TRIP TO ROBBEN ISLAND.—DEAN NEWMAN’S DESCRIPTION THEREOF IN 1855.—OLD
SOMERSET HOSPITAL.—LUNATICS AND LEPERS.—HORRIBLE SIGHTS.—LEPROSY AMONG
ANIMALS.—DR. WYNNE’S OPINION.—MOURNFUL CASE IN THE SANDWICH ISLANDS.—DR.
KEITH GUILD’S THEORY OF LEPROSY UNTENABLE.—ANNUAL COST OF
LEPERS.—SEGREGATION ACT PASSED BY CAPE PARLIAMENT IN 1884.—DR. ROSS’
REPORT 1886.—VISIT TO CETYWAYO AND LANGIBALELE AT OUDE MOLEN.—MY WIFE’S
INTERVIEW WITH CETYWAYO IN LONDON.
When not attending to my parliamentary duties during the session, I took
the opportunity of visiting the various sights around Capetown, among
others I went over to Robben Island and inspected the lunatic asylum and
leper establishment, and to Oude Molen to see Cetywayo and Langibalele.
As the treatment of lunatics had always been a branch of medical study
in which I felt an especial interest, my readers can well understand it
was not long before I paid a visit to Robben Island, where the principal
of the three lunatic asylums, of which the Cape Colony boasts, is
situated.
On applying to the under colonial secretary he gave me a pass for myself
and my wife, by the _Gun_, a little steamer belonging to the government,
which plies regularly twice a week to and from the island.
It was a fine morning when we left the Capetown pier, but a chopping sea
soon told its tale, and we were all glad after an hour’s tossing to
arrive at the landing place of the island, where we were carried ashore
by the native boatmen employed by the government.
Here we were met by the late Dr. Biccard, the medical superintendent
(formerly a member of the Cape assembly, before the advent of
responsible government), who affording us every hospitality, showed us
over the asylum after we had recovered from the effects of our trip
across.
Robben Island is a sandy, dry, exposed little island in Table Bay, of
about 3,000 acres in extent, distant from the mainland about six or
seven miles, and covered with a short, thick bush, affording excellent
cover to quails, pheasants and rabbits, all which game are found there
in abundance.
It has been used as an asylum for lunatics and a refuge for lepers and
pauper sick for nearly half a century, the removal of the unfortunates
from the mainland being a suggestion of Mr. Montague, who was at the
time colonial secretary—Sir P. Maitland communicating it to the home
government as “a plan proposed by Mr. Montague.” Dean Newman in his
memoirs of the last-named gentleman, written in 1855, gives a very
graphic description of the island: “It is a spot of painful and touching
interest still, the unapproachable asylum of the leper and the lunatic;
the _ultima linea verum_, the last shore of the disabled sailor stranded
there an utter wreck of humanity; the remote infirmary and resting place
for decay and sickness hopelessly incurable! It seems a kind of half-way
halt in departure from the world; for many of its sojourners have bidden
the happy face of mankind and the spots of active life a long and last
farewell;” and, after the sights I saw there, I felt I could fully
endorse every one of the dean’s words.
Forty years ago old Somerset hospital was the only lunatic asylum in the
colony, but the miserable accommodation it afforded and the wretchedness
of its unfortunate inmates led Mr. Montague to recommend the
establishment of a lunatic asylum on Robben Island.
To quote further from Dean Newman: “Robben Island appears destined,
under all changes, to remain a spot of melancholy interest, cut off from
the mainland by a wild sea, prevailing impetuous winds, and a distance
of six miles—yet constantly in sight of it—it is a fit emblem of the
miserable inhabitants who have in successive ages been transported
there, severed from all association with the rest of their fellow men.
“For more than 150 years this island was the Dutch penal settlement and
if the old record speaks truth most rigid were the punishments which
were then inflicted. On the transference of the Cape to the English the
island continued a convict station under British rule; but as we have
seen there was no extraordinary desire manifested even then to make its
discipline such as should reform the criminal or hold out to him the
prospect of restoration to that society whose laws he had transgressed.
* * * * *
“When on a visit of inquiry to the island previous to the removal of the
convicts he [Mr. Montague] noticed its healthy position and its fitness
as a hospital for those whose complaints rendered it necessary for them
to be removed from the less afflicted of their race.
* * * * *
“In his report on that occasion he thus refers to the suitableness of
the island for patients and to the condition of the sick, diseased and
insane who were under the charge of the government in different
infirmaries, and establishments of the colony:
“‘As the salubrity of Robben Island has long been acknowledged, and
there is abundance of stone, lime and labor on the spot to erect the
necessary buildings, I would strongly recommend for your excellency’s
serious consideration the expediency of removing the leper and pauper
establishments of Hemet-au-Aarde and Port Elizabeth to Robben Island,
also the pauper establishment of Capetown, and the lunatics at present
confined in the Somerset hospital at Capetown.
“‘I have also visited the lunatics confined in the Somerset hospital;
anything more wretched and inappropriate for its unfortunate inmates
cannot be imagined than the lunatic wards; they are about fifty in
number. There is no other lunatic asylum in this colony, and lunatics
are sent to this one from all parts of the colony. It is quite
impossible that the present mode of confining and treating these
unhappy people can be much longer continued, a separate and proper
building must very soon be erected for them somewhere, and I know of
no place better suited for them than Robben Island.’”
