Part 3
A shooting story told by Mr. Carl Jeppe in “The Keleidoscopic Transvaal.” Mr. D. S. Mare, magistrate of Zoutpansberg, was out lion shooting with the late Barend Vorster, a mighty hunter before the Lord. A lioness had been wounded, driven out of cover, and stood at bay. The landdrost jumped off his horse, fired, and missed. It was now Vorster’s turn, since there was not time for his friend to reload. In dismounting, Vorster dropped his watch and stopped to pick it up. The lioness seemed about to charge, and Mare urged his friend to shoot. Vorster replied grumblingly that the glass of his watch had been broken. “Never mind that now; the lioness is ready to spring,” Mare replied. “Do you know,” said Vorster, “I shall have to send the watch to Pretoria, and that it will cost me five shillings to get it repaired?” “Good heavens,” cried the magistrate, “don’t you see you have not a moment to loose?” “It’s all very well for you to talk,” Vorster replied; “it’s not your watch that is broken!” At last, however, he fired, and with unerring aim gave the lioness the _coup de grace_.
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The following is an exact copy of a letter written by a half-educated Kaffir in the De Beers Diamond Mine Compound to his sweetheart outside:--
Dear Miss Judea Moses,--My dear, I am take this lettle time of write you this few lines hoping that it will find you in a good state of health, as it leaves me here in the Compound My dear Girl I am very sorry that you did not write my ansert back My dear Judea Moses be so kind and let me know how it is with you my dear girl I mean to say you must cry out and shout thou in the habitant of Zion, for great is the holy one of israel My dear Miss Judea i glided by lawns and grassy plots My dear friend please andswer me as soon as you get this letter My dear oft in sadness or in illness I have watched thy current glide till the beauty of its stillness overflowed me like a tide I steal my lawns and grassy plots I slide by hazel covers i move the sweet forget-me-nots that grow for happy lovers My dear darling miss J. Moses Here I shall drup writing with Best loves good By 2222 kisses to youe.
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Two middies, many years ago, returning to Simonstown from Cape Town, where they had been on a jaunt, arrived one dark night at Muizenburg. It was too late and too dark to continue their journey, so they put up at an inn known as “Father Peck’s.” When the bill was presented to them the following morning they discovered they had no money. “We’ll paint you a signboard,” they said to the landlord. This they did, adding the following lines:--
Multum in parvo, pro bono publico, Entertainment for man and beast all of a row. Lekker kost as much as you please, Excellent beds without any fleas. Nos patriam fugimus now we are here, Vivamus, let us live by selling beer. On donne a boire et a manger ici, Come in and try, whatsoever you be.
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“Piet, my vrouw” is the name of a well-known South African bird, which owes its name to the following incident:--Le Vaillant, the French traveller, and a Hottentot named Piet, were out shooting, and Le Vaillant shot and killed a female bird. Piet brought up the bird. “Go back,” said the Frenchman, “to the spot where you found this bird, for surely there you will find its mate.” Piet weepingly asked to be excused. “Please, Baas, I cannot fire at the male bird.” “Go--I insist!” said Le Vaillant. “No, no, Baas!” pleaded Piet. “And why not?” demanded Le Vaillant. “Well, Baas,” explained Piet, “no sooner did I shoot the female when the male bird began to pursue me with great fury, continually repeating, ‘Piet, mij vrouw! Piet, mij vrouw!’”
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In 1883 Judge Burgers was presiding over the Circuit Court at Lydenburg, when the proceedings were interrupted by the persistent crowing of a cock in the neighbourhood of the Court. The judge was visibly annoyed, but took no action for some time. The crowing, however, becoming more persistent, he stopped the proceedings and ordered the Sheriff to bring the offending bird before the Bench. This was done, and the learned judge, with due solemnity, sentenced the bird to death for contempt of court. The sentence was immediately carried into effect by the Sheriff wringing the creature’s neck.
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There was once a landdrost whose knowledge of law was very small. On one occasion an attorney practising in his Court quoted Van der Linden.
