CHAPTER XII

On the road--Heavy rain--Mosquitoes--Natal--Thunderstorms--A terrible night

Maritzburg--My cash runs out--A halcyon day--Hospitality--D'Urban--Failure

to get work--The Fighting Blacksmith and the eccentric old gentleman

Narrow escape of the latter--East London--Experiences in a surfboat--A

Perilous venture--I enter the Civil Service--Further reminiscences

deferred--Au revoir.

L'ENVOI

INDEX.

ILLUSTRATIONS

FACING PAGE

PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR . . . . Frontispiece

SPRINGFIELD

THE LAKE, SPRINGFIELD

PORT ELIZABETH IN THE SIXTIES

PORT ELIZABETH IN 1912

4 THE OLD OX-WAGON

KIMBERLEY IN 1873 (LOOKING SOUTH)

PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR AT THE AGE OF FOURTEEN

KIMBERLEY MINE IN 1873

KIMBERLEY MINE IN 1912

CHURCH STREET, PRETORIA, IN 1873

THE LOWER CAMP, PILGRIM'S REST

THE CHEEK, PILGRIM'S REST

PILGRIM'S REST IN 1897

SITE OF CAMP ON CROCODILE RIVER IN 1875

FALLS OF THE UMGENI, NATAL

The views of Kimberley are published by the kind permission of the De

Beers Company, who courteously supplied them.

REMINISCENCES OF A SOUTH AFRICAN PIONEER

Foreword--My father's family--"Old Body"--Dualla--A cruel experiment--"Old

Body"--and the goose--Cook and kitchen-maid--Scull and monkey--My mother's

family--Abbey view--The Bock of Cashel--Captain Meagher and early chess

Sir Dominic Corrigan--"Old Mary" and the sugar--Naval ambitions--Harper

Twelvetree and the burial agency

I was born on the 29th of October, 1855; at least I have been told so,

but the register of my baptism cannot be traced. This circumstance

placed me in a somewhat awkward position a few years since, when

proof of my age was urgently required. The place of my birth is a

house in Upper Gardiner Street, Dublin then the home of my maternal

uncle-by-marriage, Richard Scott. Evil days have since fallen upon

that part of Ireland's metropolis; the locality is now inhabited by a

class of people to whom we should in this country apply the term "poor

whites." When I recently visited the spot I found that the house had,

like most of those in the vicinity, been divided into tenements. The

upper portion of what had once been a frosted-glass partition was

still in the hall, and on this my uncle's crest was visible. The

premises were in a filthy condition, and the inhabitants looked more

than ordinarily villainous. On the steps a red-faced crone sat pulling

at a clay pipe, and a reek of stale porter came through the hall

doorway.

My father's family, I am told, have been located in the County

Tipperary for many generations. I believe they made a great deal of

money as contractors to the army of King William in the campaign of

which the Battle of the Boyne was the decisive event, but the greater

part of this they dissipated about a century ago in lawsuits. I have

heard that the costs in one case they lost amounted to over 100,000.

The little I know of the family, has been told me by dear old Sir

William Butler, with whom I became very intimate when he was in South

Africa. He always said we were related that we were "Irish cousins" but

we never were quite able to define what the relationship was. Sir

William and Ray, father had been great friends in the old days.

I have been told by, a relative that the many, Scullys who are

scattered over the south of Ireland fall into two categories the

round-headed and the long-headed; that the former are, as a rule,

fairly well off, but that the latter are usually poor. I regret to say

that I belong to the long-headed branch.

My paternal grandfather was a soldier, and my father was brought up by

Rodolph Scully, of Dualla. "Old Rody," who kept a pack of harriers

which my father hunted, was a well-known character in South Tipperary.

He departed this life when I was about six years old yet I seem

to remember him very clearly. A small, wiry, dapper man with a

clean-shaven red face, a cold, light-blue eye and fiercely beetling

brows, he occasionally filled my early childhood with terror. He

usually wore knee-breeches, buckled shoes, a frieze coat, and a white

choker. He had a most furious temper, and was consequently dreaded by

his relations and his domestics. I remember once seeing him administer

a terrible thrashing with a hunting-crop to a stable-boy for some

trivial fault.

My recollections of Dualla are very, faint; such fragmentary, ones as

survive are almost solely connected with its kennels and stables. There

was, I know, a turret at one end of the house. I believe the original

idea was to build a castle, but on account of scarcity of funds the

construction was continued on less ambitious architectural lines. An

unpleasant story used to be told in connection with this turret, which

was of considerable height. Old Rody, one night when in his cups, made

a bet that a goat, thrown from the top, would land uninjured on its

feet. The cruel experiment was tried. It may be some satisfaction to

know that Old Rody had to pay the bet, but it would be more if we knew

that he had been made to follow the poor animal. Once my people were on

a visit to Dualla. Old Rody, who was much addicted to the pleasures of

the table, was especially fond of roast goose. This, to satisfy him,

had to be done to a particular turn. On the occasion in question the

bird was brought to table slightly overdone, so Old Rody told the

butler to retire and send up the cook. No sooner had the butler left

the room than Old Rody picked up the goose by, its shanks and took his

stand behind the door. A dreadful silence reigned; the guests were as

though stiffened into stone. The cook, a stout, red-faced woman,

entered the room in evident trepidation, wiping her face with her

apron. As she passed her master, he lifted the goose and hit her over

the head with it as hard as he could. The bird smashed to pieces, and

the woman, covered with gravy and seasoning, fled back, wailing, to the

kitchen.

On another occasion a neighbor, whose name happened to be Cook, came to

spend the day at Dualla. He brought with him his two children, a boy

and a girl, of whom he was inordinately proud. Old Rody and Cook were

sitting on the terrace, drinking punch; the children were playing on

the lawn.

"Now, Scully," said the proud parent, pointing to his boy, "isn't he a

regular Cook?"

"Oh! begor' he is," replied Old Rody, "and the other's a regular

kitchen-maid."

Near the close of a not at all reputable career Old Rody "found it most

convenient" to marry his housemaid. He survived the ceremony only a few

months. His widow, disappointed in her expectations of wealth for the

estate cut up very badly, indeed emigrated to Australia, where, I

believe, she soon married again.

There is a story told of Vincent Scully (father of the present owner of

Mantlehill House, near Cashel), who was a Member of Parliament for, I

think, North Cork, which I do not remember to have seen in print.

Another M.P., whose name was Monk, had a habit of clipping, where

possible, the last syllable from the surnames of his intimate friends.

One day, he met Vincent Scully in the House of Commons, and addressed

him.

"Well, Scull, how are you today?"

"Quite well, thank you, Monk," replied Scully; "but I cannot conceive

why you should snip a syllable from my name, unless you wish to add it

to your own."

My father quarreled with Old Rody, who went to Italy, where he had some

relations. He meant to remain for a few months only, but it was upwards

of six years before he returned. He then read law for a while. Getting

tired of this, he went "back to the land."

My mother was a Creagh, from Clare. Creaghs used to be plentiful in

both Clare and Limerick. The civic records of Limerick City show that

for many generations they took a prominent part in local municipal

affairs. My mother's father was a soldier too. The Creaghs have always

favored the army. A few years ago eight of my mother's first-cousins

were soldiers. At the Battle of Blaauwberg just before the capitulation

of the Cape in January, 1806 a Lieutenant Creagh was slightly wounded.

This was either my grandfather or my grand-uncle, Sir Michael Creagh.

Both brothers were in the same regiment, the 86th Foot, or "Royal

County Downs."*

*I have since writing the above ascertained that it was my grand-uncle

who was wounded.

My earliest recollections are of Abbeyview, near Cashel, where we lived

until the early sixties. The celebrated "Rock," with its many monuments

and the grand ruins of its once-spacious abbey, were visible from our

front windows. We had another place, not far off, called Clahalea. I

remember that the ploughing there used to be done with Italian

buffaloes.

In the early sixties we moved to a place called Springfield, situated

just at the northern outlet of the "Scalp," a very rugged pass in the

Wicklow Hills. The stream which divides Wicklow County from that of

Dublin ran through a small portion of the place, the house being on the

Dublin side.

As I suffered from weak health up to my twelfth year, I was not allowed

to go to school; consequently I ran wild. I was seven years old when

I learnt to read, but it was a long time before I could write. There

was a small lake on the estate which was full of fish; every stream

contained trout. The hills abounded in rabbits and hares; in a

larch-forest, since cut away, were woodcock. Pheasants used often to

stray over from Lord Powerscourt's demesne, which was separated from

our ground by a much-broken fence. These my father strictly forbade me

to snare, but I fear I did not always obey him. Pheasants roasted in

the depths of the larch-wood, and flavored with the salt of secrecy,

were appetizing indeed.

One ridiculous incident of my childhood suggests itself. For a boy, of

eight I was a fair chess-player. A friend and distant relative of ours,

Captain Meagher brother of Thomas Francis Meagher, who was a general in

the Confederate Army during the American War stayed for a time at an

inn in the village of Enniskerry, which was two or three miles away. He

was a frequent visitor, and I used to continually worry him to play

chess. One day he told me that he never played this game except very

early in the morning, and that if I would come down some day at 5 a.m.

he would have a game with me.

But poor Captain Meagher little knew who he was dealing with. Next

morning, at a quarter to five, I was in the street in front of the inn.

The season must have been early spring or late autumn, for it was

pitch-dark and very cold. I trotted up and down the village street,

chess-board and chessmen in hand, trying to keep myself warm until five

o'clock struck. Then I went to the inn door and sounded a loud rat-tat

with the knocker. No one answered, so I knocked still louder. At length

I heard a slow and laborious shuffling of feet in the passage, and an

old woman, wrapped in a patchwork quilt and wearing a white nightcap,

opened the door. She regarded me with hardly subdued fury.

"Phwat d'ye want?" she asked.

"I've come to play chess with Captain Meagher," I replied.

"Oh! glory be to God!" she gasped, and tried to shut the door in my

face. But I dodged under her elbow and fled up the stairs, for I knew

my friend's room. The woman followed, ejaculating mixed prayers and

curses. I tried the Captain's door, but it was locked, so I thundered

on the panel and roared for admittance. I shall never forget the look

of dismay on the poor man's face when I told him what I had come for.

However, he was very nice over the matter; he made the old woman light

a fire and provide me with hot milk and bread. But my disappointment

was bitter when I found that he was quite ignorant of the game of

chess.

The most celebrated physician in the Dublin of those days was Sir

Dominic Corrigan, who, however, was as much famed for his brusqueness

towards patients as for his skill. Being in weak health, I was often

taken to him, but he invariably treated me with the utmost kindness.

However, a highly, respectable maiden-aunt of mine had a somewhat

different experience. She went to consult him. After sounding her none

too gently and asking a few questions, he relapsed into silence. Then,

after a pause of meditation, he said

"Well, ma'am, it's one of two things: either you drink or else you sit

with your back to the fire."

In one of the outhouses at Springfield dwelt an old woman, a

superannuated servant. I remember her under the name of "Old Mary." The

room she occupied was small, and contained but little furniture. Yet it

was always neat and as clean as a new pin. Old Mary used to sit all day

long in a high armchair, knitting, and with a black cat asleep on her

lap. She was a terrible tea-drinker, and was very fond of me, but I ill

requited her kindness by continually plundering her sugar-bowl. The

latter she took to hiding, but I, engaging her the time in airy

conversation, used to ransack the premises until I found it. Eventually

it became a game of skill between the hider and the seeker. I can now

see the old woman's eyes over the rims of her spectacles as she laid

her knitting down and ruefully regarded the development of the search.

But at this game, owing to the restricted area, I always won.

I went away on a visit; soon after my return I went to call on Old

Mary. To my surprise, there stood the brown earthenware sugar-bowl,

half-full, unconcealed upon the table. After a few minutes I stretched

forth my hand to help myself to its contents. Old Mary looked at me,

and said in a deep, serious voice

"Masther Willie."

