[15th May - 21st July 1879]
CHAPTER 1
It was too cold to get much sleep and work recommencing at daylight we were glad to rouse up for breakfast, at which time the ship was steaming away down to Gravesend where powder was taken on board. Making a good run down the Channel, we were at Dartmouth the following day, and going on shore we bought those numerous articles which one is apt to forget and discover the want of the very first day at sea. Rambling on shore, we visited the grounds of the naval cadets and sauntering about the pretty Devonshire lanes, at a farmhouse we tried the famous junket and feasted on fresh bread and clotted cream for which this county is noted. The Royal Princes were then on board the Britannia, the training ship, and late that afternoon they came close alongside in the sailing launches, and we were much amused to see one of the instructors bouncing Prince George for careless steering.
The next day, 16th May, everybody was on board and at noon we started. There were several military men, belonging to every branch of the service, all of whom were burning with zeal to have a go at the Zulus, also a number of gentlemen with more pluck than money, who were going out to see if they could get a commission in Lonsdale’s Horse and similar corps that were being raised in Natal for active service; and the remainder was composed of the usual class of Cape passengers, a very fair sprinkling of Hebrews figuring among them.
At dinner that night great was the clamour of tongues in the saloon the chief topic being the proper manner in which operations against the Zulus would be conducted. The glass was going down steadily, however, and the ship was beginning to rise and dip again with a slow steady motion which caused many of the military men to carelessly throw overboard the half-smoked after-dinner cigar, and discussion of the war waxed fainter as men who a few moments before were in hot argument stole silently away until at last a bolder passenger publicly announced that he was beginning to feel sea sick and all the company similarly affected disappeared. We however were never put under contribution by Father Neptune and we remained on deck for some hours until the gale increasing made it unpleasant and we turned in.
For the next two or three days it was blowing a heavy gale and we saw nothing of our fellow passengers, and with Captain Howson and one or two more we had the saloon to ourselves. We were glad it began to moderate, however, for nearly all the livestock on deck was drowned, and on the Sunday the bright sun and clear bracing wind brought all the invalids on deck, although it was still too rough for Divine Service. We made a good run of 506 knots the following day and got into Funchal Harbour at Madeira on the 25th in the morning, which gave us time for a run on shore.
Of course we went to the Milet, the English Hotel and spent the hot part of the day smoking in the cool, shady verandahs of this famed rendezvous. Later in the afternoon we went around the town to see what there was to be seen and getting a quantity of bananas and other fruit in the market we got on board by 6 o’clock and sailed for the Cape again the same evening. To describe what we saw on the island would not be very interesting for if there is one spot that has been written about by the travelling public, by doctors and their patients, and visited by scores of Australians on their way out to the South, it is this Portuguese possession. What we did notice was the number of people who were in every stage of consumption, and we could not help feeling for a young English girl who, we learnt, was a recent arrival, and whose beautiful features, half-hidden by the semi-transparent curtains of her litter, showed the fatal scourge only too plainly. She was shopping with a sister and seemed to look very wistfully at her countrymen fresh from the land she would never see again.
We were much amused just before we sailed by the vagaries of one of our first saloon passengers. On approaching the island early in the evening, W. took upon himself the office of mentor. “Do not,” he said, addressing the groups of military men and other passengers, "Do not allow them to persuade you to taste any Madeira wine. It is frightfully poisonous stuff you will get, for all the genuine wine is in the hands of a few leading firms. Take my advice, don’t touch it.” Accordingly we all followed his advice, he being an old resident of the island, and carefully abstained from "real old Madeira.” But just as the ship was being cleared of the crowd of visitors from the shore with their various wares, including the well-known cane chairs, W. came alongside in a shore boat, with two Portuguese boatmen. He was very “happy” and presently it appeared there was going to be a row, for the boatmen demanded a preposterous fare, and refused to put him on board until they were satisfied. For nearly an hour the wrangle was kept up, until the sound of the engine-room bell to “stand by” frightened W. so much that he paid the exorbitant sum rather than miss his passage to the Cape. On getting on deck he was half-crying with vexation, and the men in the boat commenced to derisively bid him bon voyage which was too much for W. Catching sight of a sack of good sized potatoes, he commenced to bombard the shore boat, and the first shot landed fair on the eye of the biggest Portuguese, whose mockery was at once changed to impotent rage. Standing up, he shook his fist at W. who fired another, which, missing the object aimed at, caught the other man under the ear, who happened to be looking round at the moment. It was laughable to see the passion the two Islanders were in, and it turned out they knew W., who had resided at Madeira, and therefore promised to knife him when he came ashore again. The affair was stopped by the Chief Steward coming forward and angrily remonstrating with W. for throwing potatoes overboard. It appears that meeting one of the partners of a large firm of wine merchants, he went and cracked a bottle of the real article, which had the effect of making him very drunk. However, being put to bed, he came to no real harm. though noisy for a little while at being fleeced.
Life on board ship is rendered much pleasanter by all doing their best in this way to provide entertainment and the ship’s crew also contributed to the general fund of amusement by giving Christy Minstrel performances. Mr. Donald Currie’s ships are pleasant to travel in, officer and men remaining on the ship voyage after voyage and we found the Conway Castle no exception to the general rule.
On the 6th June we reached Cape Town, and went into the harbor. We found sad news awaiting us in the death of the gallant Prince Imperial of France. Many had seen him so recently, just before he left England and those who knew him personally had a great liking for the lad. He had been killed the day before we arrived, and all Cape Town was sincere in regrets. The town, we found on reaching the shore, was en fete to welcome Sir Bartle Frere who was returning after having been away in Natal. Sir Bartle had for a short time been unpopular, but now he was evidently in high favor. Triumphal Arches, Venetian poles, addresses, etc. were all to the fore, and the streets were crowded with the motley collection one finds at the Cape. Stout, square-built Dutchmen and their solid wives, Hottentot boys grinning from beneath the peculiar straw hats shaped like a cone that are so much used here – Malays and half-caste, in fact, every shade of race and complexion.
