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.
