LEAVE NATAL.—FIRST IMPRESSION OF THE DIAMOND FIELDS.—SICKNESS AT THE DRY
DIGGINGS.—FATHER HIDIEN.—HOSPITAL ARRANGEMENTS.—QUACKS.—MEDICAL
REGISTRATION IN SOUTH AFRICA.—CURIOUS DECISION OF CAPETOWN MEDICAL
BOARD.—A “MENDACIOUS” AND “DISHONEST” PRACTITIONER.—SANITARY CONDITION
OF KIMBERLEY IN 1878.—THREATENED SMALL-POX IN 1882.—SO-CALLED SMALL-POX
IN 1883 AND 1884.—MADMEN and their treatment.—CLIMATE OF GRIQUALAND
WEST.
On returning to Natal after my trip to the East, I could at once see
that this bright little colony had entered on a cycle of depression.
This, as I have mentioned before, combined with other inducements, and
the fact that the diamond fields afforded a wider scope for practice
than the ever-decreasing population of Victoria County, determined me to
sever my connection, at least for a time, with a district of which I
shall always retain a most pleasing recollection.
I left for the Fields in the beginning of December, 1871, taking the
usual route by Walsh’s passenger cart, _via_ Pietermaritzburg,
Harrismith and Bloemfontein to Du Toit’s Pan.
As I passed through Pietermaritzburg I called upon Lieut. Governor
Keate, who inquired into the particulars of my adventure in Arabia, of
which he had heard. He kindly granted me the further extension of leave
from my official duties in Natal for which I asked, as I intended, if I
did not like the diamond fields, to return. Crossing the river Umgeni at
Howick, and passing through the small villages of Estcourt and Colenso,
we came at last, after three days’ post-cart traveling, to the foot of
the Drakensberg. The road winding up the mountain was very steep, but in
first-rate order and repair. The road parties of native laborers which
each chief has to supply in rotation to the government, for, I believe,
a period of six months, at a fixed rate of pay, were evidently doing
their work well, but nevertheless the climb was a fearful strain on our
horses.
[Illustration:
FIRST “HOME” ON THE DIAMOND FIELDS, FEBRUARY 1872. TRAVELING WAGON AND
TENTS.
]
We arrived in safety at Harrismith, the first town of the Orange Free
State, lying within a few miles of the top of the Drakensberg, and next
day, after a splendid drive at a hand gallop all the way, over a road as
flat as a bowling alley, with a perfect Jehu at the reins named Brandon,
the heedless scion of a good old Irish family, came late in the evening
to Bethlehem, a quiet Dutch town, with two or three English stores,
where we rested for a few hours. Then inspanning again, on we drove past
Senekal, a wretched little place of about 100 inhabitants, and Winburg,
the centre of a fine grazing district, to Bloemfontein, the capital of
the state. Here Mr. Brand, the President, since knighted (1882) by the
English government for his services in the settlement of the Transvaal
difficulties, after the war resided, as did also a bishop of the
Anglican communion,[18] but as it was dark when we arrived, I saw
nothing of the city. I heard, however, sufficient reports of the
dreadful havoc that fever of a remittent type was making among the
residents on the diamond fields to make me anxious to arrive there as
quickly as possible. We started next morning in the moonlight at 3
o’clock, and drove through, some seventy miles, to Du Toit’s Pan in one
day. A long, dusty, tiring day it was, and as if to prove that “coming
events cast their shadows before,” we met three or four ox wagons
bringing away sick diggers from the fields, who had been stricken down
by the prevailing fever.
The sun had long set when we neared Du Toit’s Pan, yet the camp, as seen
in the distance was one blaze of light. The stores and canteens were
open, thronged with customers, while the canvas tents of the diggers,
some lit up with candles, some with wood fires, and others blazing with
paraffin lamps, studded the surroundings of the mine as with a
constellation of stars. When we arrived at Benning & Martin’s, _the_
hotel of the day, the scene was one which almost baffles description.
Clusters of men, work being ended, crowded round the post-cart to see
the new arrivals, others thronged the adjacent liquor-bars, while every
one showed signs of hurrying bustle and feverish excitement. After some
refreshment, I took a short stroll through the camp. Novel sights and
grotesque scenes met my view at every turn, the lights in the tents
throwing “shadows on the wall,” in some cases of the most laughable
description.
[Illustration:
KIMBERLEY MINE—FIRST STAGE, 1871.
]
I shall never forget my first night on the diamond fields. When I
returned to the hotel I inquired for a bed, but was assured that not one
could be had for love or money. Martin, the landlord, however, made me
up a shake-down as a favor, on the end of the long dining table, where
amidst shouts of “play or take miss” from a party of excited loo players
alongside I soon fell asleep. At an early hour on the following morning
I took one of the many passenger carts plying to the New Rush, otherwise
called Colesberg Kopje (Kimberley), and after a drive of about two miles
wended my way to the mine on foot, along roads ankle deep in sand,
bordered with stores and canteens built of iron, and with canvas tents
of all sizes and shapes fixed promiscuously around.