About 2 o’clock Sir Bartle Frere arrived at the railway station and a salute was fired. Rain beginning to fall cut short the addresses and “taking them as read” the Governor hurried to Government House. The ex-Indian official whose deeds have been so freely canvassed in connection with his policy while holding the reins of power in South Africa is a fine, handsome man, grizzled hair, and firm mouth with erect carriage. He looked born to hold high Imperial offices.
While we were at Cape Town a good deal of rain fell and the impression we received of the place was anything but favorable. The streets are not paved and there are hardly any sidewalks, making walking a very disagreeable thing in wet weather. We stayed at the St George hotel, and the best hotel of the Cape is one we do not wish to re-enter. There are a few good shops and some of the public edifices are fair, but Government House and the Theatre are miserable places for such an important colony. Table Rock at first sight everybody knows from the photographs and, indeed, a description of Cape Town would be anything but fresh reading. We tried to get horses to ride round the place, but horseflesh was very dear owing to the demand on account of the war, and none were to be hired.
Determined to see something we took the train to Wynberg and from there drove thirteen miles in a mail cart to Simon’s Bay to see some of our naval acquaintances. The rail runs through a very pretty district in Wynberg, with numerous ostrich farms on either side. The roads to Simon’s Bay are rough, especially going along the shores of Kalk Bay, and one has to hold on pretty tight to save being pitched out. The town of Simon’s Bay is, of course, small, as the place only exists on account of a minor naval victualling yard and the bay affording sheltered anchorage for men-of-war. The Active and Tenedos were the only ships there, and nearly all their officers and men were away at the front, bearing a distinguished part as the Naval Brigade; but those who were remaining welcomed us and made us hon. members of the Club. After dining at the British hotel we spent the rest of the evening at the Club and were up next morning at 6 o’clock ready to return to Cape Town. A hasty cup of coffee and we started off, arriving at Wynberg just in time to catch the train, which landed us at our destination at 11 o’clock
.
We were all eager for breakfast, and on reaching the St. George ordered it. Imagine our surprise when the proprietor informed us that the breakfast hour being past we must wait for luncheon at 1 o’clock, and except for biscuits we could get nothing else. The insolent manner in which we were refused quite confirmed the previous reports we had heard of the miserable style of the Cape Town hotels. But, no doubt, other Australians know quite as much as we do about Cape Town. If there is any enterprising man in search of a good opening for hotel business, let him go to Cape Town; he will find any number of customers in the military men alone who are compelled by fate to exist at this undesirable town.
Major Stabb, of the 32nd L.I., himself an old elephant hunter and a fellow-passenger to Natal, gave us some very useful hints, and while at Cape Town we bought numerous things by his advice, and two heavy muzzle-loading elephant guns for our men. They only cost £5 each and were worth the money. Our idea of going up the Zambesi, Lower and Upper Shire Rivers to LakeNyassa in search of elephants was looked upon as very risky work, more especially since neither horses nor cattle will live in that country and everything has to be done on foot. Most elephant hunters prefer to hunt on the back of a horse so as to have a better chance of getting away and we were told numberless stories of hunters who had been collared by wounded elephants and killed.
But the only place where we could get sport with elephants elsewhere was in the country behind Zululand. We could have travelled there with wagons but both Sir Bartle Frere and his Secretary, the Hon. W. Littleton, advised us not to go into the Matabele country while war was going on with the Zulu natives. Besides, round the shores of Nyassa was new ground, which gave some novelty.
On the 9th June we got aboard the Melrose, a small steamer of 500 tons belonging to the Donald Currie line and sailed that evening for Durban, Natal. Just before we started a large Government transport, the Ontario, sailed, preceding us by some three hours and directly we got clear of the land we found we were in for a regular duster in the way of a gale. All our military friends of the Conway Castle were on board, also going to Natal, and with them a captain in the 60th Rifles who had put a horse on board which he had bought at Cape Town. At midnight there was a tremendous sea on and this unfortunate animal was having a very bad time. By hard work the horsebox was shifted from forward and the charger slung in the box, but even then he was half drowned. About 3 in the morning a couple of heavy seas came right on board, and the second, breaking down through the saloon skylights terrified some of the passengers very considerably, several rushing out of their cabins in deshabille.
The morning, when it broke, revealed seas running, what is familiarly styled, mountains high, and the glass continuing very low, we spent a very uncomfortable day. Not a soul was visible at the dinner table and half the ship’s stewards were ill with seasickness too. Everybody was wretched, and even C was so ill that he thought he had thrown his stomach itself overboard. We passed numbers of horses and mules thrown overboard by the Ontario , which was ahead of us and she had made such bad weather of it that a good number of the cavalry and artillery remounts she had on board were killed or permanently injured. Colonel T., one of our passengers, who had forsaken the easy life in the Grenadier Guards for staff work in New Zealand had shipped two chargers in the Ontario and whenever a dead horse went by close to the ship glasses and binoculars would be levelled at the dead brute and the chorus go up “by Jove! There’s that back horse of yours,” or ”I’ll swear that’s the chestnut with the blaze.” Horseflesh was at such a high price at Cape Town, while in Natal fabulous prices were demanded owing to the war that it was a serious thing losing the services of a horse for a month.
All this day the gale continued and the seas need not have surprised us for off the Agulhas bank the rough waves are notorious all the world over. On the 11th in the evening we passed two water spouts, one of them remarkably thin, and about 10 o’clock we rounded Cape St. Franc and went into Algoa Bay where we found the Tayworth Castle lying and without anchoring we put the Port Elizabeth mails and passengers on board her and sailed again by midnight.
