Chapter XXV Visit to Basutoland — Pitso at Maseru — Interview With Masupha — General Gordon’s Appointment — Pitso at Leribe — Roma — The Roman Catholic and Protestant Missions — Mafeting — East London — Sir David Wedderburn — Arrival in Capetown — Cape Assembly Resignation
Some time before the opening of the fourth session of parliament in 1882, in course of correspondence with the Hon. Colonel Schermbrucker, M. L. C. for King William’s Town, I proposed to him that before parliament met we should make a tour through Basutoland, and see for ourselves the real position of affairs and the condition of the country, especially as so many conflicting statements were afloat. We agreed to meet at Maseru on March 1st, 1882. Determined that this appointment should be kept to the day, I left Kimberley at noon on Feb. 26th for Bloemfontein, en route to Basutoland.
Arriving at Boshof, a rising Free State town, in about six hours, we changed horses, and proceeding on our journey spent the whole of a delightful summer night, which a brilliant moon lit up as light as day, in speeding over the plains of the Free State. But what torture we suffered between this place and Bloemfontein! The wagonette in which we rode was sadly out of repair, and I thought myself lucky in getting the back seat, but, alas! being also the lid of a box, the hinges of which were broken, it was misplaced by any sudden jolt, so I found myself as often in the box as out of it.
I had not seen the neat little town of Bloemfontein for ten years, but I found it had not developed much during this interim. My previous errand had been of a very different kind. Then the whole of the state was in painful suspense on account of the critical state in which their president, Mr. (now Sir John) Brand, was lying. The executive, fearing the worst, determined to obtain further medical opinion upon his case, and sent to Kimberley for Dr. Dyer, a leading practitioner there, and myself, to post over with all speed. Our consultation with the president’s physicians was not hopeful, and we left, expecting the worst; however, some days after our return we learned that the disease had taken a favorable turn, and we had the satisfaction in a few mails to hear of the president’s gradual restoration to health.
During the few hours that I rested at Bloemfontein I had the pleasure of meeting his honor again, older and greyer certainly than he was ten years before, but looking full of health and vigor, “his age like a lusty winter, frosty but kindly.” He was sitting in his private room in the magnificent block of government buildings erected lately by the state. On introduction, he recognized me at once, spoke feelingly of the past when last we met, and asked me to dinner, an invitation which I was unable to accept, owing to my previous appointment with Colonel Schermbrucker on the first of March, which I had barely time enough to keep. I started the same afternoon in a special cart for Ladybrand, and traveled again the whole of the night. After “moving accidents by flood and field,” overturning the cart, losing the mules, getting wet through and nearly drowned in the Modder River, I at last outspanned for a couple of hours at Modderpoort, ten miles from Ladybrand, a mission station conducted by members of the Anglican brotherhood, who had been settled there since 1870. Father Douglas, the present head of the community, kindly showed me round the mission station. I saw the pretty stone church with its stained glass windows and solemn aisles, and the substantial mission house for the priests, but that which interested me most was the sight of the cave at the bottom of the garden in which during the early years of the mission Father Beckett, the founder, used to live. This good old priest, after years of arduous work, was called to his rest last year (in 1884), regretted by the whole country side.
Bidding farewell to Father Douglas I reached Ladybrand at 6 P. M. “All’s well that ends well,” a good rest and sleep enabled me to start early next morning for Maseru, escorted by a well-known Basuto head man named Makolokolo, who with an escort of ten men had come to meet me. The scenery between Ladybrand and Maseru is magnificent, the mountains, with the grassy plains rolling between, to one who for years had seen nothing but heaps of diamond debris and tailings from washing machines seemed inexpressibly and over-poweringly grand. As we rode on to the drift of the Caledon we passed a long range of hills, where I saw the first signs of the war that had been raging. By faint curls of smoke high up the hillsides, mounting in the air, my attention was drawn to the presence of a number of refugee Basuto women and children living ensconced in caves, who had received permission from the Free State government to squat there pending the settlement of affairs.
Galloping quickly on, at ten o’clock I arrived at the drift of the Caledon River crossing to Maseru. I found the river running in torrents, the pont or horse ferry, damaged the day before, unworkable—in fact the late heavy rains had upset everything, but there, on the other side of the river, exact to the day and hour fixed months before, I could see my friend, the colonel, waiting. A hearty shout of recognition and welcome greeted me, and jumping into a boat I was safely landed on the other side, in Basutoland.
Our progress to Maseru from the Caledon River, about a mile, was one triumphal procession. As members of the Cape parliament who, the loyals knew by report, sympathized with their sufferings, Colonel Schermbrucker and myself were heartily welcomed by these poor broken-hearted people. They regarded us as men who would be able from personal knowledge and inspection to bring their cruel wrongs and sufferings before parliament, reveal their exact condition, and show the world, at least the South African world, the sad plight and the miserable state in which their loyalty and their belief in the flag of Old England had landed them.
Hundreds met us on the banks of the river; the crowd, “lumelaing” (saluting) us and singing and dancing their war dances, and increasing in numbers until our arrival at Mr. Trower’s store when we arranged with the leaders to have a meeting or pitso in the afternoon.
Maseru is a prettily situated village just on the confines of Basutoland, and during the war was an important rendezvous and depot. By good fortune I found an old brother, if not in arms in lancets, Dr. Cumming, stationed here, who invited me to accompany him to the camp of the Cape mounted rifles, when I spent a pleasant hour lunching with him and other members of the staff.
A splendid view of Maseru and the surrounding country is obtained from the high plain on which the camp was pitched.
From our open dining tent I could see on one side the winding Caledon, rushing along in torrents, on the other the grassy plain with the camp and its surroundings, whilst in front, below us, lay the pretty village of Maseru with its houses and stores, its trees and its gardens, and the residency which a short time before had witnessed a most plucky and successful defence against the attacking hordes of Masupha’s rebels. As a background to this lovely scene, three hills nicknamed by our troops, “the world, the flesh and the devil” completed the picture.
In the afternoon there was a large meeting of the loyal Basutos, and we heard from their own lips the story of their sufferings. Among the speakers was Sofonia Moshesh, whose magnificently built stone house I afterward saw in the distance when going to Thaba Bosigo, Makolokolo, a clever, far-seeing man, whose opinion was much thought of by the Basutos, Inodi, Jacob Matseke, N’tsane Moshesh, whose house surrounded by a forest of 2,000 gum trees is a sight ever to be remembered. The enthralled attention and eager anxiety of the assembly struck me very much, and it was impossible not to feel for men like Sofonia Moshesh and N’tsane Moshesh who had lost everything by their loyalty to the government. but who still trusted, still “hoped on” that justice would be done them.
The petition which was to be presented to parliament setting forth their grievances, and praying the house to allow three chiefs they had chosen to appear as their spokesmen at the bar of the house, was signed by all present, and the pitso broke up with loud cheers for the Queen.
