Captain Alfred W. Drayson
"Sporting Scenes amongst the Kaffirs of South Africa"
Preface.
Nearly every person with whom I have conversed since my return from South Africa, has appeared to take great interest in the Kaffirs, the wild animals, and other inhabitants of that country.
I am not vain enough to suppose that my friends have merely pretended this interest for the sole object of allowing me an opportunity of talking, and have thereby deluded me into a belief of affording amusement. But I really think that the opinions which they have expressed are genuine, and that perhaps the same wish for information on the subject of the Kaffirs, or the wild beasts of the Cape, may be more widely extended than I have been able personally to prove.
Most men who have written on South Africa, have been either sporting giants, scientific men, or travellers who have gone over ground never before trodden by the white man. I am neither of these.
The first I am not, for the blood spilled by me was but a drop compared to the ocean that many have caused to flow in this land.
Unfortunately I am not scientific; but, perhaps, from this very defect, I may become the more intelligible to the general reader of the following pages, who may comprehend my simple names for simple things, rather than those of a polysyllabic character.
I know that I have sunk miserably in the opinion of savants, in consequence of my inability to tell whether or not the Terstraemiaceae grew luxuriantly in Africa. I only knew that the plains bore beautiful flowers, and I learnt their Kaffir names; that the bush had fine trees, some with, sweet-scented blossoms, others with fruit, and I knew which fruit was good to eat.
By travellers, I may be considered presumptuous in attempting to write on South Africa, when I never crossed the Vaal river or penetrated far into the interior; but I must trust that they will pardon my temerity. I was obliged, from circumstances, to pursue the game nearer my home, which required “more patient search and vigil long,” for the creatures had become more wild or savage than those animals in the interior that were seldom disturbed.
From sketches and a rough journal compiled on the spot, I have formed this book.
Chapter One.
Voyage to the Cape—Discomforts of a long voyage—The wolf turned lamb—Porpoises and Portuguese men-of-war—The mate’s story—Catching a shark—An albatross hooked—Cape Town—Algoa Bay—Ox-waggon—South-African travelling—Obstinacy conquered—Expeditious journeying—Frontier of the colony.
To an indifferent sailor, a long voyage is not by any means a pleasant thing; and I quite agree with the sage who said that a man on board a ship was a prisoner, with the additional risk of being drowned. One feels a continual yearning for the green fields, fresh butter and milk; and the continual noise, confusion, and other disagreeables, are more trying to temper and patience than can be imagined by a quiet stay-at-home gentleman.
We left England in the coldest weather that had been remembered for years. A month’s daily skating on the Serpentine was a bad preparation for a week’s calm, under a burning sun, within a degree of the line, twenty-seven days afterwards. The frames of Englishmen, however, appear to be better adapted for the changes of climate than are those of the inhabitants of any other country.
We passed the Bay of Biscay with the usual rough weather, had a distant look at Madeira, and entered the trade-winds, without having met with any other disaster than a sort of mutiny amongst the crew, who, headed by a contumacious coloured giant, refused to attend divine service on a Sunday. A detachment of half a dozen men, with the captain and the mate at their head, soon brought the gentleman in question to reason; forty-eight hours in irons, on bread and water, entirely changed his view of the matter, and he came out from the encounter a very lamb.
I frequently remained on deck in the first watches of the night, during the pleasant sailing in the trade-winds, between the Canary Islands and the west coast of Africa, a part of the world that has always been remembered by me for its beautiful climate. The light breeze caused little more than a ripple on the water, which sparkled with millions of phosphorescent lights, and the slow, easy motion of the vessel, with the occasional groaning of the blocks and bulk-heads, as a stronger puff of wind than usual caused an additional strain upon them, was like the heave and swell of some leviathan lungs, while the graceful curve of the studding-sails, spreading far out on each side, gave to the ship the appearance of some vast animal, intent on a journey of mystery and importance, and busy in thus muttering to itself a rehearsal of its mission.
I preferred resting in the stern-boat, and watching the space around, to breathing the close atmosphere of the badly-ventilated cabins, with their odours of bilge-water and mouldy biscuit, or tossing about restlessly in the narrow berth, to the disturbance and sometimes death of vagrant cockroaches, who had trespassed under the blanket, and whose number was legion.
