At the hotel we met a gentleman and his wife, whose acquaintance we had made on our arrival in the country. They had recently bought an ostrich farm, some thirty miles from the town, and pressed us warmly to pay them a visit, which invitation we were delighted to accept. They proposed bringing the ox-wagon from the farm to take us out. The wagon arrived, and our friends had prepared it for our use, neglecting nothing to make our ride as easy and comfortable as possible. The coloured boy, with a tremendous crack of the long whip and shouting "T-r-ek," started the long train of sixteen oxen into a slow walk along, the town road. When we got into the country on the hilly road, where ruts were many, we all got out and walked. Our road lay through a thick, th.o.r.n.y wood, and along by steep, rocky cliffs, upon which we could see and hear hundreds of monkeys leaping from rock to rock, chattering and screaming. They seemed greatly frightened at us, and yet fascinated, for they would run along the face of the cliff ahead of the slowly toiling oxen, keeping up a startled clatter, and peering at us from behind stones or branches of trees. We had started late in the afternoon, and before we reached the farmhouse at which we were to stop for the night the moon had risen, and dense black shadows and silvery streaks of light were thrown ghost-like before our path. After reaching the house we sat up till late, watching the beauty of the moonlit scene.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Next morning we resumed our journey, and after five hours' trek, made most enjoyable by the mode of travelling and the rugged beauty of the scenery, we arrived at "Gra.s.slands," the home of our friends. The house was of one-storey, well built and roomy, and being on a rise, commanded a fine view of the wild, uninhabited surrounding country. Our host was a handsome, high-spirited Englishman, with a little English child-wife, a dainty little piece of humanity.

As the young wife leaned against the veranda talking to us in her pink calico dress, broad-brimmed straw hat trimmed with a bit of lace, and a spray of jessamine she had pulled from the vine covering the front of the house, she did not look much like one to live where wild monkeys chatter in the trees, and savage beasts come within rifle range of the front door.

Our friend was engaged in ostrich-farming, and many of these queer-looking bipeds, with their long necks and floating feathers, the beauty of which is certainly wasted on their own backs, were wandering around the house. It had been an addition to our stock of information to learn in the Cape Colony that ostrich feathers were as much the product of regulated human labour as wool, mohair, or silk. We had always supposed ostrich feathers to be procured by hunters, and had in mind stories of their tactics in the chase of the fleet-footed bird. We learned that Cape farmers buy and sell ostriches as they do sheep, and fence their flock in, stable them, and grow crops for them. The eggs are not yet considered as belonging to the Cape dairy, and are not sent to market with bread and cheese. They are too precious for consumption, and too valuable even to be left for hatching to the rude methods of nature. The act of laying has not yet been dispensed with, but as soon as the eggs have been laid the nest is discarded, the parents are "locked out," and the mechanical certainties of the incubator are subst.i.tuted for parental instinct and affection. We were glad to learn, for the sake of our cherished traditions, that this farming was only of comparatively recent date, a domesticated ostrich being fifteen or twenty years ago unknown. There are now 150,000 of these domesticated birds in the Cape Colony, giving employment to not less than 8,000,000 dollars capital.

Our host informed us that the rearing of ostriches was an extremely difficult operation, as the bird itself, although devouring everything that comes in its way, from a steel fork to a lemon, is very delicate, and liable to injury in all sorts of ways. They are housed at night in circular kraals, surrounded by a low rush fence, the ostrich, despite his fleetness and strength of legs, being unable to mount or jump over any obstacle, and turned out during the day into the veldt in charge of a herd.

An ostrich can give a mighty kick, sufficient to break a man's leg, but you may easily choke him by throwing your arms around his neck. The bird can then do nothing, for he has no strength in his wings to beat his enemy off, and is only able to use his formidable legs, like a horse, backward. Still, he is an awkward enemy to engage, for it requires some courage to rush up to a bird and embrace him until help arrives, or until you succeed in choking him. Despite the strength of his legs they are easily broken if the bird accidentally strikes them against any obstruction, such as a hanging bramble or a wire fence. He must be carefully watched to prevent such accidents, and it is also necessary to drive him away from any food likely to disagree with him.

