Early Days—My First Love—I Sail from Southampton on My Quest for
Fortune—Table Bay and Durban—My Northward Trek by Ox Waggon—Bloemfontein to
Dutoitspan— The First White Woman—Diamond Digging and Kopje
Walloping—Amateur Theatricals: Old Gooseberry—Kimberley in 1871-The Night I
Broke the Bank-My Companion in a Coach—And so Home.
I
was born in the City of London on July 12 1852. My father was in a small way
of business, and it was not without difficulty, though he worked
laboriously, that he managed to pay his way and provide for a family of five
sons and two daughters. My dear mother was kind-hearted and affectionate,
and her husband and children meant her very life to her. I can never forget
her unselfish love and kindness to me. Her savings over many years,
amounting to £150, she gave to me, which enabled me to pay my passage to
Natal, purchase a small outfit, and leave a small balance with which to
start my career in South Africa.
At
the first school I attended I was taught more Hebrew than English. My
cousin, Barnett Barnato, was a schoolfellow of mine for many years until we
both left the Jews' Free School about the year 1865. I then went to
Croxford's College for eighteen months, after which I secured a billet in
the office of a merchant. There I kept the cash and day books at a salary of
fifteen shillings a week when I was in my fourteenth year. In this situation
I obtained a fair insight into business methods. Certain goods were
purchased by my firm direct from manufacturers in all parts of the world,
then sold, and different profits made on the various articles. Whatever
business ability I had in after years I attribute to this early experience.
It was an excellent training, and sowed the seeds of my advancement and
success in South Africa.
I
was first sent to school when I was seven years of age. My parents' house
was three and a half miles distant, so for five days a week I had to walk
seven miles in all sorts of weather. I was the proud possessor of a small
umbrella which leaked, and frequently I arrived at school or at my house
soaked to the skin, but fortunately I felt no ill effects at any time, nor
did I ever allow the rain to damp my ardour.
Now that I am in my seventy-ninth year, and look back on this early period
of my life, I feel that my exercise of seven miles a day, exposed to all
sorts of weathers, served to lay the foundation of a strong and robust
constitution which served me in good stead when having to face the
privations and hardships that fell to my lot in after-life. To-day many
parents desire schools erected near their homes so that their offspring
("dear things") should not succumb to fatigue in their daily walkS. In my
early days, long before education was made compulsory in England, parents
were compelled to look round for schools of moderate fees, the distance from
home being merely a secondary consideration. Youngsters then appeared more
robust than they are to-day, when trains and trams put them down at the very
door of Government schools.
In
1869 I proceeded to Norwich, where a cousin of mine was in a fair way of
business. He gave me the position of book-keeper and storeman, and I
remained with him for two years. During this time I stayed at a
boarding-house, where I became acquainted with a Mr. Patterson, an agent for
Messrs. Fullarton, publishers, of Edinburgh. He was a highly-cultured
bachelor, about fifty years of age, and he took a keen interest in me. He
must have noticed that I was not highly educated, for after we became
friendly he devoted three nights a week to teaching me. He recommended the
class of book I was to read, and among these were Shakespeare, Gibbon,
Macaulay, Adam Smith, Napier's History of the Peninsula War, and Sir Walter
Scott. At his request I occasionally recited extracts from Othello, Hamlet,
the Merchant of Venice and Macbeth. For him the teaching was a work of
love—he would not accept payment. He has long since gone to his rest, but I
revere his memory, as he did much to help me on my long career. His
unselfishness in refusing payment for the time he devoted to my interests
increases greatly the gratitude I feel for his loyalty and devotion to me.
My
parents were on friendly terms with a family named Brigden, who were our
neighbours. They had a pretty daughter, Sarah, whom I very much admired. We
were thrown frequently in each other's society; in fact, I may blushingly
say we were very much attached to each other. When I left England in 1871 I
bade her a regretful farewell. I returned to England the following year,
remaining there three weeks before sailing again for South Africa. During
the short time I was in London Sarah accompanied me to two places of
amusement. We were then both twenty years of age.
On
the voyage to Cape Town in 1872 I met a young lady of eighteen, whom I
greatly admired. She was travelling with her uncle and aunt, and was bound
for Queenstown. We parted at Cape Town. A few months later she visited
Dutoitspan with her relatives. We met again and we married on November 12,
1873.
Well, the years rolled by, and in the happiness of my wedded life to one of
the most affectionate and benevolent of women, the memory of Sarah ceased to
occupy the old place in my thoughts. I returned to England in 1919, when my
brother, during the course of conversation, incidentally mentioned the fact
that he had met Sarah in Regent Street and that she had inquired as to my
welfare. In reply to a question, my brother informed me that she had married
in the 'seventies. He did not know her address he said, having forgotten to
ask her for it.
Ten years later I accidentally heard of her whereabouts, and while in London
I wrote to her saying that I would like to renew her acquaintance for the
sake of auld lang syne. She readily replied that she would be pleased to
welcome me on a certain afternoon. So off I went, wondering what changes had
been wrought in her appearance in an interval of fifty-seven years, and what
changes she would observe in me.