In the surrounding water, one could trace the meteor course of some monster of the deep, whose dive left behind a long brilliant stream of fire like a rocket. Suddenly the ocean would apparently become alive with these flashes of light, as a shoal of porpoises dashed into sight with the velocity of a troop of wild horse, leaping and shying in their merry race. They cross the brilliant wake of the ship, and, with a regular wheel, like a squadron of cavalry, charge after her. The ten knots per hour that the log has given as the gallant ship’s speed, make but little difference to these aquatic rovers. They open their line as they near, and now they are under the stern; in a second they have passed, in a few more are far on ahead, jumping about near the bows, and taking each valley of the rolling sea in true sporting style. Then, with another sweep, they dash down upon us, and, after inspecting the ship for a minute, disappear with the same reckless speed, leaving two or three outsiders, who, not getting a fair start, appear to ply whip and spur to regain their position with the main body. The sea is then doubly dark and mysterious.
The morning light would show the ocean covered with the beautiful little Portuguese men-of-war (Physalus), whose brilliant reflection of the prismatic colours would raise a feeling of ambition for their capture. An hour was passed in the endeavour to become more closely acquainted with them, by means of a little net over the ship’s side—the result, like many others in this world, was disappointment. A man-of-war is caught, but, upon its reaching the deck, is found to consist of a small bladder, now destitute of those attractions that had tempted our eyes, and a few long muscular strings, that raise a red smarting line wherever they touch the skin. This curious creature declines exhibiting its beauties during captivity.
I had many theoretical lessons in seamanship from the mate during this fine weather, and many interesting anecdotes of whaling adventures. He was very anxious to pass safely round the Cape, and, upon my inquiring the reason, he gave me the following account of his last trip, which had taken place some four years before:—
“It was on a miserably cold day in February that the good barque Emerald, in which I was second mate, weighed her anchor from the mud opposite Gravesend, and commenced her voyage for the Mauritius. I had sailed with the captain (Wharton) to the West Indies on a former voyage, and had been asked by him to take the second mate’s place on this trip, although I was only twenty-one years old at the time. I thought it a good berth, and accepted it, although I disliked the man. He was a good sailor, there was no denying, but a bit of a bully, and, I always suspected, drank a good deal when quiet in his cabin. He had been married just before our voyage, and his honeymoon was rather curtailed by the hurry of our departure. I saw his wife several times before we left England, for she was staying at Gravesend, and had also come on board while we were lying in the docks. She was a very pretty young girl, and seemed to be too quiet and good for the skipper, who, I thought, did not treat her as he ought to have done. She told me that she was going to take a cottage at Gosport while her husband was away, and asked me, if I had time, to write her a few words to say how the ship got on, in case we met any of the homeward-bound; or stopped at any port. I believe, when she shook hands with me, and said, ‘good-bye, sir; a happy voyage to you,’ I felt much inclined to do her any service, and pitied her lonely situation more than her husband did. She had told me that her only relation was an aged aunt. Well, we floundered across the Bay of Biscay, and ran down the trades, and in twenty-seven days from leaving England with a freezing north wind, we were baking under the line with 95 degrees in the shade shown on our thermometer. The skipper had shoved a couple of our men in irons for very slight offences during our run, and seemed to be a greater brute than ever. He was one of those fellows who acted like an angel on shore, so pleasant and kind, but when he got afloat in blue water, he wasn’t an angel exactly, at least not the right sort of angel.
“We jogged on, however, till we passed round the Cape; we gave it a wide berth, and kept well off the bank, to avoid the current that runs from the east all down that coast for seventy miles’ distance. We were about off Cape L’Agulhas, when the north-west wind that we had carried with us from near South America, turned round and blew right in our teeth; we had plenty of wind in our jib then, it blew great guns, and we were under close-reefed topsails for a week. One night I was on watch, and finding that it was blowing harder than ever, and the ship was making very bad weather of it, I thought I would go down and ask the skipper’s leave to lay-to. I dived down the hatchway and knocked twice at the captain’s cabin-door before I received an answer; at last I heard his ‘come in.’ I opened the door and was about to report the gale increased, but was stopped by the appearance of the captain. He was as white as a sheet, and his eyes were staring like a maniac’s. Before I could speak a word, he said, ‘Have you seen her?’ I did not know what he meant, but said, ‘Beg pardon, sir, the ship is making very bad weather of it.’ He cursed the weather, and repeated, ‘did you see my wife as you came in?’ I said, ‘see your wife! No!’
“He stared at me for an instant and then dropped on his couch, and said, ‘God have mercy on me.’ It was the first time I had ever heard him use that sacred name, although the evil one’s was pretty often in his mouth. I then asked him about the ship, when he told me to go and do what I thought best. I went up and took all the canvas off, with the exception of the mizen-trysail. I got the peak lowered down to the deck and showed but a pocket-handkerchief sort of sail; this kept her head to wind. I had a guy made fast to the boom, which kept it firm, and lashed the helm; we then rode like a duck on the water.