The feathers are sometimes plucked, and sometimes separated from the body by a sharp curved knife, each feather being taken separately. To do this the fanner drives them into a small inclosure, where there is little room to move about, and insinuates himself in among them, selecting such feathers as have arrived at maturity, and leaving the others to grow. The bird has a fresh crop of feathers every year, and as the prime feathers are very valuable, it may easily be believed that a lucky breeder finds the occupation a very profitable one.

The prettiest sight to see on an ostrich farm is the nursery, where, in a large room, in inclement weather, a score or more of little chicks are attended by a black boy, whom they follow everywhere.

Many farmers are unfortunate and meet with accidents, and thus lose heavily. Sometimes the soil is unfitted to grow the herbage necessary for the ostriches' food, and there are many accidents they are liable to, such as dangers from prowling jackals or from severe storms. Then there are tigers and vultures to be guarded against. It will thus be seen that the ostrich farmer's life is not necessarily a happy one. Our stay at Gra.s.slands was made very pleasant by Mr M--and his wife. What with picnics in the wild surrounding country day after day, musical evenings on the moonlit lawn, a week pa.s.sed away before we knew it.

It was here we noticed Frank had something on her mind which she wished to communicate to us. We said nothing to a.s.sist her, although we had a strong suspicion of what was coming. One morning she began: "Well, I want to tell you something." She didn't get any further, for we interrupted with "Oh, we know; you are going to marry Mr A--, whom you met on the diamond fields last year, and we are to dance at the wedding.

Didn't you think any one suspected? Why, my dear, it was very plain to us that he was to be your future husband long before you thought so yourself!" After we had congratulated her, we inquired how soon the event was to take place. She proposed having the wedding from the cathedral at Grahamstown, as we had many warm friends living there. So the matter was settled for the time being.

One evening a musical friend of our host, a gentleman from Port Elizabeth, and a violinist of no mean order, joined our circle, and we sat for hours listening to his music. After treating us to some choice selections, he began to play some of the songs of the farm Kafirs, who were listening about in numbers. They had learned to sing at their Sunday-schools in the town such hymns as "Hold the Fort," etc, and took up the airs and began to sing, after their manner, in a chanting drone.

Soon the sound of their own voices and the strains of the violin wrought them up to a high pitch of excitement, and they began to walk around us in a circle, keeping time with their hands, feet and head. Before long the musician, who had a touch of the grotesque in his humour, placed himself at the head of the procession. The music grew faster and faster, and the monotonous tramp of the Kafirs quickened gradually into a wild war dance. The scene which followed baffles description; there was the musician sc.r.a.ping away like an infernal Paganini, producing tones from his fiddle that seemed to excite the Kafirs to a pitch of frenzy. We joined in the singing, and sang at the top of our voices, while the black men, dancing, whirling, shouting, and gesticulating, grew wilder and wilder in their antics. The music suddenly ceasing, they sank exhausted to the ground. It was a weird scene in the moonlight, and one we shall long remember.

Our stay at Gra.s.slands came to an end all too soon, and we looked long and lingeringly at familiar objects as we were driven back to town in Mr M--'s handsome Cape cart behind a dashing span of horses.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Soon after our return to Grahamstown we put the finishing touches to everything we had left undone toward making the wedding a joyous occasion. The bride's white satin dress and veil were made by the hands of a competent dressmaker. There was a dress for Eva, as chief bridesmaid, which consisted of soft trailing drapery, and one for me, who was to take a place in the organ loft, and sing on the occasion.

The day arrived, bright and smiling. The wedding bells pealed from the tower of the cathedral. The "sympathising" and well-wishing friends were gathered within when the bridal party arrived. The knot was tied, and as the bells pealed forth the bride pa.s.sed out on her husband's arm; an old crone stood in the door and showered blessings on her.

As soon as congratulations were over, the wedding breakfast eaten, and the usual rice and lucky slipper flung after them, they took the train for a short vacation in a mountain hotel on the Zuurberg, whilst we bade good-by to friends around us, and flew away the same night to the sea at Port Elizabeth, five hours distant by rail.

Our rooms in the Hotel Palmerston overlooked the open bay and the long pier or jetty, which runs out some two hundred yards into the sea, and is a favourite promenade for the townspeople. This made an ever-changing picture before us, and our hearts were stirred by the sight of our Stars and Stripes floating at the peak of two barks lying at anchor in Algoa Bay. Port Elizabeth, with its twenty-five thousand inhabitants, seemed different in many respects from any of the towns we had visited. It is a thriving, active, bustling town, with many handsome stores and buildings, three or four banks, a public library, which is in the Town Hall, a building that would grace any metropolis, and several churches of various denominations.