Arriving at the edge of the mine I paused to observe the novel sight
which met my eyes. In those days roadways extending from one side of the
mine to the other were the scenes of constant traffic, the diggers
carting along them the diamondiferous soil from the claims to sort it on
their various depositing grounds. Carts, horses, mules, oxen and men
crowded these narrow roads, on each side of which the claims were
scarcely less thronged. The _tout ensemble_ was most interesting. Every
patch of ground was occupied, the whole resembling a hive of busy human
bees, bustling and elbowing, creeping and climbing, shoveling and
sieving, to gather, if possible, honey from each opening flower, or, to
abandon metaphor, to turn out a diamond from each bucketful of soil
hauled to the surface. Not less than 10,000 natives, and from 4,000 to
5,000 white men, I should think, were busily at work the morning on
which I first saw the diggings.
I knew that the Natal Verulam Co. had claims in No. 3 Road, and on
inquiry I was directed to their manager, Mr. G. J. Lee, afterward for a
long period chairman of the Kimberley mining board. Just at the moment I
found him one of his native servants had turned out a thirty carat
diamond from a sieve which he was shaking, and having a slight tinge of
superstition in my nature, I at once accepted this as an omen of good
luck. While I was looking at the claims belonging to this company my
ears were all at once assailed by a deafening roar, for without any
warning all the natives in and around the mine ceased work and yelled
out at the top of their voices: “Hullah!” “Hullah!” Such a babel I had
never heard before, and on turning round I discovered that a lady
standing behind me, who had come to see the mine, was the innocent cause
of all the disturbance. On inquiry I learnt this was nothing new, but
that the natives from the interior, who perchance had never seen a white
woman before they came to the diggings, were in the habit of taking this
method of expressing their surprise and pleasure. Patti, Nillson, or
Marie Rozé never, I am sure, had a more enthusiastic greeting.
With Mr. Lee’s kind assistance, I got suitable quarters on the same day,
and next morning commenced professional work. At that time there were
only two qualified men on the fields, but of quacks “enough and to
spare.” It did not take long for me to settle down into practice, and in
fewer hours than those who cast their lot in communities where they are
personally unknown, and where competition is keener, take years to
establish themselves, I found myself with as much as I could do, my
arrival being looked forward to by many Natalian friends, who seemed
only too glad to see me among them once more.
The great majority of those who consulted me were suffering from camp
fever, as it was termed, which was malarial, aggravated by exposure to
the sun, tent life, bad water, obtained in the early days from exposed
dams or polluted springs, imperfectly tinned meat and fish, a scarcity
of vegetables, and last but not least by strong drink. Intemperance was
and is, though not now to so great an extent, the curse of the diamond
fields. I feel certain that, out of the number of cases (which during an
extensive medical practice of fifteen years’ duration) I have attended
among the white population on the fields, at least seventy per cent. can
be traced either directly or indirectly to excessive indulgence in
alcohol, while the name is legion of the innocent natives who have been
poisoned by the vile preparations passing under the name of brandy. The
only treatment for the local fever which could be relied on, and one by
which its relapsing tendency could be thwarted, I soon discovered was to
order the patient’s removal to a distance away from the malarial taint,
the sea-side if possible, as soon as the more urgent symptoms were
abated, as only through an entire change of air could complete
restoration to health be expected within a reasonable time. The railway
even in this matter has come to our help, as on the first approach of
the fever, the desired change can be obtained in a couple of days, or
even less, and a threatened attack possibly averted. Cases of typhoid
fever sometimes occurred, while dysentery, usually of a mild type, also
existed. Pneumonia, croup, diphtheria, and in fact the majority of the
other diseases with which practitioners most commonly come in contact,
were rare, a physician’s practice in the early days on the fields being
almost a specialty. This, to a great extent, could be accounted for by
the population of the diggings being comprised of healthy and hearty
men, mostly in the prime of life. Accidents too were few and far
between, the mine not being deep enough for the falls of reef or
diamondiferous soil to be dangerous, and no underground workings
existing, the dangers of steam, blasting powder and dynamite were as yet
unknown.
In 1871 the fields were abounding, as I have said, in quacks, but since
then the qualified medical men have increased from two to twenty-two.
