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.
