LEAVE PRETORIA.—A TRYING SITUATION.—HEIDELBERG,
STANDERTON.—MICHAELSON’S.—BOER CAMP AT LAING’S NEK.—MAJUBA ONCE
MORE.—NEWCASTLE.—MARITZBERG, PLOUGH HOTEL.—D’URBAN.—VOYAGE TO THE
CAPE.—CURIOUS MENTAL PHENOMENON.—RETURN TO KIMBERLEY.
The mail cart by which I left Pretoria was so arranged that the
passengers sat back to back, but as there was the driver besides myself
only. I was obliged to sit at the back to preserve the balance. Feeling
very weak I tied myself in with a rope, which, having passed round my
waist, I fastened to either side of the tent of the cart, so that
whatever might happen, I could not be thrown out. The road to Six Mile
Spruit was very smooth, the night dark, and being dead tired out, I fell
to sleep at once; Morpheus, however, did not long hold me in his arms,
for my slumbers were soon disturbed. I was suddenly awakened to the fact
that something had gone wrong. Collecting my scattered senses, I saw at
once that the driver had outspanned the horses, and tied them up, two to
each wheel, where, neighing and kicking with fright, they were pulling
and swaying the cart about in opposite directions to get loose, till at
last over it went, and all four horses tore themselves free and broke
away at a bound. Fortunately uninjured, yet unable to get out by myself,
I laid tied up fast in the cart, until at dawn of day the driver, who
had been sleeping in the stable of a farm-house close by, came to inspan
again. Seeing the cart upset, the horses gone, he naturally looked to
see where I was, and releasing me from my awkward predicament, went to
seek for his horses. The farmer himself next appeared on the scene, one
of the fattest, jolliest, old fellows I have ever met. He paid me more
kind attention than I could ever have expected, and insisted on my going
to his house, where we drank cup after cup of coffee until the sun was
well up. Von Schalkveigh, for that was his name, once an Old Colony
farmer, had been loyal to the backbone during the war.
At last, the horses being found, my driver made up for lost time, and
after two or three changes of animals, we drove up to the “Royal Hotel”
at Heidelberg just as the rain was commencing to pour in torrents.
This is a neat village of about 250 inhabitants. The Blesbok Spruit,
which nearly encircled it, formed quite a picture in the foreground,
while the background was filled up by the hills over which we had just
come. Heidelberg had always been described to me as an oasis in the
desert, my informants applying that term to it both from its natural
beauties and from the geniality of its residents. It did not take me
long to find out it was a colony composed almost entirely of thrifty,
well-to-do Scotchmen, who had chosen, with considerable cuteness, the
best position for miles round on which to settle.
Mr. MacLaren, the “institution” of the place, a prosperous merchant, and
I can say without fear of contradiction one of the most hospitable
Scotchmen in South Africa, invited me to lunch. His kindness to the
English officers brought here as prisoners of war, after the Dutch
success at Majuba, was a matter of common report. It was well known if
he had not entertained them as guests of his own, they would have been
confined in the common gaol. Such kindness at such a time cannot be over
estimated. Here the Boers had their headquarters during the war, the
Dutch flag having been hoisted at the beginning of the revolt, without
resistance or bloodshed, on Durgaan’s Day, December 16th, 1880.
During the war the Boers behaved very creditably to the townsfolk,
treating them well and paying for everything which they got from the
stores. Round about they made laagers to defend the place, possession of
which our troops from force of circumstances were unable to even attempt
to gain.
It was still raining when we drove away, and just as darkness was
closing round we outspanned at a farm-house where we stayed the night.
The next afternoon we came to Standerton on the Vaal River.
[Illustration:
MONUMENT
ERECTED BY THE BOERS TO THEIR COMRADES (TWO) FALLEN AT MAJUBA,
MICHAELSON’S, LAING’S
NEK, TRANSVAAL.
]
This village, with 300 regulars and 70 civilians, was invested by 700
Boers on December 24th, 1880, and for two months and a half, until the
armistice was proclaimed, it was able to act on the defensive only.
