Chapter XXIII Natal Again — Coolie Immigration — Bishop Colenso — Laing’s Nek — Ingogo — Majuba — Interesting Interview With Generals Joubert and Smit — Grave-Yard at Mount Prospect — Lady Florence Dixie — First Session in Cape House of Assembly
The first time I took my seat in the Cape house of assembly on April 5th, 1881, I listened to a debate on a motion introduced by the leader of the Dutch party, which confirmed me in the intention that I had previously formed of paying Natal a visit at the end of the session.
This debate was the first, I remember, which touched the question of Dutch feeling versus English, and was in reality the expression of a sense of gratitude by the Dutch party in the colony to the Gladstone ministry, for entering into negotiations with their brethren in the Transvaal after the defeat at Majuba, rather than allowing irritation at that defeat to prolong the war.
The debate led to the house agreeing to an amendment proposed by one of the members for Capetown, to the effect: “That this house desires to express its satisfaction at the cessation of hostilities in the Transvaal, and its earnest hope that all differences may be satisfactorily adjusted and a permanent peace established.”
Whilst listening to the various speakers, I became more than ever anxious to visit the scenes of the war just closed, and study on the spot the battlefields where in one campaign we had suffered three complete and disastrous defeats.
Before describing my visit to Natal, I must not forget to state that during the first session I sat in the Cape house of assembly the time was chiefly occupied by Basutoland affairs, and in discussing a vote of censure on the government with respect to the war in that country.
Being the senior member for Kimberley, and as it was not known to which side its members leaned, my speech on this subject excited considerable attention. It was generally expected that if the government were in the majority it would depend upon the votes of these members, and this conjecture proved correct, the result of the division being thirty-seven votes for the government and thirty-four against. The Sprigg ministry found, however, in a few days, that they could not carry on the government of the country, and resigned on May 9th. No business of any importance was transacted during this session after the resignation of the ministry, Mr. J. B. Robinson, my colleague, and I merely looking after the local interests of Griqualand West.
But to resume. Ten years had flown over since I had left Natal, and many striking events had occurred during that period. Langalibalele’s outbreak, his noble and successful defence by Bishop Colenso, Sir Benjamin Pine’s recall, Sir Garnet Wolseley’s five months’ politic interval, in which he “drowned the independence of the colony in sherry and champagne,” the Zulu war, and the dethronement of Cetywayo.
I was anxious as well to see what progress the colony had made in this interval, and once again have the pleasure of meeting the many old friends whom I possessed there. Consequently, when my parliamentary duties were over, I left Capetown in the S.S. Dunkeld on the 18th of June, and landed in Natal on the 23d. We arrived off the bluff in the middle of the night, and early dawn found me feasting my eyes once more on the glorious view of this land-locked bay, which recalled to memory many a pleasant scene of the past.
Gliding gently over the dreaded bar, and landing at daybreak, I made my way to the Royal Hotel, and after breakfast sallied forth to see what changes a decade had wrought. At every step I was agreeably surprised at the improvements which I saw. Streets, which ten years before were knee-deep in sand, I now found hardened, the town council having spent £40,000 merely in re-forming a few miles of the Musgrave Road leading to the Berea; trams hourly running, where in my time horses could barely walk. New buildings and fresh stores, a magnificent theatre, and a new town hall showing the progress of the place. All, however, were not satisfied. One old colonist I met frankly said, “Don’t be deceived, Doctor, there is no reality in what you see, all imperial money, another Zulu war would suit us just now.” I could not help thinking whether the signs I saw were the evidence of real progress or mere ephemeral prosperity, and I asked myself the question, “Has sugar, has coffee, has the Overberg trade done all this?” I knew that two recent and eminent visitors had taken a harsh view of Natal and Natalians, having formed but hurried opinions of the situation.
Froude and Archibald Forbes no doubt thought themselves competent to judge, but the one was just as far wrong, and acted as unfairly to the body of Natal colonists, when he said: “Many of these are no better than the mean whites in the Southern States of the Union,” as the other when he wrote that the leading attributes of Natal colonists are “untruthfulness, insobriety and swagger.” With due deference to Mr. Froude, I distinctly say from years of observation, there is no section in Natal low enough to be compared with the mean white of the Southern States, whom even the darkies themselves despise.
The mistake which both Froude and Forbes made was one which a well-known writer has described as the great error of the nineteenth century, viz, hasty generalization.
Resting a night I took train to Verulam, Victoria County, my old seat of practice. This line of rail was all new to me, having been laid since I left, though it ran through sugar and coffee plantations which I knew well. On arriving at Verulam I procured a horse and rode off to visit the various estates in the neighborhood: Redcliffe, the Grange, Ottawa, Hammonds, Waterloo, Trenance, Southburn, Sunderland, and others whose names have escaped my recollection, and their hospitable owners I saw again. Many of the estates, however, I found had been taken up by Mauritians, and the vacuum pan sugar boilers, as well as the field overseers, had mostly come from that island, in fact old residents told me that in the trains running to and from D’Urban there was now almost continually a complete babel of French, English, Hindustani and Kafir. I must say that I was disappointed with the general appearance of the coast. Coffee enterprise seemed dying out fast, no planting going on, the trees suffering from an insect, the “borer,” and from the leaf disease (Hemiteia Vastratrix), which has played such havoc in Ceylon. The extent of land under sugar had increased, but drought, low prices, and the competition of beet-root were making the planters look serious.
Another phase of affairs which struck me as assuming unmanageable proportions was the keen competition of the cheap-living Asiatic, who in the cultivation of small holdings could almost beat the European out of the field. When I saw these men, these crofters, themselves working their patches of ground, I was at once let into the secret of their success.
White men in Natal, as a rule, think manual labor in the fields derogatory. The only exception to this of which I ever knew was a settlement of Germans near D’Urban. From the feeling generally abroad I can easily understand the unpalatableness of Froude’s remarks when he wrote: “Here and there a farmer makes a fortune, but generally the whites will not work because they expect the blacks to work for them. The blacks will not work because they prefer to be idle, and so no one works at all.” After all there is a considerable stratum of truth running through this statement.
To return to the coolie question, Indians seem very loath to leave Natal. I find in the last Natal Blue Book that out of 33,343, comprising men of all castes landed from India since immigration began in 1860, only 2,141 have returned, the total number of Indians in the colony in 1884 being 27,276, of whom 17,241 were males and 10,035 females.
Gen. Sir J. J. Bissett, in an address to the electors of Alfred and Alexandra counties in June, 1884, recognizing the importance of this point, said: “With regard to coolies, I consider that they are introduced for a specific purpose, they should at the expiration of their term of indenture be required to return to India, subject to a maximum extension of term (say) to fifteen years in all. I consider that any benefit derived from them by a section of the community is very greatly counterbalanced by the injury their presence causes the colony, both directly and indirectly. I am also opposed to coolies holding land in this colony.”
In my opinion Sir J. J. Bissett’s views display a lamentable ignorance of the first principles of political economy, and are suitable to a timid mercantile community only, afraid of the further cheapening of articles of consumption. A great proportion of the Indians, both in the West Indies and in Natal, as soon as they have served their time and are free from their indentures, become in every sense thorough colonists; they buy property, invest their savings, “marry and are given in marriage,” and show no desire, as statistics prove, to return to India—differing entirely from the Chinese, whose sole object is to return home as soon as possible with every sixpence they can drain out of the country in which they have been living. To my mind the turning away of thrifty bread winners from a country sparsely populated by an infinitesimal working class of whites is the height of absurdity. There is not even the excuse on the ground of morality which the Americans have against the Chinese in California. Moreover, how would Sir J. J. Bissett treat the question of the increase in their population? Would the children born in Natal be allowed to remain there or not? Would he have the Indians under British rule treated in the same manner as the Dutch have since treated them in the Transvaal State, where, certainly without the “liberty, equality and fraternity” popularly supposed to pertain to republican ideas, they passed a law through the Volksraad, which was promulgated on June 10th, 1885, disqualifying “Coolies, Arabs, Malays and other Asiatics” from obtaining the right of citizenship, or from possessing landed property, and compelling them further, under penalty, not only to register themselves, and pay £25 for so doing, but also giving the government power to place them in locations;66 or would he have them treated as they are in the other Dutch republic (the Free State), where it is contrary to law to let fixed property to Arabs, and where they cannot even procure a license to trade.
No! Thank God such outrages cannot be committed under the British flag! In Natal less false pride, greater economy and industry are all the requisites necessary to produce a competition vigorous enough to stem the tide of Asiatic intrusion. There is one fact, however, which Natal colonists have seriously to face which is that to every white man there are at least thirteen Kafirs and one Indian.
The great point to my mind is for the European element to retain the voting power within fixed limits.
After my visit to Victoria County I returned to D’Urban and took train to the capital, Pietermaritzburg. The railway again was all new to me. No pleasant rest at host Padley’s now, no exciting drive round the Inchanga, no gallop over Camperdown Flats! Simply a six hours’ monotonous railway trip.
The first sight I caught and the first hand I grasped on my arrival was that of good Bishop Colenso, who met me at the station. Ten years had passed since last we met, but how delighted was I to see the same penetrating eye, the same majestic figure, the same elastic step, and to hear the same cheery voice as in years gone by. I had a long talk with him and his talented and philanthropic daughter over the events which had occurred during the years that I had been absent from Natal. Church matters and matters of state kept us engaged until evening approached, when the bishop started for Bishopstowe, leaving me to spend the night with my friends in Pietermaritzburg. Bishop Colenso was indeed one of those few men “who never swam with the stream, who bravely strove to stem the current, and regardless alike of popular and aristocratic favor pleaded with his latest breath for what he thought to be right and just.”