The river diggings having existed for some time, matters there had
assumed more of a settled appearance than at the dry diggings. A wattle
and daub house, originally built for the Rev. Mr. Sadler, a clergyman of
the Church of England, ministering there, was converted into the first
temporary hospital, but being found too small a more permanent building
was erected, which again in course of time made way in 1873 for a fine
stone structure, which was unfortunately consumed by fire, and remained
some time in ruins before it was rebuilt. It is now chiefly used as a
convalescent home. The _Diamond News_ of the day bitterly attacked me,
because I pointed out the folly of spending money in erecting permanent
buildings at Klipdrift, a place which was becoming rapidly more or less
deserted by the digging community. The absurdity as well as the cost of
sending men with broken limbs, and suffering with fever, jogging
twenty-five miles over broken roads to a hospital, never seemed to
strike those who, having property at Klipdrift, were attempting at the
time to bolster up the place in contradistinction to what were termed
the dry diggings.
The Dry Diggings were not, however, entirely without any hospital
accommodation. A large marquee was erected in 1871 at Du Toit’s Pan,
under the auspices of Father Hidien, the first Roman Catholic priest on
the diamond fields, who himself a short time afterward fell a victim to
his never ceasing devotion. I heard many accounts, when I arrived, of
his unbounded charity and tender care of the sick. I will relate one
incident which came under my especial notice, and which occurred toward
the very end of his unselfish career. Not long before he himself was
fatally stricken with fever, an unfortunate white man, a perfect fever
wreck, covered with frightful sores and merely a living skeleton, came
to him for relief. Father Hidien took charge of him, and several times a
day, as no nurse could be got, would, with his own hands, wash his
ulcerous wounds. In the first stage of fever, until weakness bound the
kind father to his bed, he continued with unflagging zeal to relieve, as
far as he could, the sufferings of this afflicted creature; but as the
ravages of disease made increasing strides and the visits of the priest,
as a matter of course, grew fewer and fewer, it was pitiable to hear
this unfortunate fellow, who was lying in a small bell-tent near, make
the air resound with his unceasing cries for the good father’s help.
Thus he continued to beg and implore him to come to his side until he
was told that the parting spirit of his Samaritan comforter had gone to
the land of the “Hereafter,” whither he himself followed in but a few
short hours.
It was not until the arrival in 1872 of Dr. Dyer, who had been in the
government service of the Cape Colony, that two long, cool wattle and
daub buildings were erected near the race-course, providing beds for
about twenty patients. Dr. Dyer, Dr. Grimmer and myself attended to this
hospital gratuitously for some time. Everything in those days was of the
most primitive description. A large tent served as a dead-house, and I
well remember, on one of my morning visits wishing to see the body of a
patient who I was informed had died during the night, finding on going
into this tent merely the trunk of the poor fellow’s body left; the
prowling, ravenous dogs, which then roamed about, having devoured the
poor man’s limbs, which they had torn in pieces from his body.
The first case of lunacy which ever came to my notice in Griqualand West
I also saw here. Divisions constructed of mud and wattles were placed
between the beds to promote extra privacy in certain cases, so this
lunatic when brought in was placed in one of these inclosures. There was
but one white man and his wife to superintend everything. The first time
I saw this poor fellow I found him raving mad, without an attendant, or
even a straight-jacket, tied down with ropes, struggling in his wild
delirium. The scene, but for its sadness, would have been ludicrously
grotesque. The madman having managed to withe his body round, and having
gnawed a hole through the mud wall, and head all the time popping in and
out like a “Jack in a box,” was attempting to worry the patient in the
next bed, the latter though almost frightened to death, being too weak
to move away. The whole place was a chamber of horrors worthy of the
pencil of a Gustave Doré. Although the management was much to blame, and
the public were apathetic, yet the doctors attending did not escape
public criticism. I can even now call to mind one very scathing attack,
which I believe had much to do with the removal of the building, in
which Hood’s lines were applied to them:
“’Twas strange, although they got no fees,
How still they watched by two’s and three’s,
But Jack a very little ease
Obtained from them.
In fact, he did not find M. D.’s
Worth one D. M.”
At the time, also, I wrote to the _Diamond Field_ giving a description
of the wretchedness of the place, and did what I could to promote
improvement.
The hospital, which was established at the jail, and which was entirely
under government control, was even worse than the Dry Diggings hospital
which I have just described. At the risk of being a little tedious I
will give an extract from a description of this place which I wrote to
the _Diamond News_ July 7th, 1873.
“This so-called hospital is a tent about 12 feet by 9 feet in size
without even a fly. Through this during the rains the water beats, and
through the rents, which I also saw, the piercing wind on these cold
nights blows as through a funnel on the poor wretched sinners within.