She received me in her sitting-room in the presence of her daughter and
grandchild. She was now an old lady, hard of hearing and with grey hair, but
the prettiness of her girlhood was still evident, and there still remained
the beautiful complexion of bygone days. Here was indeed a slice of
romance—this meeting after a lapse of fifty-seven years. My visit lasted
nearly two hours, during which time we talked of the old days. I addressed
her as Sarah and she still called me David. In the course of our
conversation I had the temerity to tell her what a lucky and narrow escape
she had of becoming Lady Harris. She did not mind my little joke, and
laughed as her thoughts went back to the days of our calf love. We parted
company, probably never to meet again. But who can tell what the eccentric
turns of the Wheel of Fate may bring?
My
business prospects in England were none too alluring. My father's business
was not sufficiently extensive to provide lucrative employment for me. I
occasionally read about the discovery of diamonds in South Africa, and these
reports attracted my attention. I was young, healthy, robust and ambitious,
keen on launching out on my own and trying my fortune in some distant land.
But this required money, and where to secure it I did not know. I knew that
my father could not spare any cash, and I was not aware that my beloved
mother had a little nest-egg, the savings of many years' toil.
I
told her of my anxiety to proceed to the South African diamond fields,
where, I said, I felt sure I would make my fortune. I had the optimism of
youth; the confidence of improving my position —one of the traits of my
race. My mother was impressed. I was her favourite son. She told me she had
saved £150, and was prepared to give me the whole amount to enable me to
make a new start in life. I gladly accepted her offer, bought a small
outfit, and sailed from Southampton on the Royal Mail Steamer Northam in
1871.
She was a stout ship of about 1,800 tons, having been converted from a
full-rigged sailing ship into a single-screw steamer. She was a splendid,
broad-beamed sea boat, and behaved magnificently during a twenty-four-hour
gale of unusual severity such as we encountered in the Bay of Biscay.
Steaming and sailing we arrived in Table Bay after a voyage lasting
thirty-five days. Mr. Julius Wernher (afterwards Sir Julius Wernher, Bart.)
was a shipmate of mine. A tall, lanky German, he had served as a Uhlan in
the Franco-German War. In after-life we became friends. Possessed of a
charming personality, he was a born diplomat, courteous, affable and
considerate. Subsequently he set up an acquaintance with Alfred Beit in
Kimberley. They became partners, and established the great firm of Wernher,
Beit & Co. Both died multi-millionaires, and proved by their wills that they
were broad-minded philanthropists, bequeathing large amounts for the
establishment of a South African University and other useful objects. Beit
died in 1906, and Sir Julius passed away in 1912.
Alfred Beit was a wonderful financier, for whom Rhodes had the greatest
admiration, and he trusted him implicitly. They were always in each other's
confidence. Beit worshipped Rhodes, gave him of his best, and helped him in
his schemes for the expansion of the Empire. Beit was a great speculator,
though he had none of the customary wild characteristics. Wernher, on the
other hand was calm, cool, thoughtful and calculating, and always turned
things carefully over in his mind before coming to a decision, acting, as it
were, as a brake on his more venturesome partner. Beit's financial instincts
and Wernher's supreme caution went to the making of a unique combination,
which accounted for their acquiring the immense wealth that was theirs.
But I am digressing from the recollections of that memorable day when I
arrived in Table Bay full of optimism for the future, and ready to
participate with eagerness in the trials which awaited me in this new land
of sunshine. The Northam arrived at about 8 p.m. and anchored outside the
small docks which then existed. Boats put off for the mail, and others
arrived with friends to greet relatives and acquaintances. Like myself,
others on board bound for the diamond fields were anxious to learn of the
progress of events at this new Eldorado, and many inquiries were made from
those in the boats as to the prospects in store. The dramatic reply, which
dimmed the glamour of our high hopes, was to the effect that "the diamond
fields are played out." One pessimist even went so far as to confide in me
the sad intelligence that "many people are returning to their homes in the
Cape Colony and elsewhere in all kinds of vehicles, and many who have not
the money to pay for their passages are even willing to walk."
Imagine my disappointment when I heard this slice of depressing information.
My heart sank at the thought of my tumbling castles which I had been
building in the air. I had left England full of hope, with dazzling visions
of making my fortune on the diamond fields before my youthful eyes. I now
visualised a sorry picture of dashed hopes, and a much sterner battle with
the realities of life than I had originally anticipated. Should I return to
England? No! I had come so far, and I must continue on my pilgrimage in a
foreign land. Perhaps Natal would offer me some avenue of employment as a
clerk or even a storeman, and possibly, with energy and determination, I
might gradually make my way in the world.
Without more ado, I secured a passage in a small steamer of about 500 tons,
and reached Durban with big ideas but little cash. For two days and nights
we anchored outside the Bluff in a howling gale. When the weather abated
some small boats put out, and into these the few passengers on board were
lowered by the antiquated system of baskets. With seven others I was
battened down in the well of one of the boats of a few tons that carried a
try-sail, our seating accommodation consisting of two benches, one on the
port and the other on the starboard side of this tiny craft. So
uncomfortable were the conditions that we were unable to sit upright, so,
perforce, we bent our bodies in such a manner that our heads almost met.
When once under weigh, we sailed for the harbour. Even the two men in charge
seemed none too comfortable, and while being buffeted about on the open sea
a shrill shout of " Hold On!" warned us that we were in danger.