The following day, although the heavy swell made the Melrose roll about very uncomfortably, the day was so fine that all our passengers came on deck, and the day after we reached the town of East London. The port, which has assumed this pretentious title, is not of very great importance at present, but its inhabitants believe, in common with the dwellers in many other towns, that some day it will be of some note. It is divided into East-East London and West-East London and the one port has as much of a down on the other as many Australian towns that are similarly divided. The ridicule of Durban, Port Elizabeth, and other South African ports does not disturb the equanimity of the East Londoners who flourish the name of their town ostentatiously in the face of all opposition. Why Durban or Port Elizabeth should sneer at the town taking the name is perhaps to be wondered at for “what is in a name?” But the municipality should draw the line at having any streets named East Street or West Street for it does seem absurd to have a letter addressed to East Street East-East London or West Street West East London. What, however, will always be against this place is the tremendous surf which sometimes makes landing impractical for weeks together and the anchorage is so much exposed that no less than 17 vessels had put to sea when the gale we met came on rather than remain where they were.
A large amount of money has been sunk trying to build a pier and breakwater designed by Sir John Coode, but the surf has had its own way, and as fast as a little work has been down the following week has seen it all washed away and when we were there operations were indefinitely postponed. On our arrival we found the large mail steamer Durban, and another steamer, the AltonTowers, both belonging to the Union Steamship Company, had been lying at their present anchorage for ten days, unable during that time to communicate with the shore except by signal owing to the heavy surf. We however put the mails on board the Durban and also what passengers we had for the place who had the pleasing prospect of rolling from side to side in that ship for another week in close proximity to the spot to which they had journeyed for many thousands of miles to reach, and then we put to sea once more.
We did not reach Durban the next day, although hopes were entertained that we should do so. It was intensely hot and the day cloudless. Field glasses were in great demand to reconnoiter the coast. We were not a mile off and inland we saw “kraals”, Kaffirs and their cattle. The pasturage seemed very abundant, but coarse, just suited for cattle, in fact. The low hills came rolling down in regularly diminishing waves to the sea and then up and down the coast as far as one could see was a shimmering white, broad, unbroken line of surf. It was almost worth while to travel this distance to see the surf alone. Soon after midnight we anchored amidst a large number of vessels, including men-of-war, troopships, chartered transports, and merchant ships of all kind “assisting” in the Zulu war. Among the men-of-war was Shah (Captain Bradshaw) which had played a plucky part not long before in an engagement with the Peruvian Ironclad Huascar off the South American coast. Captain Bradshaw, it will be remembered, was on his way home to England with his ship when, calling in at St Helena he heard of the disastrous reverses to the British forces at Isandlhawana. Taking all the available troops in the island on board he started on his own responsibility for Natal, and after her arrival no men earned a better name for pluck, endurance and good conduct than the gallant tars of the Shah did while they were in the colony.
We turned out early the next morning, breakfasting at half past 6, and then we all got into a small steam tender to go on shore. Between the anchorage and the harbor there is a very nasty bar, and it is no joke crossing it in rough weather. In really bad weather it is impregnable. When we crossed, it was considered as being in a good humor. We steamed into a channel marked with buoys and through broken water. Several rollers washed right on board, and the way they knocked our little steamer about made one think for a moment that she was about to capsize and deliver us over to the tender mercies of the swarming sharks, the dorsal fins of which are very visible now and again on the back of a roller. Often it is necessary to go below, and then the hatches are put on and in the darkness you are “well mixed” and “thoroughly incorporated” – as the chemists say – with your neighbors until the bar is crossed; that is if you don’t capsize – a miserable fate which is not unknown.
Entering the harbor at high water the first impression is favorable, and the stranger thinks he is gazing upon a magnificent land-locked expanse of water fit to anchor a fleet in, but like everything else in connection with Natal the harbor is a regular fraud. Wait until low water, and the whole place is full of sandbanks and you now understand why the ships are anchored ahead of each other. They are in the channels which are narrow and shallow. Of course the harbor could be dredged and made into a good one, and a deep channel made over the bar, but it would spoil the business of the shipping agents who literally coin money with their exorbitant charges for carrying passengers and cargo out to the anchorage, the trip occupying some ten minutes. On reaching the landing place at “Point” – the name of the spot where all the wharves are – we landed amongst a motley crowd of coolies from India, Natal Zulus, Malays, niggers from all parts and soldiers and nearly all the wharves were covered with the materiel of the forces. Here were piles of shell and shot, there flour by the ton. cases upon cases of tinned provisions, acres of forage and packing cases innumerable. Most of the coolies were wearing old uniform tunics and looked grotesque with nothing else on but cloths around the middle. Many of the other two-legged beings had gone in for gorgeously colored handkerchiefs round their heads, necklaces of beads, fillets of the latter around the brow, feathers in the hair, rings in the side of the nose, and most striking of all, immense earrings of all kinds through the lobe of the ear. Some of the earrings were very large, a common one being in the shape and size of a large Havannah cigar, made of some dark-grained wood and highly polished, Others wore big brass buttons for earrings with bunches of colored worsted or beads attached. One man had made small insertions in a straight line down the side of his face and drawn the skin over some kind of bead, causing the appearance of a “bead pattern” which was peculiar, if not particularly beautiful.
The married Zulus were easily distinguished by the head-dress appertaining to those in that blissful state, and consisting of a leather ring – like the ring-bolt of a gun carriage – running round the head, the space enclosed being shaved as clean as a Holy Friar’s poll. Most of the natives run about here with a short stick with a knob at one end, and several have assegais.
Getting hold of our portmanteaux we drove up about one mile to the town and put up at the Belgrave Hotel, kept by Mr, Fry erstwhile Chief Steward of one of the Union Company’s steamers. Should the evil genius of any of our readers carry them to Natal, when they land at Durban, which they perforce must do, let them put up at this place. It is clean and well kept, but still more strange for Natal, its proprietor does not try to swindle you. Archibald Forbes, the special correspondent, never penned truer words than when he wrote that the people of Natal were the “riddlings of creation”. We certainly found them the biggest rogues out in our dealings with them.