After the pitso was over I walked up with Colonel Schermbrucker to the residency, saw how the place had been stormed and riddled by bullets on the day of the memorable attack on November 20th, 1880, and then went to see the accommodation provided for the “loyals,” of which we had heard so much. Tents all tattered and torn, affording no shelter from either the wind or weather, we found were the only housing provided for these loyal natives, who by obeying the orders of the government had been rendered destitute, robbed of their cattle, driven from their gardens and their fields, from house and home! We came away impressed with the fact that the conception formed by our loyal friends of England’s justice and power must be very mythical indeed.83 Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s graphic and powerful description of the condition into which the province of Oude was brought by the emissaries of Warren Hastings is exceedingly applicable to the condition in which we found these deluded people. Well could they also say “this damp of death is the mere effusion of British amity! We sink under the pressure of their support!... They have embraced us with their protecting arms, and lo, these are the fruits of their alliance!”
Next day we rode through Ladybrand to Ficksburg, a distance of sixty miles, accompanied by Makolokolo and some ten mounted men. Arriving late, after a hard day’s ride through a country not at all interesting, we rested the night, having previously arranged to meet the chief, Jonathan (the late chief Molappo’s son), and his people at Leribe on the following day. Starting early next morning, we were met on this side of the Caledon drift by 200 of Jonathan’s men on horseback sent to escort us to Thlotsi Heights, the seat of the magistracy, and the place where hundreds of his men (loyals), driven from their homes by the rebel Basutos (like those whom we saw at Maseru), were squatting together depending on the government for food and protection.84 Crossing the Caledon, the chief Jonathan met us, and Colonel Schermbrucker introduced me to him.
This chief is a noble specimen of the Mosuto, not very tall, but well made, though slightly stout, and with an intelligent and frank expression of countenance. He was attired in the undress uniform of a British officer and magnificently mounted. He conducted us to his house at Thlotsi Heights, where we had coffee and rested about an hour, when we started for Leribe. I shall never forget my ride. The whole of the Basutos who were at Thlotsi Heights joined us, every one mounted. Jonathan provided horses for Colonel Schermbrucker and myself, and we rode in front, Colonel Schermbrucker on one side, I on the other, the chief in the middle, with a cavalcade of at least 500 mounted men behind. The morning was bright and cheery, the air seemed charged with electric freshness, the grassy turf was like a spring-board, so never drawing rein, we raced along to Leribe, doing the nine miles in forty minutes.
On arrival I was astonished at what I saw; we off-saddled in front of two large stone houses,85 built about ten years ago by Molappo, one for his white visitors, the other for his own use. The accompanying view I took at the time. The interior was beautifully furnished, and even pictures graced the walls, and this right in the heart of Basutoland, where civilization was supposed to have scarcely penetrated.
We rested a short time, were then invited to partake of what was really a fine dinner, after which we spoke to the large gathering of Basutos who had assembled to meet us, and listened to their mournful story, when after signing the petition86 for me to present to parliament, the meeting broke up by singing the national anthem.
Mr. Maitin, the son of a much esteemed French missionary who interpreted for me, took at the time full notes of what the different speakers said. All their observations were to the point, and the quaint manner in which they were put well illustrated the shrewdness of the Basuto character, evidently wishing to imply only, amidst the tale of all their cruel sufferings, the one fact ever brought to the fore, “civis Anglicanus sum.” These notes he afterward sent to the Cape Times, from which paper I make a few extracts.
After giving some introductory remarks which I made to the large assembly, Mr. Maitin proceeds to report more in extenso what fell from the different natives of standing present.
Piet Makolokolo (to whom I have already referred as a man much trusted by the loyals), Sofonia, Kampa, Jacob Moseki, and other prominent men told their tale of suffering and neglect. Koadi’s and N’tsane Moshesh’s speeches, however, I give in full, as they contain the gist of what the other speakers said.
Koadi said: “I am very glad to see Dr. Matthews amongst us, and I was glad when he came to Maseru. I am very thirsty and I believe he can help in quenching my thirst. In short, I will state I agree entirely with what has been said by Sofonia, and with the petition which has just been read to us. We approve of what it contains. I ask you loyals if we speak truth in that petition? Your answer is ‘Yes.’ I will be short, as time is pressing. We are now in great misery. We are men who cried out to those in power to do something for us. Now I ask what are they going to do? I fully agree with Sofonia; he is right in saying the loyals are all crying, suffering, and in misery for their loyalty. He is right in saying before the rebellion we were rich, free, and independent, but now are poor and suffering.
“Yesterday some of my men came to me and complained of the bad tents, which do not afford shelter from the rain and cold, and reproached me with having persuaded them to follow the government. I do not say for a moment we have been wrong to remain faithful to the government. We all know that we received the Queen’s government from the hands of Moshesh, and as far as I am concerned I will be faithful to the government till the government casts me off. I have still, even now, great faith and hope, as I see a member of parliament amongst us, which proves to me that the colony will see us righted. As Sofonia says, we were killed because we were faithful. Must we die again? I hope if the first doctor fails the second will cure us. I think our petition contains all we wanted to say.”
Question from Dr. Matthews: “What has Koadi lost?” “I have only lost five head of cattle, taken from the Free State, but my people lost cattle and horses. My great loss is one greater than any amount of cattle, and that is my ground and my rights. Those who rebelled fought because they wanted the right of the ground, which I have lost, and which is my great loss. As a grandson of Moshesh I had rights and lands, with which I could do as I liked. When we were told about disarmament, before the rebellion, and were ordered to give up our guns, I came three times to Colonel Griffith, and told him I did not wish to separate myself from my gun, and he answered me by taking the Peace Preservation act, and saying, this is the law. I did not like to give up my gun, but I obeyed the law. Mr. Sprigg then came to Basutoland, and when Colonel Griffith informed us he was here I went to see him, and Colonel Griffith introduced me to the then colonial secretary; he asked me to state what I had lost, and he said that my property should be restored, and that the governor would protect my life and property. I will not relate how we were nearly destroyed, as Colonel Schermbrucker, who was our commandant, can witness on Oct. 20th, 1880; he has remained faithful to us during all our troubles. We hear it is peace, but we do not see it. I am glad Dr. Matthews took the trouble to come to us. I want to show him our food (an old biscuit was here produced); this is the food the government gives us, the government which promised us protection; we are often sick after eating this provision. The government was not able to protect us last year, so during the war we were well fed, but now this is the description of food we receive. I should like Dr. Matthews to take a walk and see our houses, huts and tents, and the manner in which we are now living, and, if he could go and see our old homes, villages, etc., and compare them. When you do compare them you will know who are the people who have suffered much, and what they have suffered. During the war the rebels did not suffer, because they had all our property and everything they wanted; they are still now the masters of the country, and of our property. We have been in this state of destitution for two years. Many of the present people are chiefs, but they are so badly dressed that you could take them for common people, and this is one of the results of their loyalty. It is a great pity that Dr. Matthews has not more time to spare, otherwise every one could speak to him. I blame Mr. Sprigg for our condition, because he made us promises, but it was not his fault if they were not carried out, because he had to go out of office; it was for his successors to fulfill those promises. I again thank Dr. Matthews for all his attention.”