Instantaneously, there was a terrific bump, and, like a crew of fond
sailors, we were precipitated into each other's arms. My first impression
was that we had run ashore and that my last moment had come, for we were
actually imprisoned in our tiny craft, and could not escape without outside
assistance. To add to our plight, we soon heard another shout "She's over!"
What this actually meant I did not know, but afterwards I learnt that the
boat drawing only four feet of water had bumped the sandbar at the entrance
to the harbour before getting inside and into smooth water. Ships of 20,000
tons, drawing about thirty-six feet of water, nowadays cross the bar without
difficulty—thanks to powerful and up-to-date dredgers, which have made
Durban by far the best harbour in the Union.
On
landing I proceeded to the Royal Hotel where I found that a Mr. Johnson was
the proprietor. Living at that time was very cheap, and even pineapples
could be purchased at twenty-four for six-pence. Board and lodging at £6 per
month suited my limited means admirably, but how long I could even afford
this without securing employment I did not know. I immediately got busy. I
wrote to a cousin of mine who was on the diamond fields, and in his reply he
advised me to come along, at the same time stating that the news I had heard
in Cape Town to the effect that diamonds were being found in diminishing
quantities was entirely incorrect.
Inquiries elicited the information that the fare by post cart from Durban to
Dutoitspan was £30, and this was more than I could afford out of my scant
balance of cash. I was told that a number of ox wagons were leaving within a
few days with supplies for the diamond fields, so I immediately arranged to
accompany them with my limited baggage on payment of the modest sum of £3.
Before proceeding to narrate the story of my lonely and arduous trek to the
interior, I would describe to my readers something of the progress made
during the last sixty years by the city that is now the capital of the
Garden Colony. When I landed in 1871 Durban was merely a village. The only
store of any size was that of Messrs. Harvey, Greenacre & Co., and the
business, which has now reached immense proportions, is still conducted by
descendants of the original firm. Building sites in the principal streets
which at that period could have been purchased for about £50 have risen
enormously in value. One, a corner stand, was sold for £100,000 a few years
back.
To-day Durban boasts of the finest harbour in the Union, and in my opinion
it is destined to become the largest and most important port in South
Africa. Its handsome Town Hall is built after the design of one in a famous
Scottish town; its spacious streets are a delight to motorists and
pedestrians alike; while its highly-progressive business population is ever
on the move. Its dry dock is admittedly the largest in the southern
hemisphere. Happy to relate, its population fully realises that the progress
and development of the whole country depend largely on maintaining the
connection with the British Empire, whose navy is our greatest shield and
enables our produce to find world's markets at the expense of England's
taxpayers.
The majority of the Dutch population, influenced by their leaders for
political purposes, are in favour of a Republic, despite the fact that they
agreed to the Act of Union, 1910. The signatures of representatives of the
four Provinces, including the Transvaal and Orange River Colony, were
appended to this very important document, which was approved and ratified by
the respective Parliaments of the Cape, Transvaal, Natal and Orange Free
State.
The first clause of the preamble of the Act to constitute the Union of South
Africa reads:
"Whereas it is desirable for the welfare and future progress of South
Africa that the several British Colonies therein should be united under one
Government in a legislative Union under the Crown of Great Britain and
Ireland".
South Africa has progressed by leaps and bounds since Union. Exports,
imports, production, revenue from all sources, railway construction and
wealth have increased beyond the anticipations of the most optimistic.
Despite this favourable state of affairs, taxation has increased to a
considerable extent, borne chiefly by the urban population, the large
majority of whom are not South African born.
The public debt at Union held by South Africans was negligible, but at the
end of March, 1929, out of a total of £244,000,000, £100,000,000 was
subscribed and held by internal investors.
This is one of the many instances of the progress of the country due,
mainly, to the investment of British capital used for the building of
railways, and English enterprise in opening up the mines and developing the
industry.
To
return to the story of my northward trek. I was feverishly anxious to reach
the fields, and the delayed departure of the wagons even served to whet my
appetite for adventure. In the meantime my cash balance was rapidly
diminishing, and I was apprehensive lest the small funds still in my
possession should disappear before I arrived at my destination. The wagons,
groaning under their heavy loads of provisions and merchandise, at length
commenced their long journey of 600 miles. With some measure of forethought,
I placed my two small portmanteaux in a convenient spot so that I would be
able to get at them en route. I was forced to walk alongside the wagons, and
the pilgrimage was necessarily slow, the daily average of ground covered
being about fourteen miles. I could have walked twice that distance in the
time, but my baggage was my main consideration, and I had to keep a fixed
eye on the meagre assets I possessed.
Several times during the journey we halted for two days at a time so as to
give the oxen a rest, always securing suitable spots where the grazing was
good. It was my invariable practice to leave the wagons and walk to the
nearest farmhouse, perhaps ten or fifteen miles ahead, hoping to secure a
good square meal and a sound night's rest. In this I was rarely
disappointed, for I found all the farmers in the Free State most hospitable,
readily giving me the needed "shakedown " and some food to fill an aching
void. Be it said to their credit they always gave me the best they had.
Sometimes the meal consisted of coarse brown bread, mutton and coffee. When
in luck I struck a homestead where the "menu of mine host" consisted of
grilled chops, fried eggs and coffee, which I enjoyed much more than, in
later years, the finest menu in the best London hotel.
