The export of wine from the Cape has increased from 106,067 gallons, in 1854, to 797,092 gallons, in 1857; and during that period, in consequence of the failure of the grape in Europe, the price of the wine has increased three-fold;—a cask of Cape wine, which could be purchased formerly in England for eighteen pounds, now fetching fifty-four pounds sterling.
At the present moment, I am inclined to think that the merchants give too high a price to the producers to enable us to benefit to the extent that we should in England from the large supplies of wine which we may obtain from the Cape. But now that roads through newly-discovered mountain passes are opening up new districts suitable for the production of wine, such as the Oudts horn, and many others, the increased supply will naturally decrease its cost in the market.
There is an earthy taste in the South African wines, which greatly reduces their value; as this is not inherent to the grape, but simply the effect of the red dust of the district with which the grapes are covered, more attention in the manufacture of the wines will obviate this objection, and place them in that position in the markets of Europe to which their intrinsic merit entitle them.
After passing a most agreeable day, we returned to Cape Town, as the shades of evening were closing in, and night was about to spread her mantle over the forest of masts floating in Table Bay.
In two days afterwards the “Ireland” was away on her course to India, bearing with her those who were to take part in the great Indian drama. The merry-hearted whip, who handled the ribbons so gracefully; the mother, with her loving children; the maidens, with their mirthful laughter; the soldier, with his gallant bearing; the beardless boys, panting for glory and this world’s renown, who joined us on that festive day at Constantia—where are they?
Foremost amongst the stormers of Lucknow the soldiers fell; the merry-hearted whip died, homeward bound, from the effects of his fearful wounds; the mother, after watching over her babes through dangers worse than death, arrived in safety at Calcutta, then drooped and died. The maidens—one, the loveliest of them all, was seized with cholera on her arrival in India; her beauty vanished and her spirit fled—some are wedded, while others perished—ask not how.
On landing at Cape Town, I had made inquiries for the Naval Commander-in-chief, and was informed that Commodore Trotter was up the Mozambique Channel. In the absence of the chief, I applied to the officer in charge of the naval station, when I found that, although orders had been sent out to the Cape, at the request of the Foreign Office, to forward me to my Post in one of Her Majesty’s ships, no definite steps had been taken for that purpose.
When the Admiralty orders for the conveyance of Her Majesty’s Consul for Mozambique to his Post, in a ship of war, reached Simon’s Town, it appears there was, at that time, the miserable remains of a vessel lying in the harbour, which, in former times, did duty as a tender to the ship of the senior officer, but, owing to her being unseaworthy, she had been condemned. As the orders were imperative, it was supposed that an officer of some standing, commanding a large steamer, would have to convey me to Mozambique; as the steamer in question, from her great expenditure of coals, was worse than useless on the Cape station, to which all the coals used have to be carried from England at a great expense. This steamer was a remarkably good sailor, and might have been usefully employed under canvas, in the Mozambique Channel, instead of lying, month after month, at Simon’s Bay doing nothing.
The Mozambique Channel is looked upon as one of the most unhealthy stations in the world; and, therefore, it is but natural that a naval officer, who has arrived at a position on the Navy List, where he knows that seniority will alone advance him, should hesitate to go to a part of the world where he is likely to make a vacancy. On the return of the Commodore, the destination of the large steamer was pretty well indicated, and, therefore, it was suggested that the old condemned schooner “Dart” should be fitted out to take the Consul to Mozambique, and, by her imposing appearance in that port, awe the slave-dealers of Eastern Africa.
Accordingly, a lieutenant and a party of men were ordered on board the “Dart;” her old sails were bent, and with the assistance of some coils of rope, a few buckets of tar, two or three pounds of putty, and the expenditure of a pot or two of black paint, all supplied by order from Her Majesty’s Dockyard at Simon’s Town, the “Dart” began to look quite smart. The loftier spars were put in their places, the lighter yards thrown across, the masts nicely stayed, the yards squared, ropes hauled taut—long, low, and rakish; with a blue ensign abaft, and a long blue pennant at the mast head, she looked “quite the thing.”