s waggon, and refused to depart
until he had had some coffee given him, which Frank gave him to get rid
of him. I offered him a bright green scarf I had, but after examining
it carefully he returned it to me....
“This is a most uninteresting country--all thorns and sand. The whole
way from Pretoria here it is thick bush, composed mostly of stunted
thorn trees, whose thorns are white and about four inches long. We
stayed four days on the Crocodile River, as our oxen wanted rest. The
lions were roaring round the waggons at night, in hopes of getting at
the oxen. We have the latter carefully tied up to the waggons at night,
and two or three immense fires lighted, to keep them off.
“It is impossible, we find, to get to Lake Ngami now, as there
are a hundred miles to go through heavy sand without water to get
there. Frank still thinks of going to the Victoria Falls, through
Mosilikatze’s country, by way of the Tati River, and I intend to go as
far as the Tati.... Every morning here lots of women go out to collect
locusts, which swarm a short distance off, and are the only food the
natives get now, as their crop of corn has failed, and they are half
starving. They have a few little goats, but there is hardly any grass,
and only one very small stream of water about two miles off.”
Frank Oates also writes the same day as follows:--
“You have, I hope, got our letters written from Pretoria, the capital
of the Transvaal. Since then we have not come more than 250 miles,
if as much, and have been about a month in doing it. Buckley and
Gilchrist have accompanied us, making, with our waggons, three waggons
in all, and I think we shall probably go on together for some time at
any rate. The present idea is for us all to go together to the Tati,
a river marked in the recent maps, where gold is being found. From
here I may go on to Mosilikatze’s Town, the residence of the King of
the Matabele, in the north-east, and thence be able to get on to the
Zambesi and Victoria Falls, though I hardly hope it now, on account of
the lateness of the season.
“The country we have passed through so far may be divided into two
distinct regions--the high veldt and the bush veldt. The former I
described in my last letter. At Pretoria we entered the second, and
are still in it. The former is high land, covered with grass, and
with scarcely a bush on it. The country since then has been covered
with bush, and contains many fine rivers. The Crocodile (or Limpopo)
is a really beautiful river, its banks covered with fine trees. The
‘bush,’ as it is called, consists for the most part of smallish trees,
most of which are thorny, with park-like glades here and there. In
other places there is a great deal of thorny bush, through which you
can hardly force your way. The great want here is water, the smaller
streams being now dry, and in travelling it is often necessary to go
many miles before reaching water. Still, the road is so well known that
one can calculate almost to a certainty where and when to get water,
and make a push when necessary, taking one’s time both before and after
it. Water for our own use can be carried easily in our casks, and it is
for the animals we have to travel quickly on such occasions. Meat is
rather scarce, but we generally manage to get enough, and, with bread
and porridge, coffee and sugar, make out very well. We shall be glad
to get away from here, as it is difficult to get anything in the shape
of food except what we have with us, and what Gray gives us. There
has been a scarcity of corn this year, and the people are very hard
pressed, living principally on locusts, which are brought in every day
in immense sacks carried on people’s heads. We buy water of the women,
which has to be brought some distance.
[Illustration: LIMPOPO OR CROCODILE RIVER.]
“This is a large town of Kafir huts. The people are of the Basuto
branch. The king, Sekomi, visited me this morning, and seating himself
on the front-box of my waggon, commenced a conversation, which one
of our drivers interpreted, the end of which was that he wanted some
coffee and sugar. I gave him five pounds of gunpowder, worth fifteen
shillings. He accepted it, and then returned it, asking for coffee
instead. I then gave him two or three pounds of coffee, worth perhaps
five shillings, which afforded him great satisfaction, and after
thanking me he walked off in a stately manner, followed by his train,
his right-hand man carrying the coffee in his robe of skin. During the
interview the latter produced a huge sort of bodkin from a sheath, and
extracted a thorn from Sekomi’s finger with the utmost gravity. There
are a good many white men living here to trade, and also a missionary,
on whom I intend to call.
“I cannot more fully describe the country at present, or our journey.
It has not the charm for me that the western world has, but I think
further north there must be far more attractive scenery than anything
we have yet encountered. The days are hot, though there is often a
refreshing breeze. The thermometer is about 82° in the shade during
the hottest part of the day, and one hot day in the sun it rose to
100°. The nights are cold, and we have yet had no insect pests, but
our animals are infested by ticks.... It is very annoying never to be
able to get letters from home. Mr. Hathorn, of the Standard Bank at
Pietermaritzburg, has promised to forward all letters sent to his care
for us, and to assist us in every way he can. We found him most kind
and obliging in every way in Pietermaritzburg.”
On August 4th, the writer, still at Bamangwato, adds:--“Willie,
Buckley, and Gilchrist have gone on. They started yesterday, and I
intend to start to-morrow, and shall overtake them. I believe the
prospects of the journey are very satisfactory. I have had a long talk
to-day with Mr. Mackenzie, one of the missionaries here. He is a very
nice fellow, and knows all the country well, and has written out for
me a long list of the various watering-places on the road to the Tati
and on to Mosilikatze’s. He is the author of a book called _Ten Years
North of the Orange River_, and is now instructing some natives
for missionary work--some six or eight, I think, living in a sort of
college. The other missionary is a Mr. Hepburn, who gave a little
service in his house yesterday. I am certain they will both do anything
they can to help us.”
Three years later, one of these missionaries, the Rev. John Mackenzie,
left Shoshong for Kuruman, where suitable buildings had been erected by
the London Missionary Society for the embryo theological institution
he was at the time of the events now narrated conducting at the
former place. His loss must have been felt by many, both travellers
and others, to whom he was ever ready to lend a helping hand. On the
present occasion, Frank Oates felt strongly sensible of what he owed
him for his friendly aid and counsel, and some time later, after
the traveller’s decease in 1875, it was again this gentleman’s good
services and sympathetic words that first softened the sorrow of his
friends at home when they received the unexpected intelligence of his
death in the interior.
[Illustration: SNUFF-BOXES MADE FROM GOURDS.]
[Illustration: Map of M^R. F. OATES’S ROUTE from SHOSHONG to
TATI
Drawn from his own observations
_London: C. Kegan Paul & Co._]