The hotel is surrounded by a garden full of tropical plants with tree ferns of some size. A low-spreading tree, which we were told was a native of Mauritius, was noticeable by reason of the pretty effect caused by its leaves turning a vivid scarlet color which is intense when the sun shines on it. Some of the leaves of one in the garden of the hotel were green, with numbers of scarlet ones spangled among them and it looked pretty and uncommon. Unfortunately we quite forgot to get seeds of this plant. We generally made it a rule to get seeds of anything that struck us as being uncommon in the horticultural line and some we have brought away with us in several instances turned out remarkably well in both England and Australia.
CHAPTER 2
Durban is a thriving town with about 6,500 inhabitants, and every year is increasing in importance. It reminds one of an Australian township except that the vegetation in the gardens and public parks are much more advanced, but it is terribly dusty and nothing is done apparently to improve the streets, which in some places are ankle deep in sand of a fine penetrative nature. Gas is as yet unknown, lampposts are erected and oil lamps are put into them.
We had a few letters of introduction and among them one to Mr. Vause, the mayor, who paid us every attention. We were made honorary members of the Durban Club, which is a very comfortable little place, and where we met many of our naval and military acquaintances.
The Durban ladies do their best to enliven one of the most unsociable colonial towns in existence, but it is very hard work. Such a number of people exist in Natal who are, to say the least of it, rather odd, that of society such as one meets in Melbourne or Sydney there is absolutely none; and at the garden parties we were invited to, and at the dances, nearly everyone was connected directly or indirectly to the Government and the forces. Right outside the town there is a suburb known as the Berea and this is the aristocratic quarter. The Durban cemetery is a fine enclosure with numerous well-grown trees and nice walks, but when we saw it, it was sadly in want of a little attention. It might easily be made a very pretty place. The tombstones were, as might have been expected, very moderate, the largest and best being the ones erected to the memory of the Hon. W. Stanger, who seems to have received a public monument for his services.
About a mile and a half from the hotel we were at was the encampment for the troops, the depots of various regiments, the headquarters of the native contingent and other irregular forces. The public gardens are small, but fairly kept. The public offices are very moderate and when we arrived were all barricaded in expectation of the Zulus after Isandlhawana. Loopholes were cut in the walls of the Post Office, etc. and the roof protected with sandbags placed in such a manner to permit a vigorous resistance to be made. There are two Clubs, the Durban and the New Club, the latter an offshoot of the former and both of them are comfortably kept. There are two newspapers in the town and a theatre, which, however, was never opened by any company while we were there, so the place was never visited. There is a railway from the Point to the town and it runs on to Pietermaritzburg, the capital of the colony.
While we were at Durban the war with Cetawayo was going on actively and Ulundi had yet to be fought. Captain Carey had just been put under arrest for trial by court martial for his conduct in connection with the Prince Imperial’s death. This unlucky officer just then had very few friends and in the Clubs it was considered that he would be shot for a certainty. Opinions always will be divided as to whether he behaved properly or not, but in his favor it should be remembered that he had been under fire before and was considered a cool, plucky soldier, and if there is any truth in the assertion that breeding shows itself his grandfather, Admiral Sir Jahleel Brenton was one of the most gallant sailors of Lord Nelson’s days, and was repeatedly severely wounded while Captain Carey’s brother has been awarded the Royal Humane Society's medals, with clasps for saving life at sea on three different occasions, under circumstances of peculiar gallantry. Possibly most of those who talked so bravely of what they would have done would have behaved just as “judiciously” as Carey!
The troops we saw struck us as being very youthful, in fact they were all boys, and there was a great lack of the stalwart bronzed soldier that used to be even prior to the days of the short service. The 57th, which had been abroad some years and had come from Mauritius when all Natal was in a fever for fear the victorious Zulus would sweep down on them, was the finest body of soldiers that we saw. The Naval Brigade belonging to the Shah and Active beat the soldiers hollow for stamina, good conduct, and, it must be added, steadiness in action. Dr.W. H. Russell, the well-known war correspondent, brought a great deal of odium down upon himself by statements of the gross misconduct of the troops quartered in towns and on the march. We never saw any of it personally although we rambled about at all hours, but we frequently read in the different Natal papers of cases of violent assault committed by the soldiers. One day it would be four men of the 87th who had dragged a gentleman off his horse and, robbing him, left him senseless; or some men belonging to the 3rd Buffs had broken into a house and committed an audacious robbery. These tales could be multiplied but there is no pleasure in dwelling upon the conduct of Regiments which Dr. Russell fully exposed. On 28th of June Sir Garnet Wolseley arrived from England to take supreme command, and landed at the wharf while we were down there. This extremely lucky General is small and spare and although young, shows in his face, which is deeply lined, and his iron-grey hair, the effects of various and anxious service in different climes, from China to Canada and from Gold Coast to Natal.