A public park, built on the hill, is one of the especial prides of the place, the original site having been a stony waste, and all the soil having been brought from the valley back of the town. In fact, the whole city stands on a barren, sandy cliff, the business portions lying along the beach, and the residences stretching away up the face of the cliff to "the hill." There is a strong rivalry existing between Port Elizabeth and Cape Town as to which shall have the lion's share of the importing trade of the colony. The former is more advantageously situated for the interior trade, but unfortunately has no docks for shipping, and is exposed to the prevailing southeast gales.

Great sums of money have been spent in the construction of a breakwater, which it was fondly hoped would form a refuge for ships during the heavy storms. But before it could be finished it proved itself useless, for the sand would "silt up" on the lee side, until it threatened to form a wide strip of beach between the landing place and the sea. All goods are landed by means of lighters, which are either unloaded at the jetty, or are driven on sh.o.r.e as near as practicable, and moored head and stern, when their contents are taken out by Kafirs, who, stripped almost naked, wade out in twos and threes, and carry the bales and cases on their heads. Sometimes a heavy wave comes in, throwing them off their feet, and causing precious freight to fall into the water and be broken to fragments. The merchant who deals in perishable articles thus runs great risks.

A number of large warehouses lie close to the water's edge, where all goods, as soon as landed, are received, to be sent up the country by ox-wagon or mule train. This will be done by the railway on its completion. A sea wall has been built a mile along the sh.o.r.e southwest of the jetty, and forms, in fine weather, a most delightful promenade, but, being away from the fashionable quarter of the town, is seldom patronised by the swells.

There are a large number of German residents representing foreign houses in Port Elizabeth, who form a society of their own. They have built for themselves a fine club-house in grey stone, costing many thousands of dollars, which would do honour to any Continental city, and have some handsome residences.

"Society" in Port Elizabeth endeavours to be very select. We attended several social gatherings, and found the citizens, as a rule, large-hearted, hospitable people, always glad to give a hearty and warm reception to the stranger within their gates.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

One of the most interesting objects in Port E--is the Donkin Memorial, a pyramidal monument erected on the first ledge of the hill by Sir Thomas Donkin to the memory of his wife Elizabeth, who died off this point on ship-board while on her way from India, and after whom the town is named.

A signal station is built by the side of the brick pyramid, and the fine open stretch of green turf which surrounds it and overlooks the sea forms a pleasant promenade at all seasons of the year. There are several well-edited newspapers, the _Herald_ being the most enterprising and the leading one, excelling in matter and printing any of the Cape Town journals, excepting the _Cape Times_, edited by the genial and popular Mr Murray. Although Port Elizabeth has not the fine harbour and docks of Cape Town or the beautiful suburban surroundings, still a more energetic spirit exists in the business community, and the style of entertaining is on a far more liberal scale than in the latter place.

As in most South African towns, a place is set aside for the black people at the upper end of the town.

There they live, coming down to the stores and beach in the morning, and returning to their respective kraals at night. Several tribes are represented among them, and they form separate kraals, keeping themselves as distinct as though they were of a different species, although it would trouble most people to tell the difference between a Gaika and a Fingo, or a Zulu.

The Fingoes, who have in all the Kafir wars been the white man's ally, are cordially hated by the other Kafirs, who fight with them continually. The quarrel on one occasion during the latter part of our stay a.s.sumed such a threatening aspect that the town was alarmed for the consequences. For nearly a week not a Kafir came to the town, and it was rumoured that the Gaikas had grievously routed the Fingoes and were preparing to make a night raid on the town to ma.s.sacre the inhabitants.

It was at a time when the whole country was disturbed, there being two or three tribes at war with the colonists on the eastern borders. The report was then easily credited, and every available measure was taken for the protection of the inhabitants and to prevent surprise, the local volunteer corps being under arms for several days.