N’tsane Moshesh followed in the same strain: “I greet Dr. Matthews and all the loyals. I cannot say how thankful I am that he has taken the trouble to come and see those men who remained faithful to the Queen. Moshesh handed over to the Queen his country and people, and here are the few people who remained faithful. I thank Dr. Matthews for coming here to see our miseries and to ascertain the true state of affairs. I endorse every word stated by Sofonia and Koadi. I have nothing to add. The petition contains the substance of our feelings, and every word of it is true, and I have only to thank Dr. Matthews for his trouble. I do not want him to think that because we are black we have no feelings. It is perfectly true what Koadi said—that we deceive our people, for they ask us now: ‘Where is the protection of the government?’ Another thing is, we speak only for Maseru, no loyal has been able to return to his home. Sofonia, Lefoyane, Koadi and myself were the first who said we would go back to our homes—we were anxious to do so, because we valued them. I went to my village according to Mr. Orpen’s87 order, and found all my land divided between Theko Letsie and Mama Letsie; and who divided thus my property? who, but the man who calls himself the head of the loyals, Letsea, my brother! As it is stated, in the petition my ground, etc., cannot be valued in money, and I will never accept money as compensation. Cattle, horses, etc., are nothing, but to lose my rights as a chief grieves me. In cattle I lost 370 head—government gave me three! Every one knows how my village was planted with blue gum trees; there were 1,862 trees beside houses and other property, and now I live in a tent. I cannot state all that I would like to say as time is so pressing.”
After finishing this speech, all the Basutos, as I mentioned before, signed the petition, and I closed this most interesting interview by a few words of encouragement, to which Koadi, in the name of all present, replied: “I return thanks to Dr. Matthews for the loyals, and I am glad to hear there is hope of justice for them in the breast of Englishmen. We have heard of Moses, but we have no Moses, but perhaps you will be our Moses, and deliver us out of Egypt.”
The pitso being ended I rode back to Thlotse Heights, and bidding “good-bye” to Colonel Schermbrucker, who went to Ladybrand, I spent the night at the house of Dr. Taylor, the government surgeon. In the morning the chief Jonathan came to see me. We had a long talk on Basutoland affairs, and on leaving he presented me with a valuable pony as a memento of my visit. I left for Ficksburg next day and pushed through to Maseru, where I arrived late at night.
Before taking my trip to Leribe to interview Jonathan and his people I wrote a letter “greeting” to Masupha, asking him to grant me an audience, and also leave to visit “Thaba Bosigo” (the mountain of night), where he was living. On my return I found a message waiting me from Masupha, giving me the requested permission, and saying that he would be glad to see me. So early on the following morning (March 7th) I left Maseru with a native escort under Koadi, a grandson of Moshesh, passing the Berea on my left, which was the scene of the terrible disaster which befell Gen. Sir George Cathcart, then governor of the Cape Colony and high commissioner, in 1852, of which the following is a brief outline:
The general, at the instance of Mr. Commissioner Owen, then in the sovereignty (now the Free State), had advanced in November of that year with some 2,000 troops as far as the Berea to demand of Moshesh 10,000 head of cattle and 1,000 horses for not complying with an award of Major Warden’s forbidding him to cross over the border line between Basutoland and the sovereignty under penalty of giving offense to the Queen and incurring a severe penalty.
With the troops he had with him (Colonel Hare of the 73d regiment) taking the advance command, Sir George ascended the Berea mountain, the top of which forms a large plateau, in three places, to attack that wonderfully astute barbarian and punish him for breaking his agreement. There was a heavy mist on the mountain at the time, and our men mistaking the Basutos for so many cattle, on discovering their error fled panic-stricken. Some in retreating jumped over precipices in the mountains and were killed, while the others who escaped continued their flight far into the night to Platberg in the sovereignty. More than one hundred officers and men lost their lives on this occasion, and it is said that the general never returned to bury their bodies, this melancholy office being performed by the missionaries in the neighborhood. Moshesh, next day, diplomatic enough, was profuse in his excuses for the attack, and sent cattle as a token of his submission, which General Cathcart was only too glad to accept.
Going a little further I passed Boquatie, a curious village of people who came from the Vaal River in 1833, and at noon I arrived at the French Protestant mission station of the Rev. M. Jousse, situated in a lovely nook at the foot of Thaba Bosigo. Riding here from Maseru I was able to gain some insight into the richness and fertility of the country. For miles and miles, across a splendid valley, nothing could be seen but waving corn; its luxuriant growth, however, did not surprise me when on crossing the deep water gullies I could see no end to the depth of a continuous alluvial deposit. M. Jousse’s station was a sad sight to contemplate. Here was a church seated for 800, a boarding school with accommodation for fifty native girls, a day school, a mission house with every token of French elegance and polish, gardens with rare fruit trees and a yard around, kept scrupulously clean, while melancholy indeed was it to find all this virtually useless; the war had put a stop to the civilizing influence of the good missionary! The school was empty, the church deserted, he alone remaining at his post waiting until “wars and rumors of wars” had passed away.
M. Jousse accompanied me to Masupha’s and kindly interpreted for me. We found preparations had been made for our visit.
Under the shade of a spreading tree near his house skins had been laid and chairs arranged, Masupha showing unusual civility by receiving us at once. I had heard many reports of Masupha’s drinking habits, but he was quite sober. Of middle height, well dressed in European costume, a little beyond middle age, with a slight nervous twitching of the face, I now saw before me the man, black though he was, who had defied and was still defying the Cape government! Deep, clever and crafty, this was the man who had out-manœuvred ministers and statesmen! Lepocquo, with several other of Masupha’s sons and councillors, were present. Masupha freely went over the course late events had taken and closed our interview by saying: “As far as the loyals are concerned I will never have them back, before the war they were always quarreling, now it will be worse; as to the magistrates, they ran away of their own accord when the war began, it is now a question whether they should be allowed to return,” and, continuing, he said, “you talk about hut tax, refer this to a pitso of the nation, and as to guns, Sprigg has got five, he is kicked out,88 so must the gun-tax be, too.”
I came away feeling that it would require millions of money and thousands of men to alter this wily chief’s determination to remain entirely independent. The Cape government had also become aware of the exigency of the case, and this led them to inquire whether her Majesty’s government would permit them to obtain the services of Maj. Gen. Charles George Gordon, C.B., R.E., “for the purpose of consultation as to the best measures to be adopted with reference to Basutoland,” and “to assist in terminating the war and administering Basutoland.” Chinese Gordon accepted the invitation of the Cape government, but found on his arrival in the colony that the only post offered him was that of commandant general of the colonial forces, a post he had refused two years before. Although General Gordon came to the Cape with the sole object of quelling the rebellion in Basutoland, yet he accepted this appointment, looking upon it merely as a temporary one until another position could be found for Mr. Orpen, who was then British resident in Basutoland. Gordon, on May 21st, addressed a minute to ministers on the Basutoland question. In this it could be seen he had intuitively grasped the position, and did not believe in setting up brother against brother, or in other words hounding on the Basutos to destroy one another. His various memoranda on this and other subjects were passed over in silence by the Cape government, although, believing in the opinion he had formed, he had offered to go and live as resident with Masupha for two years in order to settle matters.