We passed the enforced stay at Durban in various ways. A cricket match came off between the Durban Club and the visitors, which was largely patronised by the good people of the town. C. carried his bat out in both innings but the Club won. The camp also received frequent visits from us, where we had many friends. An hour could often be wiled away watching the performances of recruits for the Irregular Horse on half-broken steeds. The horses never were able to get up much of an exhibition of buck-jumping, but the efforts, such as they were, to unseat their riders were oftener successful than not! On another occasion an amusing adventure befell one of us. We were persuaded by a gentleman of the name of Duff to go down to the Bay for a sail in a boat, of whose sailing powers wonders were related. On getting down we found it was blowing very fresh with prospects of coming on to blow harder. C. declined very wisely to trust himself in the frail vessel he saw, which was a very lightly built Bermuda skiff with a peculiar fore-and-aft sail and a mizzen-sail, However, K.H. and his friend started, and before they had got well away from the pier a squall nearly capsized the boat, half filling her with water, and at every roll she took in more; there was nothing for it but to down sail and to bale out as fast as possible, which they accordingly did. The pier was away to windward, and stepping the mizzen in the place of the main sail which did not reef, they endeavored to get back, but without avail, as there were no oars whatever in the boat. Duff had lost his hat overboard – one that he prized as a memento of the war, as it was all he escaped from Isandlawana with – and his desire to recover his helmet was intense. After futile efforts in that direction, and finding the squalls getting harder, while the boat took more water on board than ever, they decided to run away with the wind behind, and try to fetch some merchant ship, and K.H. accordingly steered right across the bay while Duff baled away might and main, with a red handkerchief tied around his head. The first vessel they were so far off in passing, that no one could hear their shouts. In the rigging of the next a man was engaged in repairs, and hearing their cry he looked at them, but seeing Duff gesticulating with rage, he concluded it was all a joke and let them drift past in spite of their shrieks.
It should be remembered that a very nasty peculiarity about Durban Harbor is the multitude of sharks that swarm all over the place. Still more formidable a danger was the bar, which, if a boat gets on it is a certain case. Fortunately an empty lighter was anchored ahead of them in the line they were drifting, and as they passed, so anxious was Duff to feel himself safe that he jumped on to the mooring chain and with the rising and falling of the lighter in the waves he was unable to pull himself on board. K.H. had got on board safely over the stern, and before going to Duff’s assistance, who was indulging in gross profanity, hanging on to the chain with his neck only out of the water, and every plunge of the lighter sending him under, made the skiff fast. After spending a very cold couple of hours, wet to the skin, on board the lighter, during which time the skiff sank astern, they were taken off by a boat which, in consideration of a sovereign, on account of the rough seas, agreed to take them to the ship it came from, and after waiting for some time on board the vessel they got on “terra firma” again.
We met a Mr. Belville at Durban who was with the late Captain Faulkner of the 17th Lancers when the latter was shooting up the Shire River. From some difference with Faulkner Mr. Belville was compelled to go away by himself down to the coast again in a canoe. The natives in the canoe, seeing that he had no calico to pay them with enticed M. Belville to land in mid-stream on one of the floating islands met with on the Zambesi River, and then deserted him. The unfortunate man drifted along down the river for days before he received assistance, and for sixteen days he had to perform a most rigid though involuntary fast on his island some twenty yards across. He assured us that he chewed the leather off his boots to allay his hunger; the Zambesi being fresh enough he had not to suffer the pangs of thirst. An amusing fact was the meal he made of a mate’s certificate he held from the Board of Trade. We received some useful information from Mr. Belville, who strongly advised us to purchase a boat to take with us on the lake, and following his advice, we bought a very nice 22 foot gig, strongly built, from the Captain of a merchant ship called the Umzinto for £22, including, mast, sails, oars, etc. We christened her the Bella and she served us very well during our trip.
The agent of the Union Company advised us not to wait for the mail if time was of value to us, and offered to procure a small vessel to take us up to Quilimane with all our belongings. They stated, when they saw we were inclined to listen to the proposal, that there was always a difficulty in landing passengers at Quilimane and we at last agreed, when they assured us for a positive fact that the steam tender belonging to the Portuguese was away at Mozambique and we should find great difficulty in getting on shore without her. The barque Mary Evans, a Welsh ship, which happened to be lying in the harbor waiting for some cargo, was engaged by the agent who did not behave at all well about this matter. They first of all deceived the captain of the barque by assuring him that he would, with their introduction, easily obtain a cargo for Natal at Quilimane and they told us that after trying everywhere a vessel could not be got for less than £150, which, however, they eventually reduced to £130. After some demur on our part, anxious to get away without losing any more valuable time we consented, and the barque was chartered by the Union Company’s agents, acting as our agents, from the agents of the Captain. We paid £50 in gold and £80 in two bills, one for £30 and the other for £50, both payable at sight in London. It was not until some time after that we found the agents of a company so respectable as one assumes the Union Steamship Company to be, had calmly pocketed the gold, which of course was at a premium just then in Natal, given the Captain’s agent the £30 bill, and the £50 bill to the Captain. The latter never knew that we had paid £130 for this trip at the time, and we never imagined that the Captain had not received the bulk of the money less the usual charges. This was pretty smart practice, was it not? And it was only on a par with similar cases that came under our notice. One especially struck us as sharp dealings. A large transport, the America arrived at Cape Town from Rio with horses and mules for the war. Although short of water, the authorities ordered her round to Natal at once, and on arrival there the Captain went on shore to get water for his livestock. Seeing his extremity, the owners of the lighters refused to take water on board under £1 a cask for the carriage alone, thereby making a rich harvest. Up to that moment the Captain had performed the long voyage without losing a single head, and we had this story from his own lips. The Government were charged £5 a head for the use of the lighters in landing cavalry horses, ordinary means of landing them being unavailable, owing to the surf and to the bar. As the passage is well under half an hour, giving a good stretch, these charges were nothing more or less than swindles. Foreigners often were lost in astonishment that the authorities did not “requisition” what they required, paying reasonable rates, the same as any other nation would have done. It was particularly rough on the British taxpayer, who had the war forced upon him by the people of Natal, and was then fleeced when giving them the protection they screamed for across the seas. One of the agents told us that a single one of his small lighter was yielding him £25 per day out of the Government, and he didn’t care how long the war lasted. The Boer Rebellion must have been hailed as a Godsend by the cleanly living people of Natal who cry down the treatment of the native tribes by the Transvaal people.