“Who was he?” asked the landdrost.
“A great authority on Roman-Dutch Law,” was the reply.
“That law may do for his Court,” replied the landdrost solemnly, “but I wish you to understand that I am landdrost here.”
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Sir Christopher Brand, Speaker of the Cape Parliament, and father of Sir John Brand, President of the Free State, was noted for his parsimoniousness. Early one morning Sir Christopher came to the telegraph office at Paarl Station to send a wire ordering the arrest of a man who was subsequently hanged for an atrocious wife murder. The clerk in charge was Mr. David MacKay Wilson, who afterwards became a prominent official in the service of the South African Republic, and the author of “Behind the Scenes in the Transvaal.” Mr. Wilson counted the words and announced that the cost of the message would be four shillings and six pence. Sir Christopher replied that he had no money on him, but would pay later. The office regulation as to pre-payment was inflexible, and was not to be relaxed. “I told him so,” says Mr. Wilson, “whereupon he used his persuasive eloquence upon me to such effect that I weakly consented to pay for the message out of my own slender salary.” And although Mr. Wilson made several attempts to obtain payment of the sum advanced by him, he was not successful in doing so. Four years afterwards, Mr. Wilson was stationmaster at Durban Road, and one day he was called upon by a gentleman to open the door of one of the carriages. He immediately recognised Sir Christopher, and in a spirit half-jocular, half-serious, reminded him of his debt. Sir Christopher ignored the reminder and demanded to be released, as it was imperative that he should see some one on the station. Mr. Wilson replied that he would not open the door until he received his four and sixpence. At this moment the train was moved on for shunting purposes, and the old Knight remained gesticulating and threatening at the window. On returning to the platform, Mr. Wilson approached the carriage and repeated his demand, when his peppery debtor consigned him to perdition, adding that he did not now require to get out, as it was too late. “I never got my four and six,” says Mr. Wilson, “but I forgive him the debt, feeling satisfied that I had got even with him.”
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Curious to relate, a member of the Brand family was once the cause of a catastrophe to Mr. Wilson. Sir John Brand and his suite were passing in a special train to Cape Town on his memorable visit to England. The regulations required that on such occasions the stationmaster should himself hold the Lever controlling the points. Mr. Wilson had just taken his position, when, looking in the direction of the fast approaching train, he saw to his horror his eighteen months old child sitting on the line playing with a piece of paper. Mr. Wilson left his position and went to the rescue. The train passed the points safely, and few but himself knew the horror that had been so narrowly escaped. The traffic manager, however, who accompanied the train, noticed that the points were unattended, and a few hours later Mr. Wilson was formally suspended by a telegraph message. An enquiry was held, at which Mr. Wilson pleaded guilty, and asked the chairman what he would have done under the circumstances. “I should have done as you did,” was the frank reply, and Mr. Wilson was acquitted and reinstated.
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When the scheme of supplying water to Johannesburg from the farm Wonderfontein was first mooted, the surrounding farmers protested against the scheme, urging that if the water were diverted from the river which runs on the farm they would suffer. It may be stated that there is a river which disappears into the earth on that farm. President Kruger was very desirous that the Wonderfontein scheme should go through, and, in order to prove to the farmers that they were mistaken in the assumption that Wonderfontein was the source whence they derived their water supply, he ordered a sackful of corks to be emptied into the well-like cave down which “Wonderfontein” disappears. “If this stream does come out on your farms,” said he, “the corks must come with it.” Of course, not a single cork was ever seen again, and the farmers were convinced and withdrew their opposition to the scheme. It is suggested that President Kruger well knew when he proposed the test that at the outlet of the stream was far below its surface, the corks would never pass through, but remain floating in the well.