"Yes," I replied.

"I always spits in me sugar."

Horror-struck, I rose and fled.

It was, I think, in my tenth year that I determined to join the Royal

Navy. An uncle of mine had presented me with Captain Marryat's novels

complete in one immense volume. I felt that a life on the ocean wave

was the only one worth living. Accordingly I offered my services to the

Admiralty as a midshipman. As I could not write (a fact I felt myself

justified in concealing from the First Lord), I got old Micky Nolan,

who was employed as a clerk in the village bakery, to pen the

application for me. Micky, who had seen better days, was quite a

capable scribe when sober.

My qualifications for the post applied for were set forth in full. I

was, I said, quite an expert navigator, my experience having been

gained in a boat on the Springfield lake. But I candidly confessed that

my parents were unaware of the step I had determined to take, and

accordingly requested that a reply might be sent to Michael Nolan, Esq.

For several weary weeks I trudged daily to the bakery, vainly hoping

for an answer.

Having for some time felt the pinch of increasing poverty, I was keenly

anxious to obtain some lucrative employment. One day I read an

advertisement in the Freeman's Journal which seemed to offer an opening

towards a competence. For the moderate sum of one shilling (which might

be remitted in postage stamps if convenient to the sender) a plan for

earning a liberal livelihood would be revealed. There was no room for

any doubt; the thing was described as an absolute certainty. An easy,

congenial, reputable employment, not requiring any special educational

qualifications, why, the thing would have been cheap at hundreds of

pounds. Yet here it was going begging for a shilling. In my case,

however, the shilling was the great difficulty. My sole sources of

pocket-money were the sale of holly-berries for Christmas festivities;

florists used to send carts from Dublin and pay as much as three

shillings per load and a royalty of a penny per head which I used to

collect from rabbit snarers who worked with ferrets. But Christmas was

far off, and rabbits were breeding, so my golden opportunity of

acquiring an easy competence would probably be lost by delay.

My parents were unaccountably unsympathetic; they absolutely refused to

provide the shilling. But a friend heard of my plight (not, however,

from myself), and furnished the cash. He little knew the misery he was

calling down on my unsophisticated head.

I posted the shilling's-worth of stamps to the specified address and

awaited a reply in a fever of anticipation. Within a few days it

arrived; we were sitting at breakfast when the letter was delivered. My

heart swelled with joyous expectation. Now I would show my skeptical

relations how wrong-headed they, had been in thwarting my legitimate

ambitions towards making a start in life; now I was about to taste the

sweets of independence.

The missive was bulky. As my trembling fingers tore open the envelope,

a number of closely printed slips fell out. I read these, one by one,

with a reeling brain. Then I laid my head on the table and burst into

bitter tears. My stately castle of hope had tumbled to pieces, and I

was buried beneath its ruins.

The circulars were signed by one "Harper Twelvetree"; the printed slips

outlined a scheme for establishing a burial agency. I had to open an

office at the nearest village and, when I heard of a death, direct the

attention of the bereaved to one or other of the undertakers in the

vicinity. For thus obtaining custom I was to claim a commission on the

funeral expenses. This ghoulish suggestion was the sole outcome of my

sanguine expectations.

It is hardly too much to say that this matter caused me deeper and more

long-drawn-out misery than any other episode of a somewhat chequered

career. I have dwelt on it at length because I think the relation

reveals a moral. At that breakfast-table began a course of torture

which lasted for several years. To say I was chaffed by everyone, from

my father and mother down to old Larry Frane, an ex-soldier who

occupied the lodge at our big gate, gives no idea of the true state of

things. The ridicule was continuous, searching, and universal. I was

the laughing-stock of the neighborhood. Anonymous letters from supposed

persons in a moribund condition, offering to guarantee the delivery of

their prospective remains in consideration of a small immediate

advance, reached me from various quarters. If I went into a hayfield,

one laborer would speak to another, somewhat in this fashion

"Jerry, have ye heerd that ould Biddy McGrath was prayed for on

Sunday?"

This would be accompanied by a meaning look at me. I would stalk off

with apparent unconcern, seeking some place where I could fall unseen

to the ground and weep. I was afraid to go to Mass at the little upland

chapel at Glencullen. It is usual in Roman Catholic churches to pray

for the welfare of departed souls and for the recovery of those people

afflicted with sickness who are thought to be in danger. I used to

imagine that the priest glanced meaningly at me when he made

announcements on these subjects. This, of course, was nonsense, but

several times I noticed members of the congregation looking at me and

tittering.

I became solitary in my habits, for I dreaded meeting a human being.

For a time my health suffered to a serious degree. My tribulations

increased to such an extent that I seriously contemplated suicide. I am

convinced that this period left an indelible mark, and that not an

improving one, on my character. Where sensitive children are concerned,

chaff may be useful in hardening them, but it should not be carried

beyond a certain point.

CHAPTER II

Improved health--Jimmy Kinsella--Veld food--I abscond--Father Healy on

conversion--Father O'Dwyer and his whip--Confession--Construction of a

volcano--The Fenian outbreak--Departure for South Africa--The tuneful

soldier--Chess at sea--Madeira A gale--The Asia

My health having improved in my eleventh year, I was able to extend the

range of my walks abroad. The surrounding country was full of interest;

the scenery was lovely. The region through which the boundary common to

Wicklow and Dublin runs is full of beauty spots, and the deeper one

penetrates into Wicklow, the more delightful is the landscape. The

Dargle, Powerscourt Waterfall, Bray Head, and the Sugarloaf Mountains

were all within rambling distance of Springfield. A few miles away,

on the Dublin side, were various ruins full of rusting machinery.

These had been the sites of paper and flax mills, shut down owing

to England's fiscal policy of the early nineteenth century days.

Lead-smelting and shot-making was carried on at a spot a few miles to

the eastward. It was a great delight to see the melted metal poured

through a sieve at the top of a tower and raining down into an

excavation with water at the bottom. I remember the manager of the

works once showing me an immense ingot of silver. It was lying on a

table in his office between two flannel shirts, the edges of which

were just able to meet over its sides. There was a small lake and a

trout stream close to the works; of these I had the run.

Many spots in the neighborhood of Springfield had legends attached to

them. I remember one large rock in the Scalp which was known as the

"Soggarth's Stone." It was said that a priest had been killed there in

"ninety-eight." At a spot where two roads crossed, on the way to

Enniskerry, could still be traced the outlines of the graves of several

suicides; one of these had the remains of a very old oaken stake

sticking diagonally from it. Every storied spot fascinated me, but

although many of my friends among the peasantry tried hard to make me

believe in the fairies or, as they called them, "the good people," I

never placed the slightest credence in what was said on the subject.

I had a faithful henchman in Jimmy Kinsella, a lad of about my own age,

who belonged to Springfield. Jimmy was the only one of my circle of

acquaintances who refrained from persecuting me concerning the "burial

agency" episode. Should these lines ever meet his eye, he will know

that I still cherish grateful memories of his chivalrous forbearance.

But I fear poor Jimmy could never have learnt to read; he was one of a

sorely poverty-stricken family of about a dozen children. His ordinary

costume consisted of a very ragged coat and breeches, the latter not

quite reaching to his knees, and usually held at their proper altitude

by a "suggan," or rope of hay. Jimmy was the only well-fleshed member

of his family, and for being thus distinguished he had me to thank.

I must, as a child, have had the forager's instinct very strongly

developed, for I very early noted the amount of more or less appetizing

food lying about ungleaned in what, in South Africa, we would call "the

veld." For instance, there was a large grove of hazel-trees from which

vast stores of nuts could be collected in the season. This nut-grove

was still standing when I visited Springfield a few years ago. These

nuts we used to gather and, like the squirrels, hoard in various

places.

The seasons brought forth other acceptable items of food. Mushrooms

grew plentifully in the grassy hollows near the lake, and wild

strawberries were to be found on almost every southern slope. There was

one small area where the strawberries grew in wonderful profusion. A

few years since I revisited this spot in spring. I found the fruit as

plentiful as ever, but somehow the flavor of the strawberry did not

seem to be so rich as it was five-and-forty years ago. Blackberries

were abundant on the edge of every thicket; on the heights of the

Scalp, over which we poached without restraint, haws and sloes grew

plentifully. It must not be inferred that Jimmy and I did not lay the

garden under levy, for we did. Apples, pears, gooseberries, and such

common fruits, we helped ourselves to freely, but I had given my word

not to touch any of the rare varieties such as plums and greengages.

These were trained, vine-wise, along the walls.

But we seldom lacked animal food, for we could always snare rabbits or,

except in the depths of winter, catch fish. The lake was full of perch,

roach, and eels; every mountain stream contained trout. On rare

occasions we would find Lord Powerscourt's pheasants in our snares. I

am sorry to say that in winter we would eat blackbirds, which we caught

in a crib made of elder-rods. This I always knew to be a disgraceful

thing to do, and it was only when very hungry indeed that such a crime

was committed.

Tired of the ways of society, Jimmy and I determined to have done

with civilization, so we built, with infinite pains and some measure

of skill, a large hut in the deepest and loneliest part of the

larch-forest. Larch-boughs and bracken were the materials used. To

this hut I surreptitiously conveyed a few utensils such as knives,

mugs, etcetera, as well as a change of clothing and some cast-off

garments as a fresh outfit for Jimmy. We disappeared early one

afternoon, and, after a lordly feast of roast rabbit and mushrooms,

sank to sleep on a fragrant bed of carefully selected fronds of dry

bracken.

At about midnight I awoke with the glare of a lantern in my eyes. My

father had come with a search party, and I was led, howling with wrath

and disappointment, back to the haunts of conventional men. My absence

had not been thought remarkable until ten o'clock had struck. Then a

messenger was dispatched to make inquiries at the Kinsella cottage.

Patsy, one of Jimmy's numerous brethren, betrayed us. He had, a few

days previously, followed our tracks to the secret lair. Poor Patsy,

subsequently had reason to regret his treachery.

One escapade of Jimmy's and mine nearly had serious consequences. I had

been reading about volcanoes, so was filled with ambition to construct

one. I unearthed a large powder-horn, belonging to my father, which

must have contained nearly a pound of gunpowder. This I poured into a

tin, which I punctured at the side. Into the puncture I inserted a fuse

of rolled brown paper which had been soaked in a solution of saltpeter.

The tin was placed on the floor in the middle of the tool-house; around

it we banked damp clay in the form of a truncated cone, leaving a

hollow for the crater. The latter we filled with dry sand and fragments

of brick. We lit the fuse, and, as might have been expected, a

frightful explosion resulted. The windows were blown completely out of

the tool-house. Jimmy and I were flung against the wall and nearly

blinded. Several fragments of brick had to be dug out of our respective

faces.

Father Healy, celebrated as a wit, occasionally visited our house. His

church at Little Bray was noted for the excellence of its choir. The

following story, was told of this priest: He was one night dining with

an Anglican clergyman, with whom he was on intimate terms. Just

previously two Roman Catholic priests, one in England and the other in

Ireland, had joined the Anglican communion. This double event, which

came up as a topic of conversation at the dinner-table, was, naturally

enough, the occasion of some satisfaction to the host. Various views as

to the psychology of conversion or, according to one's point of view,

perversion, were mooted. Various possible motives, spiritual and

temporal, underlying such a change, were discussed. Eventually the host

asked Father Healy for his opinion.

"Faith!" replied the latter, "I don't think there's any mystery about

the thing at all."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, when one of our men goes over to you, it's always due to one of

two causes."

"What are they?"

"Punch or Judy," replied Father Healy laconically.

Although Glencullen Chapel was the nearest to Springfield, the house

was in the parish of Enniskerry. Here a certain Father O'Dwyer was the

incumbent. Father O'Dwyer was a very irascible man of powerful

physique; he was as much feared by the godly as by the ungodly.