Having decided to start at once we commenced on 30th June to get all of our impedimenta on board the Mary Evans, including our boat. We made several final purchases in the way of blue blankets, beads, etc. and tried to buy some gunpowder for our flintlocks, but the sale of gunpowder was interdicted, not more than one pound being allowed to be purchased at a time, and then only on receipt of a magisterial permit. Larger quantities could only be obtained by order of the Controller of Arms at Maritzburg, who, on our applying to him, firmly but politely refused. We also bought some flour and biscuits in Durban from a baker, who allowed us to have it at 27 shillings a bag. He told us he was turning out five tons of mixed biscuits per day for the Government and was making a fortune, and what we saw of his operations quite confirmed his statement.
The Mary Evans was at anchor close to the entrance waiting for the Harbor Master to have her sent out over the bar and after we had got everything on board her we had to wait for days before the ship could start, owing to there not being sufficient water on the bar. On 4th July we saw the Captain of the Port and begged him to let our ship go out first but in reply he stated she would not get out for three days more; and the same day a ship called the Tancred which was coming in with full cargo, got on the wrong side of the bar and proved a total loss. At last we were assured by Captain Evans, that we were to be on board on the evening of the 7th and that the ship would cross the bar the following morning, the Harbor Master had made the necessary arrangements, and the draught of water of the Mary Evans had been reduced considerably by throwing overboard some of her sand ballast. At 8 o’clock we went down to the wharf where the Captain had promised to send his boat to meet us, but after waiting for an hour, and thinking we had made some mistake, we borrowed an old boat which we found lying alongside one of the jetties, and accompanied by two friends who had come to see us off, we started off in the darkness in the direction we last saw the Mary Evans. The tide was ebbing very strong, and the old boat leaked so much, that one of us had to keep baling. Unknown to us the tide swept us right down to the mouth of the harbor when we got alongside a ship where they informed us that the Mary Evans had gone out that evening. They further advised us to be careful where we steered for, just as we shoved off, but the words of warning fell lightly on the ears of our party in blissful ignorance of the strength of the tide in the narrow neck-like entrance of the harbor. After pulling away leisurely for half an hour we found we were not even level with the ship we had just left, and not long after one of our party remarking that he thought he saw something white right astern of us, all eyes were turned in the same direction, and peering into the darkness we discovered to our dismay that we were drifting right on to the dreaded bar. To say that we were startled is a mild way of expressing what we all felt. Making sure we would be on the wharf again within twenty minutes, we had ceased to bale the old boat out, and the weight of water in her was what made her pull so heavily. Of course we rectified that as fast as possible, and re-doubled our exertions with the two oars we had. A happy thought struck one of us, which was to pull right across the tide as hard as we could, and try to reach the sand on the eastern side of the entrance, and as we were not very far off we luckily got the boat beached. If the tide had not been ebbing for some time we should have found this sand covered and might have had great trouble in getting away from the rollers on the bar, the sound of which gave us very different feelings now we were safe. We buried an oar deep in the sand and made the boat fast to it, so that when the tide rose again she would not drift away and then we had a walk across the sands back to the Point where we got shakedowns for the night.
Early the following morning we went on board a small steam tug the Somstaue, a curious name, which is the Kaffir designation of Sir Theophilus Shepstone, one of the prominent men of Natal and a gentleman who annexed the Transvaal in the name of the Queen, and towing a lighter we started for the outer anchorage. Passing through the channel where we had had such a desperate pull the previous night, we saw our old friend, the leaky boat, capsized, washed away across the sands by the flood tide. Crossing the bar this time we were drenched by the heavy rollers, and the lighter we were towing out dived into them and struck the ground heavily once or twice, sending showers of spray into the air. After paying several visits to put persons on board their respective ships we went over to the Mary Evans, which, being so light, was rolling in the heavy swell like a demented ship. From the small steamer we were on we could see at one moment the bottoms of the boats hanging on the davits of H M S Shah and then we could see her quarterdeck as she rolled towards us. We had some trouble in getting on board the Mary Evans, for we could not go alongside, her yards coming within a few feet of the water at each roll, so after shouting out to the Captain to let him know his passengers had arrived a boat was lowered, into which we got after paying a sovereign each to the steam tug for our passage, and we got on board the barque after much cursing at the difficulties of getting up her side, one moment appearing horizontal, the next perpendicular.
The Mary Evans, 350 tons, was a Welsh ship as already stated, and so frightfully Welsh too! Her Captain, whose name was Richard Evans, had sailed some two years previously from Abergavenny in the old tub, on a voyage of speculation going from one part of the world to another, but never getting a cargo for England. The ship was Mary Evans, the Captain who didn’t own her was Evans, the mate was Evans, the carpenter was Evans, the cook and the crew consisting of five men and a lame sailor boy, were all christened Jones, with the exception of the last, who was named Morgan. All conversation was carried on in Welsh. This statement may sound like “romancing” but it is a fact, and we got such a dose of Wales that we are never likely to forget the name of Evans and Jones!
CHAPTER 3
The Mary Evans was certainly not a smart ship, although she was so Welsh that her very timbers reeked with the odour of leeks, and it took a long time before the crew, including the cook and the lame sailor boy, managed to weigh anchor. On account of the tremendous rise and fall of the long smooth swell in the anchorage, just about here, ships have to veer out plenty of chain and with a very primitive windlass we had sixty fathoms to get in. With many Welsh expletives the men and the mate worked away, and as for every two fathoms that came on board half a fathom would slip back again, the grumbling of the Evanses and Joneses was natural. The heavy rolling was calculated to make ordinary persons dizzy, and it was necessary to hold on to something to prevent falling. C. gave up in disgust and went below to lie down but found himself little better off. The main cabin was just big enough to “swing a cat”, and opening out of it on each side were two tiny cupboards dignified by the name of the captain’s cabin and the mate’s cabin. No paint had been expended below since the Mary Evans first bruised the water, now many years ago, and the captain and his mate had little enough time to be cleaning the place up, so that the change between our present cabins and those of the mail steamer can be understood. However, this sort of discomfort we did not mind much, but it is impossible to deny that when the captain informed us that owing to the hurried manner in which he had been ordered over the bar by the Harbor Master, he had had no time to get any fresh provisions whatever, and that we had only salt pork on board which was “not the best of its kind”, and we felt gloomy!