One Sunday night we in the town could hear them singing their peculiar war chant, and such wonderful precision have they in time that the mighty chorus from the thousands of voices came down to us like the beating of a great heart. The effect of their deep melodious voices, as they rolled out on the moonlit midnight air in a great wave of sound, was weird and fearsome to a degree. We could not tell whether their fury might not rise to such a pitch as to send them rushing down upon us like naked fiends, yelling, stabbing, and spearing. But they seemed to be satisfied with a little bloodshed among themselves, and the Gaikas and Fingoes, after a few days, resumed their work on the beach and in the store side by side.

But the alarm brought home to the colonists the danger existing in their midst. The black population outnumbers the white throughout the colony by almost six to one. In the town it is quite three to one, and a general uprising under an intelligent head could not but result in the total annihilation of every white face in the country. The colonists never seem to think such a contingency likely, relying on the internal dissensions between the different tribes and the moral force the white man seems to possess over the untutored black man.

After remaining in Port Elizabeth seven months, we held a family conclave and came to the conclusion that we did not wish to leave the country until we had tried the climate of the Orange Free State, which we had heard lauded to the skies. So we bade adieu to Port Elizabeth, thinking it a very pleasant place to visit, and taking a parting look at the sea, we were whirled away to Grahamstown. From here we left by railroad for Cradock, a town some sixty miles east. Like Grahamstown, Cradock is the centre of a large wool-gathering district, and is laid out in boulevards and watered streets. It is situated on the Great Fish River, over which there is a fine stone bridge. It is at least forty feet above the surface of the water, which, at the time of our visit, flowed slowly between its arches in a sluggish stream, some fifty feet wide. Several years ago, after heavy rains up country, the river became suddenly so fierce, rapid, and swollen that the whole structure, solid as it was, was swept away by the first wave, which is described as advancing, with little or no warning, like a solid wall of water, fifty feet high. There is a Dutch Reformed Church, a well-built Town Hall, and a few houses and stores, with a population of three to four thousand inhabitants.

We had experienced so many discomforts in our previous journeys by coach that we resolved here to have no more of it. So we provided ourselves with a comfortable and roomy Cape cart and four strong horses to make the journey up country, and we were prepared for once to take things easy. When travelling by coach one has no alternative between pressing right on, or waiting over in a dreary village for a week, until the next coach pa.s.ses through. But with your own cart you can do as you like, going or staying, as pleases the fancy.

Pa.s.sing some of the villages we had been through by coach, in a few days we had reached the Orange Free State, more frequently called simply "Free State." Our introduction to this thinly populated upland region was not calculated to put us in the best of humours, either with the country or our tired selves. We remained long enough to find out there were many things of interest about it. The Free State is embraced within the boundaries of the Vaal and Orange Rivers, and was first settled by the Dutch farmers, who had emigrated from the Cape Colony; the farms are very large, and by no means all occupied.

About nine o'clock one night we stopped to give our horses a rest at a miserable house built of mud bricks. On either side of the door was a small window, in one of which was a sputtering candle. The house was occupied by Dutch people, but as it did not look sufficiently inviting to tempt me out of my seat even for a change, some coffee was brought out by a daughter of the family; a girl of sixteen. In the moonlight her face was very pleasing, and on asking her a question she answered in such pure English that we asked where she learned to speak so correctly.

She replied that she had learned at the English school in Bloemfontein, called the "Home," belonging to the Church of England. She was so bright and chatty, yet modest withal, and her surroundings so wretched and uninviting, that I thought the educational inst.i.tutions of B--must be something superior to those usually found in the colony, which, on further knowledge, proved to be true.

When we reached the brow of the hill overlooking the town of Bloemfontein, we saw with pleasure, under the bright moonlight, the town filled with fine trees and gardens. As we drove through we pa.s.sed large buildings of both church and state which would not be excelled in any town of the United States of double the size.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

We at last reached a cool, inviting-looking hotel, and we thoroughly enjoyed that well-served dinner laid before us on clean linen and bright silver, the delicious viands seeming all the better for our temporary deprivation. If any one troubled with dyspepsia should travel for three months through Africa, and live as the people do, never hurrying, and occasionally getting a jolting in a long coach ride, his would soon be a forgotten malady.

Bloemfontein, being the seat of government, is by far the largest, best, and most important town in the Free State. It is a very pretty town, well planted with trees, the streets wide, the houses well built, and an air of cleanliness pervading everything. It nestles at the base of a long, low mountain, one of a range of hills that fade away in the distance and form a pretty picture in the red and golden tints thrown by the rays of the setting sun. It looks like a pretty toy town.