In
no instance would the Dutch farmer accept payment, though he was perhaps
poor, and money was scarce. These unsophisticated people were kind and
profoundly religious, and they felt they were doing good in the sight of the
Lord by helping the wayfarer. Anyhow, they had my blessing for what it was
then worth. At this particular period there were very few schools in the
Orange Free State, and there was not a single mile of railway. The wool
produced left very little profit to the farmer owing to the expense of
transportation to the ports, where the facilities for loading were indeed
very meagre, necessitating heavy charges for the chartering of cargo boats
to carry the produce to the ships anchored some distance from the shore. It
frequently happened when wool was low in price that the expenses of
transport, loading, shipping, selling and agency charges were in excess of
the total amount realised for the wool. This led to a debit balance to be
paid by the unfortunate farmer, who would have been better off had he in the
first instance destroyed the wool on his farm. Since the advent of railways
built with British capital, the cost of transporting produce to the ports
has decreased enormously, enabling produce of all kinds, including maize and
fruit, to be exported to Europe at a greatly reduced expense.
In
1871, when I trudged through the Free State, many of the Boers were so poor
that they could hardly afford to buy ready-made clothing for their children.
They therefore dressed the boys in skin trousers, veldschoens and cotton
shirts. They made their bread with boer meal; their candles from sheep-tail
fat. They lived frugally and religiously, and every Sunday they conducted
prayers and hymns both morning and evening. Satisfied with their humble lot,
never envious of their neighbours, they were God's own children. They seemed
thankful for the little they had, and they were ever ready to share their
scanty larder with the lonely traveller, needy or otherwise. Unfortunately
these good people, since Union, have been exploited by the professional
politician. Newspapers printed in Afrikaans have been sent to them free of
charge. These publications have condemned General Botha, and have grossly
misrepresented General Smuts and his followers, with the result that of the
seventeen Free State representatives in Parliament none are British born.
It
is noteworthy, however, that when the Free State was a Republic with its own
President and small Parliament, Irish and British-born citizens were
returned as members. To-day these same people have no earthly chance of
participating in the governing of the country; in fact, the Free State, with
its seventeen members of the Union Parliament and eight Senators, holds the
balance of political power.
The minority vote of the backveld crushes the majority vote of the towns
where intelligence in the nature of things is undoubtedly higher than in the
case of voters living on farms in sparsely populated districts. It can
truthfully be stated that South Africa has not benefited by this changed
order of things. The tolerance for which the Boers were justly noted has in
a great measure given way to racialism. The few Britishers who nowadays
disinterestedly support the Nationalists are considered good Afrikanders,
but those who do not see eye to eye with them are erroneously dubbed
"Jingoes." Indeed, the Dutch newspapers, conducted mostly by Hollanders, for
motives best known to themselves are inimical to England.
After a monotonous road journey of forty days, we at length reached
Bloemfontein, the capital of the Free State, where we halted for two days to
rest and feed the oxen. Mr. John Brand, a wise and able man, was then
President. The brothers Barlow, two typical Britishers, were the proprietors
of the only newspaper, The Friend, of the Free State, which they conducted
in conjunction with a printing establishment. The principal hotel at the
time was owned by two Germans named Stocke. In those far-off days the
buildings in the town were somewhat scattered. In 1929 we find Bloemfontein
a large and compact city boasting of handsome buildings, an important
railway junction, and big railway workshops employing several hundred men.
Since Union, Bloemfontein seems to have been a favoured town by all
Governments, who have not only established large public works and Government
industries there, but have transferred from other centres public offices
which had existed for many years, and which were more conveniently situated
where originally located.
I
might here mention the name of Mr. Arthur Barlow—a term synonymous with
Bloemfontein— a son of one of the aforementioned brothers, and a member of
the Union Parliament for about ten years prior to his defeat in the General
Elections of 1929. I have had the privilege of his long friendship, though
we are opposed politically. It was Arthur Barlow who originated the apt
phrase "Jobs for Pals" during the Hertzog regime. While he was Deputy
Chairman of Committee a fairer or more impartial man never sat in any
Assembly. But in his capacity as a private member he was at times very
sarcastic and bitter. A good speaker, with a very retentive memory, he would
have gone far had he not been so outspoken, and had he had more control over
a glib tongue which frequently spared no Party. Though he occasionally "took
the wrong turning" he always had the ear of the House. His humour and wit
were often enjoyed, and while his courage seemingly irritated not a few
members, it more often than not caused ripples of merriment on all sides of
the Assembly. At times he would be chivalrous, but no matter his mood, he
was always interesting. I wish, however, he could make up his mind
positively with which Party he really sympathises. Then, and then only, will
he secure a seat among South African rulers, a position for which his
ability eminently befits him. He has since joined the Press "gang" in the
loft above, and his parliamentary sketches contributed to the Rand Daily
Mail are read with interest throughout the country.
