Chapter Thirteen.
We were told that the Transvaal Republic was an entirely inland territory; nowhere does it touch the sea, from which its nearest point is quite one hundred miles. It extends from the Vaal River to the Limpopo, and from the same river and the colony of Griqua Land West (the diamond fields) on the west to the Zulu country and Portuguese settlements on the east. It is exceedingly healthy, lying from 6,000 to 7,000 feet above the sea level. Our road for some distance after leaving Kimberley was through thick sand; indeed, Kimberley seems to lie in the centre of a veritable sea of sand, sometimes so loose and deep that to go through it is like wading through deep snow. The coach required constant changing of its six horses at stables en route to make any progress.
On the second day from the Fields we passed through the village of Bloemhof, the first place after leaving Kimberley. It is quite a pretty little spot, the only street being wide and clean, with tolerably well-kept grass-plots on either side of the road. It formed an agreeable contrast to Clerksdorp, a wretched hamlet we reached the following day, where the hotel (save the mark!) boasted one room and parlour, with an individual in charge who was collectively clerk, proprietor, waiter, bartender, and chambermaid.
As we neared Potchefstrom there was an agreeable change in the appearance of the country, the characteristics of the lower veldt, which were alternately a plain and a mountain pass in unvarying succession, giving place to a park-like landscape, forming the most delightful of prospects.
The country was everywhere beautifully fresh and green, the monotony of grassland being varied with clumps of thorn bushes and stunted trees. The variety of thorn is almost endless, from the beautiful, fragrant, flowered “mimosa” to the prickly pear, and the suggestively named “wacht een beetje” or “wait a bit” bramble. Three days’ and three nights’ almost constant travelling brought us to Potchefstrom, and there, a thousand miles from Cape Town, we were obliged to confess that we had reached the prettiest village in the country.
Alighting at the Blue Post Hotel, we were received in a manner which almost made us doubt the existence of such places as we had passed through on our way.
We were shown to a very nice room, and sat down to as good a dinner as the heart of a tired American girl could desire.
The worthy hostess, Mrs Jenkinson, a ruddy-faced, buxom Englishwoman, who seemed to bring with her all the freshness of her native Devonshire, made us most comfortable during our visit; her kindness was appreciated, coming, as it did, after the extortions of the grasping hovel-keepers of the roadside. The town itself is like a large orchard, so abundant are the fruit trees. Every street is a boulevard of orange and peach trees, which here grow side by side. The very hedgerows are figs and quinces, while everywhere may be seen grapevines, lemons, shaddocks, and bananas. Between the sidewalk and the street is a well-kept grass-plot, with a stream of clear water running in the midst of it, a veritable rarity in South Africa. The Mooi (Dutch for “beautiful”) River takes a horseshoe curve round the village, which is built on a slope. The furrows which hold the water are led from the upper to the lower bend, and thus a perpetual stream passes through the town. Eight mills were situated at the entrance of the town, and several more were in course of erection.
We met an American gentleman, Mr C—, who had made a considerable fortune in the Gold Fields, and who was conducting one of the mills; this he had fitted with machinery brought from the—Philadelphia Exhibition. His wife was a pleasant-faced, cheerful little woman, whose history, as it was told us, sounded like a romance. He had first met her at Pilgrim’s Rest Gold Fields, where she had gone from Natal with her two brothers. She, following their example, had pegged out a claim. She had hired natives, had worked at it herself, and had turned out more gold than either of her brothers.
We began to hear the most alarming rumours of the disaffection of the Dutch Boers with the Government. Several prominent farmers had called a large meeting, at which it was unanimously voted to pay no taxes to the hated “Englanders.” Such startling stories began to be circulated about the attitude of the country people that we hastened to gather up our skirts and get on to and out of Pretoria before the threatened rising took place.
At the end of three most enjoyable weeks in Potchefstrom we again took seats in the coach, and after one hundred miles of jolting, bumping, and general discomfort, arrived at Pretoria, then the seat of the English Government, and now the capital of the Republic. On the way we passed the sources of the Limpopo River, and at a place called Wonderfontein were shown a remarkable phenomenon. The water, which runs in a clear, tolerably rapid stream, suddenly disappears into the sand, and appears again a considerable distance further on, as bright and clear as though its progress had never been interrupted. There are also gold diggings on the road; a rush had been made to them some time previous to our arrival, but they had now been nearly abandoned, and a stray prospector or two were the sole remaining signs of the presence of the metal.