Crossing the river, in a few hours we came to the residence and store of
Mr. Michaelson, where we stopped the night. These had been used as
hospitals by the Boers, from January 28th, 1880, to the close of the
war. Here the road divides, one branch leading to Wakkerstroom, the
other to Coldstream, and over Laing’s Nek into Natal.
Within forty yards of Mr. Michaelson’s house the Boers have erected a
monument to their dead who fell at Majuba; on this every death which
occurred on that day, so fatal to our arms and prestige in South Africa,
is distinctly recorded.
The accompanying picture is from a sketch which I made on passing. When
looking at this reminder of scenes gone by, I could not help thinking
over our own dead, sleeping peacefully in the graveyard at Mount
Prospect, just across the border, a few short miles away.
Mrs. Michaelson and her husband were very kind, invited me into their
private house, gave me a good dinner and bed; but I had not long to
rest, as Mr. Michaelson awoke me before daylight in the morning, the
mail cart starting very early. Passing Coldstream, the sun was just
rising as we came near on our left hand to the site of the Boer camp
during the late war; and now, more vividly than on my former visit,
seeing both sides of the situation, could I realize the fact that if the
late Sir G. Pomeroy Colley had taken any rocket apparatus, or Gatling
gun, with him on his ascent of Majuba, or even ordered a diversion to be
made at Laing’s Nek, the Boer camp must have lain entirely at his mercy.
The day would have been his own, Gladstone’s fit of repentance
unnecessary, and the English flag would yet be flying over the
Transvaal.
The morning, beautiful and clear after the night’s rain, enabled me, as
the post-cart passed along the road winding at its base, distinctly to
see every outline of Majuba once more, towering 3,000 feet above. It is
one of the finest scenes in South Africa, and will well repay a visit,
the more so as within a radius of ten miles the student can read three
lessons in the history of his own time.
Away on our left we drove past the battlefield of Laing’s Nek, bid
farewell to the resting-place of poor Colley at Mount Prospect, took a
last look at the roadside inn, now alas! in ruins, where two and a half
years before I had passed such pleasant hours, until arriving at the
Ingogo drift, Vormstone gave me a splendid breakfast. An hour’s rest,
off we went again, crossed the Ingogo and made the gradual ascent, which
I have described before in another chapter, to the battlefield of
Schuin’s Hooghte.
Here I got the post-cart driver to stay for a quarter of an hour, while
I paid a second visit to the graveyard close to the road. I found
everything just the same as when I was last there immediately after the
war, except that close alongside a neat little monument had been erected
in commemoration of those who fell on the field, and those who died,
ignominiously _deserted_ three short years before.
[Illustration:
MONUMENT
ERECTED TO THE MEMORY OF THE FALLEN (BRITISH) AT SCHUIN’S HOOGHTE.
MAJUBA IN
THE DISTANCE.
]
Galloping down from Schuin’s Hooghte, a few miles more brought us to
Newcastle, and as the mail for Maritzburg did not start till next day, I
got a good rest. Everything in Newcastle had gone back. No signs of the
lavish spending of Imperial money! No military camp with its reckless
expenditure now. The fine hotel, which on my former visit was crowded
with officers, contractors, sutlers and army hangers-on, had been burnt
down, and was in ruins. “The place thereof shall know it no more for
ever.” My old friend, Greenlees, invited me to dinner, but I noticed
that he looked upon me with kindly pity, as one with whom cruel fortune
had made merry, and not as
“A man that fortune’s buffets and rewards
Had ta’en with equal thanks.”
I left Newcastle early next morning, travelling over the same ground as
I did years before, stayed at Ladysmith an hour or two, and tried to eat
a most infamously served lunch in, I think, the “inn’s worst room,” and
started again for Colenso, where I rested the night. At early dawn we
were on the move. On we went, calling at Pinchin’s hotel at Estcourt,
kept by a fellow passenger who came with me to Natal “two decades”
before in the “_Tugela_” then away again past Howick and the beautiful
falls of the Umgeni, to Maritzburg.