About this time Mr. Sauer, secretary for native affairs, met General Gordon at King William’s Town and begged him to go with him to Basutoland. Gordon reluctantly consented, as he had formed an opinion diametrically opposed to Orpen’s policy, and thought his presence would be of no service; moreover, after his interview with Letsea (a chief supposed to be acting in concert with the government), he had become more convinced than ever that the government were taking steps in the wrong direction.
Mr. Sauer then persuaded him to visit Masupha, as a “private individual,” to see what could be done, but, can it be believed, at the very time General Gordon was undertaking this journey a force under another loyal chief, Lerothodi, Letsea’s son, was actually sent to attack Masupha.
By sheer force of character and moral power, which were his great levers, he disarmed Masupha’s suspicions of treachery as far as he, Gordon, was concerned, and was allowed by that chieftain to leave “the false position” into which the Cape government, or rather the acts of one of its ministers, had forced him.
Gordon telegraphed his resignation to the Cape government as soon as he arrived at Aliwal North, which was accepted, and he soon after left the colony. The unnecessarily insulting and narrow-minded conclusion to the telegram sent to the general by the Cape premier, Mr. (now Sir Thomas) Scanlan, is now, since that hero’s lamented death, a subject of such world-wide ridicule that I may be excused quoting it once more: “I regret to record my conviction that your continuance in the position you occupy would not be conducive to public interest.” It will ever be a source of gratification to me that I had the opportunity of meeting this noble man.
To return to my narrative. M. Jousse accompanied me several miles on my road to Roma, the principal Roman Catholic mission station in Basutoland, which is built on land given to the Roman Catholic community by Moshesh in October, 1862. Our road ran around the foot of Thaba Bosigo by the pass where Wepener was shot in the Boer war with the Basutos, and past Job’s village, which fringed, so to speak, the mountain with cultivated trees and with houses built in European style. Passing St. Michael’s, another R. C. mission station, I descended into the valley and wound my way round to Roma. This station is most picturesquely situated. At its back a range of hills protects it from the south wind, while just in front a pretty mountain stream runs along, lazily turning a mill wheel as it courses by. The fathers (oblates of Mary) received me most hospitably. They showed me over the station, consisting of a fine mission house, two long double-storied buildings, one used as a dormitory for boys, of whom there are at least fifty resident, the other for girls, whose number, though about the same, varies.
These buildings, together with the necessary workshops and tools for teaching the boys various trades, a separate cottage for visitors, and a large church capable of holding 1,000 people, shaded by a perfect forest of gum trees, afford an example of what energy and perseverance can accomplish. I must not forget to mention as well that the garden in front of the mission house, arranged in beautiful terraces planted with orange trees, vines, fruit trees and flowers, conveys of itself at once the presence of refinement and civilization. I was fortunate enough to be in time for evening prayers, and heard the magnificent intoning of the Basuto boys, their voices severally blended being perfectly wonderful.
In Basutoland there are at the present time in connection with the French R. C. mission seven stations, five priests, three brothers and eighteen nuns, belonging to the community of sisters of the Saint Famille of Bordeaux, the first members of which sisterhood arrived at Roma in April, 1886, following Monseigneur Allard, the Rev. Mr. Gerard and Brother Bernard, who came up to Moshesh, the paramount chief of the Basutos, in October, 1862.
At Roma, the head station, named by Moshesh Motsi wa M’a Jesu, “the village of the Mother of Jesus,” there is every Sunday an average attendance at the church services of 800; and I am authentically told that the number of natives who every Sunday attend the different churches belonging to the mission throughout the country is at least 1,500. This is, however, nothing when compared with the attendance at the various grand feasts of the church, where at Roma alone it is no unusual circumstance for 6,000 or 8,000 to congregate. New Year’s day may be called their national fête. This year Letsea, the paramount chief of Basutoland, attended the ceremonies at Roma on that day, accompanied by an immense retinue of mounted followers; the throng was so great that a rustic altar was erected amongst the trees, “and a grand and singular spectacle it was,” the Rev. Father Deltour tells us, “to behold these thousands of sable figures, massed together under these trees anxious to witness the great act of Christian worship.” He further goes on to describe the incidents of the day: “Never in my life did I witness such perfect order and instant obedience in such a multitude. It was simply wonderful.” The paramount chief addressed the meeting in the following words, which I quote from a letter of the reverend father:
“‘I came to Roma, as the Rev. Father had invited me, and right glad am I that I did come and witness the work that is carried on in this mission. Here the Rev. Fathers and the Sisters sow the seed of peace and of religion. This is a village of peace and prayer. In their prayers they invoke the help of the Holy Virgin, as the Rev. Father has explained this morning; and in my opinion they are right. It is prayer that sustains our life. Basutos, be united to your chief, be one nation under one chief, or you will divide yourselves and be lost. Look at the stream which descends from the mountain; it gathers strength because its waters are not divided, but run compact toward that mighty something which I know not, and which is called the sea. Do likewise and you shall be strong. Let the Fathers and the Sisters pray for our Basutoland; let them pray for rain, which is so much wanted. Pula!’
“In response to the royal speech a tremendous ‘Pula’ burst forth from all, and was echoed far and wide by the surrounding mountains.
“After Letsea had spoken and the meeting was over, the cliffs and rocks of the mountain side almost in an instant were covered with spectators anxious to see the races, in which a hundred horses ran, in the presence of an excited multitude. As evening drew nigh and the sports were drawing to a conclusion, the mass of people retired, no visitors remaining in the village.”
The Basutos are, as a rule, in their heathen state, unreliable, lustful, intemperate and overbearing, and the work of the missionary as he strives to render them faithful, self-controlled and modest is an appalling task, but one undertaken in full faith of divine guidance.
The French Protestant mission, which has its headquarters in Paris, first began its operations in Basutoland at Morija in 1833. It possesses at the present time fourteen head stations and eighty-two out-stations, with a staff of twenty-one European missionaries and 122 native catechists and schoolmasters. In 1884 the number of church members was 4,988, and of day scholars in the schools 2,947.
At Morija, the head mission station, there is a training institution for young men who study for the Cape elementary teacher’s certificate, a Bible school for the education of catechists, together with a printing-press for the issue of a bimonthly periodical in Sesuto called “Leselinyana” (or Little Light). So it can be seen that Protestants are vying with Roman Catholics in spreading religious training and instruction among this people.