It is not difficult for residents on these fields to picture further
what the state of such a tent must be, after a blazing sun has poured
its rays on it for hours in summer. Let us enter. Here a sight
presents itself which I wish I could adequately describe. On the bare
floor, deep in dust and sand, lie huddled together black and white,
criminals and honest men, no beds, no bedsteads, some with only a
blanket round them, and in this sorry plight they remain during the
rains, exposed to the chance of the water every now and then washing,
as it has done, right through, making the place rather a hot-bed of
disease, than a refuge for the sick—the floor of the tent being lower
than the surrounding ground. Here in the middle of the tent lay, with
but an apology for a bed between his body and the ‘cold, cold ground,’
and with an old piece of zinc roofing at his head to prevent it from
pushing through the canvas, a poor emaciated black, whose leg had
lately been amputated; in one corner a poor blind creature sat
piteously complaining, whilst in another corner a crouching native was
busily engaged ridding himself of vermin!
“I need not particularise further. One white man there was, however,
who told me he had been there twelve months. No doubt he could, if he
would, ‘a tale unfold’ of misery and woe. Strewed in motley confusion
on this dusty floor could be seen old clothes stinking with dirt,
boots and shoes, crutches and soap, tobacco and tea-cups, salt and
pipes, pans, buckets, a chamber utensil, half eaten provisions, an
empty bottle holding a half burnt candle, and, as if in sorry
burlesque, three or four Bibles provided with considerable
forethought, no doubt to teach the unfortunate inmates the advantages
of being ‘patient and long suffering in all their afflictions.’”
The miseries of these places, the _exposés_ that took place, as well as
the out-of-the-way situation of the Dry Diggings hospital, led the
Southey government to see the necessity of increased and better
accommodation, and a new hospital was built on the road between
Kimberley and Du Toit’s Pan in 1874. Two or three days before it was to
be given over by the contractors a serious fire broke out and destroyed
more than half the building. The government, being short of funds, did
not rebuild the part burned down, but made the portion which had escaped
suffice for the wants of the community; and in Jan., 1875, the sole
medical charge was given to the government officer, Dr. Dyer and myself
being retained as consultants. The medical care of the patients was
however in Jan., 1882 transferred from the hands of the government
district surgeon to that of a purely resident surgeon, whose sole duty
it was simply to attend to the hospital, government at this time
resigning the management to a local board.
In 1876 the nursing care of the institution was undertaken by a certain
sisterhood[19] of nurses and associates, under the superintendence of
their head, Sister Louise, and it is impossible to speak in terms of too
high commendation either of her management or of that of Sister
Henrietta, who succeeded her, and who still retains that office and
administers its important duties in a manner which I cannot too highly
praise.
The hospital received considerable addition in 1876, and again in 1882
had a large wing, an isolation ward and an extensive native ward added.
The medical tax, passed by the legislative council of Griqualand West
(No. 2, 1874) of one shilling per month payable by each native, was
received by the diggers, when it became law, with much disapprobation.
It was consequently allowed to remain in abeyance by the Griqualand West
government, until hospital matters came under the management of the
local board, which I have before mentioned, in 1882. Then it was
revived, and has been since paid by the diggers and companies, without
demur, the amount being as a general rule deducted from the natives’
wages. The amount has varied from £10,000 in 1882 to £6,000 in 1885. The
Kimberley hospital is now larger than any institution in the colony, its
working staff numbering over fifty, and it contains sixty-six
surgical[20] and forty-two medical beds for natives, twenty-nine for
poor whites, twenty for paying whites, and an isolation ward with four
beds. The number of cases treated here is enormous, the capital
operations for the last quarter in 1885 counting forty-four, and the
admissions amounting, during the same year, to 709 Europeans and 1,019
natives.
Returning to the early days of field life, the quacks soon found it
advisable to take flight, as a steady influx of regularly qualified men
was appearing on the scene, the only one retaining any kind of ground
being a non-qualified homeopath. This quack was always, however,
cautious enough to consult with qualified practitioners when his cases
were _in extremis_, and by this means he escaped any penalty of the law,
and procured a death certificate in proper order.
It seems passing strange, that in a sparsely populated though widely
extended country or congeries of States, that a man possessing
indubitable qualifications for the exercise of his profession, should be
put to such frequent and utterly unnecessary annoyance in the matter of
medical registration as sometimes occurs in South Africa. A physician or
surgeon before he can legally recover his fees in every part of South
Africa, requires, as there are five separate States, to be registered in
no less than five different places. I was early taught this in a rather
rough way; one of the advantages which confederation would bring being
vividly placed before me in a very practical manner. In 1873 I attended
a man and his family at Du Toit’s Pan, and as I found that no
inclination existed to pay my fees, amounting to some eighty guineas; I
sued for the amount, but was non-suited by the magistrate, on the
exception being raised, that I was not a legal medical practitioner in
that part of South Africa, not being registered in Griqualand West or
the Cape Colony. As I was registered in England and Natal, I had
neglected to comply with this form in Griqualand West, and consequently
had to suffer.
The law courts of this territory have also decided another important
point in medical law, agreeing in their judgment with English precedent.