When it was decided that the indigent and various patients in the
hospitals of the colony should be removed to Robben Island, measures
were promptly taken to erect suitable dwellings and infirmaries for
their reception. The convicts were removed to road stations; the old
convict buildings, which were much dilapidated, were pulled down, and
this once barren scene, which had so long withered under the accursing
influence of crime and the stern frown of retributive justice, began to
smile under the beneficent influence of human kindness, sympathy and
mercy.
There are now (1855) on the island about twenty buildings, with spacious
apartments, airy, healthy and scrupulously clean. Externally the sunny,
whitewashed appearance of the houses has an air of cheerfulness, and the
neat church rising near them speaks of solace to the sick soul, as the
rest of the institution does of care to the diseased body.
The establishment as reported in May, 1854, was:
Men. Women. Children. Total.
Lepers 38 20 8 66
Lunatics 49 53 4 106
Chronic Sick 106 21 2 129
————
Total 301
The division for the lunatics is commodious, well-arranged and striking
from its great cleanliness; the chief occupation of those who are merely
idiotic, or but periodically insane, being to keep it neat and
wholesome. The sleeping compartments are ranged round two small
court-yards, one for the men, the other for the women. In the day-time
few of the lunatics are to be seen in the court-yard or dormitories, as
the plan pursued by the medical officer is to allow all but the most
violent and unsafe to roam at pleasure about the island. One is commonly
set to watch another, and if you question A, whom you see on a strict
and consequential lookout in some part of the island, on what he is so
closely intent, with a sly smile he will point to B, and say, “I am
taking care of that poor fellow;” but when you approach B and put a like
interrogatory to him, he will tell you, casting a cunning glance at A,
“I am looking after him, he is not quite right.” The less violent are
used as servitors in the general establishment and perform much outdoor
work about the island, and even take part in the management of the
island boat which crossed to and fro to the mainland three times a week.
Amongst the most confirmed lunatics, who seldom go at large, are some
painfully ludicrous cases. A sturdy black woman dressed in male
appearance, if not absolutely in male attire, personates an African
king, and certainly in words and imperious looks lords it over her
subjects there, “in King Cambyses’ vein.” Another case from which the
spectator almost religiously recoils is that of a little man from St.
Helen’s, who is sane enough when spoken to on ordinary subjects, but if
the Bible be mentioned, becomes instantly furious, and asserts that the
New Testament (a copy of which he always has about him, and can read
fluently in English and even quote with considerable correctness) is
_his_ gospel and that he is Jesus Christ. If reasoned with on this point
he falls into such fierce paroxysms of wildness and violence as may well
cause him to be taken for one of those demoniacs whom the merciful
Saviour came to liberate and heal. But even with these most extreme
cases, the lenient, judicious treatment which is practiced in this
department, keeping the occasionally furious under close surveillance,
rather than iron restraint, is found to answer far better than the old
custom of the narrow cell, the griping gyve, and unmitigated
confinement.
On a remarkably healthy and, as to aspect, cheerful spot near the sea,
and commanding a fine view of Table Mountain and of the bold rocky coast
behind it, are the buildings which contain the wards of chronic sick.
Here are to be witnessed some of those sorrowful cases which are to be
met with in all such asylums; such as slow wasting disease; the
incurable maladies of the long sick, who have consulted many physicians
and have been nothing bettered; the gradual sinking into the grave of
those who have seemed for years upon its brink. For these, all that can
be done is to relieve pain and make the last moments of life tranquil
and free from want, and certainly at Robben Island this is done. The
treatment, the dietary, the attendance, and even the kindness of one
patient toward another, are here most praiseworthy.
I could see, on my visit, that although years have elapsed since this
was written, every kindness was still shown by the officials to the
unfortunates on Robben Island; still the surroundings were not such as
could possibly tend to their recovery. The large ram-shackle buildings
had an air of patchwork and decay, the yards were overcrowded, no
employment or amusement could I see provided, except in the female ward,
where I listened to one poor woman yawling out “Home, sweet home” on a
piano more out of tune than her mind. A sad and sorry sight! Here, as in
all similar institutions, there was every phase of this melancholy
affliction to be observed. Since my visit Dr. Biccard has died, and the
institution is now under the care of Dr. Ross, according to whose report
last year there are now on the island 199 lunatics, some of whom have
been there for thirty-five years. He states that but a small percentage
of these cases can be looked upon as hopeful, owing to the length of
time that has been allowed to elapse before they were brought under
proper treatment. In one of his previous reports Dr. Ross observed: “If
cases are treated within three months of the first attacks, four-fifths
would recover, but if twelve months elapsed, four-fifths are incurable;”
further, the material upon which to work is “very _unpromising_, and
hence the fallacy of expecting European results when dealing with these
life-long burdens on the country whose unsoundness of mind and unbridled
passions render them equally unfit for liberty or neglect.”
I may also mention that there is under government supervision a hospital
at Grahamstown, where last year 108 male and 67 female lunatics were in
confinement, while old Somerset hospital is still used for chronic sick
paupers, insane and female lepers, containing at the close of last year
55 male, 41 female lunatics, 141 chronic sick paupers, and 13 female
lepers.