During the late war, however, there was a distinct difference to be noted between the influence exerted by the R. C. missionaries and the Protestant. The Protestant, as a rule, interfered and even still meddle with politics; they showed themselves partisans of the late Sprigg ministry, and the consequence was that their influence declined, their congregations fell away, and their schools became deserted. The R. C. priests on the contrary, ignoring politics entirely, feeling their duty to be more spiritual than temporal, were rewarded by having their schools and churches as well attended during as before the war. As an instance of the estimation in which they were held, two personal friends of mine, Fathers Libihan and Cretinon, in December, 1880, were ordered by their bishop to proceed to this very place, Roma, in the heart of Basutoland. The war was just then at its height, when having to pass Thaba Bosigo, where Masupha, the head centre of the rebellion, was living, they were hospitably received and entertained until the following morning. Though I am a Protestant myself, I cannot but recognize that this speaks volumes in favor of the non-political interference of my R. C. friends, and the esteem in which they were held by the Basutos. Let any Protestant missionary have attempted this at the time, his life would have paid the penalty of his temerity, and a just punishment, too, I should have considered it; the mixing of religion and politics among natives like Basutos, being, in my opinion, an unpardonable mistake. This difference between the conduct of these respective ministers with regard to public matters was recognized even by the Boers in their war of 1865–68.
Bidding the hospitable monks adieu, I left Roma next morning in a pouring rain, with the guides provided me by the chief Jonathan, having made all the arrangements to catch the Capetown steamer at East London.
Stopping at Khorokhoro to breakfast, I continued my journey through a country mountainous in the extreme.
Leaving the Morija mission station (French Protestant) on my left, I was caught in a fearful thunder-storm, the rain coming down in torrents, but I luckily found shelter in a hut in a small native village which lay in my road.
Entering, I found myself in the midst of a Basuto family, consisting of father, mother and seven little girls from four to twelve years of age. Here I had the opportunity afforded me of noting the truth of that which had often been told me concerning the rapid progress in learning, the precocity in fact, distinguishing Basuto children. If either Mr. Moody or Mr. Sankey had been with me, their hearts would have leaped with joy; here in the heart of Basutoland I found the noise of the outside storm drowned in the music of some of their popular hymns. The chief favorites, sung over and over again, were “Ntoa sa Balumeh” (Hold the Fort) and “Mali a Konyana” (The Blood of the Lamb). No sight ever impressed me more with the important position music and hymns hold as factors in the progress of evangelization.
Luther’s enemies once said that he worked more harm by his songs than his sermons, and I felt that the same might in the nineteenth century be repeated by enemies of the Christian faith concerning these two celebrated American revivalists. even in the wilds of Africa.
It would be impossible to picture or portray a more peculiar scene! Outside, the howling of the raging storm, the peals of rolling thunder, the flashes of vivid lightning and the plash of the torrents of rain; inside, the Basuto youngsters stark naked, myself and guides crouching over the fire drenched to the skin, while strains familiar in years gone by were sung with all the vigor and fervor of aboriginal youth! As soon as the storm had passed over I rode quickly to make up for lost time, and crossing the dangerous drift of the Salt River, rested at the Boleka ridge thirteen miles from Mafeting. This was as far as our forces ever advanced during the war. The road goes over a ridge which is not very steep, and is a gap in the mountain chain. At the village close to the roadside I saw many relics of the late war. Fragments of shells were lying about (this being the pass which our troops tried in vain to force), and I saw one unexploded sixty-eight-pound shell doing the peaceful duty of serving as a seat for a Kafir who in happy ignorance was sitting on it drying himself at a wood fire!
After a short rest for my horses and guides, I went over the ridge and passed by the deserted intrenchments where our troops had encamped in virtual idleness for months. A tedious ride brought me to Mafeting, which I did not reach until far into the night; when I was very fortunate in dropping upon an old friend, the late Captain Aschman, who gave me a “shake-down,” for which, as there was no inn in the village, I was sincerely thankful.
Next morning I visited the broken-down wattle huts and ragged tents where the loyals were herded together. I found them far worse off than their confrères at Maseru, and grave were their complaints against the government. The rations allowed them were not sufficient, they told me, to allay their hunger, and I personally saw some emaciated looking women collecting and eating the corn falling from the horses’ mangers. These unfortunate creatures, stung by our ingratitude, irritated by our injustice, hoping against hope, almost, despairing of relief and yet remaining loyal, were enough to excite the sympathy of any true man, and create a loathing of the cowardly panderers to expediency who were then conducting the government of the country.
Having thoroughly investigated the condition of these people, I next visited the cemetery, a short distance from the village, which is full of interest. Here many an old colonist, “sleeps the sleep that knows no waking.” Among the many monuments to men fallen in the late war is a fine stone pedestal erected in memory of the disastrous affair at Kalibani, which will ever be remembered in colonial annals as the place where, on Oct. 19th, 1880, thirty-five of the First Cape mounted yeomanry, men principally from Grahamstown and Albany, and who formed the advance guard of General Clark’s relief column, were cut to pieces. Every one of these unfortunate men, except one who was shot at a long range, were, as Surgeon Major Smith, now practicing in the Diamond Fields, who examined the bodies, told me, assegaied and hewed to pieces with the greatest brutality by the rebellious Basutos under the chief Mama.
A magnificent view of the surrounding mountainous country is obtained from this graveyard. The Kalibani mountain, the Kolo, the Boleka ridge, Tweefontein, Lerothodi’s village away in the distance, and close below Mafeting itself, pass as in a panorama before the view.
The mushroom-like prosperity of Mafeting, brought about by the share it received of the lavish expenditure of £6,000,000 of colonial money during the war, had, however, at the time of my visit, completely waned, and many had been sorely disappointed by the sudden cessation of hostilities.
Leaving this place in the afternoon I reached Wepener the same night, and after receiving the kind hospitality of Mr. Fraser, the merchant of the place, started again at daybreak, and arrived at Aliwal North after a long day’s drive. A good view of the town, which is of considerable importance, possessing a valuable library, a nice little club, large church and well-filled stores, is obtained before crossing the fine iron bridge leading over the Orange River.
Staying the night, noon next day found me sitting behind four horses on the road to Queenstown, where, after passing through Dordrecht, I arrived at six o’clock, just in time to catch the night train for East London, where I arrived next morning (March 13th). After a rest I went round the town, saw the sights, being particularly interested in the reclaiming of land which was going on under government direction at the mouth of the Buffalo River, and which, at some not far distant date, will be of great value. The next day I was invited to a large picnic given by one of the boating companies, at a delightful spot in a wooded glen about four miles from East London, on the banks of the Buffalo River. Glorious weather, good company, beautiful scenery, charming music, a fine lunch, sparkling champagne; everything harmonized to make a pleasant day. Colonel Schermbrucker and myself were called upon to speak, and we complied in a few words. Returning in the afternoon to East London I spent the night reveling in the mazy waltz at a ball given in the Mutual Hall, and sailed next morning in the Melrose for Port Elizabeth, where I transhipped to the Grantully Castle for Capetown.89
The opening of the Cape parliament following in a day or two, I found among the passengers ten fellow members of the house of assembly hailing from different parts of the colony, and proceeding to the performance of their legislative duties.
