The late Bishop Colenso, famous for his disputations on the Old
Testament and also as an arithmetician, was greatly beloved among the
Zulus. They went to the bishop as to a friend for counsel in political
matters, when they would not listen to the governor or any British
official. His body when carried to the grave was followed by thousands
of his savage friends. Many of them had never been in a town before,
but came to attend the funeral of the teacher they loved so well. The
sight of the half-naked and wild-looking mourners was a very striking
one. We started early one pleasant Sabbath morning for Edendale, a
missionary station about ten miles from Maritzberg. As we were sitting
under the trees enjoying the lovely day, there arose from the chapel
near by a sound of voices singing one of Sankey's sacred songs in the
Kafir language.
It seemed as if we were now hearing it sung with all its true pathos for
the first time. The voices of the women, pitched in a very high key,
wailed it out on the air, whilst the men's voices rolled out like the
swell of a rich but subdued organ, in pedal tones, and all breathed now
soft, now low, in singularly perfect time. We then strolled up to the
church, and listened to a sermon by a missionary, which was translated
by a black man at his side.
The houses, with farms attached, of these people, which we passed in
walking through the settlement, were similar to the homes of the
industrious civilised American negro. Very little encouragement on
mission work could be gained from our colonial friends. Many cases were
cited by them to prove that the religious beliefs of the white man do
not throw any whiter rays of new light upon the barbaric mind than it
already has. A chief of one of the tribes in the vicinity of Queenstown
went to England, where he received a good education, and it was expected
that he would return to his people with advanced, thoughts. But he
returned to his blanket.
Then again we knew of a very exceptional case, where the son of a great
chief went to England, and educated himself for missionary work,
including the study of medicine, and returning to his own people did
great good. This man, Thyo Soga, as he was called, married in Scotland
a Scotch lady, whose sister we met on the fields. She said that there
never was a finer gentleman, or a kinder husband, either black or white,
ever born than Thyo Soga.
He built a church and mission school, and worked among his people until
stricken down with consumption.
The Kafir is a perfectly healthy being until he puts on clothing and
lives like the white man; then the dread disease consumption, clutches
him and he succumbs. The well-laid-out reservation of the Presbyterian
Mission at Grahamstown, with its neat houses kept by the natives, would
seem to prove that they can be industrious and civilised, if reached
after in the right spirit. Many of the Kafir churches that are met with
through the country are self-supporting, and attended by neatly dressed
and seemingly very devout congregations. There was much more social
life in Maritzberg than in any other South African town. The ladies
rode horseback a great deal, many of them being fine riders. The
fashionable landau, dog cart, and basket carriage were constantly met
with.
We occasionally visited the theatre, where a company of fine artists
from across the seas were giving a season of English operas, as well
mounted and sung as we had seen the same works in London. On command
night, when the governor and his staff of officers would be present in
the boxes, and the audience in full dress, the house presented a
brilliant appearance. The theatre is not as fine a building as the one
in Durban; the latter was built at a great expense, and was the finest
in the country.
Many English, Scotch and Dutch residents in Maritzberg, combined with
the military stationed there, made the town lively. It was a place in
which we should have liked to have pitched our tent for a longer period
of time. But after several months of life as intimate as we could
expect to have in a foreign land, we turned our thoughts to our home in
America, that could never be replaced in our hearts, and left Maritzberg
for Durban. It was a bright spring day in September when, having packed
our belongings and souvenirs, we stepped on board the steam tug at
Durban which was to take us and several friends over the bar to the
steamer. The sea and the weather seemed to have entered into a
conspiracy to put on their most alluring dress to do honour to the
departing strangers, and we steamed across the bar, the little steam
launch puffing and smoking as who should say, "Aha! you're going to
America, aren't you?--you've got some fine steamers there, haven't
you?--but look, see how busy I am, what a noise I make, and how
recklessly I brave the dangers of the sand-bar, which those big fellows
outside dare not tackle."
All animate and inanimate nature seemed to smile on us and bid us God
speed, and as we climbed up the ladder that led up the side of the good
ship _Asiatic_, and emerged on her deck, we registered a vow to return
some day to the land of sand and sunshine.
Soon after our arrival on board the bell sounded for strangers to leave
the ship, and the time came to say good-by to the good friends who had
accompanied us on board. Leave-taking had become a familiar occupation
with us, but yet we never seemed to overcome the misty feeling in the
eyes when the time came to say the one word "Good-bye."
The steamer left her moorings at four o'clock, and soon the bluff, and
the many points around it which we had explored, faded away far astern,
the stars came out, and the old well-known thump of the steamer's engine
began to make us realise that we were going Home.
The voyage around the coast has been already described. At Fort
Elizabeth we were transhipped into the palatial mail steamer _Moor_, in
which we were to make the journey to England. From the steamship we had
a splendid view of the town of Port Elizabeth, built as it is on the
hill, which rises quite from the beach. Almost every house could be
seen distinctly, and every walk and spot that had become so pleasantly
familiar to us, during our stay, we could trace without the aid of a
glass.
We learned that the railroad to Kimberley had been finished. There is
now no limit to the ambition of the inhabitants of Port Elizabeth. On
the way to Cape Town we called at Mossel Bay, a picturesque little
seaport lying midway between Algoa and Table Bays. Georgetown,
thirty-six miles away, is the prettiest place in the Cape Colony. The
Kinyena Forest, which stretches away to the bay, is one of the few
really large forests in South Africa. In it elephants and rhinoceri
still roam, and buffaloes, leopards, and every variety of antelope are
found, while from its thickets come most of the hard-wood lumber used
for the wagon-making districts of the colony.
After six days' steaming from Durban we put into Cape Town docks, and
the mighty Table Mountain once more frowned down on us. We wandered for
the last time through the town. We called on many of the acquaintances
we had made on our first arrival in the country. We had been followed
with much interest on our travels.
How our journeys came back to us, and the many happy months passed in
South Africa as we saw the purple cloud we knew was the last glimpse we
should have of Table Mountain or South Africa slowly fading away. The
voyage to England resembled all other similar voyages in its pleasurable
monotony.
At last, after five years' almost incessant travel, we arrived in
Southampton with the satisfactory feeling that we had accomplished the
object of our voyage. Our expedition to the Antipodes in search of
health was a success. Our invalid was returning home a healthy, happy,
contented wife. What was there for us to ask for more?
We left the ship at Southampton and went on by rail, and soon the
familiar smoky fog which overhangs the monster London received us.
Here our journey ends, for London and New York nowadays are only "across
the way."