A medical man whose only qualification was the diploma of the Edinburgh
College of Surgeons sued a patient for his attendance, who pleaded that
he being a simple surgeon could not charge for a medical case, and the
High Court sustained the exception. To the astonishment, however, of
nearly all the faculty in South Africa, the medical board in Capetown
after this, decided, entirely _ultra vires_, to grant permission to
_“Edinbro’” Surgeons_, to practice medicine; consequently South Africa
now is an Alsatia, to which all semi-qualified men can flee who find it
impossible to enter the army or navy, or even obtain any poor-law
appointment in England. Feeling myself interested in this matter, and
being desirous of obtaining authoritative news from the “head centre” I
telegraphed on May 23d, 1884 to the late Dr. Ebden, who held the
position as president of the medical board in Capetown, to inquire “if
the board intended to doubly qualify simple surgeons,” and received the
astounding reply: “Board considers Edinburgh surgeons entitled to
practice medicine.” It would be curious to fathom the reason why this
preference was given to men holding Scotch diplomas! Quite independently
of the fact that this abnormal announcement is contrary to all law, and
contrary to the powers vested in the medical board, it is an injustice
to the colonists themselves, and unfair to the rising generation of the
country. In Europe there are at the present time more than one hundred
and fifty medical students, sons of South African colonists, the
majority of whom are receiving a university education. Can it be fair to
these that they should be pitted against semi-qualified English
adventurers?
The necessity of a medical act in South Africa, with proper penal
clauses, becomes every day more apparent. The South African _Medical
Journal_ in 1884, on giving a _resumé_ of that year’s events of
interest, drew public attention to one glaring instance, which had to
pass unpunished. In mentioning the case of two medical men, this journal
observes: “The latter, a L. R. C. S. of Edinburgh only, had been
practicing as a physician, although gazetted as a surgeon only. He had
aggravated this by repeatedly signing his name with M. D. and F. R. C.
P., a proceeding which was not only _mendacious_, but _dishonest_.” But
yet this dishonesty had to remain without the infliction of any fine.
This case is one among many, which shows the urgency of legislation in
this direction.
Since the creation of a municipality in Kimberley in 1878, and the
consequent introduction of sanitary regulations, duly enforced by law
when necessary, the death-rate has very considerably diminished. The
late Dr. Shillito and the writer, in March, 1879, prepared an exhaustive
report for the mayor and town council on the sanitary condition of
Kimberley. The death-rate at that time was enormous, as can be seen from
the following table, which is a copy of that which we then furnished:
Total population 14,169 Deaths 867 Rate per 1,000 61.014
Europeans 6,574 „ 236 „ „ „ 40.005
Other than Europeans 7,595 „ 604 „ „ „ 79.052
At that time Kimberley was perfectly honeycombed with cesspools. We drew
attention in our report to the evil effects of the existing system, and
to the manner in which these had revealed themselves two years before,
when an epidemic of puerperal fever and erysipelas robbed the community
of many valuable lives, and we further showed that there was always
existing a remitten fever of a dysenteric and typhoid tendency, which
could in some measure be attributed to this defective sanitary
condition. Our report led to the adoption of the “Pail system,” and the
night-soil is now taken away regularly and buried some distance from the
town, the consequence of which is that the death-rate from disease has
diminished more than one-third, and the sanitary condition of Kimberley
is to my own knowledge as good as that of any town in South Africa.
Kimberley, notwithstanding its improved sanitary condition, was in 1883
and 1884 visited by a disastrous outbreak of disease, which cost the
community much, both in life and money. In May, 1882, small-pox was
brought to South Africa by the steamship _Drummond Castle_, and
spreading, proved very fatal in the Capetown Peninsula (Capetown to
Simon’s Town), 4,000, less or more, succumbing to its ravages. Great
apprehension was felt in Kimberley lest the disease might be
communicated by the passenger wagons coming up from Capetown. Terror
seized upon the digging community, and a quarantine station was
immediately established at the Modder River, some thirty miles from the
mines. Every care was taken, and all passengers were fumigated with
sulphur before they were permitted to enter Kimberley. As the result,
seven cases of small-pox were detected and detained for treatment, and
all those traveling by the same wagons were kept in quarantine
twenty-one days.
These efforts, which lasted from Sept. 1882 to March 1883, were entirely
successful, and not one single case of small-pox broke out in Kimberley.
This threatened invasion put the ratepayers to an expense of nearly
£13,000, which, however, was a mere bagatelle compared with the outlay
which the epidemic disease that broke out on the fields in 1883, 1884
and 1885 entailed. This came from another and quite unexpected quarter,
and was not imported seaward. A certain body of Kafirs, who were coming
to Kimberley to seek for work, were attacked at Klerksdorp, in the
Transvaal, a small town near Potchefstroom, with symptoms resembling
small-pox. The doctors there declared the disease to be aggravated
chicken-pox, when the Transvaal government, not being satisfied, Dr.