Among others on board I met Sir D. Wedderburn, since deceased, whose acquaintance I had formed in Kimberley, where I had the pleasure of entertaining him some few weeks before on his way round through Natal and the Free State.
Many a pleasant hour I spent talking over with him the various political topics of the day. His opinion of South African men and things had not been changed at all since I last saw him, and he told me “he had seen nothing in Africa which caused him in the least to alter the opinions he had formed before he came out.” I recollect his opinions on the then two all absorbing topics of the day, the Transvaal and the Zulu questions. These were very clear; he often said “we ought never to have fought for what we ought never to have taken,” adding in reference to the Zulu question, on which he had formed a decided opinion, “there was little pleasure in punishing men who bravely defended their native country.” Sir Bartle Frere’s “forward” policy found no supporter in him.
There was something irresistibly charming in meeting and discussing passing events with such a man. He impressed all who met him with the sincerity of his convictions and the honesty of his purpose.
Our journey, however, quickly drew to an end. The work of the session, we found on our arrival, had already commenced.
The main business transacted during this session was the passing through the house of assembly of an act, throwing further restrictions on the trade in diamonds, which I have already fully dealt with, the presenting of the petition of Jonathan Molappo, praying that a deputation of three Basutos might “plead their cause” at the bar of the house, which proved a profitless appeal, debates on Basutoland following ad nauseam, the grant of two extra members to represent Kimberley, and the introduction of the “Constitution Ordinance Amendment Bill,” allowing the Dutch language to be spoken in the house. This last measure met with no opposition, but became law on Jan. 14th, 1882. After this bill had gone through its various stages, Mr. Luttig, one of the Dutch members, rose and made the first speech in that language, expressing his gratification that no opposition was offered by his English speaking friends; but, though a Dutchman, he concluded by saying “that although it is my first speech in Dutch, it will most likely be my last, as I wish to promote harmony and good feeling, and when I speak, I wish my English friends who do not understand Dutch to know what I wish to convey.” This privilege has not since its concession been much used.
After the usual session in 1882, a short special session was held in January 1883, which was called to deal exclusively with the affairs of Basutoland, and arrange about the compensation of the “loyals” and other matters of importance. On my return to Kimberley in February after this special session, according to my previously expressed intention, I resigned my seat in the Cape house of assembly.
I then resumed full charge of my medical practice, until I met with a severe accident in December of the same year, when proceeding to inquire into some cases of suspected small-pox.
CHAPTER XXVI.
DESCRIPTION OF THE RELIGIOUS BODIES OF THE DIAMOND FIELDS FROM THE EARLIEST DAYS.—EDUCATIONAL EFFORTS.—THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND.—ROMAN CATHOLICS FROM THE DEATH OF FATHER HIDIEN TO THAT OF FATHER WALSHE.—DUTCH REFORMED CHURCH.—DOPPERS.—WESLEYANS.—PRESBYTERIANS.—GERMAN LUTHERANS.—JEWS.—MAHOMETANS.—HINDUS.—“BISHOP MELLET.”—NATIVES.—NEGLECTED OPPORTUNITIES.—ADVENT OF SALVATION ARMY.—SUNDRY VISITORS.—BIRDS OF PASSAGE.
The average diamond digger, in the first wild rush, “the feverish race for wealth,” was not of a markedly irreligious disposition, as might have been expected, judging from the analogy of mining camps in other parts of the world.
The distance of the Vaal River from any colonial town, and the expense of reaching the diggings on its banks made it a matter of impossibility for men without means, either to reach the place or to support themselves after their arrival; hence, the first comers were, as a matter of course, above the general stamp of those who constitute a digging community. They were men, as a rule, well educated and well brought up, and it was not likely that they would altogether forget their early religious training or to allow these duties to lapse into utter neglect; but at the same time the results of the complete absence of women and children, and the sobering effect which their influence produces, was in the early days more or less observable.
The first clergymen of the Church of England who visited the new El Dorado, were Archdeacons Kitton and Croghan, of the diocese of Bloemfontein, who visited Klipdrift, on the Vaal River, in 1870, where amidst the most strange and unusual surroundings they held religious services for the diggers.
I have still a vivid recollection of the primitive state of things existing, even when I arrived some months afterward. On the first Sunday that I spent on the Diamond Fields in November 1871, I attended a “Church of England” service at the New Rush or Colesberg Kopje, as Kimberley was then called. This was held in a canvas tent billiard-room, situated near the spot where the “Blue Posts” still remains. On entering I beheld a full-robed clergyman officiating at one end of a billiard table, which served for his reading desk, whilst a large and attentive crowd sat around the other end, some on rude benches which were fixed along the walls, others perched upon gin cases, buckets reversed, or any other make-shift that came to hand. The congregation behaved with suitable decorum, but I confess it was not easy to keep the mind from wandering to the incongruity of the surroundings. Whilst the parson was earnestly engaged imploring our deliverance “from all the deceits of the world, the flesh and the devil,” I caught many an eye looking askance at the cues in the corner, no doubt indulging in reflections on the past, and in speculations as to the success or non-success of some match to be played in the future. Moreover, when the parson was praying or the people singing, it was not particularly edifying to be interrupted by the lively chaff and occasional bursts of blasphemy, which we could plainly hear through the canvas party-walls, which separated us from the adjoining bar and its half tipsy occupants. Defoe’s lines:
“Wherever God erects a house of prayer,
The Devil always builds a chapel there.”
had here a liberal interpretation indeed—although I am not sure that they were strictly applicable in this instance, seeing that our parson had knowingly thrust himself into the devil’s own domain.
Notwithstanding these drawbacks, and despite the fiascos which resulted from our unfortunate attempts to properly render the appointed hymns, it was nevertheless refreshing to hear the grand old service once again and have the recollection of one’s early days brought back, even amidst such inharmonious concomitants.
The Rev. Canon Doxat was the first clergyman of the Church of England who took general charge of the diggings, and until his health gave way and he returned home invalided in 1877, both here, and in later years at Barkly, he was indefatigable in his work, whether as parish priest, attendant on the sick, or instructor of the young. The Rev. W. Rickards succeeded him at the dry diggings in 1871. During his rectorship a raw-brick structure, now a store, was erected in place of the canvas building which hitherto had done ecclesiastical duty, the congregation meanwhile growing rapidly in numbers and influence. During the whole of this period Mr. Rickards was also assiduous in pushing forward the cause of education, which had been much neglected. After this working minister’s leaving for England, three clergymen, the Revs. Messrs. Maude, Borton and Hanbury successively held the rectorship. During the incumbency of the first gentleman a new and larger church, of corrugated iron, was built in a more central part of the town, which, just on nearing its completion in 1879, was blown to the ground, a complete ruin, but it was quickly rebuilt, and opened for worship in 1880.90 The church and schools during the incumbencies of these gentlemen gradually increased in numbers under the organization of the Right Rev. Allan B. Webb, D. D., bishop of Bloemfontein, under whose spiritual jurisdiction the English Church in Griqualand West was then placed. Bishop Webb, however, later on in 1882, resigned his see, and after an interval of three years the Rev. G. W. H. Knight-Bruce was appointed, last year (1886), to fill the vacant bishopric.