But again I have departed from my journey, and once more I must get on the
long, long road which took me to adventure and fortune. From Bloemfontein we
started on our last lap of the long trek to the diamond fields, now a
distance of 100 miles, which we accomplished in eight days of slow going,
the wagons being still heavily laden. On arrival at Dutoitspan (now
Beaconsfield) I was met by my cousin, who gave me a "shakedown" in one of
his tents. I was disappointed to find a primitive camp. There were no
substantial buildings of any kind. The diggers lived happily in tents; the
natives in the open, under what scanty covering they could find. The
canteens and so-called hotels were composed of frail wooden beams covered
with canvas, the bedrooms being divided by thin canvas walls. The personal
belongings of travellers were not safe, and it was a common occurrence for
the baggage of newcomers to be stolen during the night, made easy by the
cutting of the outside canvas with a penknife. In the twinkling of an eye
the intruders were able to make their departure with the loot.
For a few weeks water was difficult to obtain, and when thirsty I paid as
much as a shilling for a bucketful. Fleas were a plague in camp, and caused
many "moving" pictures in the life of a heterogeneous assembly of mankind.
It was "the morning after the night before" that one's body bore evidence of
the innumerable bites of these pests. There was no sanitary convenience in
camp, and enteric fever was rife. Many healthy young men of good physique,
who came to the diamond fields full of hope and confidence of "making good,"
succumbed to the dread disease, among them some young officers of Imperial
regiments stationed at Pietermaritzburg and Wynberg, who "had been granted
leave to try their luck in the search for the nimble but precious stones.
When I first arrived there was not a single white woman to grace the camp
with a presence that would have been welcomed, but rumour, which was ever on
the wing, and which eventually proved to be correct, stated that a white
woman in the person of a Mrs. Forder would arrive from Cape Town by
Saturday's passenger coach. This was an event that was eagerly anticipated
by the excited diggers, and when the coach eventually hove in sight, the
mixed population mounted wagons and debris heaps—the best spots of
vantage—and gave a rousing cheer that could have been heard for miles around
to their first feminine visitor.
At
this period Kimberley, De Beers, Dutoitspan and Bultfontein Mines were being
worked on the surface by individual diggers, the large majority of whom held
one claim of thirty feet square, with no limit to depth. The system then in
vogue of extracting diamonds from the top yellow ground was very primitive.
The diamondiferous soil was loaded in Scotch carts and taken to small
depositing floors. There it was tipped, broken up with picks, and put
through sieves. The coarse ground was then placed on tables and sorted with
small hand scrapers. In this crude fashion diamonds were found.
Many diggers scraped continuously for weeks without finding anything. Others
were more fortunate, particularly in the two rich mines— Kimberley and De
Beers. Even here, the average yield of stones did not exceed four grains to
the ton of ground carried away from these areas. From the other two mines
the yield was about one grain to the ton. It is worthy of note that at this
particular period the value of diamonds was below five shillings per grain.
The lucky diggers were those who found large stones which realised several
hundred pounds, but the smaller "stuff," including chips and boart, only
fetched five shillings per carat. Very few diggers made any money, a portion
barely paid expenses, while the majority did not even earn sufficient to
make ends meet. Diggers working in the Dutoitspan and Bultfontein mines were
compelled to abandon hundreds of claims every month through not being able
to pay the licence of ten shillings per claim per month.
With a capital of nineteen pounds I faced my new life. I was anxious to make
a start. I felt I must earn something or my little stock of cash would soon
disappear. My first impulse was to take out a claim in the Dutoitspan mine
and work it. I was enamoured of the idea, and lost no time in purchasing a
tent and a few picks and shovels. I engaged six Kafirs, and commenced
operations on a small scale. Visions of large and valuable diamonds
brightened my horizon, but I was doomed to disappointment for, alas, they
never materialised. For five weeks I scraped and scraped, but I only
recovered one stone weighing one and a quarter carats. I had eaten up my
small capital so I was compelled to sell the diamond and digging gear to pay
the natives for their final week's work.
It
was with much heartburning that I abandoned my claim and secured a billet in
a general store. The proprietor, Mr. Marcus Hayman, was also a diamond
buyer. I frequently weighed the gems he bought, saw the prices he gave for
the different sizes, colours and shapes, and thus gained useful experience
of the true value of the different varieties. In the main street (Dutoitspan),
close to the store in which I worked, was a big canteen built of wood and
canvas and conducted by two men named Benning and Martin. Here diggers and
buyers congregated after the toil of a hard day. I, too, was attracted to
these premises, where well-attended smoking concerts were conducted
bi-weekly. The diggers, an unconventional crowd, came mostly in their shirt
sleeves, while, in contrast, diamond buyers who were the proud possessors of
offices, and others who went purchasing on the claims, arrived in
fashionable attire and spent money freely. To me it was quite obvious that
the better end of digging was buying diamonds, so I managed to induce my
"boss" to start me on what was then known as "kopje walloping" (this was the
name given to itinerant diamond buyers). He lent me a pair of small pocket
diamond scales, and provided £100 capital conditionally on my agreeing to
give him the first option to buy my purchases, and hand him half the
profits. This arrangement was to last for one month, and, if successful, he
promised to increase my capital and continue on the same basis.