He kept a big whip in the vestry, with which to chastise evil-doers; of

this I had ocular demonstration.

One Sunday, when High Mass was being celebrated by another priest, a

stranger, I was sitting in the carriage, which stood waiting for the

conclusion of the ceremony, in the road outside. I had attended early

Mass, and arranged to drive home with my people. A number of boys were

playing marbles outside the church-yard wall, in a blind alley. The

vestry door opened and Father O'Dwyer came out, clad in his soutane and

carrying the well-known whip. He crouched and crept along the wall, out

through the gate and to the entrance of the alley. The boys were so

intent upon their game that they never noticed his approach until he

was close upon them. Then they sprang up with wild yells, but the lash

descended on them like a well-aimed flail; they rolled over and over in

a writhing heap. After the heap had broken up and its shrieking units

scattered, the irate priest calmly pocketed the marbles and, whip in

hand, stalked back to the vestry.

Confession to Father O'Dwyer was an ordeal much dreaded by the younger

members of our family. As we were his parishioners, he expected us to

attend to our religious duties at his church, but we endeavored by

every possible subterfuge to perform such at Glencullen, where the

priest was more sympathetic.

My father used to tell a story of the confessional which always amused

us. When a boy, he occasionally visited relations in Dublin who were

exact in the matter of regular confession. It was, in fact, the rule of

the household that not alone every member, but the stranger within its

gates, should confess each Saturday night. As it is on Saturday night

that most people confess, a number of penitents were usually sitting in

church awaiting their respective turns. On one occasion my father was

sitting near a cubicle into which a rather disreputable woman had just

entered. He heard the muttering of the voices of the priest and the

penitent alternately; once or twice the former emitted a long, low

whistle, indicative of extreme surprise.

Another story was told me by a relative. The episode is said to have

occurred at Cashel, but I do not guarantee it in any respect. Whether

it is true or not does not much matter.

Part of the ritual of confession is this: The penitent repeats a

formula of three sentences: "Mea culpa mea culpa mea maxima culpa,"

striking the breast with the closed hand as each sentence is uttered.

On this occasion the words of the penitent, an old countrywoman, could

be distinctly heard outside the cubicle. They were: "Mea culpa, mea oh!

dammit I've bruk me poipe."

In 1867 befell the Fenian outbreak. At Glencullen, about a mile from

the back of our house, was a police barrack. This was attacked one

night, but not captured, although the valiant attackers forced some of

their prisoners to stand in the line of fire, between them and the

building. The police had closed the windows with feather beds and

mattresses, and these the Fenian bullets could not penetrate. Within a

few days the fiasco of a rising was at an end. I do not think any of

the people in our neighborhood joined it. When the rebels retreated

along the Wicklow road, they threw several pikes over the wall close to

our lodge gates. The preference on the part of the Irishman of the last

generation for the pike as a fighting implement was remarkable. He

regarded it as quite superior to the rifle.

My father had never been well off; each passing year had left him more

and more deeply involved. In 1867 a disastrous lawsuit with the Marquis

of Bute over some mining rights in Wales almost brought ruin to our

door. It was decided to emigrate. The advantages of New Zealand, Buenos

Ayres, and South Africa were all considered. But a letter from Cardinal

(then Bishop) Moran, of Grahamstown, decided our fate: the Cape Colony

was to be our destination.

My three sisters were all senior to me. The eldest accompanied us to

the Cape. The second had, the previous year, gone to India. The

youngest, who was in delicate health, remained behind with an aunt. My

brother, who was younger than I, stayed at school in Ireland.

So one lovely day, in early November of 1867 we embarked at Dublin on a

small paddle-steamer called the Lady Eglinton. Our immediate

destination was Falmouth; there we had to join the S.S. Asia, one of

the old "Diamond Line." Memory is a curious thing; although I can

recall minute details of most of my uneventful life between my sixth

and twelfth years, the circumstances of this voyage, the first in my

experience, have passed almost entirely away. The only memory that

remains is connected with a ridiculous episode.

There was a drunken Irish soldier on board. He was a good-natured

creature who made himself most embarrassingly friendly towards all and

sundry of the passengers. Eventually he tried to embrace one of the

ladies. For this misdemeanor, which I am persuaded was based on no evil

intention, he was trussed and tied down on the hatch, close to the

wheel. But the man must have been a philosopher, for his bonds

distressed him not at all. For several hours he lifted up his voice in

continuous song. His repertoire was extensive and varied. To this day I

can clearly recall the words as well as the tune of two of his ditties.

One related to the history of a pair of corduroy breeches, year by

year, since the close of the last decade, each year being treated of in

a couplet. The first verse ran thus:

"In eighteen hundred and sixty-one

Those corduroy breeches were begun."

Eventually, in the then current year, 1867 "Those corduroy breeches

went up to heaven."

But they must have come down again, for it was prophetically, related

that, in 1868 "Those corduroy breeches lost their sate."

Following this came a lyric, having for its theme the pangs of despised

love and the faithlessness of the fair. Its refrain ran:

"Oh, surely the wimmin is worse than the min,

For they go to the Divil and come back agin."

Towards the afternoon the minstrel sank into slumber. To judge by the

expression of his face his dreams must have been happy ones.

The Asia was awaiting us at Falmouth. By the light of subsequent

experience I now know her to have been a very second-class craft even

for the sixties but to me then she was an Argo bound for a Colchis,

where a Golden Fleece awaited every seeker. There were a number of Cape

colonists on board. Among them may be mentioned Mr. and Mrs. "Varsy"

Van der Byl, the Rev. Mr. (now Canon) Woodrooffe and his wife, Mr.

Templar Horne who was afterwards Surveyor-General and Mr. D. Krynauw,

who still enjoys life in his comfortable home just off Wandel Street,

Cape Town. Mr. Krynauw added to the gaiety of the community by making

clever thumb-nail sketches of all and sundry. But Mr. Woodrooffe was

the life and soul of the ship. He seemed to have as many

accomplishments as the celebrated Father O'Flynn, with several more

thrown in.

Among his other acquirements Mr. Woodrooffe had an excellent knowledge

of chess; he was, in fact, by far the best player on board. I often

challenged him to play, but he considered a small boy such as I was to

be beneath his notice, so kept putting me off. However, one day I

happened to be sitting in the saloon, with the chessmen in their places

on the board, waiting for a victim. Mr. Woodrooffe chanced to come out

of his cabin, so I captured him. But no sooner had we begun to play

than two charming young ladies appeared and, one on each side, engaged

my opponent in a conversation which, naturally enough, was more

interesting than chess with me. Accordingly, he paid little or no

attention to the game. I, on the other hand, was in deadly earnest.

I moved out my king's pawn; then the king's bishop; then the queen. My

heart was in my mouth; surely so experienced a player was not going to

walk open-eyed into such a booby-trap. But the sirens had lured his

attention away. Next move I gave him "fool's mate." That moment was one

of the proudest of my life; I had beaten the champion, the Admirable

Crichton of games of skill, the man whose word was law in all matters

relating to sport in our little community.

Unfortunately, however, I was too young and inexperienced to support my

triumph with becoming dignity. I rushed up the companion stair shouting

the news of my victory at the top of my voice. I told it to the

captain, the officers, the passengers, and to such members of the crew

as I was acquainted with. But I was astute enough never again to offer

to play chess with Mr. Woodrooffe, and even to decline when he

suggested our having a return game.

The Biscayan tides were kind; but no sooner had we passed Finisterre

than a gale struck us, and for many woeful days the Asia behaved

like a drunken porpoise. I do not think a single passenger escaped

sea-sickness. The gale continued until the night before we reached

Madeira. I shall never forget the enchanting prospect which Funchal

afforded as we glided to our anchorage in the early morning. The

misery of the previous week was forgotten in the rapture of a moment.

The sky was cloudless and the contours of the lovely island were

bathed in opaline light. What joy the first sight, smell, and taste

of the tropical fruits brought. Cold storage, by bringing all

descriptions of exotic fruit to Europe, has robbed travel towards the

tropics of one of its keenest delights.

We passed to the westward of Teneriffe in perfectly clear weather. The

recent storms encountered by us had extended far to the south;

consequently the great peak was clothed in dazzling snow to an unusual

distance below its summit. The impression left on my memory by that

mountain mass, with the snow-mantle glowing in the rose-red light of

sunset, will never fade. I can well remember being sadly disappointed

at the first view of the Southern Cross. The voyage was uneventful

until we reached the vicinity of the Cape, where we again encountered a

most violent south-west gale. For two days we steamed against a

tremendous sea. Wave after wave swept our decks; all the passengers had

to remain below. I remember the ladies sitting huddled together at

night in the companion, and the ship's doctor (I think his name was

Williamson) regaling them with gruesome tales of shipwreck until the

more nervous of the listeners began to wail aloud. So bad was the

storm, that cooking was almost suspended. The menu consisted solely of

"sea-pie" a comestible apparently composed of lumps of salt-beef stuck

into slabs of very tough dough, and the result boiled in a hurried and

perfunctory manner. Two days after the cessation of the storm, the Asia

steamed into Table Bay.

The Asia, poor old tub, lies at the bottom of the Bay of Bengal, where

she foundered with all hands when engaged in the cattle-trade. Peace to

her iron bones. Most of my fellow Argonauts, long before this, must

have sunk into that sleep from which there is no earthly waking. Few,

if any of us, managed to find the Golden Fleece. Those who, like

myself, are still seeking it, are treading that downhill path which

grows steeper at every pace, and which leads to that valley, filled

with grey shadow, out of which none return. To them I hold out a hand

of greeting in the spirit. Perhaps, when the Great Cycle has been

traversed, we may meet again. Perhaps in another Argo we may voyage

from Sirius to Mazaroth, through seas of golden ether adventurers from

world to world instead of from continent to continent.

CHAPTER III

Arrival at Cape Town--Port Elizabeth--First encounter with big game

Grahamstown--Severe thunderstorm--King William's Town Natives and their

ponies--Social peculiarities--Farming--The annual trek--Camp-life

Surf-bathing--Self-sacrificing attitude of Larry O'Toole--Capture of

an ant-bear--The coast scenery--A moral shock--School Chief Toise--Rainy

seasons--Flooded rivers

It was about the middle of December when we reached Table Bay. With the

exception of the old Slave Barracks, in which the Supreme Court sits, I

do not think a single one of the present Adderley Street buildings

existed. Bree Street is more or less unchanged, but immediately to the

eastward of it modernization begins. The most interesting building to

me was the old Fruit Market, facing the Parade. I think it stood on the

present site of the Drill Hall. The variety of strange fruits there to

be found, the grotesque dresses of the Malays, and the babel of uncouth

speech exercised a fascination the memory of which has never faded.

The costume of the average Malay woman has remained unchanged; it is

surely the most hideous of the many sumptuary hideosities for which

fashion is responsible. This is the more deplorable for that the Malay

women, when young, are often extremely pretty. The color scheme they

affect is good; these women usually dress in light, flimsy silks of

varied hue. Such materials are used at all events among the well-to-do

for skirt, bodice, kerchief, and coiffure. But under the skirt, which

hangs from just below the arm-pits, there must be at least a dozen

petticoats. The result is a figure resembling a misshapen cone. I

believe this costume is an exaggerated imitation of that of the

"merchant's" wife of a little more than a century ago, and that it was

adopted by the Malays when the Dutch sumptuary laws were repealed.

We were hospitably entertained by the families of some friends we had

made on the voyage. One day we spent with the Hams, an old Cape family

whose homestead, long since "improved" away, stood not far from the

present site of the Mount Nelson Hotel. Constantia, also, we visited,

and were presented with some of the famous wine there grown.

At this time the only railway in South Africa was a single line between

Cape Town and Wynberg. It was said, but I do not know with how much

truth, that the building of this line was due to the accidental

circumstance that a ship, bound for Australia with railway material,

was wrecked in the vicinity of the Cape.