“I turned in as usual after being relieved, and said nothing to any one about what I had heard. In the morning the captain sent for me, told me not to speak about what he had said last night, but that he had been told that his days were numbered. He pointed to the log-book, in which he had put down, that he had seen his wife come into the cabin, and that she spoke to him, and told him something about himself. He then requested me to sign his statement in the book, and ordered me not to say a word to any of the men as long as he lived. I told him not to think anything about it, as such things were only imaginations, and were caused by the stomach being a little out of order. I did not think it at the time, although I thought it would quiet him by telling him so.
“We lay-to all that day; the captain came on deck once, but spoke to no one. In the afternoon I went down to him to ask about getting a little sail up again; I found him reading his Bible, a thing that I had never heard of his doing before. He put it down and came on deck; ordered me to get up the fore-topsail; I went forward to see about it, and the skipper walked on to the poop; the helm was still lashed, and no one was there but him. I was giving the men orders to go aloft, when I heard a crack astern, and felt a jar through the whole ship. I turned round and found the pitching had caused the heavy boom of the trysail to break the guy that fastened it, and it was swinging from side to side with every lurch of the ship. I ran aft with all the men, and with great difficulty made it fast again; it took us some time to settle, and I then went down to tell the captain. His cabin was just as I had left it before, and no one in it; I came out and asked for him on deck, but no one had seen him there. The men said that he was on the poop when the guy gave way; there was a general call throughout the ship, but the captain was not found.
“The first mate and I then went on the poop, and looked well all round. On the bulwarks near the stern there was a slight dent, and close beside it a streak of blood: there was no doubt that the boom in its first swing had knocked the skipper clean overboard, and the chances were, had smashed some of his limbs too. We never saw him more. The first mate took the command, and I told him about the captain’s vision; he laughed at me, and told me I was a fool to believe in such rubbish, and recommended me not to talk about it. I quietly tore the leaf out of the log-book, and have got it now. I will show it you.” Saying this he went down to his cabin and brought me up the sheet of paper; which I read, and found it as he had described. “We went on to the Mauritius, loaded, and returned to England. I had no opportunity of fulfilling my promise of writing to the captain’s wife, so immediately I could leave the ship I started for Gosport to tell her about his loss.
“I found her house from the address she had given me, and walked once or twice up and down to consider all I should say to her. It was any way a difficult thing and one I did not like doing, having to relate the death of her husband; and besides, women are inclined to think there is always some neglect in others if an accident happens to those they love. At last I plucked up courage and knocked at the door. A decent-looking servant came, and upon my asking if Mrs Wharton were at home, she replied, ‘Mrs Wharton don’t live here. Mrs Somebody or other lives here, and she ain’t at home.’ I asked if she could tell me where, to find Mrs Wharton, and was informed by the maid that she was a stranger and knew nothing; but the baker over the way, she thought, could tell me. I went over and asked the baker’s wife, and she informed me that Mrs Wharton had been dead nearly five months, and her aunt had moved away. I was thunderstruck at this intelligence, and immediately inquired the date of her death; she looked over a daybook in the drawer, and told me. I put it down in my memorandum-book, and when I got back to the ship I found the date the same as that noted on the leaf of the log-book as the one that the captain had seen her off the Cape. Now, I never was superstitious before this, nor am I alarmed now at the idea of seeing ghosts, but still there is a queer sort of feeling comes over me when I think of that night.
“When I got home to my friends, I told the clergyman and the doctor what had been seen. The first explained it to me as an optical delusion, but acknowledged that it was very curious; the other looked into my eyes as though he were trying to see some signs of insanity, and told me it was very likely that the captain’s supper had disagreed with him that night, or that he was half-seas-over.
“Now, I haven’t much learning myself, but I do despise what I have seen called science; men who study books only, can’t know so much as those who see the real things; I haven’t patience with men who, never having travelled much, or been across the oceans, quietly tell the world that what a hundred sane men’s experienced eyes have seen and known as a sea-serpent is discovered by their scientific reasoning to be a bundle of seaweed, or a shoal of porpoises, because they saw once at Brighton one or the other, when even a land-lubber could hardly have been mistaken. My wise doctor tried to prove that what the skipper had seen with his own eyes was nothing but the result of a supper he hadn’t eaten, or the fumes of some grog that weren’t swallowed; because it happened not to be accounted for in his fusty old books in any other way—I would sooner be without science, if this is the result.