Little did I think when he shook me by the hand on getting into his carriage that I should never see him again. It is a benign provision for us mortals that the future is wrapped in obscurity!
I left Pietermaritzburg the next day, June 30th, at 11 A. M., passed Howick and the magnificent falls of the Umgeni, and reached the Plough hotel, Estcourt, where I had a short rest. Leaving there at 2:30 in the morning I arrived at Ladysmith at noon, where we changed horses. The feeling against the “ignoble peace,” as it was called, I found increasing the nearer I approached the seat of the late war. In the hotel where the mail cart changed horses the landlord had just posted up the following notice:
Sacred to the memory of
HONOR,
The beloved wife of John Bull,
She died in the Transvaal and
Was buried at Candahar, March 1881.
Her end was peace.
and it was curious to see the soldiers and civilians crowding round the placard and to listen to their very candid if not complimentary remarks on the Gladstonian ministry.
Right opposite the hotel where we stopped was to be seen the large loop-holed laager, I should say, roughly speaking, about 300 yards square, which had been built by the villagers during the late scare. As we drove out of the village to Newcastle I saw how “in this weak, piping time of peace” the pomps of war could be utilized, for our parting recollection of Ladysmith was the sight of a large crowd of the youth and fashion of the neighborhood parading round a military band belonging to the troops stationed there, which was discoursing proud martial strains, a sorry satire on the situation!
In the afternoon, toiling up the Biggarsberg, we came upon a batch of Zulus, fine, strapping, jovial fellows, forming a large road party. At the moment what should appear in sight but two ambulance wagons full of our wounded men, just sufficiently recovered to be removed to one of the bare hospitals.
This sight was enough of itself to make all the Zulus stop work and “wau” with curiosity. Seeing some wounded men accompanying the ambulances one Zulu bursting with fun and grinning from ear to ear, shouted out, “Sakubona,” (“I see you,” a form of greeting) “Johnny! upi lo Dutchman?” (“Where is the Dutchman?”) of course a regular peal of laughter at once followed this sally of native wit. I can assure my readers, that as an Englishman I sincerely felt for our wounded soldiers thus tauntingly jeered at, and I was able to estimate the tremendous shock that our prestige had received among the aborigines. The Zulus recognized the situation at once, the only thing our poor fellows could do was to grind their teeth and curse their fate as they wearily trudged along, victims of vanity67 and misjudgment, the defeated of Laing’s Nek, Ingogo and Majuba!
There is no doubt that the retrocession of the Transvaal was a violation of a series of guarantees which had been previously given. Not only Mr. Gladstone and Lord Kimberley, but also Sir Garnet Wolseley, Sir Bartle Frere, Sir Theo. Shepstone and Sir Owen Lanyon had over and over again declared that the Transvaal would remain English territory, and that under no circumstances could the annexation be reversed. These emphatic utterances were made long before the outbreak of hostilities, and consequently the withdrawal of English rule after the Dutch had gained four signal victories within nine weeks, could be interpreted only by both Dutch and natives as an act, not of principle and equity, but of weakness and defeat. My friend, Mr. C. K. White, one of the nominees appointed by Sir Garnet Wolseley to the legislative council, which he gave as a sop to the Transvaal Boers, in a letter at the time appealed to Mr. Gladstone in the following touching words: “If, sir, you had seen, as I have seen, promising young citizens of Pretoria dying of wounds received for their country, and if you had had the painful duty, as I have had, of bringing to their friends at home the last mementoes of the departed; if you had seen the privations and discomforts which delicate women and children bore without murmuring for upward of three months; if you had seen strong men crying like children at the cruel and undeserved desertion of England; if you had seen the long strings of half desperate loyalists, shaking the dust off their feet as they left the country, which I saw on my way to Newcastle; and if you yourself had invested your all on the strength of the word of England, and now saw yourself in a fair way of being beggared by the acts of the country in which you trusted, you would, sir, I think, be ‘pronounced,’ and England would ring with eloquent entreaties and threats which would compel a hearing.”
Mr. Gladstone, however, changed his previously declared convictions. On January 21st, 1880, he stated in the House of Commons: “I must look to the obligations entailed by the annexation, and if in my opinion, and in the opinion of many on this side of the house, wrong was done by the annexation itself, that would not warrant us in doing fresh, distinct and separate wrong by a disregard of the obligations which that annexation entailed;” or again on June 8th, 1880, when in answer to Messrs Kruger and Joubert who had written to him, asking him to rescind the annexation of the Transvaal, he said “our judgment is that the Queen cannot be advised to relinquish her sovereignty over the Transvaal.” Yet little more than a year saw this “pronounced” opinion totally changed, and all confidence in Mr. Gladstone and his ministry almost annihilated throughout the length and breadth of South Africa.
Proceeding on my journey I crossed the Ingagane, passed the forts in course of erection by our soldiers close to the river, the heliograph twinkling in the sun, and after a long, tiring journey arrived at Newcastle in the afternoon.
Newcastle lies on a large grassy plain and in the centre of a district containing no less than 1,350 square miles of workable coal68 close to the surface; and in the near future destined to keep up the credit of its name when the mines have been properly opened up, it will be noted for this production, and then no doubt a railway to the coast being by that time un fait accompli will supply the traffic of the eastern seas.69 Newcastle was in the zenith of its commercial prosperity during the late war, and even when I visited it its glory had not quite departed.
Wishing to proceed and see Majuba without loss of time, I found this would be an impossibility, at least for some days, had not Mr. Greenlees, an old resident, kindly given me his assistance and offered to drive me there himself the next day.
As a pleasurable interlude, especially in a place like Newcastle, a grand concert was advertised, which took place on the evening of my arrival, and the band of the 97th put forward as a special inducement. I went and saw a sight that I shall not soon forget. The “gods” were very uproarious and demonstrative, and not at all reticent in expressing their opinion. One singer, well known as a notorious bouncer about the power of England and the valor of her troops, on coming on was most cynically received. To me it was a mystery, but this was explained when he commenced to sing:
“In days of old, when knights were bold,
And barons held their sway;
A warrior bold, with spurs of gold,
Sang merrily his lay,”
for a terrific burst of pent-up anger seemed to thrill the “gods.” “Loop,” “Verdomde Englishman,” “Go and fight the Boers,” “Why did you run?” were the cries all round the hall, until the poor fellow slid away amidst the jeers and laughter of the audience.
Starting early in the morning, we were lucky enough to have as a companion a young colonial volunteer named Maclean, a relative of a former governor of Natal, who was one of the brave men who, after the day’s slaughter, stayed all night with the wounded on the battle field of Ingogo. Crossing the Incandu, our road lay past Fort Amiel, built during the Zulu war, and a twelve miles’ journey, ending in a precipitous rise, landed us on the plateau where the battle of Schuin’s Hooghte was fought. Then crossing the drift of the Ingogo, we breakfasted at Virmstone’s roadside inn on the bank of the river.
Just as we were once more inspanning to continue our journey, up rode Lady Florence Dixie and Sir Beaumont on their way to Newcastle. I was naturally pleased to have the opportunity of seeing a lady whose chivalrous defence of Cetywayo afterward had so much to do with his restoration, and with whose opinions on the late Zulu war and the treatment of the dethroned king I was so much in harmony. I may here mention that a few months later I had the pleasure of making Lady Florence Dixie’s personal acquaintance, when she and Sir Beaumont were passing through Kimberley.
But we had sixteen miles further to travel to Majuba, so on we went, leaving Mount Prospect and its cemetery on our right. We reached the foot of the mountain about 2 P. M. The views of Majuba from the road as we approached were simply grand, and it was hard to picture war and its horrors invading such a lovely spot!
I was again fortunate; at the regimental canteen at the bottom I met a corporal, who had been in all the three engagements, and persuaded him to guide us to the top, which he did, whiling away the tediousness of our mountain climb by relating his experience of the dreadful Sunday (never to be blotted out of South African history), and by recounting events of which he stated that he was an eye-witness, and which, whether his account was strictly correct or not, I prefer to leave unrecorded.
Greenlees, Maclean, myself and our guide all went up the same path, being the via dolorosa the English soldiers under Colley took on the ill-fated night of Feb. 26th, 1881, and not toiling, laden with ammunition and accoutrements, as they did, from 9:30 P. M. to near daybreak, but making the four miles’ circuitous ascent in three hours.70 The top is just like a large soup plate, sinking down all round from the sides and flat at the bottom (about 420 yards long by 300 wide), so that no troops resting in the centre could see an enemy advancing up the sides of the mountain. Our guide told us the first intimation he got of the attack of the Dutch was from the consternation which seized every one, when the Boers, who had gained the summit from the Transvaal side, suddenly poured into them their first deadly general volley, although like other eye-witnesses he said there had been considerable desultory firing since daybreak.
This volley at once created such a panic that a regular stampede commenced, which the officers tried in vain to stop. It was sauve qui peut.
I had pointed out to me the perpendicular rocks, some as much as forty feet in height, where many of our men killed themselves jumping headlong down them in their mad retreat, bleeding, tumbling, dying one on the other.