Leaving Dr. Biccard with the ladies, I walked on to inspect the lepers
and the buildings in which they were housed. Here I saw human beings
kenneled worse than dogs. In a long, low, thatched shed some forty poor
creatures were stowed away. Both varieties of the disease, the
tubercular and anæsthetic, could here be studied. Some I saw with their
faces shiny, discolored and swollen, others with both hands and feet
dropping off joint by joint; one man especially attracting my attention,
whose nose, eyes, tongue and cheeks had all rotted away, and who, with a
voice piping shrill and cracked, could barely make himself understood.
He was a horrid, loathsome mass of putrid humanity. One fact, however,
struck me at the time, that neither this man nor any of the other
inmates complained of bodily pain. The building in which they were
housed was such that I could not help picturing in my mind a spark
igniting the thatch and a fire taking place in this hovel; how the poor
wretches, sixty per cent. of whom were unable to leave their beds, would
in their helplessness be burnt alive, possibly only too glad to find
surcease of sorrow, at least in this world.
[Illustration:
LEPER DEPARTMENT.—ROBBEN ISLAND.
]
Here were black, half-caste and white all mixed together in hideous
confusion, but, thank heaven! no females; the latter had been removed, I
learned, some time before to Old Somerset hospital, not alas, however,
until cohabitation had produced its results in beings almost, I fear,
inevitably doomed to a life worse than death, and recalling Coleridge’s
lines in his “Ancient Mariner”
“The nightmare Death in life is she
Who chills men’s blood with cold.”
These woe-begone creatures were allowed to go to the mainland if they
wished once every three months, according to the criminally absurd
enactments then in force. Of this opportunity many availed themselves,
never returning, but sowing the seeds of a disease, hereditary and
possibly contagious, as some believe it to be, broadcast through the
land with impunity.
The lepers were, as a rule, idle, insolent and insubordinate, and
knowing the incurable nature of their disease reckless and desperate to
a degree. Half-castes, Malays, especially those whose morality was below
the average, or those whose diet was, as a rule, confined almost
exclusively to fish, I was told were more susceptible to the disease
than Europeans. On making inquiries I learned many horrible facts. Among
others I found the bath-room and the kitchen to be identical, one place
only being provided for them in which to live, eat, drink and sleep, the
“wash” or refuse and almost certainly contaminated food actually being
used to feed the pigs and poultry, and, “Horror on horror’s head” the
miserable sufferers themselves could be seen rolling about in squalid
filth, their clothes soaked and besmeared with the discharges from their
festering sores. No one seemed to have power or inclination to manage
them; neglected and forsaken, they were left to the charge of fellow
lepers as helpless as themselves, Horace’s “Quis custodiet ipsos
custodes?” never having a better exemplification.
Dr. Wynne, the assistant medical officer in charge, who has had
considerable experience of this disease in Bulgaria and Constantinople,
although not noticing among the common fowls the tender-footedness,
bowing of the legs, incurvated claws, and the nodular articulations
which are the earliest symptoms of the disease in animals, yet
distinctly stated in evidence before a select committee of the house of
assembly in 1883 that he had come across pigeons, mice, pheasants and
turkeys unmistakably suffering from leprosy; and he further remarked at
the time that “the communicableness of this disease to animals is a
matter of great importance, for the reason that it may also be
communicable to human beings through the agency of animals suffering
from the disease being used as food.”
After seeing and conversing with these poor social outcasts, and at the
same time having had convincing proofs afforded me every day, from
outside sources, of the increase of leprosy among the lower and colored
classes, I left the island with the conviction that nothing but complete
segregation could ever stamp out this dreadful disease. The success
which has since 1865 attended the complete isolation of affected persons
in the Sandwich Islands, where leprosy was unknown before its
introduction by the Chinese in 1848, as compared with the immense
strides the disease was then making, should be an inducement to our
legislators to adopt the most stringent measures here, the more
especially seeing how widespread this terrible and loathsome disease is
becoming. It may not be generally known, but it certainly bears out the
generally received theory of the contagiousness of leprosy, that the
apostle of the lepers of Molokai is beginning to pay the penalty of his
heroism. Shut away from all civilized and healthy humanity, Father
Damien has for years been a willing prisoner in the island in which are
collected and confined the lepers of all the neighboring Sandwich group.
For a long time, though cut off from the outward world, Father Damien
continued in good health, though alone among the dead. But the stroke
has fallen at last. In a letter written recently he says: “Impossible
for me to go any more to Honolulu on account of the leprosy breaking out
on me. The microbes have finally settled themselves in my left leg and
my ear, and one eyebrow begins to fall. I expect soon to have my face
disfigured. Having no doubt myself of the true character of my disease I
feel calm, resigned and happier among my people. Almighty God knows what
is best for my sanctification, and with that conviction I say daily a
good ‘Fiat voluntas Tua.’” Where is the heroism which will vie with
this? And does not Father Damien’s martyrdom tend to establish the
contagious nature of the scourge?