After a delay of about a week we set sail for Port Elizabeth, the end

of our voyage. We left considerably more than half of our passengers in

Cape Town. The parting with some of these was a sad experience; during

the course of the long voyage we had made many friends. We reached Port

Elizabeth on Christmas Eve, and were carried ashore through the surf by

natives. Immediately after landing, we passed a yard full of old

lumber. Protruding from a chaos of ancient rubbish was a signboard,

bearing in dingy letters the legend: "Joseph Scully, Coach Painter."

This is the only occasion upon which I have come across my name in

South Africa. We landed at once, but some of the passengers elected to

remain on board the Asia until next morning. This they had ample cause

to regret, for a severe south-easter set in during the night and

rendered communication with the shore impossible for several days.

Port Elizabeth, although then a thriving town, had not yet earned the

title "the Liverpool of South Africa." I doubt as to whether its

commercial self-righteousness had developed to the extent of adopting

the sobriquet "the Honest Port." My most salient memories are of

hospitality, wool, hides, pumpkins, and sand. So far as I can recall,

neither Main Street nor the Market Square was paved. That useful but

ungainly ship of the southern deserts, the ox-wagon, was much in

evidence. When the wind blew, as it did nearly all the time we were

there, the dust arose in one continuous cloud, and grit reigned

supreme.

But the hospitality of the Port Elizabethans was a thing to be

remembered with great pleasure. No sooner had we landed than

invitations poured in on us. This was not merely complimentary it was

the outcome of genuine kindness and a desire to be helpful. There was

no ostentation, but just the natural expression of a simple desire to

welcome and assist the stranger newly arrived within the gates.

Hospitality was one of the cardinal South African virtues in those

days. It has been truly said that even a quarter of a century ago a man

might ride from Cape Town to the Limpopo without a shilling in his

pocket, and be well entertained all the way. Things have, however, much

changed in this respect. I suppose this was inevitable; true

hospitality is a plant which seldom survives the hot stress of the

struggle for riches.

Grahamstown was our destination, so an ox-wagon of the largest size and

with a team to match was hired to convey us and our belongings to the

city, which has since become so celebrated as the abode of saints. Our

first outspan was in the valley of the Zwartkops River, close to a big

vlei, which was surrounded by dense, scrubby jungle. I had a small

single-barreled rifle, so I loaded this and went off in search of big

game. In anticipation of our translation to Africa I had done a good

deal of rifle practice at Springfield, and had thus become a fair shot.

But now, to my great disappointment, I could find nothing on which to

exercise my skill. After a long, hot, circular walk, in the course of

which I had not seen a living thing, I found myself once more on the

edge of the vlei, within a hundred yards of the wagon. I was so thirsty

that I found it impossible to pass the water without drinking. The

margin of the vlei was very muddy, so, placing my rifle against a tree,

I stepped from one tussock to another, so as to get within reach of

deeper and, therefore, clearer water. I bent down to drink, placing one

hand on a tussock and the other on what I took to be a stone, about six

inches in diameter. But when I touched it the supposed stone emitted a

terrible "quor-r-rr-k," and squattered away. It was an immense bull

frog I had tried to lean upon. I sprang up and fled. Such was my first

experience of African big game.

After a six days' trek we reached Grahamstown. We failed to observe

any, saints, but, on the other hand, met a number of very kind sinners,

who did a lot towards making our stay a pleasant one. For a week we

were the guests of Judge Fitzpatrick and his wife. The judge and my

father had occupied chambers together as young men in Dublin. "Sir

Percy" was then a boy I should say about three or four years my junior.

The judge's orchard was all that could be desired by hungry boys; the

flavor of the apricots there growing will never be forgotten by me.

We took a house as a temporary measure, my father in the meantime

endeavoring to secure a suitable farm. In this he was unsuccessful, so

after six weeks we hired another wagon and started for King William's

Town. The rains had been heavy, and the drift of the Fish River on the

direct road was consequently impassable, so we took the longer route

and crossed by the old wooden military bridge at Fort Brown. This

bridge was swept away by the great flood of 1874. A great iron girder

structure has been put in its place.

Just before fording the Keiskamma River we encountered a most terrible

thunderstorm. Whilst making all due allowance for inexperience, and

having since sampled some heavy weather of various sorts in the

tropics, I am of opinion that this storm was the worst I have ever

seen. Early in the afternoon of a hot bright day, snow-white,

solid-looking clouds began to collect around the peaks of the Amatole

Mountains. These grew rapidly until they coalesced in a dense, compact

mass. After remaining stationary, for some time, this began to move

slowly towards us. It was black beneath, but dazzlingly white at the

summit. It swept down with accelerating speed. The air throbbed with

that most awe-inspiring sound, the guttural murmur of approaching hail.

For some minutes the rain descended in drowning sheets. Then the hail

smote us like a roaring cataract. The wind was so furious that the

wagon tilt was almost torn to pieces. But, as terrifying agencies,

these were as nothing to the lightning which appeared to stab the

ground so closely and incessantly all around us that escape seemed an

impossibility and to the thunder, which kept up a continuous bellow,

punctuated by stunning crashes. The storm lasted far into the night;

then the clouds rolled away, leaving an absolutely clear sky. Next

morning was cloudless, and was followed by a lovely day. We searched

far and near for evidence of damage, but all we found was a shattered

mimosa-tree. The bark and the wood were lying about, frayed into their

ultimate fibers; they looked like teased-out flax. Curiously enough

they showed no sign of burning.

After a trek lasting eight days we reached King William's Town, which

even then was a flourishing place. Three regiments were stationed

there--the 9th and 11th Infantry and the old Imperial Cape Mounted

Riflemen. Of the latter, the rank and file were principally Hottentots,

but the officers were European. This regiment, an excellent one in

every respect, was shortly afterwards disbanded.

We settled down for a stay in King William's Town, to enable us to take

our bearings. My father made various trips throughout the district,

looking for a suitable farm. Red-coated soldiers and red-blanketed

natives were everywhere in evidence. The liquor-shops (canteens they

were called) did a roaring trade. Every morning hundreds of natives,

mounted on wiry ponies and clad in nothing but trousers and red

blanket, would gallop into the town by every road. In the afternoon

they would gallop back again, nearly ail more or less tipsy. The ponies

were excellent animals; in breed they were identical with the famed

"Basuto pony," for which long prices are given today. It is a great

pity that these ponies have been allowed to become practically

extinct in the Cape Colony. For hardiness and docility they were

unequalled. Like so much else, they melted away in the coffers of the

canteen-keeper.

Socially, King William's Town was in a most curious condition. The

military absolutely ruled the roost. Trade, whether wholesale or

retail, carried the Mark of the Beast, and no one connected therewith

was recognized. Neither beauty, intellect, nor wealth was allowed to

count against the disgrace involved in one being in any way connected

with commerce. I will give an illustration showing how strong this

preposterous feeling was.

My sister was very popular with the military set. (We were poor enough,

in all conscience, but we had not disgraced ourselves by, contact with

trade.) She struck up a friendship with the daughter of the proprietor

of a large business. He belonged to an old and much-esteemed colonial

family. The girl was pretty, accomplished, and amiable. But she was

"left out" of everything. Dance after dance was given, but Miss X never

received an invitation. My sister was distressed at this, and, when a

large military dance was projected, used every ounce of her influence

towards having her friend invited. But all her trouble was in vain.

What made the situation hopeless was the circumstance that the

civilians accepted it with contemptible humility. It was almost

pathetic to observe how people, just on the border-line, received with

humble thankfulness such crumbs of recognition as were occasionally

thrown to them. Snobbery increases in offensiveness when it is

transplanted.

Living was exceedingly cheap. I think the price of meat was twopence

per pound. I have seen hundreds of bags of excellent potatoes offered

on the morning market and taken away unsold because no one would bid a

shilling per bag for them. Most people were poor, but they seemed

somehow to be comfortable enough. There was no such thing as pauperism.

Even the poorest could afford to keep horses. Journeys were generally

performed on horseback, luggage being carried on a pack-horse, led by

an after-rider. I had a splendid pony, which cost only 3. He grazed on

the town commonage; besides grass, he never got anything to eat but an

occasional handful of mealies. Yet he always was in good condition. On

this pony I regularly followed the hounds for some months for the

military kept a pack of foxhounds with which duiker antelopes were

hunted and was usually in at the death.

After a time my father managed to hire what was believed to be a

suitable farm near MacLean Town. It was called "Sunny Slope" and it

belonged to Mr. Benjamin Norton, who lived on the farm adjoining. Here

we began farming with about eight hundred sheep, and a few head of

cattle. The farm contained long, gentle, undulating slopes, divided by

shallow kloofs full of forest. The pasturage was rich and water was

plentiful. But our farming was not successful; it was hardly possible

that it could have been so. Farming is a trade, and has to be learnt.

Moreover, wool went down in price and the sheep contracted various

diseases. However, the latter evil was overcome with the kind

assistance of our neighbors.

In the days I write of, the whole of the coast of British Kaffraria

between the Kei River and the Keiskamma, with the exception of the then

insignificant town of East London and a small area in its vicinity, was

almost uninhabited. It was the custom for practically, all Kaffrarian

stock-farmers to trek down to the coast with their stock for the three

winter months. Then the range of forest-clothed sandhills forming the

coastline held a succession of camps. The scenery was enchanting; every

valley brimmed with evergreen forest, and between the valleys sloped

downs, clothed with rich grass.

Game was abundant, and the lagoon at the mouth of every stream piercing

the line of sandhills teemed with fish. The trek period was looked upon

as one of holiday. Care was thrown to the winds; picnics, hunting, and

sea-bathing were the order of the day. Social gatherings took place

alternately at the various camps not too distant from each other. More

or less impassable estuaries, where the larger streams broke through to

the sea, divided the coast tract into so many separate blocks.

Horses were plentiful; probably every individual, not too old or too

young to ride, had at least one mount available. Young men and maidens

thought nothing of riding ten miles to tea, and riding back in the

starlight when the gathering broke up. Homely song and the strains of

the now much despised concertina mingled with the softened thunder of

the surf, and, borne by the mild breath of the sea wind, no doubt

surprised the wild creatures whose sanctuaries we had invaded. I have

since heard some of the greatest singers and instrumentalists, but no

music has ever given me such joy as those rudimentary strains listened

to at night in a clearing of the forest near the mouth of the Gonubie

River, with the chastened resonance of the Indian Ocean surf as an

accompaniment.

I often recall our bathing. The beach was level and sandy, not a reef

nor even a rock was within sight. Immense rollers fugitives from the

wrath of far-off tempests used to sweep in continuously. Just before

breaking these would tower aloft, their fine-drawn crests poised for an

instant in the sunlight. Our favorite sport was among these waves. We

would buffet our way out to the breaking zone. Then, as the mighty,

walls of glistening water swept up, we would drive through them, one by

one, or else lie flat on the water in the hollow, side to the advancing

wave. In the latter case the wave would pick the bather up with a

sudden swing, poise him for an instant on its trembling crest, and then

whirl him round and round as it swept restlessly shoreward. This

whirling was so rapid that I have occasionally almost lost

consciousness when in the grip of an unusually, powerful breaker. We

never considered that we were doing anything venturesome; the sport

described was followed by all and sundry, quite as a matter of course.

Nevertheless, I think the boys used to venture out farther than the

men. Sharks we never thought of. It was not considered possible that we

could be carried out to sea, for the greatest difficulty lay in keeping

oneself from being flung back on the shore by the rapidly advancing

waves. I wonder whether bathers nowadays venture out as far as we did.

The friends with whom I usually stayed were the Barbers, who lived at

Grey Park, a few miles from Sunny Slope. I mean Mr. Hilton Barber, now

of Halesowen, near Cradock, and his brothers Guy and Graham. The

latter, one of the truest friends I ever had, is, alas! long since

dead. He fell a victim to pneumonia at Johannesburg in the early days.