There can be no excuse for the disaster of the day. The Boers themselves were astonished at their own success. Some apologists, I remember at the time, said our men were fatigued with the ascent, but yet they got to the top at 3 A. M., long before daybreak, and it was past mid-day when the Dutch fired the fatal volley which decided the issue of the day. Surely this gave hours enough for our soldiers to rest. Then who, I may ask, was responsible for the equipment of the expedition? Where were the Gatling guns and the rockets, which could have rained death and destruction on the Boer camp below? Why was no diversion made by us from our own camp at Mount Prospect? Who superintended the digging of the intrenchments(?) on Majuba? These and other questions will never now be answered. Again, about sixty Boers only gained the summit at first, therefore it could not be said our forces (554 rifles) were outnumbered.71
The very graves themselves bear silent witness to our blind retreat, for out of ninety-two killed that day only fifty-nine are buried on the top of the Majuba. The others, shot like game by the Boers in the wild run for life down the mountain sides, and who killed themselves in their panic-stricken flight, were buried below at the cemetery of Mount Prospect.
We remained at the top, enjoying a splendid bird’s-eye view of the Transvaal, the site of the Boer laager during the war, the battlefield of Laing’s Nek,72 our own camp, etc., until the moon rose, when starting on our downward journey we reached the bottom at nine o’clock, and in half an hour were partaking of the hospitalities of Mrs. Greville’s hotel, where we discussed the merits of that eventful day, and the question of Dutch strategy versus English mismanagement far into the night.
Next day, before sunrise, I started for Mount Prospect, leaving my companions sleeping, overcome with the previous day’s exertions. A walk of three miles brought me to the cemetery, thirty yards long by twenty-six broad, which was surrounded by a double inclosure, the first built of sod, the second of stone.
The sunrise was magnificent, the air keenly crisp and clear, and the scenery, with Majuba filling up the background, I have never seen surpassed, but a more melancholy sight or one recalling sadder events to memory could not be seen the wide world over. Here in this little graveyard, all dead in vain, I saw quietly resting all that “outrageous” fortune had left of disappointed ambition, ruined hopes, and dreams of a glorious future! Far in the corner were the plain marble crosses erected to Sir Pomeroy Colley and Colonel Deane. Sir Pomeroy’s simply chronicled his death and burial, with the beautiful lines from “In Memoriam:”
“O for thy voice to soothe and bless—
What hope of answer or redress?
Behind the veil, behind the veil.”
while Colonel Deane’s spoke the truth of a valiant soldier “who fell in action at Laing’s Nek, at the head of a storming party, ten yards in front of the foremost man.” Alongside these were two little wooden crosses, pointing out the graves of Doctors Landon and Cornish. On Surgeon Major Cornish’s grave there was a beautiful wreath, with the touching words:
“Now the laborer’s task is o’er,
Now the battle’s day is passed;
Lands the voyager at last,
Safe upon that further shore.”
In fact the whole cemetery was like a garden of flowers, the graves covered with beautiful wreaths of immortelles, tributes from all parts.
I may here mention that I had the pleasure in August, 1886, just five years after making this visit and five years after the peace was signed, of being introduced at Barberton-the principal town on the Kaap gold fields, and elsewhere described—to Commandant General Piet Joubert and General Smit, who were the Boer commanders at Majuba. I had long been anxious to hear a viva voce statement of the Boer side of the question from some of the chief actors, and I eagerly seized the opportunity of “interviewing” the generals. On waiting on them according to appointment I was very courteously received. General Joubert I found to be a man who had seen some sixty summers, of middle height, with a tendency to corpulency, a greyish beard, sharp, dark eyes and a pleasing expression of countenance, though it was easy to see from his firm set mouth that he was a man possessed of great determination of character. There was no mistaking his nationality as his features were in the main those of the typical Boer. General Smit was taller, his features more regularly cut and of sterner cast, and with hair almost grey he looked just the determined man to lead a forlorn hope. General Joubert at once began the conversation by telling me that for some time he had considered it dangerous to allow the English forces the chance of obtaining the key to the position, which the occupation of Majuba certainly afforded, and acting on this idea he had determined to occupy the mountain, “but” he said, “before taking this step I was determined with the other commandants to make a thorough examination of the locality.” “All came to the opinion” continued General Joubert, “that the occupation of the mountain by the English was impossible, but I thought otherwise, and after this sent up a picket of fifty men each night. This was commenced on the Thursday night (Feb. 24th) preceding the eventful Sunday on which Majuba was fought, but by a remarkable act of Providence, the picket which was told off for duty on Saturday night, being composed of burghers newly arrived from Pretoria, lost the path up the mountain and spent the night encamped midway.”
“But,” I asked the general, “hadn’t Colley asked you to disarm?” “I will tell you,” he replied; “on Friday morning I received a message from General Colley calling on me to disarm, and saying he would send a dispatch to the imperial government representing the Boer grievances. I answered to the effect I could not do this without first getting permission of the chairman of the Triumvirate at Heidleberg, a process which would take four days. Now, I thought, all was right till Monday, and as a proof of my confidence, I even reduced my patrols. What made me also more certain was that on the next day I got a letter from President Brand telling me that there was every chance of negotiations for peace coming to a successful conclusion. I sat up late that night making copies of Brand’s letter to send to the Triumvirate at Heidleberg and to General Colley. On going to bed, I can assure you, I couldn’t sleep, my rest was uneasy and I tossed about till nearly four o’clock in the morning, when I called my boy to make a fire. Just as the day was dawning my wife, who had been with me only a few days, got up to make coffee. Going out of the tent she said, ‘see what lots of men are on the mountain!’ Suspecting nothing I merely said: ‘It is only our own people.’ She was not satisfied, however, but got my binocular, and looked again, when she called out excitedly: ‘Leave your writing! put down your pen! come here! the English are on the mountain!’ I ran out at once, there was no need for me to take the glass as I could plainly distinguish the English troops by their walk. I jumped on my horse, which like all other horses in the camp, according to general orders, was saddled at four in the morning, and rode at once to Franz Joubert73 who had just come into laager the day before. ‘Now,’ I said, ‘didn’t I tell you the English would get up the mountain? Look, there they are.’ He wouldn’t believe me but insisted they were our own people. At this juncture I saw the men returning who should have formed the picket on Majuba the night before, and heard and saw two shots fired on them from the hill. I almost lost my temper. ‘Would our own people fire on us?’ I asked. ‘No! they are English, I say.’ When Franz Joubert calmly answered, ‘If that is so we shall have to get them down.’ Hurriedly telling him to go on up the mountain, while I would go back and send some more men, I galloped off to our laager. On my way I met my son with a message from General Smit advising me to come to Laing’s Nek at once as that might be attacked. So I left instructions for Veld Cornets Roos and Minnaar to attack Majuba on one side with about forty men, and the commandant of Utrecht with something like the same number would go up the other.”
“But tell me, general,” I said, “were the English fully aware that the Boers were really coming up the mountain to attack them?”
“Yes! of course they were, they knew it for eight hours, as it was five o’clock in the morning when they fired the first two shots, and it was one o’clock when we got to the top.”
“Then it was not, as it is alleged, a sudden attack in force which gained the day?”
The general smiled at my question. “How could it be when heavy firing was going on all the morning up to the very last moment.”
“When the top was gained by the Boers, what took place next?”
“There was no resistance, all was over in a minute or two.”
“But tell me, general, how do you account for the fact that 500 English should run before 60 Boers who had just had an eight-hours’ climb up the mountain?”
“I don’t wish to give any opinion,” said the general, looking serious indeed, “but I am certain the hand of God was with us all through.” Then waxing quite eloquent, he continued: “Men of mine, whom I knew were such cowards, that in Kafir wars even I have set them to cook the pots, advanced with determined step, impressed with the work before them, actuated, I am sure, by an Almighty power.”
Then, continuing the narrative, he told me how General Smit sent him word about three o’clock that Colley was killed and how he forwarded instructions that the body should be carefully guarded during the night with “all honor and respect,” and that the wounded should be laid together and covered up, the prisoners of war in the meantime being sent under escort to the Boer camp and transported the next day by wagon to Heidleberg.
Considering the state of utter demoralization in which our troops had apparently fallen at the time, the Boers having been victorious in every engagement of the campaign, all Englishmen may be glad that a sudden mist stopped the attack upon our camp at Mount Prospect, which General Smit told me the Boers had decided to make, or a yet more disastrous defeat would, I feel certain, have been chronicled. I was strongly impressed with the belief that General Joubert recognized a divine Providence in everything, as over and over again he said, “the hand of God was in it all.” I was also informed that when this sudden mist arose, hiding our camp completely from view, that he quietly said: “Look at the mist, the Lord won’t allow us to go;” seemingly, like Cromwell, he was a firm believer in the universality of divine interposition and so accepted the sudden mist as a command of the Deity! “Thus far shalt thou go and no further.”
General Joubert’s description of his interview with Gen. Sir Evelyn Wood, five days after Majuba, was very graphic. I asked the general to allow me to take notes, to which he consented—when lighting his pipe he began: “You must know, doctor, that five days after the fight General Wood sent to ask me if I would meet him half-way between the two camps. This I agreed to do, and we sent wagons and tents from both sides. There were myself, General Smit and Mr. Dirkhouse, as clerk on our side, and General Wood, General Buller and Major Fraser on the English. When I arrived, after wishing each other ‘good morning,’ General Wood asked me: ‘Have you authority to make peace?’ I answered, ‘Yes, on one condition;’ he said, ‘what is that?’ I replied, ‘the annexation of our country to be withdrawn.’ ‘Then,’ I added, ‘her Majesty’s troops can leave with honor, I want no more.’ ‘But if I sign such a peace, will all agree?’ inquired the general. ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘all must in accordance with our law.’ After some moments’ deliberation General Wood asked me whether or not I would make peace according to the terms offered in a letter sent by Mr. Kruger to General Colley through President Brand. I answered distinctly, ‘No.’ At last General Wood begged that the armistice might be extended to twenty days to give Mr. Kruger time to arrange about terms, when, after discussing the matter for some time, a further cessation of hostilities for eight days was agreed upon between us, and we left Buller and Fraser to draw up a document to that effect.