I
sallied forth on my new venture determined to confine the scope of my
operations to Bult-fontein and Dutoitspan. My limited capital did not permit
of my buying at the two high-grade mines, besides which up to then I had had
more experience of the value of the products of Dutoitspan and Bultfontein
mines. My profits for the first week amounted to £9, and half of this I had
to give to my financial supporter. During my initial month's operations I
disclosed a profit of £60, leaving £30 for myself. As time went on I
succeeded in establishing a fairly good business connection. My purchases
increased, and so did my capital. Gaining more confidence in my business
acumen, my principal later allowed his share of the profit to remain in the
venture. When my supporter had made sufficient to allow him to take a trip
to Europe, we settled up. I had shared my profits for three months, and had
now gained enough confidence and cash to launch out on my own account. I
continued buying from diggers round the mines until the end of September,
1872. By then I had gained the confidence of a fair number of clients, and
had increased my capital to about £400.
At
this period there was no settled government, and not even a municipality.
There were three commissioners, who were supposed to administer the Cape
Colonial law, but withal there was considerable confusion concerning the
laws applicable to Griqualand West, especially after the Free State
Government had handed over the territory to the British Government through
Sir Henry Barkly, Governor of the Cape Colony.
As
is generally the case when certain points of law are uncertain, some people
are bold enough to give themselves the benefit of the doubt, and this was
exactly what was now happening. A few successful canteen keepers seized the
chance of establishing gambling dens, with the result that faro and roulette
tables sprang into being with mushroom-like growth. Amusement was scarce in
those days, and they were well patronised, especially by doctors and
successful diggers. The principal roulette table was to be found at Dod's
Canteen, New Rush, where free refreshments provided an additional inducement
to the crowds who put in an appearance. Another similar undertaking was
owned by the brothers Ashley, who did fairly well, and later returned to
England to rest on their laurels. These rooms were opened at 8 o'clock every
evening, and money changed hands merrily till 1 or 2 o'clock in the morning.
These pleasure resorts of a motley crowd must have continued for about a
year before they were forcibly closed by proclamation or some other
authority. Anyhow, the end of this story, as can be well imagined, is that
the promotors fared much better than their unsuspecting victims —the
punters. There were, however, a few lucky ones, among whom I was fortunately
numbered.
But in those memorable days, when money was easily made and as easily spent,
when the flotsam and jetsam of humanity mingled with the sons of titled
British parents, all life was a gamble. In the lives of those early diggers
drama and comedy jostled each other alternately in a race for supremacy. A
braver band of adventurers never set foot on the soil of Klondyke—they who
smiled at good fortune were equally chivalrous when the dark shadows of
adversity crossed their path.
In
the tin shanty days of the Diamond Fields, we were denied the pleasure of
professional dramatic or musical entertainment, and had to do the best we
could to amuse ourselves.
At
Dutoitspan we formed an Amateur Dramatic Society, with Mr. Kilgour, the
representative of the London and South African Exploration Company, as its
president.
To
contribute to the social amenities of an otherwise drab existence, I was
persuaded to become a member, and I entered into the spirit of the
undertaking with great gusto. We organised many entertainments of a farcical
nature, and my friend, "Tim" Tyson—for several years the popular secretary
of the Kimberley Club—invariably acted as my foil.
These performances were well attended, not perhaps for their special merit,
but probably by reason of the dearth of entertainment which then existed.
One memorable night we performed, by special request, the farce Old
Gooseberry. Word perfect, we had produced it on a previous occasion, and
this was to be an "encore" effort. After every performance, the president
and players partook of supper behind the curtain on the stage. On this
occasion we eagerly anticipated after the show a sumptuous repast, knowing
full well that the principal dish was to be a lovely fat duck stuffed with
sage and onions.
Our "orchestra" consisted of a pianist, who gave his services gratuitously
to the cause. At the first performance he played "Zampa" as an overture, and
he merited the sustained applause of a large audience. Having dined well,
but not too wisely, before the second entertainment he commenced by striking
up the popular air "My Grandfather's Clock." The number has a rousing
chorus, and the large audience lustily joined in the refrain. This they sang
for fully half an hour, much to the delight of the pianist, who encouraged
its repetition several times.
But behind the curtain the anxious "stars" were bursting with indignation at
the conduct of the inebriated musician, and finally our patience became
exhausted. Without hesitation, Mr. Kilgour rushed from the stage,
remonstrated with the happy delinquent, and closed and locked the piano. The
unexpected turn of events had infuriated some of the performers, especially
my friend Tim Tyson, who was taking the leading part with me, and the result
was that he forgot almost the whole of his part.
The closing scenes of the play called for some realistic acting. Tyson ("Old
Gooseberry") and I ("Snapshot") had the stage to ourselves, and our lines
were spoken seated at the dinner table, from which arose an appetising
odour.
Representing "the Squire," "Old Gooseberry" wore a very high collar, a big
black necktie, and an enormous white frilled shirt. I was at this stage
endeavouring to induce "Old Gooseberry" to agree to my marrying his
daughter. The dialogue was supposed to be sustained and humorous, but at the
critical moment recollections of the pianist's behaviour caused Tyson's
memory to fail him completely, and he was compelled to introduce some
irrelevant "gags". I tried my best to prompt him in a stage whisper, but all
to no purpose. Try as he would, he could not get into the swing of the play.
I carried on for some time, but at last lost control of my own temper, and
in a fit of rage I picked up the fat stuffed duck from the dish on the
table, and threw it at "Old Gooseberry." It alighted on his chin, and
bounced off on to the floor of the stage. I can even now visualise the sage
and onions pouring down his lily-white shirt front.