The following extract from the “People’s Medical Adviser” (London),
bearing upon the question, is interesting: “The following is a summary
of an account in the New York _Medical Record_, of the first attempt to
use a condemned criminal for the solution of an important and scientific
question at the Sandwich Islands. It appears that more than two years
ago the government procured the services of Dr. Edward Arning, for the
purpose of having a thorough and scientific study made of leprosy.
Attempts were made to cultivate the _bacillus lepræ_, which is uniformly
found in the diseased parts, but not in the blood, by Kock’s method,
using various media, but without success. Numerous inoculation
experiments upon lower animals were made, but although the bacilli would
grow at the points of inoculation for a long time, the animal never
became infected. At last Dr. Arning obtained permission to make an
inoculation upon a condemned criminal, whose sentence was commuted to
imprisonment for life. With the convict’s written consent an inoculation
of leprous matter was made in his arm, and bacilli were found in the
sore or the scar up to fourteen months after the operation; no
constitutional symptoms being observed. One further observation of
importance was made by Dr. Arning; he found that in putrid leprous
tissues, and even in the body of a leper who had been dead for three
months, the bacilli were found in great numbers. This seems to bear
against their specific pathogenetic function. Owing to difficulties with
the health board, it is stated that it is highly probable Dr. Arning
will be obliged to discontinue his work of research. With respect to the
cultivation of bacillus, Dr. Neisser, of Breslau, appears to have been
more successful than Dr. Arning, for he has recently stated that in a
few cases he has observed an exceedingly slow growth, and he also claims
to have recognized spores, which the Hawaiian observer has so far failed
to do.”
I do not consider, however, that these experiments in any way prove the
non-communicability of the disease, when we take into consideration the
length of time (ten to fifty years) that leprosy takes to destroy the
general run of its victims.
Not only can it be seen here and there over the whole Cape Colony, at
Fort Beaufort, Malmesbury, Saldahna Bay, Caledon, Fraserburg, Calvenia,
Clanwilliam, Hopetown, in Fingoland and Namaqualand, but even at Weeren
and Alexandra County, especially in the Amapapeta location. In Natal its
ravages are attracting attention among the members of my profession and
philanthropists generally. In the latter colony a commission was
appointed on January 27th, 1885, by Sir Henry Bulwer to inquire into the
extent of leprosy then existing. The report of that commission was
published in the Natal Government _Gazette_ of September 23d, 1886, and
conclusively demonstrated that leprosy was widely spread and was slowly
increasing among the native population, and recommended as a means of
checking the disease the enforcement of strict segregation. Surely some
method for its arrest or eradication might be taken from the lessons
taught by other countries and from experience of the past! After the
crusades in the fifteenth century leprosy played sad havoc in Europe,
but taking alarm in time the lepers were sought out and separated from
their fellows, Norway being the only country in Europe where this system
was not adopted, and while the disease has disappeared in other lands,
in the last named, after the lapse of more than three hundred years, it
still lives.[75] This disease is also found in Greenland, Iceland, where
it is termed “likthra,” in Lapland and the Faroes, but in these more
northern regions, as leprosy is not considered to be contagious, its
victims are objects more of pity than disgust. I believe that many
local, lay and professional men think it a far-off disease, entombed in
biblical lore; if so let them at once disabuse their minds of this idea
and learn that this awful malady is a rapidly increasing scourge of
to-day, extending from the North Pole to the South, from Iceland to
Australia, India and America; Africa and Arabia supplying their quota of
victims. “It distorts and scars and hacks and maims and destroys its
victims inch by inch, feature by feature, member by member, joint by
joint, sense by sense, leaving him to cumber the earth and tell the
horrid tale of a living death, till there is nothing human left of him.
Eyes, voice, nose, toes, fingers, feet, hands, one after the other, are
slowly deformed and rot away, until at the end of ten, fifteen or twenty
years it may be, the wretched leper, afflicted,, in every sense,
himself, and hateful to the sight, smell, hearing and touch of others,
dies despised and the most abject of men.”
Dr. Keith Guild, M.D., district surgeon of East Griqualand, in a
pamphlet published this year on leprosy, arrives at the conclusion that
“leprosy is a blood poison arising from the combination of two other
blood poisons, tubercular and syphilitic,” and goes on to assert that
“leprosy among the natives of South Africa is neither more nor less than
a form of tertiary syphilis.” There is a manifest inconsistency between
these two statements, but if the latter be a correct one it must also
apply to leprosy in general, which I myself would be very sorry for one
moment to admit, for obvious reasons.
Looking upon this frightful picture, is it not time, I will ask, we were
“up and doing” before it be too late?
To come down to figures: the cost of each leper on Robben Island is £63
per annum: while the total expenditure of the island annually, including
lunatics in 1885, was £15,482, of which £5,000 was expended in salaries.
The following is a return of the leper patients admitted in the general
infirmary, Robben Island, from the year 1845 to July 31, 1883,
inclusive, the number remaining about the same, as fresh cases were only
admitted as old ones died off:
1845 37
1846 35
1847 17
1848 26
1849 18
1850 14
1851 7
1852 13
1853 21
1854 14
1855 16
1856 15
1857 16
1858 19
1859 16
1860 13
1861 21
1862 22
1863 22
1864 12
1865 34
1866 19
1867 20
1868 21
1869 15
1870 24
1871 27
1872 17
1873 17
1874 19
1875 13
1876 17
1877 26
1878 19
1879 13
1880 15
1881 24
1882 21
1883—Jan. 1st to July 31st 9
———
Total 744
After leaving these pitiable and miserable sights, Dr. Biccard invited
our party to lunch, when we conversed with this genial old gentleman
upon what we had seen, and over the past and future of the island. Then
after enjoying a fragrant cigar with Dr. Wynne we returned to the
mainland by the _Gun_ on her afternoon trip.
