Chapter Thirty Five.

The late Bishop Colenso, famous for his disputations on the Old Testament and also as an arithmetician, was greatly beloved among the Zulus. They went to the bishop as to a friend for counsel in political matters, when they would not listen to the governor or any British official. His body when carried to the grave was followed by thousands of his savage friends. Many of them had never been in a town before, but came to attend the funeral of the teacher they loved so well. The sight of the half-naked and wild-looking mourners was a very striking one. We started early one pleasant Sabbath morning for Edendale, a missionary station about ten miles from Maritzberg. As we were sitting under the trees enjoying the lovely day, there arose from the chapel near by a sound of voices singing one of Sankey’s sacred songs in the Kafir language.

It seemed as if we were now hearing it sung with all its true pathos for the first time. The voices of the women, pitched in a very high key, wailed it out on the air, whilst the men’s voices rolled out like the swell of a rich but subdued organ, in pedal tones, and all breathed now soft, now low, in singularly perfect time. We then strolled up to the church, and listened to a sermon by a missionary, which was translated by a black man at his side.

The houses, with farms attached, of these people, which we passed in walking through the settlement, were similar to the homes of the industrious civilised American negro. Very little encouragement on mission work could be gained from our colonial friends. Many cases were cited by them to prove that the religious beliefs of the white man do not throw any whiter rays of new light upon the barbaric mind than it already has. A chief of one of the tribes in the vicinity of Queenstown went to England, where he received a good education, and it was expected that he would return to his people with advanced, thoughts. But he returned to his blanket.

Then again we knew of a very exceptional case, where the son of a great chief went to England, and educated himself for missionary work, including the study of medicine, and returning to his own people did great good. This man, Thyo Soga, as he was called, married in Scotland a Scotch lady, whose sister we met on the fields. She said that there never was a finer gentleman, or a kinder husband, either black or white, ever born than Thyo Soga.

He built a church and mission school, and worked among his people until stricken down with consumption.

The Kafir is a perfectly healthy being until he puts on clothing and lives like the white man; then the dread disease consumption, clutches him and he succumbs. The well-laid-out reservation of the Presbyterian Mission at Grahamstown, with its neat houses kept by the natives, would seem to prove that they can be industrious and civilised, if reached after in the right spirit. Many of the Kafir churches that are met with through the country are self-supporting, and attended by neatly dressed and seemingly very devout congregations. There was much more social life in Maritzberg than in any other South African town. The ladies rode horseback a great deal, many of them being fine riders. The fashionable landau, dog cart, and basket carriage were constantly met with.

We occasionally visited the theatre, where a company of fine artists from across the seas were giving a season of English operas, as well mounted and sung as we had seen the same works in London. On command night, when the governor and his staff of officers would be present in the boxes, and the audience in full dress, the house presented a brilliant appearance. The theatre is not as fine a building as the one in Durban; the latter was built at a great expense, and was the finest in the country.

Many English, Scotch and Dutch residents in Maritzberg, combined with the military stationed there, made the town lively. It was a place in which we should have liked to have pitched our tent for a longer period of time. But after several months of life as intimate as we could expect to have in a foreign land, we turned our thoughts to our home in America, that could never be replaced in our hearts, and left Maritzberg for Durban. It was a bright spring day in September when, having packed our belongings and souvenirs, we stepped on board the steam tug at Durban which was to take us and several friends over the bar to the steamer. The sea and the weather seemed to have entered into a conspiracy to put on their most alluring dress to do honour to the departing strangers, and we steamed across the bar, the little steam launch puffing and smoking as who should say, “Aha! you’re going to America, aren’t you?—you’ve got some fine steamers there, haven’t you?—but look, see how busy I am, what a noise I make, and how recklessly I brave the dangers of the sand-bar, which those big fellows outside dare not tackle.”

All animate and inanimate nature seemed to smile on us and bid us God speed, and as we climbed up the ladder that led up the side of the good ship Asiatic, and emerged on her deck, we registered a vow to return some day to the land of sand and sunshine.

Soon after our arrival on board the bell sounded for strangers to leave the ship, and the time came to say good-by to the good friends who had accompanied us on board. Leave-taking had become a familiar occupation with us, but yet we never seemed to overcome the misty feeling in the eyes when the time came to say the one word “Good-bye.”

The steamer left her moorings at four o’clock, and soon the bluff, and the many points around it which we had explored, faded away far astern, the stars came out, and the old well-known thump of the steamer’s engine began to make us realise that we were going Home.

The voyage around the coast has been already described. At Fort Elizabeth we were transhipped into the palatial mail steamer Moor, in which we were to make the journey to England. From the steamship we had a splendid view of the town of Port Elizabeth, built as it is on the hill, which rises quite from the beach. Almost every house could be seen distinctly, and every walk and spot that had become so pleasantly familiar to us, during our stay, we could trace without the aid of a glass.

We learned that the railroad to Kimberley had been finished. There is now no limit to the ambition of the inhabitants of Port Elizabeth. On the way to Cape Town we called at Mossel Bay, a picturesque little seaport lying midway between Algoa and Table Bays. Georgetown, thirty-six miles away, is the prettiest place in the Cape Colony. The Kinyena Forest, which stretches away to the bay, is one of the few really large forests in South Africa. In it elephants and rhinoceri still roam, and buffaloes, leopards, and every variety of antelope are found, while from its thickets come most of the hard-wood lumber used for the wagon-making districts of the colony.

After six days’ steaming from Durban we put into Cape Town docks, and the mighty Table Mountain once more frowned down on us. We wandered for the last time through the town. We called on many of the acquaintances we had made on our first arrival in the country. We had been followed with much interest on our travels.

How our journeys came back to us, and the many happy months passed in South Africa as we saw the purple cloud we knew was the last glimpse we should have of Table Mountain or South Africa slowly fading away. The voyage to England resembled all other similar voyages in its pleasurable monotony.

At last, after five years’ almost incessant travel, we arrived in Southampton with the satisfactory feeling that we had accomplished the object of our voyage. Our expedition to the Antipodes in search of health was a success. Our invalid was returning home a healthy, happy, contented wife. What was there for us to ask for more?

We left the ship at Southampton and went on by rail, and soon the familiar smoky fog which overhangs the monster London received us.

Here our journey ends, for London and New York nowadays are only “across the way.”