And now, at length, the day of departure has come; and we leave Swaylands, though not in our own cosy little American spider. That fairy chariot, alas! is hors de combat; its strong, though delicate-looking wheels have succumbed at last to the roughness of Karroo roads and the dryness of the South African climate; and as we pass out at the little gate we take our last look at it as it lies there on the ground, a forlorn, sledge-like thing. What glorious drives we have had in that once daintiest and prettiest of little carriages—travelling to hunts or dances, fetching our mail, or sending off precious freights of feathers to the Port Elizabeth market! and how vividly the recollection of them comes back to us as we pass for the last time along the familiar Mount Stewart road!
Even now, at this time and distance, we can still conjure them up, and see and hear once more the well-known and loved sights and sounds of the Karroo. Animal and bird life start into quick motion all round us: the little duyker antelopes spring up from their forms among the bush, and dart gracefully away; the flights of pretty Namaqua partridges run along the ground quite close to us; the knorhaans, rending the air with discordant, over-powering noise, chatter out their loud disapproval of our approach; the little bright-eyed meerkats stare audaciously at us, then dive into their holes in pretended fear of us; the air is all full of the sweet scent of mimosa-blossoms, and T——, singing joyously in the overflow of good spirits induced by its pure, fresh, exhilarating qualities, enlivens the journey with one song after another as we spin merrily along on our airy, bicycle-like wheels; while Toto, equally happy, careers at our side, chasing every animal and bird that he sees, though seldom able to catch anything much swifter on its feet than a tortoise.
These tortoises, by the way, always afforded Toto excellent sport; he considered it his bounden duty to bring to us—no matter from what distance—all that he could possibly grasp with his teeth; and, many of them being much too large to be carried in this way, he was often obliged to put them down for a while, to rest his poor aching jaws. Sometimes he would come to a standstill before a gigantic specimen, and call us, with loud, excited barks, to the spot where some fifty pounds of splendid material for soup were to be had for the picking-up. He would stand barking triumphantly at the creature, which, in response, kept up a low, roaring noise, expressive of deepest disgust at his proceedings. And when the prize was secured, and we drove off with it safely ensconced at our feet, Toto was a proud dog indeed.
Somehow, on this last drive into Mount Stewart, everything is tantalizingly looking its very best; the veldt, refreshed by recent rains, is of a lovely soft green, and delicate flowers peep from it in all directions; the dazzling sunshine—so soon to be exchanged for cold northern skies—seems brighter than ever; and, in the clear atmosphere of the Karroo, the bold outlines of the far-off Cock's Comb are lifted up, as it were, by a strange effect of mirage—the mountain appearing quite detached from the horizon, and with blue water flowing at its foot. Just before we reach the turn in the road which hides the homestead of Swaylands from our view, we stop and look back; and, if it must be owned, that last look at the poor little ugly house—our dear home for the past few years—is taken by not quite undimmed eyes.
Then on, at a brisk pace, to Mount Stewart, where, at the pleasant little hotel in which we have so often been hospitably entertained, the host and his numerous family are assembled in full force to bid us God-speed. I take my last, wistful look at a long-coveted tame Kaffir crane, a delightful bird, who, in his neat suit of softest French-grey plumage, stalks solemnly—as he has been doing any time these four or five years—about the precincts of station and hotel; and am introduced to a newly-captured baby jackal, which T—— has just bought, and which is to accompany us to England. Then the train, at its usual leisurely pace, crawls down with us to Port Elizabeth. More good-byes—and at last we and all our zoological collection are safe on board the Union Company's S.S. Mexican; and soon the coast of Algoa Bay recedes from our view.
Toto does not enjoy his journey as he did when outward-bound; for there are too many of the canine race on board, and one little pair of pugs in particular—belonging to richly-jewelled passengers of the Hebrew persuasion, who have not trained up their dogs in the way they should go—commence the voyage by invading everybody's cabin, and making themselves generally so objectionable that on the second day the captain's fiat goes forth for the impartial consignment of all the dogs—good, bad and indifferent—to hen-coops. There they are accordingly, on the second-class deck, ranged in a dismal row, at one end of which poor little caged Anubis, the jackal-cub, yelps piteously for mother, brethren and freedom; and there, for the four weeks of the voyage, they are condemned to remain. All are profoundly miserable; but poor old Toto—being so much the largest—is the most to be pitied. In that narrow cage, where there is hardly room for him to turn round, he travels through the steaming heat of the tropics; his legs become cramped and stiff from want of exercise; he fattens like a Strasburg goose on the Irish stew and other substantial viands from the saloon table with which the waiters—cruelly generous—persist in stuffing him; and when, as a rare treat, he is allowed half an hour's liberty for what is ironically called a "run" on deck, he is able to do little more than sit down and pant.
With better luck than often falls to the lot of travellers by steamer, we remain a sufficient time at St. Helena to allow of a somewhat hurried visit to Longwood; and, going ashore with a good number of fellow-passengers, we charter the few carriages and saddle-horses to be had in the little town, and proceed, as fast as we can, up the steep, zigzag road. We notice that in this island there seem to be two completely different climates within a very short distance of one another. Down near the sea-level, bananas and other tropical plants grow luxuriantly in the close, stifling heat: but as we ascend we come into another climate; the air is almost cold, there is a fine, drizzling rain; blackberries, bracken, and other home-like plants border the roadside, and we might imagine ourselves in England, but for the bright-hued little birds which peep fearlessly at us from the bushes. Though the excursion is a most enjoyable one, especially after being cooped up on board ship, Longwood itself is disappointing, the house being quite dismantled, and containing nothing but a very beautiful bust of Napoleon, which has been placed by his family in one of the rooms.
Our passage is throughout a calm and prosperous one: we have pleasant company on board; there are none of the cliques and small enmities which so often spoil the enjoyment of a voyage; some of the passengers play and sing well; good concerts and theatricals enliven many of our evenings; and our only disappointment is the unkind fate which again brings us through Madeira in the dark. And at last, one lovely April morning—which seems to have been made on purpose to welcome returning colonists, spoilt by a long continuance of Cape sunshine—we drop quietly into Southampton; English violets and primroses are brought on board in delicious profusion; the usual hurried farewells are exchanged while most of us struggle wildly with refractory bags and wraps; Toto, in an alarmingly plethoric condition, waddles forth from his hen-coop; and very soon we are on terra firma, and—paying the first dread penalty of the newly-landed—pass through the ordeal of the Custom House. This turns out to be a very lengthy and tedious business; for, since we have been away, new and stringent regulations have come into force, and we find that our innocent cabin-trunks and hand-bags are all suspected of containing dynamite. Not until every package has been thoroughly ransacked are we allowed to depart, and seek our train. Then the latter bears us along through woodland scenery, brilliant with all the fresh tints of an English spring, which for us seems to have a new beauty. And in a few hours we find ourselves back in old, familiar scenes; friends from whom we have long been parted are round us once more; and the dear, delightful, rough South African life is a thing of the past.
THE END.