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A young Hollander was, many years ago, appointed to a landdrostship in the country. He had no qualifications for the post, and was unacquainted with even the most rudimentary principles of Court procedure. Some wag pointed out to him that a great blunder had been perpetrated by his predecessor, inasmuch as there was no box for the prisoner in the Court, and it was pointed out to him that as the prisoner was always referred to as the “prisoner in the box,” if he was not in a box the conviction must fall to the ground through informality. The legal luminary on the Bench was not going to take any risks; he caused a gin case to be placed in the centre of the Court, and in that all prisoners or civil defendants had to stand before the business was proceeded with.
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The following story illustrates how very distrustful some Boers are of modern customs. A widow named Erasmus sold some farms to a financial firm for £110,000 cash. It was agreed that she should receive the money at the Pretoria branch of the National Bank. In due course she presented herself at the Bank, bringing with her a hand-bag to hold the money. When a cheque for the amount was handed to her, she returned it, saying that she had not travelled all the way to Pretoria for a piece of paper, and insisted on all the money being paid to her in gold. As all arguments proved unavailing, the manager agreed to let her have her own way. A bagful of sovereigns was emptied on the counter, and the old lady began to count them. She continued to do so for several hours, when she was informed she could not remain on the premises as the bank doors were to be closed; but she was obdurate, and refused to leave as she had only counted one thousand sovereigns, and feared that she would not see the balance of her money if she waited till the following day. At last the manager sent for Mr. T. W. Beckett, the well-known Pretoria merchant, thinking that the latter, being well acquainted with the farmers and their ways, would be able to convince her of her folly. Mr. Beckett was, however, not more successful than the manager. Mr. Beckett then offered his personal guarantee to pay her the money next day. This she accepted, preferring it to the security of the National Bank.
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When Mr. B. I. Barnato was a member of the Cape Parliament, he took part in a discussion on the Cape Liquor Law, which prohibits the sale of liquor on Sunday, unless the customer at the same time has a bona fide meal. In the course of his remarks he said:--“A few Sundays ago I walked some distance from Cape Town, for, being busily engaged in mentally reviewing the course of business of this Honourable House, I went on much further than I had intended without noticing the time. I at length retraced my steps, and being then both hot and thirsty, went into a decent and most respectable hotel for refreshment. I only wanted to quench my thirst, but, according to law, a drink could only be supplied as the accompaniment to a bona fide substantial meal. Mine host set before me a bottle of beer and a leg of roast pork. He had no other eatables. What was I to do? If I ate the pork, I broke the law of Moses, if I drank the beer without eating, I broke the law of the land. Between the Chief Rabbi and the Chief Justice I stood in a very awkward position.”
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Sir Starr Jameson’s power of inspiring affection amongst those with whom he has been brought into contact is exemplified in the following anecdote. His biographer (Mr. G. Seymour Fort), three days after the Raid, was buying fruit from a stall in Pretoria, and selected a particular bunch of grapes. “No, sir,” the woman replied, “you can’t have that; I am keeping the best I have for Dr. Jim,” and she went on to explain that he had cured her daughter in Kimberley, and that no sacrifice was too great for his sake.
Mr. Edmund Garrett tells a similar story of a groom who asked him for news of Dr. Jameson. Mr. Garrett said to him: “You seem to be greatly interested in Dr. Jameson.” “Interested!” said the groom. “Whatsoever ‘quod’ he gets, I’d gladly do half of it for him--that I would.” “This groom,” says Mr. Garrett, “had once broken his leg in a race at Kimberley, and the doctor had attended him in hospital. That was all.”
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Times have changed, but there was a time when the average Boer was unable to realise the magnitude of large figures. The representative of a Johannesburg syndicate was negotiating for the purchase of a farm in the Ventersdorp district. The owner asked for a preposterous sum. The financier then suggested that the amount of the purchase price should be as much gold as would cover a certain table in the room. To this proposal the farmer gladly agreed, and the financier covered the table with £12,000 in gold. This the farmer accepted, although the amount was about a quarter of the amount originally asked for.