Related to or connected with the Barbers were the Atherstones,

Cummings, McIntoshes, and Dicks, whose tents usually, stood in the

vicinity of the Barber encampment.

I recall one incident which caused a great deal of laughter. Mr. Guy

Barber was then engaged to his present wife, who was Miss McIntosh, a

girl of remarkable beauty. A certain Mr. Larry O'Toole, who had come

out in the Asia under my father's protection, was staying at a camp in

the vicinity. One day a wild-duck shoot was in progress. Larry, who

knew little or nothing about shooting, was of the party. The sportsmen

took their stations around the margins of a large, sinuous vlei. The

ducks, after being disturbed, flew up and down. Miss McIntosh, with her

fiance, was on horseback opposite Larry, on the other side of the

water. Some ducks flew past and Larry fired. The birds were untouched,

but the horse ridden by, Miss McIntosh was severely peppered and began

to plunge violently. In the course of a severe reproof for his

carelessness, Larry was asked by Guy Barber:

"Now, supposing you had blinded or otherwise badly injured Miss

McIntosh, what would you have done?"

"Oh! begor," replied Larry, "I suppose I'd have had to marry, her."

Poor Larry O'Toole! We met, years afterwards, in a remote mining-camp.

He ventured into the Low Country beyond the Murchison Range at the

wrong season, and contracted fever. In the delirium which supervened he

blew his brains out. Larry had a brother, Edmund, who had been a

sailor, and who joined Butler's Horse in the Zulu War. He gained the

Victoria Cross the day before Ulundi. Together with the late Lord

William Beresford ("Bill," as he liked to be called, alliteratively )

he saved a wounded man from the spears of the enemy. For this exploit

the cross was offered to Lord William, but he refused to accept it

unless a similar distinction were conferred on O'Toole.

The latter had a varied career. I once hailed a cab in Cape Town and

found he was the driver. He told me he had saved 200 at cab driving.

But I judge from what I subsequently heard that the money did him no

good. He, like so many others of "the legion that never was listed"

with whom I have foregathered, has long since closed his earthly

account.

One occurrence I heard of among the seaside camps merits relation. It

should be mentioned that the extraordinary, story reached me at

second-hand. The incident is said to have taken place one season when

I did not visit the coast.

At the end of the sixties no zoological garden contained a specimen of

the South African anteater. I do not know whether any such institution

contains one now. However, a very liberal price was offered for a live

specimen. This extraordinary creature is almost strictly nocturnal in

its habits, and is consequently extremely difficult to capture. One day

a man with whom I was acquainted was riding through the veld a few

miles from his camp. To his surprise he noticed a large ant-eater.

Mindful of the reward offered, he sprang from his horse and seized the

creature by one of its hind-legs.

The ant-eater has hardly any means of defense, its formidable claws

being used solely for digging. But its strength and its digging powers

are almost beyond belief. In sandy soil one will bury itself in a few

seconds. In this instance the captor had to exert all his strength

merely to keep the animal above ground. He was, in fact, only able to

do this by means of continually shifting his position, a process

involving constant and exhausting effort. He bethought him of the rein

fastened to his pony's halter. With great difficulty he loosened this,

and tied it in a noose around the ant-bear's loins. But matters were

not improved; the digging went on more vigorously than ever.

At length he realized that it was impossible to prevent the animal from

burrowing out of sight. One expedient remained. The pony, had a long

and bushy tail. He doubled the end of this, and securely fastened the

rein to it. Then he hastened to his camp for the purpose of fetching a

spade and calling people to assist him.

On returning a strange spectacle met his view. The pony was sitting on

the ground, erect, after the manner of a biped. Its head was in the

air, its hind-legs were extended horizontally, its fore-legs were

waving impotently up and down'. The ant-bear had carved its way deep

into the bowels of the earth, gradually but relentlessly dragging the

hapless pony down until its posterior parts hermetically sealed up the

burrow. It was, in fact, only the smallness of the latter which

prevented the animal from being completely buried. Eventually, however,

the rein snapped, and the pony was thus released from a durance

probably unique in equine experience. But I wish to make it quite clear

that I guarantee nothing in connection with the foregoing remarkable

tale, except that I have related it as it was told to me.

I often picture the rounded sandhills stretching from the Gonubie Mouth

to the Nahoon, with the dark, olive-green boskage that clothed their

curves with beauty, and the veil of orange tinted mystery that at dawn

hung like a curtain across that region where sea and sky awaited,

breathless, the advent of day. I suppose the placid lagoons still

mirror the drifting pageants of cloudland, while the purple kingfishers

flit from rock to rock, or poise, fluttering in the air, before they,

plunge into the crystal water.

I imagine that at windless nightfall the rich, throbbing organ-tones of

the Indian Ocean surf toll all the darkling glades. I wonder do the

green, flame-winged loories today call hoarsely through the aisles of

greenery, and the bushbucks bark their angry challenges from the deep

and tangled hollows. I wonder do the monkeys, when the forenoon waxes

sultry, swing chattering from bough to bough down the hillside, seeking

their daily drink in the coolest depths of the kloof, and do the great

Nymphalis butterflies, with wings of ochre and pearl, flit among the

tree tops!

But so much I know that a part of my youth which in some strange way

seems to have acquired an individuality, of its own dwells, and will

for ever dwell, among these scenes. And I shall never be so ill-advised

as to seek it, for the wraith, like a mocking dryad, would flit from

tree to tree, as beautiful and as elusive as the rainbow.

While living at Sunny Slope I paid my first visit to East London, the

occasion being an agricultural show. I accompanied the Norton family.

We traveled in an ox-wagon through the loveliest imaginable country.

Our course lay mainly down the valley of the Nahoon River, in which the

vegetation was then much richer than it is today. The little town of

East London was confined to the west bank of the Buffalo River mouth.

Where the town now stands, on the east bank, there was not a single

house in 1868. So far as I can recollect, Tapson's Hotel was the only

building between Cambridge and the sea. This building was still in

existence a few years ago. The Buffalo River had to be crossed by means

of a pontoon; the road to this was cut through dense jungle. Judging by

the spoors crossing the road this jungle must have been full of game.

After the show a large picnic was held in the forest at the well-known

Second Creek. The guests were conveyed to the spot by a paddle tug, the

Buffalo. This vessel now lies, a melancholy wreck, half-submerged, at

the mouth of the Kowie River.

At the picnic I sustained a severe moral shock. A certain doctor with

whom I was acquainted an elderly and much respected resident of King

William's Town looked upon the wine when it was red, and became

violently uproarious. My ethical orientation became disturbed; all my

canons got confused. I had seen this man wearing the insignia of

municipal dignity; he had been mayor of his town during the previous

year. Now he was acting the mountebank, to the huge amusement of a lot

of yokels.

I knew that disreputable Europeans and natives occasionally became

intoxicated, but here was my first experience of a respectable person

committing such a lapse. The shock was so painful that my enjoyment was

completely spoilt. I crept to a thicket, from which I could see without

being seen, and observed the old gentleman's antics with amazed horror.

He insisted on making a long speech, interspersed with snatches of

song. This only came to an end when some of his friends seized the

tails of his frock-coat and hauled him down. Then he was carried,

protesting loudly, to the tug.

It soon became abundantly clear that our farming could not prove a

success, so Sunny Slope was given up, and we returned to King William's

Town. Here my father, with the remainder of his capital, purchased a

property in the Alexandra Road, close to the present railway-station.

Sheep had fallen heavily in value; our flock could not be realized

without incurring a ruinous loss, so it was kept for a time on the town

commonage. Eventually, it was handed over to a native chief named

Toise, who lived on the other side of the Buffalo River, about five

miles away.

I was put to the grammar school, where I studied for something more

than half a year. This, it may be remarked, is all the regular

schooling I ever had. Mr. John Samuel, who afterwards became a school

inspector, was the head master. Dr. Theal, the historian (then Mr.

Theal), was in charge of the second division, or, as it was called, the

lower school.

It was my duty to ride out every Saturday to Toise's kraal for the

purpose of counting the sheep. So far as I can remember, none were ever

stolen a fact of some significance considering that the whole country,

almost as far as the eye could reach in every direction, was densely

populated by "raw" natives. But the unhappy animals suffered from scab

and various other diseases.

Toise, albeit addicted to strong drink, was a gentleman in all

essentials. He was a tall, dignified, and remarkably handsome man; his

hospitality and courtesy could not be surpassed. A calabash of

delicious amaas (koumis) was always ready for me on my arrival, and a

feed of mealies provided for the pony. I believe that subsequently

Toise became ruined, morally and physically, through the drink habit.

He was only another of the countless victims of "Cape Smoke."

In the days I write of, the climate of the Eastern Province was totally

different from what it is today. From October to March thunderstorms,

accompanied by torrential rain, were of frequent occurrence. Early in

the afternoon clouds would appear over the mountains to the north-west;

between three and four o'clock these clouds, now forming immense,

towering masses of cumulus, would sweep down towards the sea, pouring

out torrents of rain on their course. Between five and six o'clock all

these meteorological alarums and excursions would be over, the sky

would be again clear, and the sun again shining hotly, on the drenched

earth.

Hailstorms occasionally happened. I recall a very remarkable one that

passed over that portion of King William's Town known as "the German

Village" in, I think, the summer of 1869. The hailstones, which were of

immense size, did not fall very thickly. Moreover, the area of the town

over which the storm passed contained no houses but thatched ones.

Great lumps of ice, all of the same shape, but of various sizes, began

to rain out of the sky. The shape was that of a full-blown rose; it

suggested that each had been formed in a tiny vortex-mould. Some of the

lumps measured four inches across. Dr. Egan, at the Grey Hospital,

secured one monster which weighed a pound and three-quarters.

The throbbing roar heralding the approaching hail cataract was a thing

never to be forgotten. I heard of no fatalities among human beings, but

a flock of sheep was wiped out at a spot where the storm concentrated.

This happened on a high, abrupt hill about twenty miles away.

In those days streams such as the Kat, the Koonap, the Buffalo, and the

Keiskamma were really rivers; often they foamed down in mighty brown

torrents. As there were no bridges, except the occasional military,

ones, post carts would often be delayed for days at a time, and one's

letters would sometimes arrive more or less in a state of pulp. The

whole country was covered with rank vegetation up to June, when nearly

all the grass would be burnt off. It is to the cessation of this

immemorial practice one noted by, all the voyagers along the south-east

coast that I attribute the enormous increase of the tick pest.

One of my favorite diversions, when the Buffalo was in flood, was to

ride to a spot near the upper end of the town and there strip. I would

tie my clothes into a bundle and entrust them, with my pony, to another

boy. Then I would jump into the river and allow myself to be carried

down by the torrent. All one had to do was to keep well in the middle

of the stream and avoid contact with occasional uprooted trees.

Once or twice I found myself, when thus swimming, unpleasantly close to

puff-adders and other snakes which had been washed by the flood out of

their hiding-places in the holes piercing the river-banks. But such

reptiles were always too much stiffened by the cold water to be capable

of doing any injury.

Meanwhile the boy, with my clothes and the pony, would be waiting for

me at a stated spot some distance below the wool-washing yards to the

south-east of the town. I should not now care to venture on such an

excursion.

CHAPTER IV

Trip to the Transkei--Tiyo Soga and his family--Trip to the seaside--The

Fynns--Wild dogs--Start as a sheep farmer--My camp burnt out--First

commercial adventure--Chief Sandile--Discovery of diamonds--Start for

Golconda--Traveling companions--Manslaughter narrowly escaped--Old De

Beers--Life at the Diamond Fields--Scarcity of water--First case of

diamond stealing--I nearly discover Kimberley Mine--The rush to Colesberg

Kopje--My first diamond--Its loss and my humiliation--Kimberley claims

dear at 10--Camp-life in early days--I. D. B.--Canteen burning.