Tyson stood there flabbergasted, while the audience roared its approval,
thinking it was part of the play. Needless to say, I heaved a sigh of relief
when the curtain was rung down. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the supper after the
show, even though the principal dish now consisted of dusted duck, minus the
palatable sage and onions!
On
another occasion, a variety show was organised. A Mr. Graham and I were
billed to sing a duet "The Bold Gendarmes." Graham happened to be possessed
of the poetic instinct, and cleverly altered the original verses so as to
introduce the names of local incidents and personages. We had several
rehearsals before the actual performance. On "the" night, however, the
author forgot the lines which it was thought were going to "bring down the
house," and so I was left to sing every word, Graham only managing to join
in the original chorus, which ran:
"
We'll run them in, we'll run them in,
We
are the bold Gendarmes, etc."
Graham went through the Gaika-Galecka War as Quartermaster of the Diamond
Fields Horse. He has long since given up writing verse—he has joined the
majority of my old comrades.
Having increased my stock of capital, I decided to try my luck in Kimberley,
where diamonds were more plentiful, so I shifted my tent and small
belongings to what was then known as Colesberg Kopje or New Rush. At that
time there were several diamond merchants, occupying canvas and corrugated
iron offices, who purchased from the diggers and shipped to their principals
in Europe. There were many brokers in the local diamond market. They sold
from dealer to dealer; from digger to merchant. People now became
enterprising enough to build stores and dwellings, and money was being
freely circulated. Large numbers of natives, who worked for six months at a
time on the diggings, generally spent their earnings in the purchase of
blankets, boots and clothing, which they invariably carried to their kraals,
sometimes several hundreds of miles away. Their greatest ambition appeared
to possess a gun, then known by the whites as "gas pipes." In consequence of
this desire on the part of the black man, a big trade was done in old muzzle
loaders, particularly as there did not exist any law to prevent the sale of
firearms to natives.
There were, of course, no native compounds in these days. Many of the less
sober-minded natives would roam about the diggings at night time after
having bought Cape brandy from the lower class of canteens. Consequently,
this particular species of human being became a menace to the safety of the
community. As alcohol appeared to have a greater effect on the raw native
than on the white man, many fatal faction fights occurred among these sons
of Ham. Whenever there was a serious clash, the police always took a hand in
its suppression, invariably assisted by a large force of civilians. These
were, indeed, rough and exciting times. Diggers walking through the
so-called town after dark were always careful to perambulate in parties of
three or four, armed with stout sticks and other weapons of defence.
At
this particular period diggers, on whom fortune had not smiled, were daily
leaving the Fields, but in the order of things they were as quickly replaced
by newcomers anxious to try their luck. Those who took a hurried departure
always sold their gear through a ubiquitous auctioneer, and the impedimenta
were quickly snapped up by the newcomer—so keen, so optimistic. Mr. A. A.
Rothschild was an outstanding figure on the rostrum, and he wielded the
hammer with such a degree of skill, that in those days he was undoubtedly
the most popular auctioneer on the Fields. He was a noted "card." Capable
and racy, he found favour because of the many amusing anecdotes he told
during the course of the bidding. He was immaculate in his attire— a real
Beau Brummel—and he was aptly termed the "Bond Street Swell." His curly hair
shone from its treatment with pomade, and his beard was always trimmed
painstakingly. His boots fitted him like the proverbial glove, and he was
really proud of his small and well-shaped feet. So intent was he on
retaining their shape, that he always put his slippers on with the aid of a
shoehorn!
In
1871 I walked across the Kimberley Mine. Claimholders at this stage were
compelled by the mining regulations to leave a margin of seven feet six
inches on the surface for roadways, so that the yellow ground could be
carted to depositing floors on, the edge of the mine. Scarcely a week passed
in which it did not happen that a Scotch cart and its two mules over-backed
and fell fifty or sixty feet to the bottom of the claim. In a few instances
the mules, by a stroke of luck, escaped serious injury owing to the cart
reaching the bottom first. Sometimes it took a lot of scheming to get the
animals on the surface again.
As
the claims got deeper the roads became more insecure and dangerous, and
there were continual falls into deeper ground. It now became impossible to
retain these roads any longer, so a method of working the mine was
inaugurated. Inclined standing wires were anchored at the bottom of the
claims, and on the edge of the mine the diamondiferous ground was hauled to
the surface in strong hide buckets. The gravel was then tipped and carted
away, much to the relief of the poor mules, who had lost many an unknown
relative on the mine roads. To-day the Kimberley Mine is the largest hand
excavated hole in the world, the working shaft having reached a depth of
3,600 feet.
It
is the "show place" of Kimberley, and many visitors gaze down into it in
wonderment. Sightseers are always impressed, and many an American visitor
has exclaimed "I guess and calculate if this hole could be taken across the
Herring Pond we would build an aerial railway across it, and make it a real
payable proposition." Little do they realise that its untouched wealth,
which can be won when wanted, would still cover the cost of all the aerial
railways Uncle Sam would ever want to build in the land of Stars and
Stripes. Visitors to the town in search of souvenirs revel in taking "
snaps" of this wonderful man-made crater, which leaves an indelible
impression on the minds of all who see it.