Dyer, who had been promoted to the chief medical office under the
Transvaal government, was sent from Pretoria to report direct. In this
report, dated Oct. 25th, 1883, he gave it as his opinion (concurred in
by Dr. Francis, the special commissioner of the Orange Free State), that
the natives were suffering merely from a severe form of chicken-pox,
termed by them “Isi-mun-qu-mun-gwane.” These natives were then allowed
to proceed on their road to the diamond mines, but of the sixteen who
left Klerksdorp four only reached Felstead’s, a store about nine miles
from Kimberley, when, the survivors being too weak to proceed,
information of the fact was brought by passers-by. An outcry was soon
raised, they were visited by medical men, materials to erect shelter for
them were immediately sent out, a doctor appointed, and all the
precautions commenced to be taken, which afterward led to so much
expense. The civil commissioner at once (Nov. 3d, 1883,) appointed a
board of six medical men to report on the disease, who after a prolonged
inquiry left matters in _statu quo_, three averring that the outbreak
was small-pox, and the others (myself among the number) arriving at a
contrary opinion. Government then sent a physician from Capetown to
investigate matters, who on Dec. 6th, 1883, declared the disease to be
small-pox; so those declaring the outbreak to be a “bullous disease,
allied to pemphigus,” and not contagious, as well as those declaring the
disease to be a Kafir pox,[21] or an aggravated form of chicken-pox,
were outvoted. It was during one of my visits, accompanied by Dr. L. S.
Jameson, to further examine into this outbreak that I met with the
nearly fatal accident which I mention elsewhere.
I will not weary my lay readers by entering upon a medical discussion,
but may refer my professional brethren to a verbatim report published by
the Diamond Fields _Advertiser_ in a book form, of the case of Regina
_vs._ Wolff, where Dr. Wolff, an American physician of more than average
skill, was charged with failing to report the existence of “small-pox”
in the hospital of which he had then charge, in which the whole matter
is carefully discussed. The outbreak of pemphigus or small-pox, which
lasted in its virulent form from Nov. 1883, to Dec. 1884, cost the
inhabitants of Kimberley and the mines of Griqualand West the large sum
of £37,503, 15s. 11d. Medical services were paid for at an extravagant
rate, two medical men alone drawing the sum of £3,320, 10s. 6d., and
what with the erection of iron hospitals, fumigating houses,
dispensaries, ambulance wagons, horses and highly paid officials the
outbreak was an expensive luxury to Griqualand West as long as it
continued. The Dutch, also taking alarm, stationed patrols on all the
roads leading from Kimberley to the Free State, excepting four, on which
they erected fumigating stations just outside our boundary. At these
stations they fumigated all Kafirs and others passing along, charging
those not resident in the State, whether white or black. Some idea of
the extent of this charge on the population may be formed from the fact
that at the Reit Pass station alone 11,570 were fumigated in three
months. Of the folly and uselessness I will remain silent. When the
outbreak first appeared, the “Act to amend the law relating to Public
Health,” No. 4, 1883, giving power to levy rates, and also for framing
regulations for vaccination and quarantining was the only ordinance
which applied, but in 1884 a special act was passed (Nov. 10th, 1884),
giving the Board of Health power to levy rates on boroughs and mines,
and to defray expenses. This was followed in 1885 by ordinance No. 41,
by which the government was empowered to pay one-half of all moneys
expended on account of small-pox; though previous to this the government
had acted with great liberality, having defrayed one-third of every
expense. The total number of cases reported from Nov. 1st, 1883, to Jan.
1st, 1885, the months during which the epidemic was at its height, was
2,311, and the number of deaths 700, or say 32.02 per cent. The
proportion of white cases as against colored was very marked, the number
of white being 400, with 51 deaths, or 12.07 per cent., and of colored
1,911, with 649 deaths, or 35.42 per cent. A second attempt to revive
the scare was made toward the end of 1885, but this did not succeed,
although twenty-five colored and one white man were sent to the
lazaretto, alleged to be suffering from small-pox. A special commission
to examine-these patients was sent out, on my describing a visit I had
made to this lazaretto, and on my drawing public attention to the
absurdity of the whole affair. This commission, although chosen from
medical men believing in the small-pox theory, actually certified that
_half_ of the patients they saw in the lazaretto were not suffering from
small-pox at all. My readers from this will be able to form an estimate
of the cruel acts perpetrated at the time by ignorant officials, and to
judge how, taking the small-pox view of the case, a loathsome disease
would be propagated amongst healthy persons—how the innocent and guilty
would suffer alike. After this exposure small-pox rapidly died out. The
lazaretto is now removed to the west side of the mine, and the buildings
surrounded by grounds, twenty-two acres in extent, are stationed on a
high plateau on the road to Schmidt’s Drift. At present Kimberley is
perfectly free from any cases of this disease.