Since our visit the government have decided to remove the lunatics to
the mainland, having bought the farm Tokai near Capetown for that
purpose, but at present the finances of the colony are at too low an ebb
to warrant further expenditure, with a view to the introduction of any
improved mode of treatment for these unfortunate people.
An act for the segregation of lepers has also been passed by the Cape
legislative assembly (No. 8, 1884), which although a step in the right
direction is exceedingly weak in some of its provisions. The main and
vital point, compulsory removal, is altogether omitted, it being merely
made lawful for the governor, on the certificate of a district surgeon
or any other medical practitioner to the effect that a man or woman is a
leper and the disease communicable, to authorize his or her removal, but
no order is inserted in the ordinance that _all_ lepers shall be brought
before the district surgeon for such certificate, and that such
certificate shall be acted upon.
Dr. Ross, the present superintendent of the island, states in his last
report (1886) that “unless the segregation act includes a denial of all
civil rights, the bastardy of all children born to lepers, and
confiscation of their property for their public and special support and
treatment, this horrible disease will never be stamped out.”
Notwithstanding all the forcible lessons of the past I learn that the
government (June 1886) are erecting wooden huts on the island at
Murray’s Bay for the use of female lepers, thus holding out, as it were,
a premium for the direct propagation of lepers; experience having shown
that it is impossible to keep the sexes apart when located on the same
island. The only saving clause is that very few children are born of
leprous parents. I may here emphatically state my opinion that if strict
segregation were enforced this dire disease would in half a century be a
scourge of the past, and, I may add, that I am in accordance with all
the best authorities in the belief that this is the only method by which
this terrible and loathsome disease can ever be eradicated.
After spending a most agreeable and interesting day on the island, a
pleasant hour’s sail brought us in the afternoon to the mainland, the
sea having in the meantime become perfectly calm.
The next visit I made was to see trouble in a different guise, not the
wasting of incurable disease, nor the visitation of a hopeless malady,
but to see two men whose lives were being eaten away by the canker-worm
of despair—Cetywayo and Langibalele! To those who have resided in South
Africa during the last twenty years these names will recall many an
anxious time to colonists, brought about, in my humble opinion, not by
the desire of the colonists to do anything which was not legal and
right—but in the first place by a want of tact in dealing with natives,
and in the second from an uncontrollable infatuation seizing hold of
one, spreading like an epidemic to all. Not two years had passed since
“Cetywayo” had been in every one’s mouth, and had been the hero of the
hour. Again had Bishop Colenso come forward to see fair play done to one
whom he thought had been wrongly used, and again, as in Langibalele’s
case, had he gained for himself the ill-will of the colonists. I had
formed a decided opinion about these cases and was naturally anxious to
study the “fons et origo mali” of each complication, and accompanied by
my wife and various friends I paid Cetywayo several visits.
The drive of an hour in an open carriage, in such a climate as the Cape
possesses on a fine winter afternoon, was pleasure enough to make even
the Cape flats and bad roads enjoyable. Upon these despised flats, in an
old Dutch house, with the usual lofty and spacious rooms, which, however
desirable when adorned and well furnished, look gaunt and cheerless when
neglected and empty, Cetywayo, the captive Zulu king, dragged out the
weary days of his heart-breaking suspense. We were received by the king
in a room that was bare save for a few chairs, and Cetywayo, a fine,
large man, of dignified mien and sad, gentle expression, dressed in an
ill-cut blue serge suit, and sitting ill at ease in an arm chair, looked
a long way from being “at home.” He must have been a fine sight indeed
in his royal kraal dressed in handsome umutye (tails, pronounced
moochas) when in the height of his pride and state.
On one occasion being accompanied by Mr. Saul Solomon, M. L. A. (and
“negrophilist” as he was by some called on account of his sympathy with
and advocacy of the rights of the native, but a man and politician who
had the welfare of his country as much at heart as the welfare of the
native), we found on our arrival at Oude Molen that the interpreter was
taking a walk, and a messenger was dispatched to call him. The king
having evidently arranged himself to receive us, and growing impatient
with the delay, came to the door and asked why we did not enter, my wife
(who could speak Zulu) replied, “we are waiting for the interpreter.”
Cetywayo answered, “what need for that when you can speak as well
yourself,” and he insisted upon our entering then and there. Fortunately
the interpreter arrived almost at once, and we did not run the risk of
breaking any rule applying to visitors. Amongst other items of news we
asked Cetywayo if he had learned from the newspapers (which he had
translated to him every morning) that Mr. John Robinson (whom Cetywayo
knew as a great supporter of Sir Bartle Frere) had been defeated in the
election for the Natal legislative council, where he had held a seat for
many years, when without speaking but uttering a soft pleased “Ah!” he
shut his eyes, his face beamed, and passing his hand slowly across his
mouth from one ear to the other, he gently drew in his breath as if
drinking a long draught of some divine nectar. The news evidently gave
him intense delight, and repeatedly jerking his thumb up and down he
feelingly exclaimed: “What had I done to this man to make him my enemy,
I have never even seen him?” and waxing warmer, he added: “Yes, Sir
Bartle Frere is _down_ and John Robinson is _down_ too.”
