So we cannot heed it now.”
But we clutch the glittering fragments,
‘Mid the dust, and mire, and clay,
And we cannot raise our eyelids,
Though to-morrow is to-day.
Brown Robin.—From Chambers’ Journal, March 19, 1887.
I may here, though not strictly connected with this subject, call attention to the strikingly curious names adopted by many Kafirs working on the Diamond Fields, and give some instances of the manner in which they attract public notice. Natives are by no means destitute of a sense of humor,[[96]] and very often when they have been working for an employer of passionate disposition, and have been addressed by him in no complimentary terms, they voluntarily retain as their appellation some abusive title, or strong objurgation of which he has made use in the course of his remonstrances. I have not infrequently known a magistrate, on asking a native prisoner his name, to receive the reply “G—d d—mn” or “Bl—dy Fool;” while one unfortunate fellow, when asked the same question in the charge office promptly answered, “Go to H—l,” and it was not until he had been twice or three times knocked down for his apparent insolence, that the Sergeant discovered that the native had simply given a truthful if startling answer to the question put to him. Such names as “Cape Smoke” (i.e., Colonial Brandy), “Pontac” and other alcoholic terms are not uncommon, while “Sixpence” is one of the most favorite names of the natives.
Perhaps one of the most singular illustrations of the eccentric nomenclature to which I allude, and the strangely incongruous circumstances under which instances of it occur, was given in the High Court some two or three years ago. The anecdote serves as an example of how, even in matters of most solemn, nay tragic import, a ludicrous element may be present.
A native named “Brandy and Soda” had been tried for murder and found guilty, if I recollect rightly, before Mr. Justice Buchanan, the Judge President. Awful as is the sentence, and heartless as the man must be who can hear it pronounced unmoved, yet many, by no means devoid of humanity, for a moment smiled, as the Judge, having assumed the black cap, thus addressed the prisoner: “Brandy and Soda, you have been found guilty by an impartial jury of the awful crime of wilful murder, upon the enormity of which it is unnecessary for me to dilate. ‘A life for a life’ is the law for both the black man and the white, and there is no alternative left me but to pronounce on you the sentence of death. The judgment of this court is that you, Brandy and Soda, be hanged by the neck till you are dead, and may,” etc.
In concluding these few remarks relative to the legal profession, I would disclaim any wish to infer that lawyers are not a necessity, far from it, but they are a necessity with which one would fain dispense. I would not wish to imply that the lawyers of Griqualand West are more unreasonably exacting than their brethren in other places, but this observation cannot be regarded as fulsome adulation or extravagant eulogy. It will, however, be evident. I could not advocate so extreme a measure as that proposed by Dick to Cade, “The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.”[[97]]