In the beginning of this chapter I made mention of the first lunatic I
ever saw in Griqualand West, who, as he belonged to the police, was
removed, I believe, to Capetown, but ever since then, both before
annexation and since, lunatics as a rule, up to a very short time back,
have been left to drag out their weary existences, the victims of
heart-curdling neglect, in the common jail. In August, 1885, I took
occasion, when speaking on the subject of lunacy, to lay bare before the
Kimberley public some of the scenes day by day enacted in their prison
(their lunatic asylum?). In the course of a lecture I then delivered, I
spoke thus on the subject:
“Here in the middle of the nineteenth century, in an era of boasted
civilization, the only care we can give our lunatics, except in
Capetown and Grahams town, is to herd them with criminals, and to
chain and handcuff them with brutal severity, pending an official
order for removal, which may _never_ come. It is a painful thought,
that among the poorer patients, who from the ills of life suffer
mental alienation; fathers depressed from loss or anxiety, mothers
from exhaustion resulting from the rearing of a large family, the
young man from vice, dissipation or disappointed hopes, and the
foreigner among strangers, looking wistfully back to his native
home—that these, all suffering from diseases which might possibly have
been stayed, should be thrust into jails without attendants, simply
put in irons if violent, and almost compelled through sheer inhumanity
and neglect to suffer the misery of incurable lunacy!
“As I have just said, in all colonial towns except two, as far as I
can learn, the jail is the receptacle of the lunatic. Kimberley, with
its vast wealth, with its go-ahead citizens, is no exception. What
tales the walls of its jail could tell! One poor black, to my certain
knowledge, has been locked within its gates for twelve long years, and
there you can see him—to-morrow if you like—bemoaning his fate, and
cursing the government in the same breath! A poor white girl, the
daughter of a man whom old residents must remember well in the palmy
days of the _Diamond News_, has day after day, and _every_ day since
1876, paced like a caged tigress up and down a small court-yard,
panting for freedom, and growling in despair! One poor girl, black her
skin may be, is handcuffed, so I learnt, for days together, to prevent
her from stripping herself of all she wears. Two women I saw there
myself, not three days ago, clad simply in nature’s garb, as naked as
when born. A patient of my own was taken to this comfortless place
some few months ago. His case wanted thoughtful care and instant
attention. Red tape, however, consumed weeks of valuable time, the
chance of cure was risked, and he, poor fellow, instead of being cared
for by skilled attendants, was thrust handcuffed into a cell,
ironically called padded, the floor left bare, on which he might have
battered out his brains, had he chosen, in the frenzy of his despair!
On another occasion, in that very same cell, a lunatic was confined
one night not very long before. Upon the jailer paying his visit in
the morning he looked anxiously round for the man that had been
committed to his care the previous evening. To his astonishment, where
do you think he found him? I will tell you. During the long, dreary
watches of the night, the poor fellow, to escape from some imaginary
foe, had scooped out with his nails a hole large and deep enough in
which to hide, and there he found him, crouching like a wild beast in
his lair. I saw this hole myself on a visit I afterward paid him. I
will here ask you one question, who ought to inquire into these
matters? Who is answerable for this shameful neglect?”
This account created quite a sensation, and was at once taken notice of
by the government, who removed all but one lunatic, about whom there was
some local quibble, to the asylum at Grahamstown. Some idea may be
formed of the responsibility falling upon the shoulders of the Governor
of the Kimberley jail when I inform my readers that during the last
fourteen years 67,000 convicted prisoners have passed through his hands.
This chapter would be incomplete without a few words respecting the
climate of Griqualand West. Taken as a whole it is very salubrious, and
especially adapted to those suffering from lung disease, as the country
being almost entirely devoid of timber or vegetation permits free
currents of air to prevail, a condition which is very favorable to
consumptive patients. Although the changes of temperature are very
sudden and great, yet with proper care little harm is done, as the
excessive dryness of the soil and atmosphere enables the residents to
withstand with but little inconvenience a heat which would be quite
unbearable in a moist climate. The rain, too, when it comes, generally
falls in sharp and heavy showers.
The drinking water is upon the whole good, though that of the deep wells
is rather hard, and in the shallow ones brackish, but the water now
brought in from the Vaal River through the enterprise of Chevalier Lynch
by means of pipes is soft and very wholesome.
The elevation of Griqualand West of about 4,000 feet above the sea
appears to give it the air of a mountainous region, the ozone being
constant, and ranging from 3.5 to 9.5 degrees on a scale of ten, the
average being about five degrees.
In Kimberley the north wind is the prevailing one. From a report of
4,452 observations taken by Mr. G. J. Lee, F. R. Met. S., in 1885, in
681 cases it was due north; next in order came northeast and south
winds, of about equal frequency, and next, with comparatively little
difference, were winds from the northwest and southwest. As can be
imagined Griqualand West is very dry.