We were told that Cetywayo enjoyed such visits as these, being a break
in the monotony of his life. He was saved from vulgar curiosity by the
government not allowing any one to visit him without a special permit.
We found the women comprised in the household a great contrast to the
quiet dignity of the king and his attendant chiefs; entering the room
where they were at work making grass strainers and bead ornaments, they
assailed us in loud, shrill voices, offering their wares for sale as if
nothing more serious were on hand, being as keen to drive a good bargain
as any professional peddler—it had not taken them long to learn the
value of “filthy lucre.”
Walking on a few hundred yards we came next to the abode of a man who
eight years before had set Natal in a blaze, had aroused the chivalrous
feelings of its unswerving bishop, and had been the cause of its
lieutenant governor’s recall!
Langibalele, or “the bright shining sun,” the cause of all this, we
found sitting on the trunk of a tree at the side of a brick-built
cottage, shading himself from the sun. Of middle height, blear-eyed,
old, decrepit and almost in rags, he formed a sorry contrast to the
dignified majesty of Cetywayo, whom we had just left.
I called to my recollection how, ignoring the orders of Sir Benjamin
Pine, he had decamped[76] with his tribe and cattle over the Drakensberg
into the Double Mountains of Basutoland, instead of answering a summons
to come to Pietermaritzburg to explain the reason why the young men of
his tribe had refused to register their guns; how made a prisoner by
Jonathan Molappo, a Basuto chief, he was sentenced to convict labor for
life and transported to Robben Island, and how Bishop Colenso, braving
the prejudices of the Natal colonists, went to England, in the cause of
justice and humanity, and exposed the whole matter,[77] that
Langibalele’s sentence was reduced to twenty years’ safe custody on the
mainland, and Sir B. Pine was recalled![78]
Shortly after parliament was prorogued Cetywayo had his heart’s desire
gratified by being summoned to England, where his restoration to
Zululand having been determined upon, the English government had thought
it would be advisable to let him see some of the wonders of civilization
before he resumed his power. The king was placed in the charge of Mr.
Henrique Shepstone, a good Zulu linguist, and son of Sir Theophilus
Shepstone, who was formerly secretary for native affairs in Natal.
Cetywayo heroically bore the long sea voyage, being determined to leave
no stone unturned by which he might possibly regain his forfeited
position.
It may interest some to hear of him in London, so I will quote from a
letter my wife’s description of a visit she paid to him as she passed
through that city on her way to New York:
“I have just returned from making a call upon Cetywayo; it was a
temptation after seeing him in his wretched Oude Molen quarters, just
before I left Capetown, and knowing so well how he lived in his own
uncivilized fashion, to see how he would look in a London
drawing-room. Mr. Jonathan Peel was good enough to see our old friend,
Mr. Henrique Shepstone, who is the special envoy in charge, and he
most kindly arranged our visit.
“On our arrival we were received by Cetywayo with evident pleasure,
who, seating himself on a sofa, waived us to chairs arranged in a
circle before him. The three chiefs who had accompanied him were each
seated in a corner of the room. One chief appeared to have three feet,
as he had taken off one of his boots and carefully arranged it in line
with his two feet—explaining to me in a tone of apology, that in
walking the day before it had blistered his little toe. The poor
fellows looked uncomfortable enough in European clothes, but there was
no reason why they should have been rendered more ridiculous by
wearing neckties with embroidered red rosebuds. Fancy sad, dignified
Cetywayo with a red rosebud under his chin!
“Cetywayo opened the conversation by asking me how I came to be in
London. I replied I had come as he had by steamer, and that I was
shortly going further, to America, and I suggested that after he had
seen England he should pay my country a visit. He looked at me, sadly
shaking his head, and said: ‘I should not be here, were it not that I
am as I am.’ I thought this answer for quiet dignity was simply
perfect; it sounded even better in his beautiful Zulu than it does as
I have translated it for you. Of course I could not allow him to dwell
upon so painful a subject as his captivity, so I asked him if he had
been much interested in the sights of London. Mr. Shepstone slyly
remarked that the king was very anxious to see the German giantess on
exhibition at the Alhambra, and that he expected to be altogether
captivated. Cetywayo turned the joke by saying—‘he just says that
about me, because he is in love with her himself.’ This fairly
‘brought down the house,’ and literally too, as Mr. Shepstone’s chair
gave way under him at that moment, and this added to the general
amusement. Cetywayo seeing a jet bracelet on Miss G.’s arm inquired
the name of it, and declared his intention to take some ‘ujet’
ornaments back as presents for his wives. It struck me rather as
‘taking coals to Newcastle,’ as far as color went; but evidently his
taste is neat, not gaudy. Cetywayo, growing restless, walked toward
the window, when a shout from the crowd outside made him suddenly draw
back, upon which one of the chiefs remarked, with the utmost disgust
in his tones: ‘There they stand, from daylight till long after
nightfall, and we don’t know what they want.’ Mr. Shepstone told us
that at first Cetywayo was inclined to be very angry, deeming it great
rudeness, but he had explained it to him that it was the delight they
felt in seeing a ‘King,’ and this had somewhat appeased the poor
captive. Mr. Shepstone now proposed that ‘the King’ should graciously
indulge the people outside by returning to the window—which Cetywayo
did, looking as if he felt they were making a fool of him, took off
his smoking cap, and waited patiently while the crowd gaped and
shouted ‘Hurrah!’ Shortly after this we left. Poor Cetywayo’s intense
sadness, even when he laughed, made me feel quite sorry for him, even
in spite of myself. You know I have never agreed with your absolute
bearing toward his side of the Zulu war question. The friends who were
with me, though biased against Cetywayo, admitted, after seeing him,
that their feelings had become considerably modified.”