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When the Dutch East India Company ruled at the Cape only the Dutch Reformed religion was allowed. Nevertheless, a wealthy Prussian farmer, Martin Melk--a friend of the Governor, Ryk Tulbagh--built a Lutheran church and parsonage. Whilst the buildings were in course of erection Melk was visited by Governor Tulbagh. “Mr. Melk,” said the Governor, “when I pass by that church which is building I shall shut the eye nearest it.” “Sir,” was the reply, “God Himself will close the eyes of the man who may not look at His building.”
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The late Mr. “Barney” Barnato was an excellent actor. On one occasion he was playing the part of the auctioneer in “The Octoroon” in the old Theatre Royal, Kimberley, and in the auction scene was holding the whole attention of the house, all silent, spell-bound. The bidding for the octoroon progressed until the 25,000 dollars call was reached, when the impressive silence which followed this fateful bid was broken by the eager, excited voice of a miner in the pit who could not repress his agitation or stay to remember that he was in a theatre: “I’ll bid 26,000 dollars.” Mr. Raymond says that the man instantly slunk back, ashamed of his enthusiasm, and the whole house roared, but the effect of the scene was utterly spoiled.
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On another occasion Barnato was playing Othello, and during the jealousy scene with Iago, a well-known broker and rival amateur named Benjamin Hart, seated in front, guyed him. The Othello coolly broke off in his speech, and, coming to the footlights, looked significantly at Hart, saying, “Benny Hart! Benny Hart! you just wait till I get through with this; I’ll make you laugh on the other side of the mouth.” He then coolly resumed his speech. Barnato had at that time the reputation of being the best amateur boxer in Kimberley, and Hart did not wait. He said he was in the habit of laughing on the right side of the mouth, and wasn’t keen about trying the left.
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The following story is an illustration of the ignorance which at one time prevailed in England regarding South Africa. A gentleman was preparing to start for the Cape when a friend came to him and said: “As you are going to Cape Town, you will meet my brother and perhaps you will kindly take him a small parcel from me.” “With pleasure; where does he reside?” “Oh! he is at Graaff Reinet, and mind you tell him that he’s to write and let us know how he is getting on!” Now, Graaff Reinet is nearly five hundred miles from Cape Town. It reminds one of the Irishman who enlisted in the 93rd Regiment because he had a brother in the 94th, and he wished to be near him!
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When Mr. Barnato first met Sir Henry Irving, he informed him that he had seen him in his first performance of Matthias in “The Bells.”
“I remember I played four characters that night,” said Irving.
“No,” said Barnato, in his usual quick, impetuous manner, “you played three.”
“Excuse me,” said Irving, “but surely you will admit that I ought to know.”
“I don’t care whether you ought to know or not, but you played three characters only; and I will give you, if you like, every entrance and exit you made that night.” Barnato then proceeded to give the details of the performance, and Irving admitted that he was right.
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Barnato himself gained a high reputation in Kimberley as Matthias. A very well-known South African was making a first visit to England and his friends, wishing to show him all the sights, booked seats for the Lyceum on a night when Irving was producing “The Bells.” “Oh, let’s go somewhere else,” said the colonist; “I have seen Barney Barnato as Matthias, and I do not want to see anyone else.” Barnato told this story to Irving, and the great actor replied: “Such is fame.”
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The military instinct is very strong amongst the Zulus. Bishop Colenso was once telling a Zulu chief named Pakade that he was busy translating the Lord’s Prayer into Zulu, and was laboriously endeavouring to awaken the chief’s interest in the project when the latter impatiently replied: “Yes! Yes! That is all very good, but how do you make gunpowder?”
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Mr. Barnato’s biographer, Mr. Harry Raymond, says that one evening after dinner at a well-known club an attempt was made to engage Barnato in a game of billiards with a good player with the intention of extracting some money from him in bets. Nothing loath--for he was fond of the game and played well, circumstances which were not known to the people there--an adjournment was made to the billiard-room. There every seat was rapidly filled up to watch the expected game, and his opponent said: “Shall we play for a fiver, Mr. Barnato?” “Yes, I don’t mind.” Several of those present then offered each to bet him a fiver he did not win. He gave a quick glance round, saw the eagerness for the fivers and a share in the spoil, and, turning to a friend who was with him, said: “Have you got any paper, Tom? Take everything they offer; I am going to make some money to-night. Put a fiver on for yourself--I shall win.” To the intense chagrin and disgust of the majority present, he did win, playing a very good game, and just running out with a little bit in hand.