It was in the June holidays of 1869 that I undertook my first real

adventure. I then accompanied Mr. Samuel and two of my schoolfellows on

an expedition to the Transkei, which at that time was still practically

independent Kaffirland. The Fingoes were in a sense under British

protection, and Mr. Fynn was resident with Sariii (usually known as

"Kreli"), the celebrated Goaleka chief.

The Kei River was the colonial boundary. Traveling on horseback we

crossed the river by a drift some distance below the site of the

present Komgha Bridge. One of my companions was Tom Irvine, now a

partner in the firm of Dyer and Dyer, of East London. The other was

Alfred Longden, whose father was Wesleyan missionary near the site on

which the town of Butterworth now stands, Richard Irvine had a trading

station at the Incu Drift. The old building still exists. When we

arrived there the tobacco crop had just been harvested, and the trader

was kept busy from early morning until late at night buying tobacco at

the rate of a penny per pound, the price being taken in the form of

trade goods.

We moved on to Tutura, the mission station of that remarkable man Tiyo

Soga. Mrs. Soga and her sister, Miss Burnside, received us with the

best hospitality. Their dwelling consisted of a row of huts which were

connected with each other by means of wattled passages. The huts had

doors and ordinary windows.

The Sogas were just on the point of starting for the seaside on their

annual holiday when we joined them. Their destination was the mouth of

the Kobonqaba River. We decided to join the party. I rode most of the

way, some forty miles, at Mr. Soga's side. He beguiled the time by

reciting Wordsworth's poetry, which at that time I had never heard of.

As each fresh aspect of the magnificent scenery unfolded itself he

would pause and declaim some appropriate quotation from "The

Excursion."

I have seldom been so impressed by any one as by this Kaffir, who, born

in absolute barbarism, had acquired culture both deep and wide, and

then returned to try and civilize his people. At the time I met him Mr.

Soga was hard at work translating, for the benefit of the Natives, the

Bible and "Pilgrim's Progress." The Kaffir language is eminently suited

to the former; good Kaffir linguists will tell you that many of the

Psalms sound better in Mr. Soga's version than in English. His

rendering of "Pilgrim's Progress," too, is a masterpiece.

Tiyo Soga was a tall man of slender build and with a stooping figure.

Even at the time I tell of a short, hacking cough gave evidence of the

consumption which some years later caused his death. He was not alone a

deeply cultivated scholar, but a Christian gentleman in the fullest

sense of the term.

We passed Kreli's kraal, but the chief was in retirement under the

hands of a witch-doctor, so we did not see him. The scenery along the

watershed between the Kei and the Kobonqaba is wonderfully beautiful.

The weather was calm and clear; the ocean like a world of sapphire

fringed with snow. The populous villages of the Natives stood on every

ledge; sleek cattle grazed in every valley. The people looked

prosperous and contented. We met civility everywhere; milk was offered

us at every kraal. I visited the same locality a few years ago and

sojourned for a few weeks near the site of the old Soga camp, but the

season was summer, and both ticks and snakes were in evidence to a most

unpleasant degree. The natives also had changed; no longer were they so

civil or so hospitable. Revisiting the scenes of one's youth is usually

an unsatisfactory experience.

We spent a week with the Sogas, and then went to the camp of the Fynns,

a few miles away. Here, also, we were hospitably entertained. There

were three Fynn brothers, and their aggregate height was nineteen feet.

Late one afternoon, when returning from a ride, I had my first sight of

wild dogs. In crossing a deep, bushy kloof by a bridle-path I reached

an open space. Here I saw five large, smoke-colored animals. Two were

squatting on their haunches, the others were standing. I passed within

about twenty-five yards of them. They made no hostile demonstration,

neither did they attempt to run away. When I related my experience at

the camp, I was told that the animals I had seen were wild dogs, a pack

of which had for some time been marauding in the vicinity.

I returned to King William's Town via Tsomo and Tembani. We traveled

mostly, by night. My companion for I had left Mr. Samuel's party was a

trader. He carried four hundred sovereigns in a holster. We off-saddled

at several kraals, and on each occasion the gold jingled audibly, yet

we never felt the slightest uneasiness. In those days it was a common

practice for traders to send large sums of money by native runners from

the heart of Kaffirland, yet I do not think there is a single instance

of such a trust having been betrayed.

When I reached King William's Town it was quite evident that our sheep

were not flourishing. They were, in fact, dwindling daily. Something

had to be done, so my father hired a farm about ten miles away, in the

direction of Kabousie. I volunteered my services as caretaker of the

flock, and to my intense gratification this offer was accepted. The

farm had no homestead, so I was given an old bell-tent, purchased at a

military rummage sale, to live in.

My assistant was a Kaffir lad named Toby, whose memory is kept green,

so far as I am concerned, by his enormous lips. These resembled

sausages strung across his face literally from ear to ear. I now

considered myself to be a full-fledged farmer. An old sheep kraal was

put into a state of repair. Toby and I built a wattle hut, and a

shelter for the pony. The hut was so small that Toby, had to lie curled

up in it; if he stretched himself, either head or heels had to be out

in the cold.

After the novelty had worn off, the monotony of my life became

appalling. There were no neighbors with whom to foregather; there was

no game to shoot; the surrounding country was uninteresting to a

degree. Far away, just peeping over the rim of the horizon, were the

peaks of the Amatole and Kabousie Ranges regions of enchantment,

cliff-crowned and forest-clothed towards which my soul vainly sighed.

But an accident quickly brought this chapter of my life to a tragic

close. One very, windy day I went out with the sheep, leaving Toby at

the camp to cook the dinner. The blasts were so strong that it was

impracticable to light a fire in the open. Toby, suggested lighting

one in the tent, and to this I unwisely consented, warning him,

however, to be very careful lest our dwelling should catch alight.

On my way home, a couple of hours later, I could not see either the

tent or the hut. The country was level and quite bare, so the tent had

always been a conspicuous landmark from any, spot within a mile or so.

For a time I thought I must have lost my way. But no; there was the

kraal. I came to the conclusion that the tent had been blown down. When

I reached the spot all I found was two circles of ashes. The tent and

the hut had been burnt down bedding, clothing, provisions everything

except the gun, which I had taken with me, and the saddle which was in

the pony's shelter down in the kloof had been consumed. Toby had

bolted. I burst into tears and flung myself to the ground. Night fell;

I could not endure the loneliness, so fled from the desolated spot. I

was at the time not quite fourteen years old.

Shortly after this catastrophe I trekked with my flock to a small farm

near what is now called Kei Road, but which was then known as Hangman's

Bush. Here there was a homestead. But the place was surrounded by small

fields cultivated by German peasants; consequently the sheep were

continually trespassing and being sent to the pound. Before many months

the flock had to be disposed of at a ruinous loss. Thus ingloriously

ended my first and last adventure as a stock-farmer.

My next essay, towards wooing fortune was in the line of Kaffir

trading. I hired myself to a trader, whose shop was in the Gaika

Reserve, close to the kraal of the celebrated Chief Sandile, not far

from Tembani. Sandile, who possessed enormous influence with his

powerful and war-like tribe, was a man utterly wanting in dignity. He

was club-footed, and consequently went very lame. I remember being once

sent on a message to his kraal. He came to know that I had a threepenny

piece, so began begging for this. He paid no heed to my refusal, but

clung to my stirrup-leather and dragged himself after me for nearly

half a mile, begging in the most abject terms. I am glad to be able to

say that I kept the coin. But Sandile was a brave man; he died the

death of a soldier in the Gaika Rebellion of 1878. He was killed in a

skirmish in the Pirie Forest, near King William's Town.

My career as a trader was shorter and even more inglorious than that as

a farmer. Within a month I was discharged as utterly incompetent.

Although I resented this at the time, I am now convinced that the

dismissal was well-merited.

It is difficult in these days when Cook & Son issue excursion tickets

to the Zambezi, and beyond to realize the mystery and glamour that hung

over the greater part of South Africa forty years ago. I can remember

how as a child I used to pore over the maps of the period so poor in

detail, occasionally with "elephants for want of towns" and wonder as

to whether, after I had grown up, I might hope one day to reach the

Orange River. Farther than that my wildest anticipatory dreams did not

take me.

But at length the dazzling sheen of the diamonds unearthed on the banks

of the distant Vaal, thrilled every one with a desire for adventure.

Before we could realize the process, the caravan crowded road was open

to all; thus one of the ramparts of mystery, had fallen.

We have all become more or less accustomed to diamonds nowadays, but

forty, years ago a diamond stood rather for crystallized romance than

for a form of carbon worth so much per carat. It stood for the making

of history, for empire, and for unbounded wealth. We knew that wars had

been waged for the possession of such gems, that blackest crime nor

oceans of blood could dim their piercing luster. We felt that every

celebrated stone, whether shining on the breast of a lovely woman or

blazing in the scepter of a king, was a symbol of power, a nucleus of

tragedy, a focus of human passion.

It is, therefore, no wonder that the disturbance of our uneventful

South African life a life as simple and as serene as any lived on the

face of the earth caused by the realization that diamonds had actually

been discovered near the borders of the Cape Colony, raised a flood of

wildest excitement. This flood soon swept in a wave of men over the

wide, sun-scorched plains of the glamorous North.

Many of my friends had ventured to the new Golconda, and I was fired

with desire to follow the gleam. At length I met a man who, after much

persuasion, consented to let me accompany him on a contemplated trip to

the Vaal River. This was William Brown, who will be remembered by most

old Kaffrarians. Brown was a farmer of sorts, usually squatting on

Government land, and occasionally occupying a hut on the fringe of the

Isidengi Forest, not far from Kabousie Nek. I had now and then stayed

with him there, and had spent many days wandering with my gun through

the lovely woodland that surrounded his dwelling.

Living in another hut in the vicinity was a very strange character

called "Jarge"; his surname has completely escaped me. Jarge was a very

old man. Hailing originally from Somersetshire, he had never lost the

dialect of his early years. Many an hour have I spent at his saw-pit,

listening to recitals of his fifty-year-old adventures, some of which

were most unedifying. I remember being much amused at an expression he

used. He had met with a large leopard; the animal behaved in a

threatening manner. On being questioned as to his feelings on the

occasion, Jarge replied: "O, zur, I beed awful frowt."

Brown's preparations for departure were slow; my patience was severely

tried. But at length everything was ready. The caravan consisted of two

Scotch carts, each drawn by six oxen. With these we started on our long

journey, crossing Kabousie Nek by a road of a gradient steeper than

that of any other I have traversed in a vehicle. We were accompanied by

another strange character a man named Dixon, who had lived for many

years at the foot of the Kabousie Mountain. Dixon had been a military

tailor at Gibraltar. He had a red face and fiercely protuberant

eyebrows, a curled up moustache, and an imperial. When he became

intoxicated, as he occasionally did, Dixon grew more solemn than any of

the various judges it has been my privilege to meet. Twenty years

afterwards I saw, him at the front in one of the Kaffir wars. He must

then have been nearly seventy years of age, yet, literally, he did not

look a day older than when we first met.

We struck a bad snowstorm on the top of the Stormberg; had we not been

able to drive the oxen into a sheltered kloof they would assuredly have

perished. We shivered sleepless all night under one of the carts in a

freezing gale. Next morning was cloudless; the ranges far and near were

heavily, covered with glistening snow. A few days later we picked up

two men, who were tramping towards the diamond-fields. One was named

Beranger; I believe he was the son of a former lessee of Covent Garden

Opera House. His companion was a man named Hull, an ex-publican from

Lambeth. With these two chance companions we entered into a sort of

partnership; for some months after reaching the diggings we all worked

together.