“As we were standing outside the tent while this document was being prepared, General Wood told me I should have to get away from the Nek, because it was English territory, but I said: ‘We don’t fight for ground, we don’t claim any; why should I go? If you mean to make peace, the closer we get the better.’ General Wood replied, ‘I shall have to force the place then and drive you away,’ and pointing to his breast, and counting his medals one after the other, said: ‘Look, there are one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine medals, and if I pitch you out, another, which will make ten.’ I answered: ‘I must defend my country at all risks, and stand the consequences,’ He then looked straight at me and said: ‘Perchance you may kill me, but that is nothing; England has sixteen generals more.’ I then turned up my coat, and pointing to my breast, which was perfectly plain, said: ‘General, there is nothing here, and thank God, I want nothing behind that Nek there. I have not one single man to be killed for that. (I pointed to a medal on his breast.) We do not fight for glory, we fight for liberty, and for liberty every English general, I know, would also yield his life. We have not many generals, but although I and General Smit lead our men, each man knows he fights for himself and his country.’ General Wood then continued: ‘But what do you think of Colley going up the mountain?’ I answered: ‘I don’t know what to think; all I know is that I received letters from Brand and Colley only the day before, which tended to throw me off my guard, and while I was in the very act of writing answers Colley took the opportunity to go up the mountain.’ ‘And you drove him down?’ ‘I don’t say that, and I am glad no one behind that Nek says that either, but this I will say, that every man of mine when he looks at Majuba, when he looks at the top of that mountain there, thinks of nothing but the wondrous work of the Almighty.’ Wood seemed touched. ‘I am not an unbeliever; I also say my prayers,’ he ejaculated. ‘I am glad,’ I said, ‘to hear you say that, but do you know what we pray for? We don’t pray to conquer nations and annex countries; what we pray for is that Almighty God may so open the eyes of the gracious Queen of England that she and her counsellors may see what is justice and what is right, then we shall feel sure of our case and know that freedom to our country must come.’
“We then talked a little about Bronker’s Spruit and other incidents of the war, when, the document being finished, we went into the tent to sign it.”
Shortly after General Joubert concluded the above somewhat melo-dramatic description of his meeting with Sir Evelyn Wood, I took my leave, having spent a most interesting hour in the society of the generals.
Returning, however, to the description of my trip of 1881; when I got to the hotel I found all prepared for leaving, and after breakfast we started for Newcastle, intending to rest at Ingogo, as we had not time to visit Laing’s Nek (and moreover we could see the position from the road), where Colley’s first defeat took place on Jan. 28th, with a loss of 260 killed and wounded, and where Colonel Deane and Major Poole (Cetywayo’s old friend) were shot down. After a pleasant drive we crossed the Ingogo drift, the road gradually ascending until the plateau of Schuin’s Hooghte was reached, where Colley suffered his second defeat on Feb. 7th. Making a reconnaissance that morning with 273 of the 60th Rifles and 38 men of the mounted squadron from Mount Prospect, Colley was virtually lured to his destruction. The Boers retired before his advance, until having decoyed our troops to Schuin’s Hooghte, a high and perfectly unsheltered plateau, they opened a galling fire from the other side of the valley which intervened, a perfectly safe position for them. This was at 10:15 A. M., and until sundown our soldiers were nothing more or less than English targets for Dutch bullets. The field guns which Colley brought with him were useless; he had nothing to fire at but rocks, the Boers finding most excellent cover. The horses were shot down at the guns, the mules at the ambulance wagons, nothing living was safe for a moment from the Boers’ unerring aim. Maclean pointed out to me the exact stone, near the centre of the plateau, where Colley, Essex and Wilkinson took cover most of the day, and gave me a most vivid description of the field when, on a second visit next day, he found the place literally stormed by armies of cowardly vultures, attracted by the putrid effluvium from the rotting carcasses of the dead horses and mules. With my penknife I picked out splashes of lead from the crevices of the stones, as relics of the Boers’ accurate sighting. Wilkinson, brave young fellow, was drowned the same night in the Ingogo, when pluckily returning with comforts for the wounded, that river having become a sweeping torrent owing to the storm of rain which had been raging for some hours previous.
These poor fellows, left on the plateau in the rain, were totally deserted except by one or two, Parson Ritchie, Maclean and Dr. McGan, Colley having made good his retreat in the night with his troops and guns to Mount Prospect. There these men lay in a heap, the dying and the dead together, the pitchy darkness of that long, cold, wet, dreary night now and again relieved by vivid flashes of lurid lightning. Only 14274 of our soldiers were sacrificed on this occasion. I went to look at one of the two inclosed grave-yards of these ill-fated men. In the corner of a little inclosure by the roadside I found tokens of the conflict and relics of our loss. The helmets of the dead soldiers, riddled with bullets, were promiscuously piled together, while all around could be seen traces of the desolation war had produced.
Turning to the Boer losses and casualties. The news of the Boers having taken the Amajuba mountain reached the Red Cross Association on March 6th, at Bethlehem, O. F. S., when its members at once left for Laing’s Nek, arriving there on March 16th. Dr. A. C. Daumas, in a report which he wrote to the secretary of the association, dated Aliwal North, July 29th, 1881, said:
“You may easily fancy what our astonishment was on being informed that although accepted with thanks, our services were by no means so urgent and necessary as we had at first supposed.
“In fact, the hospital established by Dr. Merinski, close to the camp, only contained in all one man sick and three wounded.”
Further on, in the same report, Dr. Daumas stated:
“It would be rather difficult to tell accurately the number of Boers encamped in this pass (Laing’s Nek), but I do not think I am far from the truth in estimating their number at 1,000 men.
“This small army subsisted there without the help of any commissariat; each man was obliged to provide himself with his own food, which consisted generally in a purely animal diet. He did not receive any pay, and had beside to get his accommodation at his own expense. His obedience to his commanders was absolute. The most perfect order prevailed in this camp, where, strange to say, there never was any drilling done. Far from being intoxicated with their victories, the Boers always showed themselves extremely modest, attributing all their successes to the protection of heaven.... But what remains to be explained is how an army of several thousand men may have been able to take the field and keep it during several months without commissariat, and especially without any medical service, and should not have been more subject to the class of diseases which are in time of war the ordinary sad attendants of all armies.
“Should not the reason of these facts lie in this, i.e., that owing to his sobriety and to the strength of his constitution the Boer has been able to resist the physical causes which produce those diseases; as also through his political faith, coupled with genuine religious faith, he has been able to bear up against the moral causes.”
There is no gainsaying the fact that all through the war the Boers had implicit faith in divine assistance.
Leaving Schuin’s Hooghte we hurried to Newcastle, and next day I left for Ladysmith, intending to catch the mail cart which runs from the Rising Sun to Bloemfontein, and so through the Free State to Kimberley.
Passing through Harrismith, the border town of the Free State, we came to Bethlehem, where I saw the handsome Dutch Church, just finished at a cost of £16,000, and passing Senekal at 5 A. M., nearly frozen in the pitch darkness, I arrived in Winburg at twelve, at noon. Dr. Dixon, the leading practitioner there, soon found me out, and dining at his table with some Kimberley speculators, on coal not diamonds bent, spent a very pleasant afternoon. The post-cart left at 6:30 P. M.; at eight next morning we were in Bloemfontein, and everything going favorably along, July 12th saw me once more on the diamond fields.
CHAPTER XXIV.
TRIP TO ROBBEN ISLAND.—DEAN NEWMAN’S DESCRIPTION THEREOF IN 1855.—OLD SOMERSET HOSPITAL.—LUNATICS AND LEPERS.—HORRIBLE SIGHTS.—LEPROSY AMONG ANIMALS.—DR. WYNNE’S OPINION.—MOURNFUL CASE IN THE SANDWICH ISLANDS.—DR. KEITH GUILD’S THEORY OF LEPROSY UNTENABLE.—ANNUAL COST OF LEPERS.—SEGREGATION ACT PASSED BY CAPE PARLIAMENT IN 1884.—DR. ROSS’ REPORT 1886.—VISIT TO CETYWAYO AND LANGIBALELE AT OUDE MOLEN.—MY WIFE’S INTERVIEW WITH CETYWAYO IN LONDON.
When not attending to my parliamentary duties during the session, I took the opportunity of visiting the various sights around Capetown, among others I went over to Robben Island and inspected the lunatic asylum and leper establishment, and to Oude Molen to see Cetywayo and Langibalele. As the treatment of lunatics had always been a branch of medical study in which I felt an especial interest, my readers can well understand it was not long before I paid a visit to Robben Island, where the principal of the three lunatic asylums, of which the Cape Colony boasts, is situated.
On applying to the under colonial secretary he gave me a pass for myself and my wife, by the Gun, a little steamer belonging to the government, which plies regularly twice a week to and from the island.
It was a fine morning when we left the Capetown pier, but a chopping sea soon told its tale, and we were all glad after an hour’s tossing to arrive at the landing place of the island, where we were carried ashore by the native boatmen employed by the government.
Here we were met by the late Dr. Biccard, the medical superintendent (formerly a member of the Cape assembly, before the advent of responsible government), who affording us every hospitality, showed us over the asylum after we had recovered from the effects of our trip across.