At seven o’clock the rain was falling heavier and the lights of Durban were just getting out of sight, but with no regret did we glance in the direction of that port. Eight bells was struck by the lame sailor who then shuffled off to turn in until his watch was called again, and having nothing to do we followed the example. Alas! We had no sleep that night. The bunks were full of rainwater which came dripping through the deck and we got out blankets out and made shift to sleep on the driest parts of the main cabin. Presently uneasy movements were noticeable on the part of both the recumbent figures which increased until a hearty curse announced the presence of a flea which, however, was only one of the advance guard of the armies of fleas and bugs which made night hideous below. On speaking to the captain he admitted the cabin was full of bugs but what could he do? They were in the woodwork, and although he had tried sulphur, etc. he couldn’t get rid of them! What awful things they were too, not ordinary ones but Welsh to their backbones.
We rose early the next morning – very early – and hurried out of the place to the fresh air on deck as soon as daylight broke where we examined the traces of the sanguinary fight of the night, and sat under the pump while the mate worked away at the handle sending streams of refreshing salt water over us, but by breakfast time the rain was falling in torrents and we were once more confined in the stuffy little cabin where after satisfying our hunger with fresh potatoes and our own biscuit, we spent the day opening our cases and oiling and cleaning everything. It was fortunate we commenced on the biscuit we had bought at Natal for the captain had put it in the sail locker with the intention of preventing any of it being pilfered but we found the rats, which swarmed in the ship, had found it, and if we had not disturbed them, we should have had it nearly all damaged.
During the morning we passed a very large waterspout, which was ahead, when first seen, on our starboard bow. According to the captain we were only three cables lengths off it as it went by and as it looked very big from our deck we were not sorry to lose sight of it. At 10 a.m. on this day, the 9th June, we were just off the Tagela River and at last there was no wind, and the ship’s head was pointed in every direction except the right one. We were assured that the Mary Evans would be only four days taking us from Durban to Quilimane but on the evening of this day when we found the ship had made no progress we began to feel disgusted with life. On the 10th and 11th our progress was still very slow. Sometimes a gentle breeze would spring up and then the sullen flap of the main topsail against the mast would inform us that even that breath was falling, and on the completion of a week of this kind of travelling we began to feel savage. Sometimes fat, sleepy-looking fish would swim around us, “ our hearts would go out to them” but nothing would induce them to be hooked and we had to go on dining on potatoes and biscuits. We had serious thoughts of trying the rats.
The Rev. Mr. Woods, the well-known naturalist writer, is an advocate of rat pie and stewed rat, which he declares resembles chicken both in flavor and tenderness, but we did not care about the idea when in came to the scratch. These rats used to give is some amusement; and having nothing below to eat or drink they were compelled to come on deck to obtain something to support life. After sundown the first one would appear, cautiously hiding under ropes, then another would dart across the deck and get under the deckhouse, where the men slept, presently two or three would be seen scuttling along the ship’s rail out to the cabin, and by the time it was getting dark their squeaks as they fought and wrangled would resemble the distant sound of Thomas Cat on a neighboring house. There was a fat terrier on board which thrived on rats. Directly he caught one he would throw his head up in the air and the rat would disappear down the terrier’s throat with its hind legs kicking and its tail waving a final adieu to the world. On several occasions we saw this dog in the morning when the rat trap was brought to him, catch and swallow alive three or four rats one after the other, and one morning a sailor tied a piece of string to a wretched rat’s tail and pulled it back when half way down, and our doubts about the rats being alive were silenced when we saw this disentombed one run along the deck. The terrier could never swallow more than four rats and the third was generally enough.
The days passed very monotonously and at times we found it very dull in spite of the efforts we made to get up some excitement. All day long the same dim blue headlands would swelter in the distant horizon and for days the ship did not average two knots an hour. Becalmed, we would find straw, paper and anything thrown over the side in the afternoon still alongside late at night. The first Sunday our bag of potatoes gave out; they had been going bad, and on this day were uneatable, so we wired into biscuit, and our stomachs were still too high-toned for the salt pork. Finding we had made such slow progress we were very cross, and refused to be comforted by the Welsh hymns of the mate who also played the accordion. Strange to say, the mate and the captain had never heard the tune “Poor Mary Ann” which most people imagine is Welsh. “The Men of Harlech” all hands knew and we soon learnt every note of that martial strain with sundry variations. The lame sailor was very fond of humming it while sleepily hanging on to the motionless wheel; perhaps they chanted it so often for our special benefit. One night some seven or eight whales came alongside, and evidently mistook the ship for a friend as the mate was playing “God Bless the Prince of Wales” just then, for they came very close alongside until after indulging in various gambols for some fifteen minutes they suddenly dashed off to the south at a great rate.
Another day the ship was surging slowly along through the water when a large grampus made its appearance and accompanied us about thirty feet off the ship'’ side. Understanding that grampus flesh was eatable and that if we tasted it we should like it, we decided to try for fresh meat. C. got hold of a rifle and saluted the grampus on its rising to blow with a bullet in the head -–a sudden plunge of a mighty mountain of flesh and then we saw it no more, though we should have lowered a boat if it had floated. On the evening of 15th July we tried sleeping on deck and only got earaches and colds for our pains. On the 17th we found ourselves to be off Inhambane at noon, about halfway to Quilimane, which was very disappointing. Porpoise shooting on this day gave some excitement, and it was curious to see that when a porpoise was wounded it was immediately attacked by the others and doubtless given its quietus. On the 18th in the evening the much-longed-for wind came, and we went along at about five and a half knots all through the night. To celebrate the new state of affairs we had whiskey all round and at our evening meal we had extra olives apiece. We used to religiously eat an olive after pitching in to the dinner of pork and biscuit which we had at last got reconciled to, as the flavor of the olive, when we shut our eyes brought back, by a great effort, recollections of good dinners at Bignon’s in Paris, the London Criterion, or Scott’s in Melbourne. Unfortunately we had only one bottle of olives.