But to return to my gambling pursuits of those early days. A namesake of
mine, but no relative, had his tent pitched next to mine in Kimberley. We
were ardent friends. After dining together at a so-called hotel, we left
with the intention of going to our canvas home in a sleepy hollow some
distance away. On the way we passed Dodd's Canteen, which was brilliantly
illuminated with many paraffin lamps. Harris remarked to me " It is rather
early to go home, I am going to have a 'flutter' at roulette, win or lose a
tenner."
He
invited me to enter the rooms, but I endeavoured to persuade him to come
home, not having the slightest inclination to gamble. He refused to consent
to my request, saying that he would not remain longer than half an hour. "
Come on, Harris. You need not play!" he said. "It is rather risky for you to
walk home alone on the outskirts of the town." I yielded to his persuasive
efforts, and for the first time in my life I visited a gambling house. The
rooms were well furnished, the place was well attended, and the game went on
merrily, while free drinks were served ad lib to punters.
After an hour's play my friend still had £4 left of his original £10. I was
waiting patiently, hoping he would either quickly win £10, or lose it. He
called for a small bottle of champagne to be poured into two glasses. One he
handed to me, and we both drank the "fizz" together. Up to this time I had
been only a disinterested spectator, being determined not to risk my money
at gambling. However, just as I had finished drinking my glass of champagne,
one of the proprietors remarked significantly that some men only visited the
rooms for the purpose of getting free drinks. This remark aroused my ire, as
I thought it was meant for me. So purely out of pique, I put a sovereign on
number thirteen with the intention of losing it and clearing out. But,
strange to tell, the ball eventually rolled into this number, which paid out
35-1.
Well, to cut a long story short, I played on till 1.30 in the morning, and I
punted with such luck that I broke the bank. I eventually left the premises
I was so loath to enter with £800 in cash, and a cheque for £600—£1,400 in
all. At last I thought my fortune had been made, for I never dreamt of
possessing such wealth. I have never entered a gambling house since. The
croupier had done me a good turn when he was outspoken enough to mention
free drinks!
I
was now the proud possessor of £1,800. To me it was then an immense fortune,
beyond the dreams of avarice. My head was immediately "turned"—yes, turned
towards dear old England, which I was longing to see once again. I lost no
time in reserving a seat in an inland transport wagon to Cape Town, and my
passage was booked on the R.M.S. Danube for Southampton. Before my departure
I was cautious enough to deposit £1,000 in the bank, pay my return fare and
buy a draft on London from the balance of available cash. The wagon took
eight days and seven nights to reach Wellington—forty-five miles from Cape
Town—up to which ran the only railway line so far constructed in South
Africa.
The coach was uncomfortably packed right from the start of our journey, so I
was forced to occupy the back seat, having with me as my companion a young
advocate named De Villiers (afterwards the Right Honourable Lord de Villiers,
President of the National Convention and Lord Chief Justice of the Union).
We got into friendly conversation on the long journey, and struck up a bond
of friendship which was continued in the years that followed. It took us
three days to reach Murraysburg. Halting at 7 o'clock in the evening outside
the principal hotel, we were immediately faced with a deputation, who
impatiently inquired whether Mr. Advocate de Villiers was a passenger. When
he acknowledged his presence, the spokesman informed him politely that
President Burghers, of the Transvaal, was on a visit to his native town, and
a banquet was being held in his honour by the citizens that very night at 8
o'clock. "We will feel deeply grateful if you will be good enough to preside
at the function," was how the speaker summarised his mission. In a voice
which showed no signs of embarrassment at the unexpected invitation, Mr. de
Villiers replied "But this is indeed very short notice. If you will allow me
to attend in ordinary attire, and forgive any shortcomings on my part, I
will do my best." They readily agreed to the terms laid down. "May I bring a
friend?" added Mr. de Villiers. "Certainly," came the prompt reply.
So
off we sauntered to the function after a hurried wash and brush up, during
which short interval de Villiers must have thought out the part he was to
play at the banquet. I wondered what kind of speech he would make after so
long a journey and at such short notice, and in my heart of hearts I pitied
him. To my astonishment he rose to the occasion magnificently, and in an
address which lasted three-quarters of an hour he proposed the health of the
President in an eloquent speech. His remarks were couched in beautiful
English, the like of which I have seldom heard or read. At this time he was
twenty-eight years of age. I was only a youth of twenty, but I was greatly
impressed by his outstanding ability, and felt that this young advocate had
a great future before him.
At
11 o'clock the same night the guard of our wagon shouted "all aboard." There
was no more time to waste. The passengers jumped into their respective
places, crack went the driver's whip, and to the "hurrahs" of the grateful
citizens we continued on our long journey. On arrival at Cape Town I said
farewell to my advocate friend, and soon afterwards boarded the R.M.S.
Danube. After a sea-tossed voyage of twenty-eight days, I stepped ashore at
Southampton, and proceeded by rail to London where I remained three weeks.
During the family reunion which followed, I refunded to my dear mother the
£150 she had lent me, and, after a welcome rest, during which I renewed
acquaintance with many old friends, I again sailed in the R.M.S. Danube on
November 25, 1872.