Many of the leading men both here and elsewhere through the country are Germans, and excellent colonists they make. To be sure, we found a number of adventurers of the same nationality of a totally different sort, agitators and demagogues. There are, indeed, many who say that it is owing to the German element in the Transvaal that the dissensions existing in the country are directly owing. But the greater number are good citizens, readily adopting the country and state in which they live as their own, and training up their children to protect its interests.

An enterprising German is the leading dry goods merchant in this upper country. His storerooms were stocked with merchandise, from hardware to the finest laces. His home was in the midst of well-kept grounds, laid out like a park, in which were planted many Australian gum trees. These are trees which, with a little care, grow thriftily and to a great height wherever they are planted in Africa.

On one of our drives in the neighbouring country we drove to the farm of the merchant, and chanced to meet him there. He had planted hundreds of young trees on his large farm, mere saplings. We remarked, "Why do you pay so much attention to the planting of these slips of trees? They grow so slowly they will never give much shade during the lifetime of any of us."

"Well, well," he replied, "the children of the next generation may come out here from B--and enjoy their picnics under the trees I have planted for them." We found the same spirit among most of the German land-owners. They propose for the sake of their children to make no mistakes.

Among the first settlers were German missionaries, who have in time ama.s.sed wealth and founded schools, built churches, and a.s.sisted in making the laws of this successful little republic. The town is largely given over to educational and religious establishments. The English Episcopal and Roman Catholic churches have each a bishopric and a cathedral. The former is very active, particular attention being paid to the college and schools attached to it. One of the inst.i.tutions connected with the English church is the "Home," carried on by the sisters of the church, who come from England to a.s.sist in the schools and hospitals, most of them being ladies of fortune and culture. The good that has been effected through them and their inst.i.tutions cannot be computed by figures. They dress like the French sisters of the Roman Catholic Church. Although every now and then one of them marries, as a rule they do not marry. They live lives of strict self-denial.

The Roman Catholic Church is a large structure, with a convent and school attached. We listened to an excellent sermon here during the visit of the Bishop, and heard some good music, as the tenor brother had a fine voice, and travelled, it was said, with the Bishop. The nuns'

voices were very sweet, one especially having such a sad, plaintive tone that it made the listener wish to see the face hidden behind the grating.

Many English visitors go to Bloemfontein for the benefit of their health, but they do not look so robust nor gain strength as quickly as persons who have been six months in the Transvaal. The fine climate of that country, if sought in time, is almost a certain cure for any lung disease or asthmatic trouble. The dry climate of this upland region cannot be too highly extolled, and the best way to gain the full benefit of it is to try the primitive mode of travelling by ox-wagon. This, however, should be done as comfortably as possible, and during the dry season. The hotels in Bloemfontein and the Transvaal are so superior in point of comfort and table to those in the colony that they are greatly appreciated by the tired invalid. Our hotel parlour had a fine Brussels carpet on the floor, tinted walls, comfortable and handsome furniture, a Bimsmead piano, and lace curtains.

During the several hot months we were there we had an opportunity of studying the characteristics of the Dutch Boer, who is met with in this part of the country in his primitive state. The Africander Boer is usually a tall, lanky, narrow-chested individual, with black hair, straggling beard and whiskers, cautious, suspicious, and undemonstrative, his countenance expressing little imagination and his body great physical endurance. He is never quarrelsome if it can be avoided; he is as shrewd at a bargain as any Scotchman, and in all his dealings displays an odd mixture of cunning and credulity. His contradictory history, however, makes it difficult to determine whether he is a brave man or the reverse.

He is usually dressed in a yellow cord jacket, vest and trousers, with a flannel shirt, and veldt _schoen_ (low shoes of untanned leather with no heels), the whole surmounted by a broad-brimmed slouch hat with a green lining. When he wishes to be particularly fine, as, for instance, when he goes a-courting, he sticks an ostrich feather in his hat, squeezes his long feet into a pair of patent leather congress gaiters, and encases his legs in showy leather leggings. He then mounts a horse that "_kop-spiels_," gets into a new saddle with a sheepskin saddle cloth, and imagines himself just lovely!

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.