On the 19th we were only 110 miles from Quilimane at noon, and at the same time we discovered a corner of the sun snipped off which on investigation proved to be a partial eclipse. On Sunday 20th, in the forenoon, the wind died away again and we were becalmed off the mouth of the Zambesi River. A great number of sharks kept alongside us all day and at one time we counted sixteen of them under our stern sniffing at the pork we put overboard for them. They gave us a capital opportunity to watch them over the low stern of the ship, and it made one feel glad at being out of their reach when their cruel green little eyes glanced up at us through the clear water. One fellow was of immense size and whenever he came to inspect the pork the others would get out of his way. But the pork was either too high, or they were too well fed on flotsam and jetsam at the mouth of the Zambesi in which dead bodies figure most conspicuously.
Towards Sunday evening the wind freshened again and we travelled along faster than we had yet gone, so that on Monday morning 21st July, we were off the mouth of the Quilimane River, or near where it ought to be. We had – or rather Captain Evans and his Mate had – great difficulty in finding where about the mouth of the Quilimane River was, for the coast was very flat and there were hardly any landmarks to go by, besides numerous sandbanks made it a work of some trouble approaching the shallow water. Charts are not very perfect and the one on board was not very clear to the Captain and Mate. But we stood towards the mouth of the river, after we thought we had discovered it, and putting the most experienced hand in the chains felt our way into the channel marked on the chart. We moved cheerfully along, the leadsman giving out his cry with a vigor which attracted our attention. Presently there was a slight feeling on the deck, and “Good Heavens! We touched then!” exclaimed the Captain, “What water have you got there?” An examination showed that the ancient Jones, who had been “forty year at sea, man and boy, sir” didn’t know how to heave the lead properly, and had got us into a channel of his own and nearly got us ashore.
We were about four miles from the bar and the tide ebbing fast, so going back we anchored, and then about half an hour after weighed, and stood out further, very much perplexed. In the afternoon about 3 o’clock the Mary Evans once more ventured in with the flood tide and presently we were very glad to see the Portuguese gun boat Auxiliar steaming out towards us, bringing a pilot with her. This was the steamer that the Agent of the Union Steamship Company assured us was away at Mozambique being repaired. The pilot came an board, and we found he could only speak Portuguese, English, French, a small smattering of German, and any amount of Welsh was at his service, but we could not make him understand. The captain of the Auxiliar came on board with a lot of paper, gesticulations and bad French on both sides, he agreed to tow the Mary Evans to Quilimane which town was some nine miles up the river. He agreed to tow the ship for a certain number of reis and Captain Evans, poor Welshman, assured us that he had never been towed by a steamer for such a small amount of money before, and he chuckled at the idea. We crossed the bar in tow of the Auxiliar. She had also put a Customs House Officer on board, and went through a most intricate channel which we should never have done under sail, past a small lighthouse on a spit of sand on the right hand side as we entered and then we got into the river. Both sides of the river are lined with low mud banks covered with mangroves and looking all over the pestilence-breeding place it is. Now and then a gap in the mangroves would show a stretch of flat reeking swamp running back for some distance and for miles the river winds through these mud banks.
Quilimane was reached at last, and the Mary Evans anchored just off the pier about 6 p.m. Eager for a “blow out” as any schoolboy, we hurried on shore as soon as the Customs House Official would permit us, and with a letter of introduction went to the house of Senor Nunez who acts as the English Consul here. On getting there we found the Rev. Dr. Laws of the Free Church Mission at Livingstonia on Lake Nyassa and Captain Travers of the Union Steam Company just finishing dinner. Politeness forbade us to inform Senor Nunez that we wanted to sit down and recall the dinner, and after an official reception we gracefully took our departure with empty stomachs. We had been told that a Dutch firm, the Handel’s Compaigne had a branch establishment at Quilimane and we at once enquired for it and directly we shook hands with the manager, informed him that we were “beastly hungry”, and if he would give us something to eat we should be obliged. Fate ordained that his larder should be empty; he had not even a piece of bread, but he kindly gave us two large fowls and a bottle of wine, and we hastened to get away on board again.
Standing on the pier it was some little time before we could make the Welshmen hear us, and when they did send a boat off we found that the galley fire was out and the Customs Officer had conveyed orders that no fires were permitted after eight o’clock. As it was now nearly ten we could not cook our fowls, who, however, died the death that night all the same as we intended to have one each for breakfast.
Sitting on deck having a final glass of grog with the captain and mate we were much struck by the tremendous noise made by the bull-frogs, and a distant sound suddenly made us start up from our reclining attitude and strain our eyes across the river in the darkness. Again the sound came faintly on the breeze, and we felt quite a tremor of pleasure as we became more convinced that we heard the far-off cry of the king of beasts. But surely lions did not come so close to the town, we queried; and it was only when the Customs House Officer told us that lions were in numerous numbers around us that we were at last convinced we both heard for the first time the roar of a lion in a state of freedom. We turned in very late and it was not the usual enemies alone that made us wakeful all night, but a new and formidable acquaintance in the form of mosquitoes. We never lost from this day to the day we left Quilimane, months after, our new friends, and the recording angel certainly should put down nearly all the heated language we used to a mosquito account.
[Part II continues at PAGE 6942]