At the present time the Rev. Canon Gaul, who is rector of St. Cyprian’s and rural dean of Griqualand West and Bechuanaland, with four assistant priests, conducts the services of the church in Kimberley and Beaconsfield, while two native mission churches, one in Kimberley and one at Phokoane, in Bechuanaland, are ministered to by faithful and devoted clergy. I may add that several new churches and buildings are projected, but although the amount of money raised for church purposes during the year ending Easter, 1885, was £6,815, yet the church’s present financial condition still requires a zealous effort to be made by its supporters to clear it from the burden of debt.
The services, both at St. Cyprian’s, Kimberley, and at All Saints, Beaconsfield, may by some be considered of a High Church, if not ritualistic character, but although a tendency in that direction may exist, I am glad to state that these services are not conducted by High Church clergymen of an emasculate or hysterical type, men indulging in man millinery or ritualistic playthings, but by earnest, honest workers, in genuine sympathy with their fellow creatures.
Turning to the Roman Catholics, I am only doing justice to the memory of Father Hidien, the first Roman Catholic priest who visited the Fields, in stating that he was the leading figure in the religious world of the early days. Not only was he beloved by the members of his own faith, but a kindly disposition, never weary in well doing, and a boundless, practical charity, caused him to be revered by the members of every denomination. Dr. Allard, then bishop of, and who at the time visited the diggings, placed the Catholics on the Diamond Fields under his care, but this charge he did not long retain, for the summer of 1871, among its many victims, snatched away the good father from his work. Father Le Bihan, who had worked for several years among the natives of Basutoland, then came to take Father Hidien’s place. At that time the Catholics of Du Toit’s Pan, like the Hebrews of old in the desert, assembled for divine worship in a tent, while their priest, living in a tent wagon close by, was ready to follow his congregation wherever a new Rush might draw them.
When Colesberg Kopje (Kimberley mine) developed into a permanent digging, Father Le Bihan followed, and it was here through his instrumentality that a permanent church of wood and iron was erected. When this was out of debt, Father Le Bihan turned his attention to education, and built in an incredibly short space of time the three first schools in Griqualand West, one for boys, one for girls, and the third for infants. Just at this juncture Bishop Rickards paid the Fields a visit from Grahamstown, and at a banquet which was given in his honor on that occasion, I recollect that Mr. R. W. Murray, Sen., the vice-chairman, telling the company “that his experience of the Catholic church in South Africa was, that wherever the Catholics erected churches, schools at once followed, of which Kimberley was an instance in point.” The truth of the vice-chairman’s observations was felt by all. Later on the same evening the bishop responding to the special toast of “Education,” which had been entrusted to me, gave the first public intimation of his intention to introduce Trappist monks from a monastery in Algeria into South Africa, saying: “These would teach the sanctity of labor, and prepare the natives to receive the great truths of Christianity.” This scheme the bishop afterward endeavored to carry out, but the work at Dunbrodie, near Port Elizabeth, led to disappointment, the climate, drought and heat not favoring the efforts of the monks. Subsequently they removed to Mariann Hill, near Pinetown, in Natal, where every success is following their work.
Bishop Jolivet, however, soon discovered that Father Le Bihan’s labors could not longer be spared from the scene of his former triumphs, and Father Walshe took his place here in 1876, and entering at once heart and soul into the work of his predecessor, remained until the beginning of 1878. Then leaving he became a soldier of the cross in more senses than one, his tall form familiar alike to sick persons and young children and to prisoners and captives, his genial, happy disposition and his wonderful influence being transferred to scenes where his courageous devotion and his readiness at the call of duty could perhaps be even more appreciated than with us—as military chaplain during the Zulu war, the Sekukuni campaign and the Transvaal outbreak. He also was chaplain in the perhaps unnecessary, and to a certain section annoying, because bloodless, Bechuanaland expedition. He seemed to possess a charmed life. It mattered not to him whether he was cheering the wounded at Ulundi, regardless of the bullets raining around, or whether he was tending the sick in the beleagured fort of Lydenburg, duty was ever paramount, and he was indeed one of those
“Quos non profani tessera proclii
Duxit in bellum.”
It was my melancholy lot to see him (in consultation) during his last illness, bravely struggling for life against a severe attack of lung inflammation, which carried him off on Sept. 12th, 1885.
The Rev. Father Lenoir, the present parish priest, who succeeded Father Walshe in 1878, at once set to work with indomitable energy. Noticing the lack of opportunity which existed for the education of Roman Catholic girls, he built a convent, and with the hearty concurrence of Bishop Jolivet procured from Europe some Sisters of the Holy Family to assist in the meritorious work.
The ancient Greek proverb declares that “the beginning is the half of the whole,” or as the homely Saxon saw puts it, “Well begun and half done;” and now the Rev. Mother, Lady Superior, in a double sense of the word, and the Sisters of the Holy Family, perform their daily duties in buildings, which for Kimberley, a place but a few short years ago an uninhabited grassy plain, are simply magnificent.
Not content with this Father Lenoir commenced the construction in stone and brick of a building designed for a new church, the old one built by Father Le Bihan having become too small for the congregation. The foundation stone was laid by Bishop Jolivet on Nov. 1st, 1879, and in one year the most handsome sacred building in Kimberley was opened for divine worship. Father Lenoir told his congregation at the time that “nothing was too grand for the service of the Almighty,” and right well they had seconded his efforts, for this magnificent structure, possessing beautiful altar paintings and appurtenances which cost over £7,000, is entirely free from debt. A lesson from this might easily be learned by the members of the Church of England. In 1883 a new church and school were also erected at Beaconsfield.
These are under the care of the Sisters of the Holy Family and the priests of Kimberley, while a home for destitute children is in course of erection at Barkly.
The Indians as well, who have found their way here from Hindostan, Mauritius and Natal, of whom a considerable number are Roman Catholics, receive their share of attention, no less than 200 being taught at the mission school. I may mention in conclusion that not only in spiritual but also in temporal matters the Catholic priesthood has endeavored to forward the public welfare.
St. Mary’s Benefit Society, of which since its formation in 1876 I have had medical charge, contributes greatly to the assistance of any of its members who may be stricken down by disease, and also aids in Catholic matters generally, while at the same time its thorough organization and its deeds of charity are assisting to make Roman Catholicism influential in the country.
