In the pre-war days in the Transvaal many of the higher positions in the public service were filled by men whose only qualification was that they were friends of the “powers that were.” An old friend of President Kruger had fallen on evil days, and came to the President for help. “I have lost my farm,” he said, “and now you must give me an appointment.” The President regretted that he could not get him suitable employment in the service of the State. “But surely there must be some post open which you can give me,” the applicant pleaded. “Not one,” replied the President, sorrowfully. “I have tried everywhere. All the chief positions are filled up; and as to a clerkship, well, you know yourself you are too stupid for that.”
A Kaffir Story.—Two Tambookies running from the field of battle hid themselves in a hole, but the leg of one unfortunately protruding caught the eye of some wary Icalaca. They pulled him out and were preparing to slay him, when he cried: “Spare me, and I will tell you something.” They paused, and he said: “There is yet another man in that hole.” The second hidden warrior, hearing this, called out from his place of concealment: “Don’t believe him, kill him at once; he tells lies, there is no one in here.” But it availed him nothing, and, after the custom of Kaffirs, the two prisoners were forthwith assegaied.
Another Kaffir Story.—Umthonthlo, a native chief, who was the terror of his neighbours in the seventies, was once buying some guns from a trader who thought to deceive him. Showing him two guns, the trader asked the chief what he thought of them. “Oh,” said he, “this one is a Friday gun, that one is a Monday gun.” When asked to explain, he said: “Do I not know that all your artisans work well from Tuesday to Friday, and then all get drunk, and their Monday’s work is worth nothing at all? Never show me a Monday gun again.”
When the Reform prisoners were confined in the Pretoria Gaol they were frequently visited by the late Mr. B. I. Barnato, and on the occasion of one of his visits he chaffed them about the position that they had found themselves in, remarking that they had tried to play a game of poker with the Transvaal Government on a “Colley Thumper” hand. None of them had heard of this term before, and Mr. Barnato was asked to explain. He replied:—An English traveller with a not very extreme knowledge of poker, found himself on one occasion engaged in a game with an astute old Yankee on board an American steamer. Playing cautiously, the Englishman did pretty well until he suddenly found himself, to his great satisfaction, in possession of a full hand. The players alternately doubled the stakes until they were raised to £100. The Englishman then called the American’s hand, and the American deliberately put down a pair of deuces, a four, a seven, and a nine. The Englishman, with a triumphant smile, put down his full hand, and proceeded to gather the stakes. “Stop,” said the Yankee, “the stakes are mine; yours is only a full hand; mine is a ‘Colley Thumper,’ it beats everything.” The Englishman had never heard of such a hand before, but he determined not to show his ignorance, and reluctantly relinquished the stakes. The game then proceeded until at length the Englishman found himself in possession of a pair of deuces, a four, a seven and a nine. Betting went on freely until the stakes were raised to £500. The Englishman again called, and the Yankee put down a straight. “Ah,” said the joyful Englishman, “mine is a ‘Colley Thumper.’” “True,” said the American, “but you forget the rules. It only counts once in an evening.”
The following story illustrates the Kaffir’s love of cattle. A German trader once presented Panda, King of the Zulus, with a watch. “What is the use of it?” said he. “To tell where the sun is? We can see it; when cloudy we remain in our huts; at night we sleep. Does it give milk?” “No.” “Does it give calves?” “No.” “Then take your watch away.”