On our way through the Orange Free State we saw immense herds of

springbuck and an occasional herd of blesbuck and wildebeeste. As we

were badly armed, very little game fell to our guns. In those days it

was lawful for travelers to shoot game anywhere along the roadside for

their own consumption; a farmer would no more think of objecting to a

stranger shooting a buck on his veld than a gardener would object to

one destroying a caterpillar.

When we reached the fields we found the "dry diggings" at Du Toit's Pan

and Bultfontein in full swing. "Old De Beers" had only been "rushed" a

few days previously. So we decided to try our luck at Bultfontein

instead of going on to the Vaal River, as we had originally intended.

We outspanned in the middle of the Du Toit's Pan "pan"; this, of

course, was a purely temporary camp. I was, much to my disgust, left

in charge of the carts while the others went on to look for a permanent

location.

Here it was that I nearly killed one of my friends. We had foregathered

on the road with three brothers named Dell; they belonged to the

well-known family of that name in Lower Albany, and were proceeding to

the fields in a small wagon. We had met them about a fortnight

previously, and ever since the two caravans had traveled together. We

had become very intimate; the younger brother, Sam, was my particular

friend. He taught me to smoke, and that was the cause of the trouble.

Finding "Boer" tobacco too strong for my unaccustomed nerves, I had

beguiled the weary hours of my vigil by soaking about a quarter of a

pound of strong tobacco in boiling water in a large pannikin. After the

soaking had gone on for some considerable time, I took the tobacco out

of the water, squeezed it, and set it out in the sun on a board to dry.

The liquor remaining in the pannikin was just the color of milkless

coffee made with vlei water. William Dell, the eldest brother (he

afterwards lived at Shilbottel, in the Peddie district), had gone to

the camp with the others. He returned alone. The afternoon was hot, and

Dell was extremely thirsty. When he got near his wagon he called out

for water. Unfortunately there was no one at the wagon. Seeing an

opportunity of paying off a score, I called out: "Here is some coffee,"

and offered the pannikin containing the tobacco juice.

Poor Dell thanked me with effusion, seized the vessel eagerly, and took

a big gulp of its contents. At once he flung the vessel into the air,

fell to the ground, and began to contort violently. I looked on,

horror-stricken at the effect of my practical joke. After a few

frightful seconds vomiting set in; this, no doubt, saved the sufferer's

life. I had quite unwittingly, of course administered a most virulent

poison. In the midst of his convulsions I caught William Dell's eye,

and read something suggestive of murder in it. So I made for the open

veld, and stood not upon the order of my going. Late at night I

returned to the vicinity of the camp and, after some difficulty, opened

communication with Sam. He acted as ambassador to William, and the

latter was good enough to forgive me. Thus I escaped the thrashing I so

richly deserved.

Our plans were changed almost immediately; we decided to try our luck

at Old De Beers. Next day we trekked thither, and pitched our camp on

the plain to the south-westward of the mine. This plain was studded

with very large "camel thorn" trees. Before the axe had wrought

universal havoc, the landscape surrounding the dry diggings was well

wooded and highly picturesque. At the spot we selected for our

encampment two especially large trees stood; between these we pitched

our tents.

I felt quite at home. Camped in the vicinity were many old Kaffrarian

friends Barbers, McIntoshes, Cummings, and others. We started work

immediately on the eastern side of the mine. Claims were to be had for

the mere trouble of marking out and the payment of a license; probably

not more than two thirds of the surface of the mine had been "located."

We found a very few diamonds; all were small, and none were of any

particular value.

Fuel was plentiful; at night camp-fires twinkled far and near. Around

these happened some of the pleasantest gatherings I have ever attended.

The nights were usually clear and calm however the wind may have

swirled the gritty dust during the day and the stars shone as they only

shine when the dew-moist air of upland South Africa underlies them.

Every one capable of making music, whether by means of violin,

concertina, or voice, was much in demand. Coffee and rusks circulated

freely. Quite a number of diggers had brought their families from the

Colony; thus, many a pretty girl in print dress and "cappie" joined the

firelit circle. Most of us were young and free from care. Life was full

of romance, for Fortune scattered her favors with an occasionally

lavish hand. Every few days one would hear of some lucky digger finding

a "stone" worth perhaps several hundred pounds. And in those days money

was money in South Africa; that is to say, its purchasing power was

probably three times as great as it is now.

Our most serious difficulty was in the matter of the water-supply. No

wells had as yet been dug, and no drinking water was obtainable nearer

than Wessel's Farm, seven miles away. It was part of my duty to repair

thither once a week with a Scotch cart and fetch two hogsheads full. So

far as I can remember, this quantity cost six shillings at the well.

Sometimes people were in great straits for something to drink. However,

all were helpful towards one another. I have often known some stranger

or another come to the camp with a small tin pannikin and beg for

permission to fill it at one of our casks. Such a request would never

be refused. After the first well in the vicinity of the mine had been

sunk, water was sold from it at the rate of a shilling per bucket, and

at morning and evening the crush was so great that people had to wait

perhaps half an hour before they could be served. I recall one occasion

when, the need for a sudden superficial ablution having arisen, I ran

over to the liquor-shop tent and bought a bottle of soda-water for the

purpose.

I have a very clear recollection of the first case of diamond stealing

on the part of a servant that came under my notice. A certain Major

Bede, an American, who worked at the north end of the mine, caught a

Hottentot in his employ in the act of secreting a stone. The major

recovered his property, but the thief wrenched himself from the grasp

of his captor, bolted like a rabbit between the sorting-heaps, and

gained the open veld. A general view hallo was raised; I should say at

least a hundred and fifty men streamed out and joined in the pursuit.

The Hottentot easily distanced them all, but unfortunately for him a

man mounted on a small pony appeared on his right front. This man,

seeing that a chase was in progress, headed the fugitive off. The

latter was brought back, tried on the spot, and sentenced to receive

fifty lashes. He was triced up to the wheel of a wagon; an elderly man

he had been in the Royal Navy appeared with a cat o' nine tails. At

every stroke the culprit called out, in derision, "Hoo-lay." Although

terribly punished he never uttered a cry. I remember being struck by

the curious circumstance that the ex-seaman should have taken the

trouble to bring his "cat" with him to a mining camp. He must have had

an affection for the horrible thing.

I will now relate how I very nearly became the discoverer of the

world-famed Kimberley Mine. Being somewhat slightly built, I was not

of much use at heavy work in the claim, so it was arranged that our

Hottentot boy, David, should take my place, I taking his in the matter

of herding the twelve oxen. This arrangement suited me exactly. Small

game abounded, and I had the use of a gun. My favorite pasturage area

was the big shallow basin to the westward, within the perimeter of

which was a low, oblong rise covered with long grass, and at the

eastern end of which stood a grove of exceptionally large camel thorn

trees. This rise afterwards came to be known as "Colesberg Kopje";

eventually it was named "Kimberley," after Lord Kimberley, who was

Secretary of State for the Colonies at the time of the annexation of

the diamond-fields. On it were usually to be found hares, Namaqua

partridges, korhaan, and an occasional steenbok. Ant-bears and jackals

had been at work at various places. One burrow was exceptionally deep,

and the gravel thrown up from it looked exactly like that of the claim

in which I had been working. I determined to do some prospecting on my

own account at this spot.

Unfortunately, however, I mentioned my intention at the camp. One of my

peculiarities as a youngster was a morbid sensitiveness in respect of

anything like chaff. This was so marked that the least attempt at

teasing was enough to send me away in a state of misery. My mates knew

this, and accordingly often made me the butt of their cheap witticisms.

When I spoke of the burrow and the resemblance of the gravel at its

mouth to the diamondiferous soil in which we were working, this was

made a pretext for derision.

Day by day I was bantered about my supposed diamond-mine; mockingly I

would be asked how many carats my last find weighed, and so on.

Consequently, I was afraid again to mention the subject. Had it been

possible secretly to obtain the necessary appliances for prospecting,

and to get them away without the knowledge of my mates, I would have

done so. I often thought of asking some of my friends in the other

camps to lend me tools, but the dread of my enterprise becoming known

and being made the subject of more chaff deterred me, so I kept putting

the thing off.

However, I never abandoned the intention of one day carrying out the

"prospect." But I delayed too long; the clue dangled by Fortune within

my reach was grasped by other hands.

One day when I drove my oxen to their usual pasturage I noticed that

the camel thorn grove had been invaded. A tent had been pitched there,

and the smoke of a fire arose from the camp. This annoyed me

exceedingly; not because it in any way interfered with my intention of

prospecting I could still have done that freely, and the tent was

nowhere near my burrow but for the, to me, more important reason that

the advent of a camp right in the middle of my preserve was bound to

spoil my shooting. The camp turned out to be that of Mr. Ortlepp, of

Colesberg, and his party. Mr. Ortlepp I afterwards got to know, but at

that time we had not met. So for the future I avoided the area in which

I had been accustomed to spend most of my days, and sought new and more

lonely pastures.

But game had now become so scarce that I usually left my gun at home.

Early one afternoon, when I was herding my cattle on that ridge which

runs south-east from Kimberley in the direction of Du Toit's Pan, I

noticed a stream of men flowing from De Beers towards the north-west,

and at once correctly inferred what had happened. Diamonds had been

discovered by the Ortlepp party, and a "rush" was in progress. Leaving

the cattle to fend for themselves, I started at a run across the veld

towards the objective of the rushers. My burrow! on that my thoughts

were centered; I longed to reach the spot before any one else had

pegged it out. Three or four tunes I paused to take breath, and each

tune I managed to pause in the vicinity of some patch of scrub, so that

I could therefrom cut pegs wherewith to mark out my "claim." When I

reached the kopje which, by the way, never was a kopje at all men were

swarming over it like ants over a heap of sugar. But I noticed with

delight that my burrow and the area immediately surrounding it were

still unappropriated. Accordingly I got in my pess, enclosing a square

with sides measuring approximately thirty one feet six inches (or

thirty Dutch feet), the burrow being exactly in the middle. Then I fell

to the ground, panting from exhaustion.

I remained on my claim until darkness fell. One by one I watched the

prospectors depart; I was not going to risk being dispossessed of my

burrow, so stuck to my post as long as a human being was in sight. I

had managed to get a message through to Brown, some time before sunset,

asking him to send David out to look for the oxen. When I reached the

camp I was roundly pitched into for my foolishness in abandoning the

cattle and running after "wild cat." However, my blood was now up, so I

told Brown that for the present I would do no more cattle herding, as I

meant to return next morning to my claim. Brown forbade my doing this,

and ordered me to resume charge of the cattle, but I defied him.

The stars were still shining; there was, in fact, no hint of dawn in

the sky when I reached my claim next morning. I was first in the field,

having reached my destination some time even before the fire was lit in

the Ortlepp camp. I brought with me a pick, a small circular sieve, a

piece of plank about eighteen inches square for use as a sorting-table,

and a small iron "scraper" an instrument used in the sorting of sifted

gravel. Day soon began to break, so I filled my sieve and separated the

sand from the gravel, placing the latter in a heap on the plank.

There was not enough light for sorting; I sat on a tussock and watched

the east grow white.

But the morning was chill, so I sprang up and went to work with the

pick, uprooting the grass and bushes. Day waxed and a few men appeared.

When I thought the light strong enough, I crouched down and began

sorting the gravel on the board. With the scraper I separated a small

handful from the heap, and spread it out so that every individual

pebble became visible. These would be swept off the board and the

former process repeated. But before I got half-way through the heap my

heart leaped to my throat, and I almost swooned with ecstasy there in

the middle of the spread-out gravel glittered a diamond. It was very

small, not much more than half a carat in weight, still, it was most

indubitably a diamond.

I searched in the pockets of my somewhat ragged coat for a scrap of

paper wherein to wrap my treasure. Then I put the diminutive parcel

away very carefully, as I thought. I finished sorting the heap of

gravel and again filled the sieve. I sorted this and loosened more

ground. I worked hard and feverishly, loosening the ground with the

pick, filling the sieve with my bare hands, sifting out the sand, and

sorting what remained. However, no more diamonds could I find. I had

brought in my pocket a lump of roster-koek (a lump of unleavened dough,

flattened out and roasted on a gridiron). This I munched as I worked.