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In the year 1825, when Mr. Nathaniel Isaacs, the famous traveller, was in South Africa, he visited the great Zulu King Chaka. The latter enquired about the state of the political affairs in Europe and other parts of the world. Having been told something of the extent of the British Dominion and the overthrow of the French Empire of Napoleon at Waterloo, ten years before, this half-naked barbarian complacently remarked: “Yes, I see now, there are only two great chiefs in all the world: my brother, King George--he is King of all the Whites; and I, Chaka--I am King of all the Blacks.”
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In the year 1851, Sir Harry Smith, then Governor of the Cape Colony, visited Kaffraria, the natives there being then in an unsettled condition. There was an old chief there named Macomo, who had always been a friend of the British. In the presence of a large assemblage of natives, Sir Harry placed his foot on the chief’s neck, in order to symbolise to the natives the power of the White Man. The old chief submitted to the humiliation, but when he raised his recumbent body from the earth, he said to the Governor: “Until now I thought you were a man!”
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Mr. Rhodes was not a church-goer, but strongly believed in religion as an influence for good. He was much impressed by the good work done by the Salvation Army. On one occasion, after a long interview with Mr. Bramwell Booth, the son of General Booth, he said to him: “Ah! you and the General are right; you have the best of me after all. I am trying to make new countries; you are making new men.”
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In 1896, whilst Dr. Jameson was in England and in failing health, Lord Grey, then Administrator of Rhodesia, received a telegram to the effect that Groote Schuur, Rhodes’s beautiful home in Cape Town, had been burnt down with most of its contents. Mr. Rhodes was then in Rhodesia; but Lord Grey, knowing how intensely Mr. Rhodes was attached to his home, shrank from breaking the news to him. At last, however, whilst they were out riding together, Lord Grey said gently: “Well, Mr. Rhodes, I am very sorry, but I am afraid I must give you a rather ugly knock.” Mr. Rhodes reined up his horse, and, turning to his companion, he exclaimed, his face livid, white and drawn with an agony of dread: “Good heavens! out with it, man! What has happened?” “Well,” said Lord Grey, “I am sorry to tell you that Groote Schuur was burnt down last night.” The tense look of anguish disappeared from Rhodes’s face. He heaved a great sigh, and exclaimed, with an inexpressible relief: “Oh, thank God, thank God! I thought you were going to tell me Dr. Jim was dead. The house is burnt down--well, what does that matter? We can always rebuild the house, but if Dr. Jim had died I should never have got over it.”
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Umbandine, the Swazi King, was very fond of game shooting, but growing too stout to indulge in active exercise, he would order his Kaffirs to drive the buck to the royal enclosure, where, from his customary seat, he would empty his rifle amongst them. On one of these occasions the King accidentally killed a Kaffir who had got into the line of fire, and afterwards he fined the widow twelve oxen because her husband had spoiled the royal sport!
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Before the court of a certain magistrate a Dutch-speaking witness was giving evidence. He was of the cock-sure type of witness often to be met with in the law courts. He had made some particularly emphatic statement, when the magistrate said: “Don’t be so dogmatic.” The interpreter translated the remark to the witness by telling him in Dutch: “The magistrate says you must not be so ‘hondachtig.’” Hondachtig is Dutch for “dog-like.”
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During the late war there was a Sister in the Pinetown military hospital called Baker. On one occasion, as she was going to have a day off, she left certain instruction with Sister H. about the patients under her charge. These instructions were overheard by one of the patients, who thereupon composed the following lines:--
SISTER’S DAY OFF.
There once was a Sister called Baker, Of beds she’s an excellent maker; She knows temperatures, too, And, between me and you, Is of medicines an excellent shaker.