Robben Island is a sandy, dry, exposed little island in Table Bay, of about 3,000 acres in extent, distant from the mainland about six or seven miles, and covered with a short, thick bush, affording excellent cover to quails, pheasants and rabbits, all which game are found there in abundance.
It has been used as an asylum for lunatics and a refuge for lepers and pauper sick for nearly half a century, the removal of the unfortunates from the mainland being a suggestion of Mr. Montague, who was at the time colonial secretary—Sir P. Maitland communicating it to the home government as “a plan proposed by Mr. Montague.” Dean Newman in his memoirs of the last-named gentleman, written in 1855, gives a very graphic description of the island: “It is a spot of painful and touching interest still, the unapproachable asylum of the leper and the lunatic; the ultima linea verum, the last shore of the disabled sailor stranded there an utter wreck of humanity; the remote infirmary and resting place for decay and sickness hopelessly incurable! It seems a kind of half-way halt in departure from the world; for many of its sojourners have bidden the happy face of mankind and the spots of active life a long and last farewell;” and, after the sights I saw there, I felt I could fully endorse every one of the dean’s words.
Forty years ago old Somerset hospital was the only lunatic asylum in the colony, but the miserable accommodation it afforded and the wretchedness of its unfortunate inmates led Mr. Montague to recommend the establishment of a lunatic asylum on Robben Island.
To quote further from Dean Newman: “Robben Island appears destined, under all changes, to remain a spot of melancholy interest, cut off from the mainland by a wild sea, prevailing impetuous winds, and a distance of six miles—yet constantly in sight of it—it is a fit emblem of the miserable inhabitants who have in successive ages been transported there, severed from all association with the rest of their fellow men.
“For more than 150 years this island was the Dutch penal settlement and if the old record speaks truth most rigid were the punishments which were then inflicted. On the transference of the Cape to the English the island continued a convict station under British rule; but as we have seen there was no extraordinary desire manifested even then to make its discipline such as should reform the criminal or hold out to him the prospect of restoration to that society whose laws he had transgressed.
“When on a visit of inquiry to the island previous to the removal of the convicts he [Mr. Montague] noticed its healthy position and its fitness as a hospital for those whose complaints rendered it necessary for them to be removed from the less afflicted of their race.
“In his report on that occasion he thus refers to the suitableness of the island for patients and to the condition of the sick, diseased and insane who were under the charge of the government in different infirmaries, and establishments of the colony:
“’As the salubrity of Robben Island has long been acknowledged, and there is abundance of stone, lime and labor on the spot to erect the necessary buildings, I would strongly recommend for your excellency’s serious consideration the expediency of removing the leper and pauper establishments of Hemet-au-Aarde and Port Elizabeth to Robben Island, also the pauper establishment of Capetown, and the lunatics at present confined in the Somerset hospital at Capetown.
“‘I have also visited the lunatics confined in the Somerset hospital; anything more wretched and inappropriate for its unfortunate inmates cannot be imagined than the lunatic wards; they are about fifty in number. There is no other lunatic asylum in this colony, and lunatics are sent to this one from all parts of the colony. It is quite impossible that the present mode of confining and treating these unhappy people can be much longer continued, a separate and proper building must very soon be erected for them somewhere, and I know of no place better suited for them than Robben Island.’”
When it was decided that the indigent and various patients in the hospitals of the colony should be removed to Robben Island, measures were promptly taken to erect suitable dwellings and infirmaries for their reception. The convicts were removed to road stations; the old convict buildings, which were much dilapidated, were pulled down, and this once barren scene, which had so long withered under the accursing influence of crime and the stern frown of retributive justice, began to smile under the beneficent influence of human kindness, sympathy and mercy.
There are now (1855) on the island about twenty buildings, with spacious apartments, airy, healthy and scrupulously clean. Externally the sunny, whitewashed appearance of the houses has an air of cheerfulness, and the neat church rising near them speaks of solace to the sick soul, as the rest of the institution does of care to the diseased body.
The establishment as reported in May, 1854, was:
| Men. | Women. | Children. | Total. | |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Lepers | 38 | 20 | 8 | 66 |
| Lunatics | 49 | 53 | 4 | 106 |
| Chronic Sick | 106 | 21 | 2 | 129 |
| ——— | ||||
| Total | 301 |
The division for the lunatics is commodious, well-arranged and striking from its great cleanliness; the chief occupation of those who are merely idiotic, or but periodically insane, being to keep it neat and wholesome. The sleeping compartments are ranged round two small court-yards, one for the men, the other for the women. In the day-time few of the lunatics are to be seen in the court-yard or dormitories, as the plan pursued by the medical officer is to allow all but the most violent and unsafe to roam at pleasure about the island. One is commonly set to watch another, and if you question A, whom you see on a strict and consequential lookout in some part of the island, on what he is so closely intent, with a sly smile he will point to B, and say, “I am taking care of that poor fellow;” but when you approach B and put a like interrogatory to him, he will tell you, casting a cunning glance at A, “I am looking after him, he is not quite right.” The less violent are used as servitors in the general establishment and perform much outdoor work about the island, and even take part in the management of the island boat which crossed to and fro to the mainland three times a week.
Amongst the most confirmed lunatics, who seldom go at large, are some painfully ludicrous cases. A sturdy black woman dressed in male appearance, if not absolutely in male attire, personates an African king, and certainly in words and imperious looks lords it over her subjects there, “in King Cambyses’ vein.” Another case from which the spectator almost religiously recoils is that of a little man from St. Helen’s, who is sane enough when spoken to on ordinary subjects, but if the Bible be mentioned, becomes instantly furious, and asserts that the New Testament (a copy of which he always has about him, and can read fluently in English and even quote with considerable correctness) is his gospel and that he is Jesus Christ. If reasoned with on this point he falls into such fierce paroxysms of wildness and violence as may well cause him to be taken for one of those demoniacs whom the merciful Saviour came to liberate and heal. But even with these most extreme cases, the lenient, judicious treatment which is practiced in this department, keeping the occasionally furious under close surveillance, rather than iron restraint, is found to answer far better than the old custom of the narrow cell, the griping gyve, and unmitigated confinement.
On a remarkably healthy and, as to aspect, cheerful spot near the sea, and commanding a fine view of Table Mountain and of the bold rocky coast behind it, are the buildings which contain the wards of chronic sick. Here are to be witnessed some of those sorrowful cases which are to be met with in all such asylums; such as slow wasting disease; the incurable maladies of the long sick, who have consulted many physicians and have been nothing bettered; the gradual sinking into the grave of those who have seemed for years upon its brink. For these, all that can be done is to relieve pain and make the last moments of life tranquil and free from want, and certainly at Robben Island this is done. The treatment, the dietary, the attendance, and even the kindness of one patient toward another, are here most praiseworthy.
I could see, on my visit, that although years have elapsed since this was written, every kindness was still shown by the officials to the unfortunates on Robben Island; still the surroundings were not such as could possibly tend to their recovery. The large ram-shackle buildings had an air of patchwork and decay, the yards were overcrowded, no employment or amusement could I see provided, except in the female ward, where I listened to one poor woman yawling out “Home, sweet home” on a piano more out of tune than her mind. A sad and sorry sight! Here, as in all similar institutions, there was every phase of this melancholy affliction to be observed. Since my visit Dr. Biccard has died, and the institution is now under the care of Dr. Ross, according to whose report last year there are now on the island 199 lunatics, some of whom have been there for thirty-five years. He states that but a small percentage of these cases can be looked upon as hopeful, owing to the length of time that has been allowed to elapse before they were brought under proper treatment. In one of his previous reports Dr. Ross observed: “If cases are treated within three months of the first attacks, four-fifths would recover, but if twelve months elapsed, four-fifths are incurable;” further, the material upon which to work is “very unpromising, and hence the fallacy of expecting European results when dealing with these life-long burdens on the country whose unsoundness of mind and unbridled passions render them equally unfit for liberty or neglect.”
I may also mention that there is under government supervision a hospital at Grahamstown, where last year 108 male and 67 female lunatics were in confinement, while old Somerset hospital is still used for chronic sick paupers, insane and female lepers, containing at the close of last year 55 male, 41 female lunatics, 141 chronic sick paupers, and 13 female lepers.
Leaving Dr. Biccard with the ladies, I walked on to inspect the lepers and the buildings in which they were housed. Here I saw human beings kenneled worse than dogs. In a long, low, thatched shed some forty poor creatures were stowed away. Both varieties of the disease, the tubercular and anæsthetic, could here be studied. Some I saw with their faces shiny, discolored and swollen, others with both hands and feet dropping off joint by joint; one man especially attracting my attention, whose nose, eyes, tongue and cheeks had all rotted away, and who, with a voice piping shrill and cracked, could barely make himself understood. He was a horrid, loathsome mass of putrid humanity. One fact, however, struck me at the time, that neither this man nor any of the other inmates complained of bodily pain. The building in which they were housed was such that I could not help picturing in my mind a spark igniting the thatch and a fire taking place in this hovel; how the poor wretches, sixty per cent. of whom were unable to leave their beds, would in their helplessness be burnt alive, possibly only too glad to find surcease of sorrow, at least in this world.
Here were black, half-caste and white all mixed together in hideous confusion, but, thank heaven! no females; the latter had been removed, I learned, some time before to Old Somerset hospital, not alas, however, until cohabitation had produced its results in beings almost, I fear, inevitably doomed to a life worse than death, and recalling Coleridge’s lines in his “Ancient Mariner”
“The nightmare Death in life is she
Who chills men’s blood with cold.”