More and more people arrived. Soon the thudding of picks and the

"whish, whish" of sieves sounded from every direction.

Some one shouted. I looked up and saw numbers of people running towards

a certain spot. I leapt up and ran too. A diamond had been found, and

around the lucky finder an excited and curious crowd soon collected.

The stone, a clear yellow octahedron of about ten carats' weight, was

passed from hand to hand to be admired and appraised. After an

enthusiastic "hip hip hurrah" the crowd dispersed, each one eager to

test his claim.

I hugged my secret; no one should know of my good fortune until after

my partners had arrived and I had confounded their skepticism. I

rehearsed the prospective scene in imagination; what a lofty lecture I

meant to read them on the unreasonableness of their incredulity. Within

a few minutes another shout rang out; another crowd collected. Once

more a diamond had been found. This sort of thing went on, at more or

less short intervals, ail day long.

It must have been nearly eleven o'clock before Brown and Beranger

strolled up. I watched their approach.

"Well, have you made our fortune?" asked Brown.

"I have found a diamond," I replied loftily.

"What!" he said, with a start. "Where is it?"

I searched through all the pockets and interstices of my coat with

trembling fingers. I turned every pocket inside out, but no diamond

could I find. I vainly searched the surrounding surface of the sand.

But all in vain; my treasure had disappeared. Brown and Beranger smiled

superciliously, and strolled back to De Beers. That was to me an hour

of bitter humiliation.

However, as the day went on, more and more diamonds, some of

considerable size, were found. Indubitable evidence of this having

reached my partners, they came back post-haste in the hope of being

able to mark out claims. They even went so far as to peg one out. This

was on the western edge of the kopje, clean outside the diamond bearing

area. But this circumstance was not yet known, for here the red soil

lay nearly ten feet deep over the bed-rock. However, we exchanged this

worthless site for a piece of ground in No. 9 Road a half claim

belonging to Alick McIntosh. The latter piece of ground turned out to

be very valuable.

Whilst affecting still to disbelieve in my find, my partners now

treated me with more respect. Towards them I assumed a patronizing

attitude. They no longer tried to force me to do cattle-herding. Day by

day the finds grew richer and more important. So far as I remember, it

was on the third day that Government sent officials to verify

boundaries and make a general survey of the surface of the mine. Each

individual had been, I think, permitted to mark out two claims. But the

"rush" had been so swift that very few had been able to avail

themselves of this privilege.

A certain amount of "hustling" was attempted; "roughs," who had come in

late, occasionally tried to bully those who looked "soft" out of their

ground. Being quite a youngster, I was, naturally, the kind of game

these gentry were seeking. However, I sought and obtained help among my

Kaffrarian friends, so when two glib tongued scoundrels endeavored to

claim my burrow on the score of prior occupation, they were soon hunted

off. Messrs. Tom Barry and George Ward were entrusted by the Landdrost

with the survey. Ward, who had been in the Austrian Army, was an

exceedingly handsome man. He was killed in the Kaffir War of 1879, not

far from the Taba 'Ndoda.

I think it was on the third day after the rush that Brown, who was the

only moneyed man among us, first expressed his full belief in the mine.

We were seated under a camel-thorn close to the edge of the kopje, and

were just about to begin our midday meal. Brown, who had been unusually

silent, put down his rosterkoek and pannikin of coffee. Then he stood

up, saying:

"Yes; there are diamonds here, right enough. I'll go and buy another

claim."

In about half an hour he returned, looking very hot and ill-tempered as

he threw himself down on the sand.

"I'm damned if they're not asking ten pounds apiece for claims," said

he; "did you ever hear of anything so ridiculous?"

Within a few weeks it was amply proved that the new mine was one of

enormous richness. Day by day large and valuable stones were unearthed.

On some sorting-tables the finds ran up to as many as five and twenty

diamonds per day. People flocked in by thousands from the surrounding

camps. At Du Toit's Pan, Bultfontein, and De Beers claims were

abandoned wholesale.

As though by magic the vast plains surrounding "New Rush," as it now

came to be called, became populous. A great city of tents and wagons

sprang up like mushrooms in a night. There was at first no attempt at

orderly arrangement; each pitched his camp wherever he listed. How,

eventually, streets and a market square came to be laid out is more

than I can explain. I would not like to guess at the number of people

and tents surrounding the mine three months after the latter was

rushed, but the tents alone must have figured to many thousands. Money

literally abounded. I have more than once seen fools lighting their

pipes with bank-notes, thus giving the banks concerned a present of the

face value. One of the men I saw indulging in this pastime I came

across a few years later in a remote goldmining camp. He was then

almost starving.

Sanitary arrangements did not exist. Although disagreeable in the

extreme, this did not matter so very much as long as the weather was

cool and dry, but later, under the summer sun and the then frequent

thunder showers, fever began to take its toll. The epidemic was called

"diamond-field fever," and was supposed to be a malady peculiar to the

neighborhood. But I am convinced that it was neither more nor less than

ordinary enteric the inevitable concomitant of the neglect, on the part

of a crowded community, of ordinary sanitary precautions.

The character of the population soon changed. At first the ordinary

colonist predominated the kind of man who had hitherto led the simple

life, in most cases that of a farmer. He was very often accompanied by

his whole family. At that time many a farm, especially in the Eastern

Province, must have been tenantless, or else left in charge of native

servants. But as the fame of the rich and ever richer finds went

abroad, a cosmopolitan crowd of wastrels and adventurers poured in from

the ends of the earth. However, there never was in those early days

anything like the lawlessness that afterwards as much under British as

under Republican rule prevailed on the Rand. The great stay of law and

order was the individual digger, and this element of stability has

always been missing at the goldfields, except in the few instances

where alluvial mining has been pursued.

The first serious result of the changed conditions was the development

of illicit diamond-buying, "I.D.B." as it came to be called. This was

due to white men of the undesirable class tempting native servants to

steal from their masters' claims. The clearing-houses for this kind of

trade were found to be the low canteens. When the evil had reached a

certain pitch and there was no adequate law to deal with it, the better

class of diggers took the matter in hand, according to the methods of

Judge Lynch, and burnt down the more notorious establishments. This was

done calmly, judicially, and without any unnecessary violence.

CHAPTER V

My claim a disappointment--Good results attained elsewhere--A surprised

Boer--"Kopje wallopers"--Thunderstorms--A shocking spectacle--"Old Moore"

and his love affair--The morning market--Attack of enteric--I go to King

William's Town to recruit Toby once more--A venture in onions--Return to

Kimberley--The West End mess--The Rhodes brothers--Norman Garstin--H. C.

Seppings Wright--"Schipka" Campbell--Cecil John Rhodes--A game of euchre

The church bell--Raw natives--Alum diamonds--Herbert Rhodes and the cannon

His terrible end.

My "burrow" claim, which was situated near the north end of No. 7 Road,

did not turn out to be the fountain of riches I had anticipated. As a

matter of fact we never found another diamond in it. Under its thin

crust of limestone was an inconsiderable layer of very poor

diamondiferous gravel. Beneath this lay a mass of blue shale, of the

variety known as "floating reef." The latter filled the claim, as well

as several of those adjoining it, to a depth, as it turned out, of

between forty and fifty feet. Below the shale the ground proved to be

rich enough. But within a few weeks of the rush we sold this piece of

ground for 40 pounds.

However, our half claim in No. 9 Road paid very well indeed. For

several months our finds there averaged from three to five diamonds per

diem. None of the stones were large; the heaviest weighed only about

fourteen carats, and the general quality was exceptionally poor.

Nevertheless, we sold the proceeds of about four months' work for

nearly 600 pounds. Of this I received one quarter.

It is curious now to reflect that we, in common with many others, were

convinced that it would never pay to work to a greater depth than about

ten feet. At first every claim holder sank a "paddock," its dimensions

being about eight by twelve feet. The ground lifted out was then sifted

on the yet unbroken portion of the claim. The largest clods were

extracted by means of a sieve with a very wide mesh, and then

pulverized in a very perfunctory manner with clubs and pick-heads. The

result was cleared of sand in a sieve with a fine mesh, the contents of

which were poured on to a table, usually measuring about five feet by

four, and sorted. It was in the course of this sorting that most of the

diamonds weighing from ten carats downward were found. Larger stones

were generally observed either when the ground was loosened in the

claim or else in the large sieve. But there can be no doubt that

millions of pounds' worth of diamonds were thrown away, owing to the

clods not being properly pulverized.

I remember the case of a very old Boer, who was practically a pauper,

finding a 90-carat stone when scratching on the side of a rubbish heap.

The finder's agitation was so great that he picked up his treasure and

bolted incontinently. A few people who saw what had happened gave

chase, and within a few minutes his following had increased to several

hundreds. The old man sped down the street, rushed into Crowder's

store, sprang over the counter, and took refuge among some sugar bags

which lay beneath. For a long time he could not be persuaded that the

crowd was actuated only by curiosity, and had no furtive intent.

As may be imagined, the detritus in the claims soon became a serious

embarrassment. Many claims were heaped up to such an extent that

further work, pending the getting rid of the rubbish, became

impossible. For those whose holdings lay close to the edge of the mine

the problem was simple enough; all they had to do was to keep one or

two natives, with barrows, removing the sand and gravel as soon as

these had been sifted and sorted. But for those such as ourselves,

whose claims lay more or less in the centre of the mine, the problem

was a very different one. It sounds hardly credible, but after

consultation we came to the conclusion that it would never pay to clear

the ground by removing the rubbish, so we solved the problem by filling

in the "paddock" we had sunk with the ground excavated therefrom, and

opening another alongside. We unanimously decided that the portion of

the claim we had sunk to a depth of about eleven feet was done with as

a paying proposition. However, it was not very long before we were

ridiculing our miscalculations in this respect.

According to the mining regulations, a portion of every claim had to be

left standing. These portions, respectively, lay to the right-hand side

of one claim and the left of another. Together they formed roadways

running right across the mine. There were, I think, fourteen such

roadways. They ran parallel with each other, and provided, for a time,

access to every claim from the edge of the mine.

There were so far no laws regulating the diamond trade, so a swarm of

itinerant diamond buyers were let loose on the community. Many of these

were young men, who were averse to manual labor, but whose business

instincts were acute. "Kopje Wallopers" was the generic term by which

such dealers were known. The equipment of a kopje walloper consisted of

a cheque-book, a wallet known as "a poverty bag," a set of scales, a

magnifying-glass, and a persuasive tongue. In the course of a morning

one's sorting-table might be visited by a dozen of them. Naturally

enough they tried to make the best bargain circumstances permitted, but

on the whole their dealings appeared to be fair enough.

During the summer months the vicinity was occasionally visited by

violent thunderstorms, with deluging rain. Such were always welcomed,

for they laid the almost intolerable dust. Considering the severity of

these storms there were but few accidents from lightning. However, I

recall one occasion when three fatalities resulted from three

successive flashes. One almost unbearably hot afternoon in 1872 a

small, globular, solid looking cloud passed slowly over the mine.

Otherwise, the sky was almost clear. There was not a drop of rain.

Within the space of about eight minutes the three strokes fell. The

first killed a mule just at the edge of the mine; the second struck two

men, Europeans, who were engaged in stretching a wire rope at the

western end of the mine; the third killed a Native who was sifting

gravel about fifty yards from where I was standing. The stroke pierced

his neck from back to front at the base of the skull; then it ran

across the sieve which he was holding in his hands and over which he

was bending. It melted every third wire in its course, and made a small

hole, such as might have been made with a red-hot brad-awl, through the

wood. The unfortunate victim afforded a shocking spectacle, for his

tongue swelled enormously and protruded from his mouth for about nine

inches.