I had not long to wait for the Dunkeld, the coasting steamer which runs between Capetown and Mozambique, and after a day and a half’s pleasant sail I landed once more in D’Urban. Here I remained a few days only, pending the arrival of the next steamer, but long enough to find to my cost that I had not crossed the alluvial flats of the Maputa country with impunity. A sudden attack of malarial fever almost prevented me from prosecuting my journey, as I was scarcely able to embark when the time came for me to leave, and on reaching Port Elizabeth I was obliged to go into hospital. A few days’ care enabled me to continue my homeward journey, although, as is usual with this fever, I am yet reminded at intervals of its pertinacity when once it has gained a hold upon the system. The results of this fever are usually so serious and fatal that I have been fortunate in escaping so lightly.
Leaving Capetown on February 16th, by the S. S. Northam, and bidding a regretful adieu to South Africa, I naturally, when I saw its shores receding, turned my thoughts to the future, to the country to which I was bound, and to the new interests among which I should be thrown.
There is always something sad, as it seems to me, in closing any of the chapters of the book of one’s existence. It may be oftentimes that the change of scene has been eagerly looked forward to, that labors once congenial, have proved irksome and well-nigh intolerable, that one has anticipated release from their bondage with the same feelings as—if the professional simile be pardonable—the long bed-ridden patient expects the hour when he may be allowed to move about again, and yet, nevertheless, there is even, with the most joyful hopes for the future, a certain feeling of regret. “Old custom” has made sweet what would otherwise seem undesirable, and doubtless had the prisoner of Chillon suddenly been set free, even after but a few months’ captivity, his delight at release would not have been unmingled with an unreasoning, wistful regard for the very manacles that had bound him. How much more, therefore, must I experience this sense of sadness, as I conclude these volumes, the elaboration of which has been with me a labor of love, since I was inspired with the hope that their publication would serve to destroy many a foolish prejudice against these sunny lands, and was vain enough to trust that they would aid in attracting the attention of philanthropists, capitalists, and intending emigrants, to what Lady Florence Dixie entitled “The Land of Misfortune,” apt enough perhaps at the time that her work was published, but now, I both hope and believe, likely to prove a misnomer.
The regret that I feel, as I write these brief concluding words, is intensified by the thought that I have left, perhaps forever, a country where I have found many friends among literally all “sorts and conditions of men;” among men of every nationality, of hues and natures the most diverse, from the stout and stalwart yeoman of England to the pallid yet skillful and versatile disciple of Confucius—from the acute, sharp-witted, and business-like “stranger” hailing from the land of “Stars and Stripes” to the sturdy Basuto; from the Scandinavian with his bright complexion and sunny hair to those “images of God carved in ebony,” the warlike Zulus; from the bright, laughing-eyed sons of the Emerald Isle, to the dusky worshippers of Vishnu and Siva; from the keen and cultured member of the Hebrew race, with all its marvellous history, to the pious adherents of the Prophet of Allah; and from the Africander, descended from brave men and noble women who left all they held most dear on earth for the sake of their faith, to the native toiler in the mines, who has traversed hundreds of miles in his journey, from his home in the far interior. Among all, I repeat, have I found many friends, and I cannot leave them without penning these few words of affectionate farewell—words which if wearisome (being purely personal) to the general reader will, I trust, be accepted in the spirit in which they are written by my South African friends.
That I have once and again struck out fairly from the shoulder at various shams and swindles, all who have had the patience to so far follow me will perceive, but they will, I hope, also perceive that I have been ever ready to give credit where credit was due.
This book would be incomplete without a few words on the all-important subject of emigration. Poverty, as it is known in England and the Old World, is very rare—I mean of course poverty among those who are, in the time-honored phrase, at once “able and willing to work.” That there are abundant instances of those who prefer frequenting the public-house to attending to their daily labor is a sad truth, and that there have been, are, and will be, cases of undeserved misfortune is equally an obvious matter of fact. But to those who have a trade at their fingers’ end, or do not fear work, manual or mental, have grit or religious principle enough in them to resist the temptations which, as will be seen by those who have perused these chapters, are sure to beset them, I would say, Come to South Africa—not to be disappointed if after five or six months you are little better off than when you came, but to have a tolerable certainty of gaining, without a constant dread of work falling short, a decent and respectable living. Of the opportunities that present themselves to capitalists it is not necessary to speak, as those who have read the chapters dealing with the diamond mines and the gold fields will form their own conclusions. This at least may be said, that the man with capital, if he has good advisers, need not fear but that in almost any part of South Africa (unless indeed he choose to gamble in scrip when the best of advisers may be occasionally off their stroke) he will receive returns for his expended capital, such as he would hardly in his most sanguine moments imagine in a day-dream at home. The bona fide investor (as opposed to the speculator) will probably find that a visit to the diamond or gold fields will repay him not only well, but handsomely. To the average Englishman South Africa has been more or less a terra incognito, and the idea prevailed that it was throughout infested with venomous reptiles and colossal lions, while malarial fevers were only an unavoidable evil. On this subject at least I can speak more or less ex cathedra. While the summer months, as in all subtropical climates, are trying and mean, if more than the usual amount of rest—I do not mean sleep—be not taken, there will be an excessive expenditure of vital force, with the consequent unlikelihood of longevity; yet those who are willing to exercise a little care in dietary, etc., need be under little or no apprehension of the various local fevers; while as I have pointed out, and as will be endorsed by some of the most distinguished members of my profession, so far as chest complaints are concerned, the climate of South Africa surpasses that of southern France and at least equals Madeira.
I have but once more to bid farewell to my old friends, and my new friends, the gentle readers with whom I am unacquainted, and to express the hope that they will peruse, if not with profit at all events with some interest, these leaves from a diary of Twenty Years in South Africa.
APPENDIX.
| Comparative Yearly Exports of Diamonds from the Promulgation of Act 48, 1882, to December 31st, 1886. | ||||||
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Carats. | Declared Value. | Average per cent. | ||||
| 1882 Four months | 796,546⅝ | £1,156,273 | 14 1 | 6 | 29/ | |
| 1883 | 2,413,953⅜ | 2,742,521 | 1 | 0 | 22/ | 8 |
| 1884 | 2,263,686⅝ | 2,807,288 | 3 | 4 | 23/ | 9 |
| 1885 | 2,440,788⅜ | 2,492,755 | 13 | 2 | 20/ | 5 |
| 1886 | 3,135,432⁶⁄₈ | 3,507,210 | 14 | 0 | 22/ | 4 |
| Total, | 11,050,407⅜ | 12,706,049 | 6 | 0 | 23/ | |