These woe-begone creatures were allowed to go to the mainland if they wished once every three months, according to the criminally absurd enactments then in force. Of this opportunity many availed themselves, never returning, but sowing the seeds of a disease, hereditary and possibly contagious, as some believe it to be, broadcast through the land with impunity.
The lepers were, as a rule, idle, insolent and insubordinate, and knowing the incurable nature of their disease reckless and desperate to a degree. Half-castes, Malays, especially those whose morality was below the average, or those whose diet was, as a rule, confined almost exclusively to fish, I was told were more susceptible to the disease than Europeans. On making inquiries I learned many horrible facts. Among others I found the bath-room and the kitchen to be identical, one place only being provided for them in which to live, eat, drink and sleep, the “wash” or refuse and almost certainly contaminated food actually being used to feed the pigs and poultry, and, “Horror on horror’s head” the miserable sufferers themselves could be seen rolling about in squalid filth, their clothes soaked and besmeared with the discharges from their festering sores. No one seemed to have power or inclination to manage them; neglected and forsaken, they were left to the charge of fellow lepers as helpless as themselves, Horace’s “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?” never having a better exemplification.
Dr. Wynne, the assistant medical officer in charge, who has had considerable experience of this disease in Bulgaria and Constantinople, although not noticing among the common fowls the tender-footedness, bowing of the legs, incurvated claws, and the nodular articulations which are the earliest symptoms of the disease in animals, yet distinctly stated in evidence before a select committee of the house of assembly in 1883 that he had come across pigeons, mice, pheasants and turkeys unmistakably suffering from leprosy; and he further remarked at the time that “the communicableness of this disease to animals is a matter of great importance, for the reason that it may also be communicable to human beings through the agency of animals suffering from the disease being used as food.”
After seeing and conversing with these poor social outcasts, and at the same time having had convincing proofs afforded me every day, from outside sources, of the increase of leprosy among the lower and colored classes, I left the island with the conviction that nothing but complete segregation could ever stamp out this dreadful disease. The success which has since 1865 attended the complete isolation of affected persons in the Sandwich Islands, where leprosy was unknown before its introduction by the Chinese in 1848, as compared with the immense strides the disease was then making, should be an inducement to our legislators to adopt the most stringent measures here, the more especially seeing how widespread this terrible and loathsome disease is becoming. It may not be generally known, but it certainly bears out the generally received theory of the contagiousness of leprosy, that the apostle of the lepers of Molokai is beginning to pay the penalty of his heroism. Shut away from all civilized and healthy humanity, Father Damien has for years been a willing prisoner in the island in which are collected and confined the lepers of all the neighboring Sandwich group. For a long time, though cut off from the outward world, Father Damien continued in good health, though alone among the dead. But the stroke has fallen at last. In a letter written recently he says: “Impossible for me to go any more to Honolulu on account of the leprosy breaking out on me. The microbes have finally settled themselves in my left leg and my ear, and one eyebrow begins to fall. I expect soon to have my face disfigured. Having no doubt myself of the true character of my disease I feel calm, resigned and happier among my people. Almighty God knows what is best for my sanctification, and with that conviction I say daily a good ‘Fiat voluntas Tua.’” Where is the heroism which will vie with this? And does not Father Damien’s martyrdom tend to establish the contagious nature of the scourge?
The following extract from the “People’s Medical Adviser” (London), bearing upon the question, is interesting: “The following is a summary of an account in the New York Medical Record, of the first attempt to use a condemned criminal for the solution of an important and scientific question at the Sandwich Islands. It appears that more than two years ago the government procured the services of Dr. Edward Arning, for the purpose of having a thorough and scientific study made of leprosy. Attempts were made to cultivate the bacillus lepræ, which is uniformly found in the diseased parts, but not in the blood, by Kock’s method, using various media, but without success. Numerous inoculation experiments upon lower animals were made, but although the bacilli would grow at the points of inoculation for a long time, the animal never became infected. At last Dr. Arning obtained permission to make an inoculation upon a condemned criminal, whose sentence was commuted to imprisonment for life. With the convict’s written consent an inoculation of leprous matter was made in his arm, and bacilli were found in the sore or the scar up to fourteen months after the operation; no constitutional symptoms being observed. One further observation of importance was made by Dr. Arning; he found that in putrid leprous tissues, and even in the body of a leper who had been dead for three months, the bacilli were found in great numbers. This seems to bear against their specific pathogenetic function. Owing to difficulties with the health board, it is stated that it is highly probable Dr. Arning will be obliged to discontinue his work of research. With respect to the cultivation of bacillus, Dr. Neisser, of Breslau, appears to have been more successful than Dr. Arning, for he has recently stated that in a few cases he has observed an exceedingly slow growth, and he also claims to have recognized spores, which the Hawaiian observer has so far failed to do.”
I do not consider, however, that these experiments in any way prove the non-communicability of the disease, when we take into consideration the length of time (ten to fifty years) that leprosy takes to destroy the general run of its victims.
Not only can it be seen here and there over the whole Cape Colony, at Fort Beaufort, Malmesbury, Saldahna Bay, Caledon, Fraserburg, Calvenia, Clanwilliam, Hopetown, in Fingoland and Namaqualand, but even at Weeren and Alexandra County, especially in the Amapapeta location. In Natal its ravages are attracting attention among the members of my profession and philanthropists generally. In the latter colony a commission was appointed on January 27th, 1885, by Sir Henry Bulwer to inquire into the extent of leprosy then existing. The report of that commission was published in the Natal Government Gazette of September 23d, 1886, and conclusively demonstrated that leprosy was widely spread and was slowly increasing among the native population, and recommended as a means of checking the disease the enforcement of strict segregation. Surely some method for its arrest or eradication might be taken from the lessons taught by other countries and from experience of the past! After the crusades in the fifteenth century leprosy played sad havoc in Europe, but taking alarm in time the lepers were sought out and separated from their fellows, Norway being the only country in Europe where this system was not adopted, and while the disease has disappeared in other lands, in the last named, after the lapse of more than three hundred years, it still lives.75 This disease is also found in Greenland, Iceland, where it is termed “likthra,” in Lapland and the Faroes, but in these more northern regions, as leprosy is not considered to be contagious, its victims are objects more of pity than disgust. I believe that many local, lay and professional men think it a far-off disease, entombed in biblical lore; if so let them at once disabuse their minds of this idea and learn that this awful malady is a rapidly increasing scourge of to-day, extending from the North Pole to the South, from Iceland to Australia, India and America; Africa and Arabia supplying their quota of victims. “It distorts and scars and hacks and maims and destroys its victims inch by inch, feature by feature, member by member, joint by joint, sense by sense, leaving him to cumber the earth and tell the horrid tale of a living death, till there is nothing human left of him. Eyes, voice, nose, toes, fingers, feet, hands, one after the other, are slowly deformed and rot away, until at the end of ten, fifteen or twenty years it may be, the wretched leper, afflicted,, in every sense, himself, and hateful to the sight, smell, hearing and touch of others, dies despised and the most abject of men.”
Dr. Keith Guild, M.D., district surgeon of East Griqualand, in a pamphlet published this year on leprosy, arrives at the conclusion that “leprosy is a blood poison arising from the combination of two other blood poisons, tubercular and syphilitic,” and goes on to assert that “leprosy among the natives of South Africa is neither more nor less than a form of tertiary syphilis.” There is a manifest inconsistency between these two statements, but if the latter be a correct one it must also apply to leprosy in general, which I myself would be very sorry for one moment to admit, for obvious reasons.
Looking upon this frightful picture, is it not time, I will ask, we were “up and doing” before it be too late?
To come down to figures: the cost of each leper on Robben Island is £63 per annum: while the total expenditure of the island annually, including lunatics in 1885, was £15,482, of which £5,000 was expended in salaries.
The following is a return of the leper patients admitted in the general infirmary, Robben Island, from the year 1845 to July 31, 1883, inclusive, the number remaining about the same, as fresh cases were only admitted as old ones died off:
| 1845 | 37 |
| 1846 | 35 |
| 1847 | 17 |
| 1848 | 26 |
| 1849 | 18 |
| 1850 | 14 |
| 1851 | 7 |
| 1852 | 13 |
| 1853 | 21 |
| 1854 | 14 |
| 1855 | 16 |
| 1856 | 15 |
| 1857 | 16 |
| 1858 | 19 |
| 1859 | 16 |
| 1860 | 13 |
| 1861 | 21 |
| 1862 | 22 |
| 1863 | 22 |
| 1864 | 12 |
| 1865 | 34 |
| 1866 | 19 |
| 1867 | 20 |
| 1868 | 21 |
| 1869 | 15 |
| 1870 | 24 |
| 1871 | 27 |
| 1872 | 17 |
| 1873 | 17 |
| 1874 | 19 |
| 1875 | 13 |
| 1876 | 17 |
| 1877 | 26 |
| 1878 | 19 |
| 1879 | 13 |
| 1880 | 15 |
| 1881 | 24 |
| 1882 | 21 |
| 1883—Jan. 1st to July 31st | 9 |
| ——— | |
| Total | 744 |
After leaving these pitiable and miserable sights, Dr. Biccard invited our party to lunch, when we conversed with this genial old gentleman upon what we had seen, and over the past and future of the island. Then after enjoying a fragrant cigar with Dr. Wynne we returned to the mainland by the Gun on her afternoon trip.
