Mrs. D- Tells Me That The Coloured Servant-Girls, With All Their
Faults, Are Immaculately Honest In These Parts; And, Indeed, As
Every Door And Window Is Always Left Open, Even When Every Soul Is
Out, And Nothing Locked Up, There Must Be No Thieves.
Captain D-
told me he had been in remote Dutch farmhouses, where rouleaux of
gold were ranged under the thatch on the top of the low wall, the
doors being always left open; and everywhere the Dutch boers keep
their money by them, in coin.
Jan. 3d. - We have had tremendous festivities here - a ball on New
Year's-eve, and another on the 1st of January - and the shooting for
Prince Alfred's rifle yesterday. The difficulty of music for the
ball was solved by the arrival of two Malay bricklayers to build
the new parsonage, and I heard with my own ears the proof of what I
had been told as to their extraordinary musical gifts. When I went
into the hall, a Dutchman was SCREECHING a concertina hideously.
Presently in walked a yellow Malay, with a blue cotton handkerchief
on his head, and a half-bred of negro blood (very dark brown), with
a red handkerchief, and holding a rough tambourine. The handsome
yellow man took the concertina which seemed so discordant, and the
touch of his dainty fingers transformed it to harmony. He played
dances with a precision and feeling quite unequalled, except by
Strauss's band, and a variety which seemed endless. I asked him if
he could read music, at which he laughed heartily, and said, music
came into the ears, not the eyes. He had picked it all up from the
bands in Capetown, or elsewhere.
It was a strange sight, - the picturesque group, and the contrast
between the quiet manners of the true Malay and the grotesque fun
of the half-negro. The latter made his tambourine do duty as a
drum, rattled the bits of brass so as to produce an indescribable
effect, nodded and grinned in wild excitement, and drank beer while
his comrade took water. The dancing was uninteresting enough. The
Dutchmen danced badly, and said not a word, but plodded on so as to
get all the dancing they could for their money. I went to bed at
half-past eleven, but the ball went on till four.
Next night there was genteeler company, and I did not go in, but
lay in bed listening to the Malay's playing. He had quite a fresh
set of tunes, of which several were from the 'Traviata'!
Yesterday was a real African summer's day. The D-s had a tent and
an awning, one for food and the other for drink, on the ground
where the shooting took place. At twelve o'clock Mrs. D- went down
to sell cold chickens, &c., and I went with her, and sat under a
tree in the bed of the little stream, now nearly dry. The sun was
such as in any other climate would strike you down, but here coup
de soleil is unknown. It broils you till your shoulders ache and
your lips crack, but it does not make you feel the least languid,
and you perspire very little; nor does it tan the skin as you would
expect. The light of the sun is by no means 'golden' - it is pure
white - and the slightest shade of a tree or bush affords a
delicious temperature, so light and fresh is the air. They said
the thermometer was at about 130 degrees where I was walking
yesterday, but (barring the scorch) I could not have believed it.
It was a very amusing day. The great tall Dutchmen came in to
shoot, and did but moderately, I thought. The longest range was
five hundred yards, and at that they shot well; at shorter ranges,
poorly enough. The best man made ten points. But oh! what figures
were there of negroes and coloured people! I longed for a
photographer. Some coloured lads were exquisitely graceful, and
composed beautiful tableaux vivants, after Murillo's beggar-boys.
A poor little, very old Bosjesman crept up, and was jeered and
bullied. I scolded the lad who abused him for being rude to an old
man, whereupon the poor little old creature squatted on the ground
close by (for which he would have been kicked but for me), took off
his ragged hat, and sat staring and nodding his small grey woolly
head at me, and jabbering some little soliloquy very sotto voce.
There was something shocking in the timidity with which he took the
plate of food I gave him, and in the way in which he ate it, with
the WRONG side of his little yellow hand, like a monkey. A black,
who had helped to fetch the hamper, suggested to me to give him
wine instead of meat and bread, and make him drunk FOR FUN (the
blacks and Hottentots copy the white man's manners TO THEM, when
they get hold of a Bosjesman to practise upon); but upon this a
handsome West Indian black, who had been cooking pies, fired up,
and told him he was a 'nasty black rascal, and a Dutchman to boot',
to insult a lady and an old man at once. If you could see the
difference between one negro and another, you would be quite
convinced that education (i.e. circumstances) makes the race. It
was hardly conceivable that the hideous, dirty, bandy-legged,
ragged creature, who looked down on the Bosjesman, and the well-
made, smart fellow, with his fine eyes, jaunty red cap, and snow-
white shirt and trousers, alert as the best German Kellner, were of
the same blood; nothing but the colour was alike.
Then came a Dutchman, and asked for six penn'orth of 'brood en
kaas', and haggled for beer; and Englishmen, who bought chickens
and champagne without asking the price. One rich old boer got
three lunches, and then 'trekked' (made off) without paying at all.
Then came a Hottentot, stupidly drunk, with a fiddle, and was
beaten by a little red-haired Scotchman, and his fiddle smashed.
The Hottentot hit at his aggressor, who then declared he HAD BEEN a
policeman, and insisted on taking him into custody and to the
'Tronk' (prison) on his own authority, but was in turn sent flying
by a gigantic Irishman, who 'wouldn't see the poor baste abused'.
The Irishman was a farmer; I never saw such a Hercules - and beaming
with fun and good nature.
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