On the day following our arrival at Grahamstown the thermometer stood at
one hundred and thirty degrees. The air fairly quivered with the
intensity of the heat, and although nowhere in South Africa can the song
of birds be heard, our ears were tired with the sound of busy insect
life. The continuous hum made by the myriads of locusts and other
insects in the trees sounded like the buzzing of a saw-mill with twenty
or thirty great circular saws in full swing. The climate of Grahamstown
is considered almost perfect for the English invalid. Frequent rains in
summer make the heat endurable; the winter is drier than at Port
Elizabeth.
It is called the "City of Churches," for many fine churches and a
cathedral make the town interesting. The houses are in the midst of
beautiful grounds filled with trees of dense foliage and with rare
plants. The people are very social, and a fine class of English the
descendants of the early settlers are to be met with here. They are
very kind, and make the life of the invalid endurable, if not pleasant.
To be ill and alone in the midst of unsympathetic neighbours is
certainly worse than to linger a hopeless invalid amongst loving
friends. The society of Grahamstown tries to welcome the stranger; and
male visitors find amusement in hunting in the surrounding district,
where game is plentiful. It is a fact that many English youths who have
been threatened with hereditary consumption have gone to Grahamstown and
made it their home for several years, and then returned to their island
home, a wonder to all their friends.
British settlers of 1820 took root in this district around Grahamstown.
This settlement is one of the most important events that ever happened
in the history of the colony, and is a standing example of the utility
of intelligently assisted emigration. The whole country at that time
was in great trouble on account of a series of terrible Kafir wars, and,
just before the importation of the new blood, the district in and around
Grahamstown, which was then a military post, named in honour of its
commander, had been swept by a marauding tribe of Griquas.
The town is the seat of an episcopate, and has numerous churches, banks
and public buildings. It has also a large military barracks, now no
longer occupied. It is a great place for church controversy. The
portly figure and priestly countenance of the "Dean of Grahamstown"
belongs as much to the history of the place as his own cathedral spire.
We were invited after service one Sunday evening to supper at the
Deanery, where we met the Dean's wife, and some pleasant people. The
house was a large, one-storey building, comfortably furnished. As we
all sat around the well-provided table, chatting merrily, we noticed the
Dean did not talk much, but was listening with a very interested
countenance. Sitting in his big chair, his feet stretched under the
table, and the tips of his fingers in his trousers pockets, he looked
with his round face, round features, and rotund figure, and his
half-shut but sharp eyes peering out through his gold-rimmed spectacles,
a picture of contentment. At last, with a little sniff peculiar to him,
he said: "Now let me hear you talk American." Imagine our astonishment
at his request, to which we replied with a merry peal of laughter.
Because we were not speaking with a rasping Yankee twang, and
"guessing," and "reckoning," he began to doubt whether we were
Americans. No man could enjoy a joke or anything funny more than the
good-natured Dean, but I don't think he was convinced that we were
speaking our native language during our visit to him.
The "twang" of the Yankee girl, though frequently a matter of jest, is,
I notice, when connected with the Yankee dollar, very much sought after
by many of the world's so-called great ones, who are very ready to
exchange old family plate, ruined castles, and historical deeds of
valour, and thus become easily reconciled to the "twang" once so laughed
at.
At the hotel we met a gentleman and his wife, whose acquaintance we had
made on our arrival in the country. They had recently bought an ostrich
farm, some thirty miles from the town, and pressed us warmly to pay them
a visit, which invitation we were delighted to accept. They proposed
bringing the ox-wagon from the farm to take us out. The wagon arrived,
and our friends had prepared it for our use, neglecting nothing to make
our ride as easy and comfortable as possible. The coloured boy, with a
tremendous crack of the long whip and shouting "T-r-ek," started the
long train of sixteen oxen into a slow walk along, the town road. When
we got into the country on the hilly road, where ruts were many, we all
got out and walked. Our road lay through a thick, thorny wood, and
along by steep, rocky cliffs, upon which we could see and hear hundreds
of monkeys leaping from rock to rock, chattering and screaming. They
seemed greatly frightened at us, and yet fascinated, for they would run
along the face of the cliff ahead of the slowly toiling oxen, keeping up
a startled clatter, and peering at us from behind stones or branches of
trees. We had started late in the afternoon, and before we reached the
farmhouse at which we were to stop for the night the moon had risen, and
dense black shadows and silvery streaks of light were thrown ghost-like
before our path. After reaching the house we sat up till late, watching
the beauty of the moonlit scene.