It will be seen from the table below that there has been one year only
during the last nine in which the rainfall came up to or exceeded
twenty-five inches, which is about the English average: 1877, 13.58
inches; 1878, 9.34; 1879, 19.38; 1880, 15.43; 1881, 30.30; 1882, 14.77;
1883, 13.63; 1884, 20.46, and 73 days on which rain fell; 1885, 9.77,
and 74 days on which rain fell.
In some months no rain falls at all. The following is a tabulated list
of the months, during the last eight years, in which this has occurred:
June, 1877; June, 1878; October, 1879; July, 1880; August, 1880;
September, 1880; July, 1881; September, 1881; June, 1883; December,
1883; July, 1884; August, 1884; July, 1885.
During the year 1885 there were ninety-two days on which lightning was
seen, seventy-four on which dew fell, two hundred and eighty-eight days
on which there were clouds, and seven days on which ice was seen,
although in the outskirts of Kimberley ice was much more frequent. I
have given monthly returns in the accompanying table:
1885 Clouds Dew Lightning Ice
January 27 days 1 10 0
February 26 „ 7 20 0
March 26 „ 21 4 0
April 24 „ 16 5 0
May 23 „ 9 1 0
June 13 „ 9 1 0
July 17 „ 1 0 0
August 25 „ 4 3 6
September 26 „ 5 5 1
October 27 „ 1 8 0
November 26 „ 0 15 0
December 28 „ 0 20 0
——— —— —— —
288 74 92 7
The barometric pressure for the year 1883 appears to have been at its
maximum in June, in which month the reading was 26.177 inches, and the
minimum, which was 25.849 inches, occurred in January, while the mean
for the year was 25.988 inches. All these readings are corrected to 32°
F.
The heat experienced in Griqualand West is sometimes very excessive,
when I state that the maximum summer heat of the day in the shade during
the months of November and December was in the year 1883, 107°, in 1884,
102°, and last year 104°, whilst during the month of December, 1885, the
ordinary bright bulb thermometer in the sun attained the height of
116.25°, and the blackened bulb in vacuo 174.6°, my readers may form
some idea of the great range of temperature to which residents are
exposed, especially if they contrast this with the minimum during the
winter months, July and August, of 26° in 1884, and of 28.25° in 1885.
At the same time it is interesting to note that the highest mean of
absolute maximum temperature was 78.98° in December and the absolute
minimum 52.52° in June. I have often conversed on this subject with one
of the early Vaal River diggers, who told me that in September, 1870, he
several times found the thermometer in his tent in the early morning
standing at 32°, and at mid-day registering 112°, and on one occasion in
1870 it was as low as 17°.
[Illustration:
KIMBERLEY MINE—MIDDLE STAGE, 1875.
]
In the winter there is a great difference between the temperature upon
the grass and that upon the bare soil. Wagoners are fully aware of this,
for when on a cold, frosty night their oxen go astray, they look for
them upon roads, or bare patches of ground, as they know where the
instinct of the animals will lead them, the oxen appearing intuitively
to know that the grass favors radiation and causes intense cold. I have
often indeed known the temperature on the grass to be as low as 16°, or
even 13°, when the temperature on the bare ground around was above
freezing point. Any one living near the diamond mines can relate the
scores of cases in which natives during the last ten years have lain
down upon the veldt (grass) to sleep away their drunken carousals, and
have been found stiff and dead in the morning.
Although “Afric’s sunny fountains” (comparatively few in number,
however, on our high plateau) have, in good old Bishop Heber’s beautiful
hymn, “rolled down their golden sand,” yet visitors who come out under
the belief that pajamas, mosquito nets, and the lightest silken
gossamers, etc., are sufficient to keep out the cold, would be
astonished to find, as they might do, from time to time, pea-jacketed
and ulstered individuals of varying ages heartily enjoying games of
snowball under the supposed burning sun.
The dust storms, to which we are liable all the year round, are our
greatest trial, sweeping over the country like a very sirocco, burning,
blinding and choking up everything in their fury. Occasionally, to
change the scene, we have storms of hail, with stones sometimes of
extraordinary size, two and two and a half inches in diameter, whilst
whirlpools ofttimes sweep and circle round, to relieve the monotony of
the landscape.
Yet, notwithstanding these drawbacks, and the great variations in the
climate, and putting aside preventible diseases, arising from defective
sanitation, and reckless exposure, the climate is on the whole very
fairly healthy for Europeans.
In the early days of the Fields the gambling spirit so infatuated many
of the diggers, that, not satisfied with the excitement of the day’s
luck, or ill-luck in the mine, they would prolong the accidents of
fortune far into the night. In my next chapter I will give an account of
that period.
[Illustration]