[Illustration: CETYWAYO]
The subject of the Zulu war has been worn thread-bare by each party, for
and against, from their own standpoint. Mr. John Dunn’s book is the last
ray of light cast upon it. I shall not weary my readers by entering into
the matter at any great length, but, as it were, take my stand between
the two parties and express my humble opinion as a colonist of
twenty-two years’ standing, and as one who has learned to appreciate and
feel a sincere affection for the native. No one is really competent to
judge this question, who does not understand—1st. The native character
and the strictness of their etiquette in the reverence shown to
superiors, breaches of which are no less important signs of troubles
brewing than is the “small, black cloud, no larger than a man’s hand,”
which precedes a storm, and—2nd. The defenceless state—indeed, the caged
animal helplessness, of the Natal colonists. The Zulu appetite for
“eating up”[79] was there without a doubt; Cetywayo having asked
permission of the Natal government to “eat up” the Swazis. What more
natural than that the colonists should fear that this unsatisfied
appetite might be otherwise appeased upon the slightest provocation, and
what could be more aggravating to the spirit of a proud, self-willed
Zulu king, than the restraints civilization was seeking to impose upon
him? The last two Zulu kings had been shrewd enough to see the
advantages and protection which friendly relations with the English
government afforded them, against their natural enemies, the Boers, with
their grab-all policy. For this friendship and moral support, John Bull,
of course, required some compensation—the abolition of cruelties toward
Zulu subjects by their king, and the insuring of the safety of the Natal
colonists, he thought not too much to demand. Alas! had there been a
“Chinese Gordon” to tie what might have proved a gordian knot of mutual
friendship and protection, all would have been well. But what happened?
Who can take the responsibility of fixing blame upon any one individual,
when so many “cooks” were engaged in “spoiling the broth,” either by
omission or commission? Frere, Shepstone, Cetywayo, Dunn, Bulwer,
Colenso and John Robinson, with his newspaper. It must be admitted that
Cetywayo’s character was the natural result of inherited tendency. The
absolute power, the custom of cold-blooded murders for trivial offenses,
or rather, _when convenient_, suspected offenses, the immense standing
army, the longing for wars and “dipping of assegais in blood,”[80] added
to the haughty self-will and the insecurity of the position of an
irresponsible despot, which a Zulu king enjoys, all made Cetywayo what
he was, a neighbor to be feared.
Who shall bear the blame of the irritation caused Cetywayo by the
“impudent behavior of messengers” sent to him by the Natal government,
or the growing anger he felt toward the government and its messengers,
on account of their “assuming authority not recognized by him”? I quote
from Mr. Dunn’s book, who also says, Cetywayo despatched messengers with
a letter to the Natal government stating his wish to go against the
Amaswazi, and to this he received the following document:
“Reply of his excellency Sir Benjamin Chilley Campbell Pine, K.C.M.G.,
lieutenant governor of Natal, to Cetywayo, chief of the Zulu
nation.
“OFFICE OF SECRETARY FOR NATIVE AFFAIRS,
“Oct. 22d, 1874.
“The lieutenant governor has received the letter sent by Cetywayo, and
the reasons given for making war upon the Amaswazi.
“The lieutenant governor sees no cause whatever for making war, and
informs Cetywayo that such an intention on the part of the Zulus meets
with his entire disapproval.
“Cetywayo must also remember that the Amaswazi are almost entirely
surrounded by white people who have settled in the country, and it will
be impossible for the Zulus, if war is made, to avoid getting into
difficulties with them.
“Many years ago the lieutenant governor sent a letter to the late King
M’Pande, requesting him to allow the Amaswazi to live in peace from any
further attacks of the Zulus; he promised to do so, and has kept his
word.
“The lieutenant governor trusts that what he has said will be sufficient
to deter Cetywayo and the Zulu nation from entertaining such a project.
“By command of his excellency,
“(Signed)
“J. W. SHEPSTONE,
“Acting Secretary for Native Affairs.”
And John Dunn adds: “The above letter made the king change his plans,
although it enraged him, as I could plainly see.” Again John Dunn says:
“From this time the tone of Cetywayo toward the English government began
to change, and I could see, from the constant secret meetings which took
place, that his intention was to make war somewhere; but I did not for a
moment believe it was his intention to fight against the English,
although I could see that he was greatly exasperated at the tone of the
government, assuming an authority over him that he did not think they
had a right to do.”
