Sir Christopher Brand, Speaker of the Cape Parliament, and father of Sir John Brand, President of the Free State, was noted for his parsimoniousness. Early one morning Sir Christopher came to the telegraph office at Paarl Station to send a wire ordering the arrest of a man who was subsequently hanged for an atrocious wife murder. The clerk in charge was Mr. David MacKay Wilson, who afterwards became a prominent official in the service of the South African Republic, and the author of “Behind the Scenes in the Transvaal.” Mr. Wilson counted the words and announced that the cost of the message would be four shillings and six pence. Sir Christopher replied that he had no money on him, but would pay later. The office regulation as to pre-payment was inflexible, and was not to be relaxed. “I told him so,” says Mr. Wilson, “whereupon he used his persuasive eloquence upon me to such effect that I weakly consented to pay for the message out of my own slender salary.” And although Mr. Wilson made several attempts to obtain payment of the sum advanced by him, he was not successful in doing so. Four years afterwards, Mr. Wilson was stationmaster at Durban Road, and one day he was called upon by a gentleman to open the door of one of the carriages. He immediately recognised Sir Christopher, and in a spirit half-jocular, half-serious, reminded him of his debt. Sir Christopher ignored the reminder and demanded to be released, as it was imperative that he should see some one on the station. Mr. Wilson replied that he would not open the door until he received his four and sixpence. At this moment the train was moved on for shunting purposes, and the old Knight remained gesticulating and threatening at the window. On returning to the platform, Mr. Wilson approached the carriage and repeated his demand, when his peppery debtor consigned him to perdition, adding that he did not now require to get out, as it was too late. “I never got my four and six,” says Mr. Wilson, “but I forgive him the debt, feeling satisfied that I had got even with him.”
Curious to relate, a member of the Brand family was once the cause of a catastrophe to Mr. Wilson. Sir John Brand and his suite were passing in a special train to Cape Town on his memorable visit to England. The regulations required that on such occasions the stationmaster should himself hold the Lever controlling the points. Mr. Wilson had just taken his position, when, looking in the direction of the fast approaching train, he saw to his horror his eighteen months old child sitting on the line playing with a piece of paper. Mr. Wilson left his position and went to the rescue. The train passed the points safely, and few but himself knew the horror that had been so narrowly escaped. The traffic manager, however, who accompanied the train, noticed that the points were unattended, and a few hours later Mr. Wilson was formally suspended by a telegraph message. An enquiry was held, at which Mr. Wilson pleaded guilty, and asked the chairman what he would have done under the circumstances. “I should have done as you did,” was the frank reply, and Mr. Wilson was acquitted and reinstated.
When the scheme of supplying water to Johannesburg from the farm Wonderfontein was first mooted, the surrounding farmers protested against the scheme, urging that if the water were diverted from the river which runs on the farm they would suffer. It may be stated that there is a river which disappears into the earth on that farm. President Kruger was very desirous that the Wonderfontein scheme should go through, and, in order to prove to the farmers that they were mistaken in the assumption that Wonderfontein was the source whence they derived their water supply, he ordered a sackful of corks to be emptied into the well-like cave down which “Wonderfontein” disappears. “If this stream does come out on your farms,” said he, “the corks must come with it.” Of course, not a single cork was ever seen again, and the farmers were convinced and withdrew their opposition to the scheme. It is suggested that President Kruger well knew when he proposed the test that at the outlet of the stream was far below its surface, the corks would never pass through, but remain floating in the well.
A young Hollander was, many years ago, appointed to a landdrostship in the country. He had no qualifications for the post, and was unacquainted with even the most rudimentary principles of Court procedure. Some wag pointed out to him that a great blunder had been perpetrated by his predecessor, inasmuch as there was no box for the prisoner in the Court, and it was pointed out to him that as the prisoner was always referred to as the “prisoner in the box,” if he was not in a box the conviction must fall to the ground through informality. The legal luminary on the Bench was not going to take any risks; he caused a gin case to be placed in the centre of the Court, and in that all prisoners or civil defendants had to stand before the business was proceeded with.
The following story illustrates how very distrustful some Boers are of modern customs. A widow named Erasmus sold some farms to a financial firm for £110,000 cash. It was agreed that she should receive the money at the Pretoria branch of the National Bank. In due course she presented herself at the Bank, bringing with her a hand-bag to hold the money. When a cheque for the amount was handed to her, she returned it, saying that she had not travelled all the way to Pretoria for a piece of paper, and insisted on all the money being paid to her in gold. As all arguments proved unavailing, the manager agreed to let her have her own way. A bagful of sovereigns was emptied on the counter, and the old lady began to count them. She continued to do so for several hours, when she was informed she could not remain on the premises as the bank doors were to be closed; but she was obdurate, and refused to leave as she had only counted one thousand sovereigns, and feared that she would not see the balance of her money if she waited till the following day. At last the manager sent for Mr. T. W. Beckett, the well-known Pretoria merchant, thinking that the latter, being well acquainted with the farmers and their ways, would be able to convince her of her folly. Mr. Beckett was, however, not more successful than the manager. Mr. Beckett then offered his personal guarantee to pay her the money next day. This she accepted, preferring it to the security of the National Bank.