Since our visit the government have decided to remove the lunatics to the mainland, having bought the farm Tokai near Capetown for that purpose, but at present the finances of the colony are at too low an ebb to warrant further expenditure, with a view to the introduction of any improved mode of treatment for these unfortunate people.
An act for the segregation of lepers has also been passed by the Cape legislative assembly (No. 8, 1884), which although a step in the right direction is exceedingly weak in some of its provisions. The main and vital point, compulsory removal, is altogether omitted, it being merely made lawful for the governor, on the certificate of a district surgeon or any other medical practitioner to the effect that a man or woman is a leper and the disease communicable, to authorize his or her removal, but no order is inserted in the ordinance that all lepers shall be brought before the district surgeon for such certificate, and that such certificate shall be acted upon.
Dr. Ross, the present superintendent of the island, states in his last report (1886) that “unless the segregation act includes a denial of all civil rights, the bastardy of all children born to lepers, and confiscation of their property for their public and special support and treatment, this horrible disease will never be stamped out.” Notwithstanding all the forcible lessons of the past I learn that the government (June 1886) are erecting wooden huts on the island at Murray’s Bay for the use of female lepers, thus holding out, as it were, a premium for the direct propagation of lepers; experience having shown that it is impossible to keep the sexes apart when located on the same island. The only saving clause is that very few children are born of leprous parents. I may here emphatically state my opinion that if strict segregation were enforced this dire disease would in half a century be a scourge of the past, and, I may add, that I am in accordance with all the best authorities in the belief that this is the only method by which this terrible and loathsome disease can ever be eradicated.
After spending a most agreeable and interesting day on the island, a pleasant hour’s sail brought us in the afternoon to the mainland, the sea having in the meantime become perfectly calm.
The next visit I made was to see trouble in a different guise, not the wasting of incurable disease, nor the visitation of a hopeless malady, but to see two men whose lives were being eaten away by the canker-worm of despair—Cetywayo and Langibalele! To those who have resided in South Africa during the last twenty years these names will recall many an anxious time to colonists, brought about, in my humble opinion, not by the desire of the colonists to do anything which was not legal and right—but in the first place by a want of tact in dealing with natives, and in the second from an uncontrollable infatuation seizing hold of one, spreading like an epidemic to all. Not two years had passed since “Cetywayo” had been in every one’s mouth, and had been the hero of the hour. Again had Bishop Colenso come forward to see fair play done to one whom he thought had been wrongly used, and again, as in Langibalele’s case, had he gained for himself the ill-will of the colonists. I had formed a decided opinion about these cases and was naturally anxious to study the “fons et origo mali” of each complication, and accompanied by my wife and various friends I paid Cetywayo several visits.
The drive of an hour in an open carriage, in such a climate as the Cape possesses on a fine winter afternoon, was pleasure enough to make even the Cape flats and bad roads enjoyable. Upon these despised flats, in an old Dutch house, with the usual lofty and spacious rooms, which, however desirable when adorned and well furnished, look gaunt and cheerless when neglected and empty, Cetywayo, the captive Zulu king, dragged out the weary days of his heart-breaking suspense. We were received by the king in a room that was bare save for a few chairs, and Cetywayo, a fine, large man, of dignified mien and sad, gentle expression, dressed in an ill-cut blue serge suit, and sitting ill at ease in an arm chair, looked a long way from being “at home.” He must have been a fine sight indeed in his royal kraal dressed in handsome umutye (tails, pronounced moochas) when in the height of his pride and state.
On one occasion being accompanied by Mr. Saul Solomon, M. L. A. (and “negrophilist” as he was by some called on account of his sympathy with and advocacy of the rights of the native, but a man and politician who had the welfare of his country as much at heart as the welfare of the native), we found on our arrival at Oude Molen that the interpreter was taking a walk, and a messenger was dispatched to call him. The king having evidently arranged himself to receive us, and growing impatient with the delay, came to the door and asked why we did not enter, my wife (who could speak Zulu) replied, “we are waiting for the interpreter.” Cetywayo answered, “what need for that when you can speak as well yourself,” and he insisted upon our entering then and there. Fortunately the interpreter arrived almost at once, and we did not run the risk of breaking any rule applying to visitors. Amongst other items of news we asked Cetywayo if he had learned from the newspapers (which he had translated to him every morning) that Mr. John Robinson (whom Cetywayo knew as a great supporter of Sir Bartle Frere) had been defeated in the election for the Natal legislative council, where he had held a seat for many years, when without speaking but uttering a soft pleased “Ah!” he shut his eyes, his face beamed, and passing his hand slowly across his mouth from one ear to the other, he gently drew in his breath as if drinking a long draught of some divine nectar. The news evidently gave him intense delight, and repeatedly jerking his thumb up and down he feelingly exclaimed: “What had I done to this man to make him my enemy, I have never even seen him?” and waxing warmer, he added: “Yes, Sir Bartle Frere is down and John Robinson is down too.”
We were told that Cetywayo enjoyed such visits as these, being a break in the monotony of his life. He was saved from vulgar curiosity by the government not allowing any one to visit him without a special permit. We found the women comprised in the household a great contrast to the quiet dignity of the king and his attendant chiefs; entering the room where they were at work making grass strainers and bead ornaments, they assailed us in loud, shrill voices, offering their wares for sale as if nothing more serious were on hand, being as keen to drive a good bargain as any professional peddler—it had not taken them long to learn the value of “filthy lucre.”
Walking on a few hundred yards we came next to the abode of a man who eight years before had set Natal in a blaze, had aroused the chivalrous feelings of its unswerving bishop, and had been the cause of its lieutenant governor’s recall!
Langibalele, or “the bright shining sun,” the cause of all this, we found sitting on the trunk of a tree at the side of a brick-built cottage, shading himself from the sun. Of middle height, blear-eyed, old, decrepit and almost in rags, he formed a sorry contrast to the dignified majesty of Cetywayo, whom we had just left.
I called to my recollection how, ignoring the orders of Sir Benjamin Pine, he had decamped76 with his tribe and cattle over the Drakensberg into the Double Mountains of Basutoland, instead of answering a summons to come to Pietermaritzburg to explain the reason why the young men of his tribe had refused to register their guns; how made a prisoner by Jonathan Molappo, a Basuto chief, he was sentenced to convict labor for life and transported to Robben Island, and how Bishop Colenso, braving the prejudices of the Natal colonists, went to England, in the cause of justice and humanity, and exposed the whole matter,77 that Langibalele’s sentence was reduced to twenty years’ safe custody on the mainland, and Sir B. Pine was recalled!78
Shortly after parliament was prorogued Cetywayo had his heart’s desire gratified by being summoned to England, where his restoration to Zululand having been determined upon, the English government had thought it would be advisable to let him see some of the wonders of civilization before he resumed his power. The king was placed in the charge of Mr. Henrique Shepstone, a good Zulu linguist, and son of Sir Theophilus Shepstone, who was formerly secretary for native affairs in Natal. Cetywayo heroically bore the long sea voyage, being determined to leave no stone unturned by which he might possibly regain his forfeited position.
It may interest some to hear of him in London, so I will quote from a letter my wife’s description of a visit she paid to him as she passed through that city on her way to New York:
“I have just returned from making a call upon Cetywayo; it was a temptation after seeing him in his wretched Oude Molen quarters, just before I left Capetown, and knowing so well how he lived in his own uncivilized fashion, to see how he would look in a London drawing-room. Mr. Jonathan Peel was good enough to see our old friend, Mr. Henrique Shepstone, who is the special envoy in charge, and he most kindly arranged our visit.
“On our arrival we were received by Cetywayo with evident pleasure, who, seating himself on a sofa, waived us to chairs arranged in a circle before him. The three chiefs who had accompanied him were each seated in a corner of the room. One chief appeared to have three feet, as he had taken off one of his boots and carefully arranged it in line with his two feet—explaining to me in a tone of apology, that in walking the day before it had blistered his little toe. The poor fellows looked uncomfortable enough in European clothes, but there was no reason why they should have been rendered more ridiculous by wearing neckties with embroidered red rosebuds. Fancy sad, dignified Cetywayo with a red rosebud under his chin!
“Cetywayo opened the conversation by asking me how I came to be in London. I replied I had come as he had by steamer, and that I was shortly going further, to America, and I suggested that after he had seen England he should pay my country a visit. He looked at me, sadly shaking his head, and said: ‘I should not be here, were it not that I am as I am.’ I thought this answer for quiet dignity was simply perfect; it sounded even better in his beautiful Zulu than it does as I have translated it for you. Of course I could not allow him to dwell upon so painful a subject as his captivity, so I asked him if he had been much interested in the sights of London. Mr. Shepstone slyly remarked that the king was very anxious to see the German giantess on exhibition at the Alhambra, and that he expected to be altogether captivated. Cetywayo turned the joke by saying—‘he just says that about me, because he is in love with her himself.’ This fairly ‘brought down the house,’ and literally too, as Mr. Shepstone’s chair gave way under him at that moment, and this added to the general amusement. Cetywayo seeing a jet bracelet on Miss G.’s arm inquired the name of it, and declared his intention to take some ‘ujet’ ornaments back as presents for his wives. It struck me rather as ‘taking coals to Newcastle,’ as far as color went; but evidently his taste is neat, not gaudy. Cetywayo, growing restless, walked toward the window, when a shout from the crowd outside made him suddenly draw back, upon which one of the chiefs remarked, with the utmost disgust in his tones: ‘There they stand, from daylight till long after nightfall, and we don’t know what they want.’ Mr. Shepstone told us that at first Cetywayo was inclined to be very angry, deeming it great rudeness, but he had explained it to him that it was the delight they felt in seeing a ‘King,’ and this had somewhat appeased the poor captive. Mr. Shepstone now proposed that ‘the King’ should graciously indulge the people outside by returning to the window—which Cetywayo did, looking as if he felt they were making a fool of him, took off his smoking cap, and waited patiently while the crowd gaped and shouted ‘Hurrah!’ Shortly after this we left. Poor Cetywayo’s intense sadness, even when he laughed, made me feel quite sorry for him, even in spite of myself. You know I have never agreed with your absolute bearing toward his side of the Zulu war question. The friends who were with me, though biased against Cetywayo, admitted, after seeing him, that their feelings had become considerably modified.”