Then if we consider the refusal of Cetywayo to give up the men who made
a raid into Natal (see appendix, ultimatum, clause 10, etc.), but
instead was busy massing his warriors, and further, the recollection
still fresh in the memory of all (when my own father-in-law had to fly
for his life), how Cetywayo’s uncles, Tchaka and Dingaan, had swept
Natal time after time, until “before Tchaka was killed” by his brother
Dingaan, “he was supposed to have destroyed a million of human beings,”
who will blame the anxiety of the colonists, especially when at this
time the native tribes in the Cape Colony and Griqualand West were all
engaged in rebellion against the English government?
The next factor in this war was the annexation of the Transvaal by the
English government, professedly as a protection against the natives. The
land dispute between the Transvaal and Cetywayo (see appendix, ultimatum
clause, 3 to 10) had to be taken with the republic, and now the task of
appeasing both parties in the matter was more than any government could
possibly accomplish. The delay in settling the disputed land question
had led to an impatient act on Cetywayo’s part (see appendix, ultimatum,
clause 4). The English government, knowing well all the weary years of
waiting which Cetywayo had borne, might well overlook this action; but
when it did at last appoint a commission to settle the question,
Cetywayo received a part only of the land he claimed.
Whether the idea was right or wrong, that now the Transvaal had been
annexed the view taken by the government was changed by self-interest,
it is no less a fact that Cetywayo was disappointed, and fresh fuel had
been added to his disaffection.
At this time Sir Bartle Frere had come upon the scene, confederation
being his mission. The danger of an army of trained warriors, 50,000
strong, at the command of an uncivilized king, on the very border of
little Natal, was a very great obstacle; and considering Cetywayo’s
sullen attitude, what colony in its senses would agree to be
confederated with a little colony having such a danger upon its borders?
Time can never prove whether Sir Bartle Frere’s judgment was right or
wrong in sending the ultimatum and outrageous demands to Cetywayo which
forced the war upon him.
There was one man, Mr. John Dunn, who _might_ from his thorough
knowledge of the Zulus have averted this war; unfortunately his attempt
was delayed until too late, (See appendix—John Dunn’s letter to the
Aborigines’ Protection Society). In Mr. Dunn’s book,[81] which is very
interesting reading, he does not tell us of any effort he made with the
Natal government to prevent the war, and one cannot help wishing that he
had gone earnestly and unceasingly to work, both with the English
government and Cetywayo, with that persistency which surely tells in a
good cause. Possibly John Dunn did not realize the situation in time.
[Illustration:
CETYWAYO’S WAGON CROSSING THE INPOLOGI RIVER, ZULULAND.
]
The recollections of Isandhlwana, Zhlobane and Ulundi make one’s blood
run cold; but terrible as this war was, the cruelty and wickedness of
having brought it about, could time prove it to have been unnecessary,
cannot compare, in my mind, with the cruelty and wickedness of the
disastrous Zulu settlement by Sir Garnet Wolseley and the after neglect
of the Zulu nation by the English government. It was “adding insult to
injury” to place these people under petty chiefs, and the whole nation
became demoralized. They _would_ have respected their conquered king
even if he had had to accede to all the demands of the ultimatum and to
owe allegiance to the English government, and they _could_ have accepted
a conquering power more especially when that power was the marvelous
English. This latter disposition is what they naturally would have
expected. But to place them under petty chiefs was just to set them
again at the old game of one chief “eating up” another until one became
supreme. When at last Cetywayo was restored it was simple cruelty not to
have established him firmly and protected him from all danger. Sad
indeed would Bishop Colenso have been had he lived to see the
restoration of Cetywayo for which he worked so earnestly. It was poor
“justice” that left the king, having destroyed his power, to the mercy
of his enemies, and to die very shortly from poison or a broken heart!
No one could have expected Cetywayo to resume his old footing among his
people through any love they bore him. What does any native chief ever
do to make himself beloved? The Zulus possess a dog-like fidelity toward
their chiefs, and they may be proud of their conquests, but when we
consider that Cetywayo could hold his position by the utmost severity
only, ruling by fear rather than love, we cannot be surprised that his
restoration without support was an utter failure. Even upon Cetywayo’s
death it would not have been too late for England to annex the Zulus and
accept a noble mission. With the natural fidelity of the Zulus, how easy
a matter, with firm, kind rule, to gain their love as well!
What a field for civilization and Christianity! Supposing a governor had
been appointed, laws made to keep the Zulu country for the Zulus, and
laws also for their moral good, such as no spirituous liquors allowed,
etc., what might not have been made of them? What is the consequence of
this shirking of responsibility? As Cetywayo received no material
support from England his son and successor was foolish enough to appeal
for help to his father’s old enemies, the covetous Boers, who true to
their nature have managed to gain possession of the better half of
Zululand, and nothing has been done for the improvement or benefit of
that grand Zulu nation—the war has brought them ruin only, when it might
so easily have resulted in good. England in shirking this responsibility
appears to me in the same cruel, sinful light as a mother who leaves her
helpless, illegitimate babe on the door-step of a stranger.[82]
[Illustration]