The railway embankment in course of construction showed me the rapid
strides civilization was making, and was a proof that the iron horse
would soon neigh at a distance of 100 miles from the seaboard. In former
days I always went to the “Plough Hotel;” and, with a feeling I have of
never forsaking old friends or places, I went there again, but the hotel
had evidently been decorated (?) by contract for external show. The
backyard was covered in with glass, the floor paved with tawdry tiles,
and a few stunted plants sprouted in despair from green painted pots.
Everything for mere meretricious effect. The bugs, mosquitoes, dirt and
disorder of my bedroom were sufficient to drive me away to D’Urban next
day. Before I went, however, I found opportunity to see a few friends
whom I had known years before. Among them Mr. Henrique Shepstone, who in
my Natal days was Coolie Immigration Agent, afterwards Judge Philip’s
private secretary during the memorable trials in the Barbadoes, then
Secretary of Native Affairs in the Transvaal during the Lanyon régime,
and subsequently Imperial Government agent in charge of Cetywayo during
his visit to London, but now the Hon. H. Shepstone, Secretary of Native
Affairs, having lately been promoted by Sir H. Bulwer to this post,
which was formerly held by his father, Sir Theophilus Shepstone. Mr.
Polkinghoene, the Treasurer General, whose beautiful coffee estate on
the banks of the Umhloti River I had often visited, was looking after
the finances of his adopted country, while my old partner in planting
when I was on the coast had forsaken the cure of coffee, and taken to
the cure of souls!
Reclining in a luxurious railway carriage, I was able to look back on
post-cart travelling and its miseries, thinking of Virgil’s “Forsitan
hæc olim meminisse juvabit,” the present comfort making up for the
disagreeables of the past. Every comfort or pain in this world is by
comparison, and a first-class railway carriage seemed a very haven of
rest after my 700 mile post-cart trip through Griqualand West, the
Transvaal, and Natal. “Comparisons are odious,” but after the “Plough”
at Maritzburg, the “Royal” at D’Urban, where I stayed, seemed a perfect
paradise. I can scarcely tell how thoroughly I enjoyed my few days rest
before the steamer “_Asiatic_” bore me to Capetown!
The Indian waiters robed in spotless white, the _recherché_ bills of
fare, the noble dining-room with punkahs in constant play, the beds
supplied with mosquito curtains, the obliging landlord, the _tout
ensemble_ in fact, forced me, after an experience of nearly every large
hotel in South Africa, to one conclusion, which was that the “Royal” at
D’Urban was beyond any comparison _the_ hotel of the country.
After a few days pleasant coasting, calling at East London, Port
Elizabeth and Mossel Bay, meeting friends at every place, we anchored at
last in Table Bay, but as the wind had suddenly commenced to blow great
guns from the southeast, the Captain would not risk docking his steamer.
Expecting to meet my wife, who had cabled she was coming out, after
hearing of my accident, I risked going ashore in a small boat, getting
drenched through for my pains. “All’s well that ends well,” however, and
on landing I found that she had arrived safely the day before in the
“_Athenian_” and was awaiting me.
I was naturally very curious to learn what had caused her unaccountable
anxiety, which I mentioned in my last chapter, as particular care had
been taken to keep the fact of my accident from being cabled to her, and
she had remained in entire ignorance of my condition until letters
reached her. She told me that she was sitting alone reading, much
interested in her book, when she felt a sharp thrill, like an electric
shock, pass through her from head to foot. This distracted her attention
for a moment, but as she was about to resume her book, she heard a voice
distinctly say “Pray for Joe, _pray for Joe_.” This occurred on Sunday,
December 2d, which was the day after my accident, and when in both
Kimberley and Du Toit’s Pan prayers had been offered in many churches
for my recovery.
In as far as I have read the accounts of such phenomena, this differs
from them in some respects, and so I think may be interesting to members
of the Psychical Research Society, and those engaged in investigating
such mental phenomena or coincidences as clairvoyance, thought reading,
etc.
Although I ought to have taken a longer rest from work, I could not hear
inactivity, and resumed the practice of my profession on February 14th,
1884. This I continued as before until August, 1886, when, as I tell
later on, I visited the Kaap Gold Fields.
[Illustration]