22nd December.—Passed along the coast of Zululand in the morning, seeing familiar spots like Etschowe (Signal Hill), the Tugela, and finally reached Durban—steaming boldly into the harbour and alongside the wharf, where ships were moored two deep. At Durban we landed the troops, and spent four hours.
How the place has grown since I was here seven years ago! The long road from the Point to the town is lined with villas and gardens in place of sandhills and shanties. The streets are full of bustling people—English ladies, carriages, tram–cars, and ‘rickshaws’. The latter in swarms, with Zulu runners dressed up in war headdresses and with rattles on their legs, “playing at horses” as they run, great children that they are—tossing their plumes and stepping up to their noses.
Saw old Reuben Beningfield, and had happy reminders of old shooting days with him; Little, 9th Lancers, and Sir Walter Hely Hutchinson, the Governor, and Jameson, who does not alter one jot, and many other friends. At six we sailed again for Port Elizabeth.
After this brief flash of life in civilisation we are once more getting along, butting against obstructive wave power, and pressing into the darkling haze.
23d December.—Cloud–wrack and wind, and pale, deceitful sea. Heaving along, we churn our way, till out of the dark swish of the driving rain on a rushing, riotous sea, we suddenly emerge into sunshine and calm in Port Elizabeth roadstead.
Amid the blaze of bunting, and a babel of steamers’ whistles and cheering masses, we follow Cecil Rhodes ashore into the Liverpool of South Africa—and Liverpool at Christmas time (for to–day is Christmas Eve). A banquet lunch of five hundred in the Feather Market, and a dinner at the club at night. Torchlight procession, bands, and “waits.” The whole town—with deputations, too, from all the other “Eastern Province” towns—was keen to do him and Sir Frederick honour; and we, the staff, came in for the full benefit of reflected hospitality. They did us royally! But the genuineness of the feeling towards Rhodes was unmistakable and impressive. It was not a gust of got–up welcome, but a spontaneous burst of enthusiasm, in a place that formerly was distinctly hostile to him. He made five separate speeches in the course of the day—all characteristic.
Christmas Day.—From the rush and whirl of yesterday, one woke to absolute peace in a bright, English–looking bedroom, looking on an English garden with a something more than English wealth of flowers. One could not stay in bed on such a cheerful, sunny morning. After a grand fresh–water tub, Vyvyan and I sallied out to stretch our legs. We started at half–past eight, and only returned ravenous to the club three hours later, after walking out and round the whole of Port Elizabeth. Our walk showed us the miles of busy railway and shipping–wharves, and the stores along the sea–front. Then, by mutual consent, we got out on to the veldt outside the town, both impelled by the same object, viz. to get our coats off. The feeling of sleeves on our arms, when we had been going bare–armed for months, was too irritating to be borne; so we offed coats, rolled up our sleeves, and were happy on the open, breezy racecourse downs, with views of inland veldt and mountains. Then the Park and Botanical Gardens; and the upper town, with avenues of pretty suburban houses, deep sunk in their shady verandahs, with their trim and flowery gardens. In every other one, jolly English children were playing about, and raising their cheery shouts. I only thought how good an object lesson it would be to ship a load of “Little Englanders” out even to this spot alone, just to open their eyes to what a busy, homely colony it is (and yet it is only one of many), and to see what an enormous future generation of strapping colonists is growing up in the glorious sunlight here, for the service of their mother–country.
After breakfast to church. Everything exactly ordered as if at home: the Christmas Day choral service, with a good choir and a fine organ.
And as the anthem of peace and goodwill rolled forth, it brought home to one the fact that a year of strife in savage wilds had now been weathered to a peaceful close.