The subject of the Zulu war has been worn thread-bare by each party, for and against, from their own standpoint. Mr. John Dunn’s book is the last ray of light cast upon it. I shall not weary my readers by entering into the matter at any great length, but, as it were, take my stand between the two parties and express my humble opinion as a colonist of twenty-two years’ standing, and as one who has learned to appreciate and feel a sincere affection for the native. No one is really competent to judge this question, who does not understand—1st. The native character and the strictness of their etiquette in the reverence shown to superiors, breaches of which are no less important signs of troubles brewing than is the “small, black cloud, no larger than a man’s hand,” which precedes a storm, and—2nd. The defenceless state—indeed, the caged animal helplessness, of the Natal colonists. The Zulu appetite for “eating up”79 was there without a doubt; Cetywayo having asked permission of the Natal government to “eat up” the Swazis. What more natural than that the colonists should fear that this unsatisfied appetite might be otherwise appeased upon the slightest provocation, and what could be more aggravating to the spirit of a proud, self-willed Zulu king, than the restraints civilization was seeking to impose upon him? The last two Zulu kings had been shrewd enough to see the advantages and protection which friendly relations with the English government afforded them, against their natural enemies, the Boers, with their grab-all policy. For this friendship and moral support, John Bull, of course, required some compensation—the abolition of cruelties toward Zulu subjects by their king, and the insuring of the safety of the Natal colonists, he thought not too much to demand. Alas! had there been a “Chinese Gordon” to tie what might have proved a gordian knot of mutual friendship and protection, all would have been well. But what happened? Who can take the responsibility of fixing blame upon any one individual, when so many “cooks” were engaged in “spoiling the broth,” either by omission or commission? Frere, Shepstone, Cetywayo, Dunn, Bulwer, Colenso and John Robinson, with his newspaper. It must be admitted that Cetywayo’s character was the natural result of inherited tendency. The absolute power, the custom of cold-blooded murders for trivial offenses, or rather, when convenient, suspected offenses, the immense standing army, the longing for wars and “dipping of assegais in blood,”80 added to the haughty self-will and the insecurity of the position of an irresponsible despot, which a Zulu king enjoys, all made Cetywayo what he was, a neighbor to be feared.
Who shall bear the blame of the irritation caused Cetywayo by the “impudent behavior of messengers” sent to him by the Natal government, or the growing anger he felt toward the government and its messengers, on account of their “assuming authority not recognized by him”? I quote from Mr. Dunn’s book, who also says, Cetywayo despatched messengers with a letter to the Natal government stating his wish to go against the Amaswazi, and to this he received the following document:
“Reply of his excellency Sir Benjamin Chilley Campbell Pine, K.C.M.G., lieutenant governor of Natal, to Cetywayo, chief of the Zulu nation.
“Office of Secretary for Native Affairs,
“Oct. 22d, 1874.
“The lieutenant governor has received the letter sent by Cetywayo, and the reasons given for making war upon the Amaswazi.
“The lieutenant governor sees no cause whatever for making war, and informs Cetywayo that such an intention on the part of the Zulus meets with his entire disapproval.
“Cetywayo must also remember that the Amaswazi are almost entirely surrounded by white people who have settled in the country, and it will be impossible for the Zulus, if war is made, to avoid getting into difficulties with them.
“Many years ago the lieutenant governor sent a letter to the late King M’Pande, requesting him to allow the Amaswazi to live in peace from any further attacks of the Zulus; he promised to do so, and has kept his word.
“The lieutenant governor trusts that what he has said will be sufficient to deter Cetywayo and the Zulu nation from entertaining such a project.
“By command of his excellency,
“(Signed)
“J. W. Shepstone,
“Acting Secretary for Native Affairs.”
And John Dunn adds: “The above letter made the king change his plans, although it enraged him, as I could plainly see.” Again John Dunn says: “From this time the tone of Cetywayo toward the English government began to change, and I could see, from the constant secret meetings which took place, that his intention was to make war somewhere; but I did not for a moment believe it was his intention to fight against the English, although I could see that he was greatly exasperated at the tone of the government, assuming an authority over him that he did not think they had a right to do.”
Then if we consider the refusal of Cetywayo to give up the men who made a raid into Natal (see appendix, ultimatum, clause 10, etc.), but instead was busy massing his warriors, and further, the recollection still fresh in the memory of all (when my own father-in-law had to fly for his life), how Cetywayo’s uncles, Tchaka and Dingaan, had swept Natal time after time, until “before Tchaka was killed” by his brother Dingaan, “he was supposed to have destroyed a million of human beings,” who will blame the anxiety of the colonists, especially when at this time the native tribes in the Cape Colony and Griqualand West were all engaged in rebellion against the English government?
The next factor in this war was the annexation of the Transvaal by the English government, professedly as a protection against the natives. The land dispute between the Transvaal and Cetywayo (see appendix, ultimatum clause, 3 to 10) had to be taken with the republic, and now the task of appeasing both parties in the matter was more than any government could possibly accomplish. The delay in settling the disputed land question had led to an impatient act on Cetywayo’s part (see appendix, ultimatum, clause 4). The English government, knowing well all the weary years of waiting which Cetywayo had borne, might well overlook this action; but when it did at last appoint a commission to settle the question, Cetywayo received a part only of the land he claimed.
Whether the idea was right or wrong, that now the Transvaal had been annexed the view taken by the government was changed by self-interest, it is no less a fact that Cetywayo was disappointed, and fresh fuel had been added to his disaffection.
At this time Sir Bartle Frere had come upon the scene, confederation being his mission. The danger of an army of trained warriors, 50,000 strong, at the command of an uncivilized king, on the very border of little Natal, was a very great obstacle; and considering Cetywayo’s sullen attitude, what colony in its senses would agree to be confederated with a little colony having such a danger upon its borders? Time can never prove whether Sir Bartle Frere’s judgment was right or wrong in sending the ultimatum and outrageous demands to Cetywayo which forced the war upon him.
There was one man, Mr. John Dunn, who might from his thorough knowledge of the Zulus have averted this war; unfortunately his attempt was delayed until too late, (See appendix—John Dunn’s letter to the Aborigines’ Protection Society). In Mr. Dunn’s book,81 which is very interesting reading, he does not tell us of any effort he made with the Natal government to prevent the war, and one cannot help wishing that he had gone earnestly and unceasingly to work, both with the English government and Cetywayo, with that persistency which surely tells in a good cause. Possibly John Dunn did not realize the situation in time.
The recollections of Isandhlwana, Zhlobane and Ulundi make one’s blood run cold; but terrible as this war was, the cruelty and wickedness of having brought it about, could time prove it to have been unnecessary, cannot compare, in my mind, with the cruelty and wickedness of the disastrous Zulu settlement by Sir Garnet Wolseley and the after neglect of the Zulu nation by the English government. It was “adding insult to injury” to place these people under petty chiefs, and the whole nation became demoralized. They would have respected their conquered king even if he had had to accede to all the demands of the ultimatum and to owe allegiance to the English government, and they could have accepted a conquering power more especially when that power was the marvelous English. This latter disposition is what they naturally would have expected. But to place them under petty chiefs was just to set them again at the old game of one chief “eating up” another until one became supreme. When at last Cetywayo was restored it was simple cruelty not to have established him firmly and protected him from all danger. Sad indeed would Bishop Colenso have been had he lived to see the restoration of Cetywayo for which he worked so earnestly. It was poor “justice” that left the king, having destroyed his power, to the mercy of his enemies, and to die very shortly from poison or a broken heart! No one could have expected Cetywayo to resume his old footing among his people through any love they bore him. What does any native chief ever do to make himself beloved? The Zulus possess a dog-like fidelity toward their chiefs, and they may be proud of their conquests, but when we consider that Cetywayo could hold his position by the utmost severity only, ruling by fear rather than love, we cannot be surprised that his restoration without support was an utter failure. Even upon Cetywayo’s death it would not have been too late for England to annex the Zulus and accept a noble mission. With the natural fidelity of the Zulus, how easy a matter, with firm, kind rule, to gain their love as well!
What a field for civilization and Christianity! Supposing a governor had been appointed, laws made to keep the Zulu country for the Zulus, and laws also for their moral good, such as no spirituous liquors allowed, etc., what might not have been made of them? What is the consequence of this shirking of responsibility? As Cetywayo received no material support from England his son and successor was foolish enough to appeal for help to his father’s old enemies, the covetous Boers, who true to their nature have managed to gain possession of the better half of Zululand, and nothing has been done for the improvement or benefit of that grand Zulu nation—the war has brought them ruin only, when it might so easily have resulted in good. England in shirking this responsibility appears to me in the same cruel, sinful light as a mother who leaves her helpless, illegitimate babe on the door-step of a stranger.82