In the early days of the Diamond Fields, when Griqualand West, which comprises the four diamond mines of the world, was still the property of the Orange Free State, and the institutions of the place were administered by its officials, the Dutch people and language occupied a position of importance. The Dutch as a rule are highly conservative in their religious tendencies, and it can well be imagined the Dutch Reformed Church, with its synod and kirkraad, its ministers, elders and deacons was not long in following and taking care of its nomadic adherents. The Dutch Reformed Church, which is Calvinistic in doctrine, was founded in the Netherlands in the year 1579. It then accepted as its chief doctrinal standard the Belgic Confession, translated in 1562 from the “Confession de Foy” of Guido de Brès. This confession was revised at the synod of Dordrecht in the years 1618 and 1619, and since that time the standards of the Dutch Reformed Church have been the following, viz., 1. The Heidelberg Catechism, containing instructions in the Christian religion. 2. The Belgic Confession, with more elaborate details, and 3. The Canons of Dordrecht, which are mainly supplementary to the Belgic Confession.
The earliest congregation in South Africa of the members of the Dutch Reformed Church, a branch of the Church in Holland, was formed at the very commencement of the Cape Colony, the first minister coming from Holland in 1665 to attend to its wants.
The Dutch Reformed remained the Established Church of the Cape of Good Hope, notwithstanding the interim of English rule, which lasted from 1795 to 1802. In this latter year the Treaty of Amiens, having brought the Colony back to its former relationship with Holland, the administration of Cape affairs was resumed by the Dutch until 1806, when the Government of the Dutch was finally closed by the articles of capitulation agreed to at the foot of Sir Lowry’s Pass, and afterwards ratified at the Castle in Capetown in January of the same year between General Baird and General Janssens, the English and Dutch commanders. Public worship on that occasion received special mention. In the 8th Article of Capitulation it was stipulated that, “Public worship as now in use will also continue without interference.” And so it did, for the Dutch Reformed remained the Established Church in South Africa, and received state aid as well; no less than 30 congregations (until the passing of Saul Solomon’s “Voluntary Bill” in 1879 put an end to further state patronage) acquiring grants averaging £200 per annum each.
At the diggings on the Vaal River, the Dutch were not neglected by the pastors of their Church, ministers from the Cape Colony and the Orange Free State paying periodical visits to the camps. It was not, however, until there was a pretty certain prospect of the dry diggings becoming more than a passing dream that churches were built, congregations established, and ministers appointed, at Du Toit’s Pan and Kimberley in 1872. These congregations, which were large, numbering at Kimberley some 3500 souls, and at Du Toit’s Pan more than 1500, were in the first place independent, but became subject to the Synod of the “Dutch Reformed Church in South Africa,” (the official name for the Dutch Reformed Church of the Cape Colony,) when Griqualand West was annexed to the Cape Colony.
Owing to the decadence of mining by individual diggers, and the consequent falling away of the population, these churches have suffered much in the number of their adherents, the congregation of Kimberley now numbering about 1200 only and Du Toit’s Pan about 600 souls.
The Dutch Reformed Church has no missions standing in connection with the parish of Kimberley, as the field is already taken up by the Berlin Missionary Society, and the Wesleyans and Independent bodies, but they have a native church at Beaconsfield founded in 1878, and a church for colored people, with fine buildings and parsonage, built in 1883.
At Kimberley the Rev. J. D. Kestell, the present pastor, has for some years been most zealous in superintending the erection of the new church just completed, situated in the Newton Market Square.
This church is unrivalled on the Diamond Fields. Built solidly of brick in Roman style, it has a most commanding appearance, and its interior, with beautifully fitted pews and panelled ceiling, is a fine specimen of chaste simplicity of architecture. To crown all, it has little or no debt, although nearly £6000 has been spent on its construction. At Beaconsfield the Dutch Reformed Church has a fine building for divine worship, while both there and at Kimberley, as well as at the Mission School for colored people, the cause of education is not forgotten. Before concluding my description of the Dutch Reformed Church, I must not forget to mention a sight, which occasionally was beheld some ten years ago, flitting across the view like the spectre of a bygone age. This was a visitor who appeared as singular in his garb as a Quaker of the old school would be to twentieth century eyes, for with a peculiarly shaped black cloth tunic, long hair cut in a circle round his neck and forehead like a Russian Cossack, a rough beard, lips cleanly shaved, and a hat oval and low crowned with a tremendous broad green-lined brim, to shade his ruddy cheeks, he used to be the “observed of all observers.” This picture is that of a “dopper” farmer who used occasionally to be seen selling his corn on our market, but who, I fear, from his continued absence, has long since been gathered to the garner filled with “the bearded grain and the flowers that grow between.”
These “doppers,” relics of the past, of whom, I believe, President Kruger is a representative in the Transvaal, do not differ essentially from the members of the Dutch Reformed Church in doctrine; they are simply more conservative in feeling, less liberal in action, very jealous of innovation and entirely unprogressive in ideas.
This I think will give my readers a fair idea of the Dutch Reformed Church as it exists in South Africa at the present time.
Among dissenting bodies, the Wesleyans are numerically the most important.
The first regular minister sent to hold service on the Diamond Fields was the Rev. I. Priestly, appointed by the English Conference in 1871. Previous to his arrival, however, the Rev. W. Wynne, who after a long interval has again resumed charge at Kimberley, conducted services in the various camps. During this interval, which extended over some twelve years, these services were carried on, among others, by the Rev. I. I. Calvert, well known through his labors in the Fiji Islands, and other talented and able men. As a proof of their energetic ministrations, up to the present time this body has steadily increased, and now, as the result of persistent work, in Kimberley alone, three English, one Dutch and one native Wesleyan church, under four European and one native minister, can be counted.
In Du Toit’s Pan there is an English as well as a native congregation, both under the charge of the Rev. B. Hayes. To show the hold which Wesleyanism has gained here I have carefully calculated the average Sunday attendance at the various Wesleyan chapels on the Fields, and find it to be nearly 2000, while I am also informed that 600 children regularly receive religious instruction.
In 1879 certain Presbyterians. Congregationalists, and a few Baptists, who had hitherto been worshipping with the Wesleyans, finding their numbers increasing, thought the time had arrived to constitute themselves into a separate Church. This was in due course accomplished, and although the Church that they formed had no connection with any Presbytery, being entirely self-governing, the title of Presbyterian was assumed. They possess a fine place of worship, and an average congregation of four hundred souls. The present minister is Mr. Lloyd, who displays great energy in the discharge of his duties, and has the satisfaction of knowing that his efforts are appreciated by large congregations.
The population of Kimberley, it is scarcely necessary for me to say, is made up of different nationalities, among which the German is one of the most segregative.
In one of the quiet thoroughfares leading to the mine, a neat little church may be seen, which on inquiry proves to be that belonging to the German Lutherans.
The Germans for the last ten years have been fortunate enough to be able to worship God in their own language, and from the inauguration of the Lutheran services they have been conducted by their present pastor, the Rev. C. Meyer, of the Berlin Missionary Society. The first services were held in the High Court, lent for the purpose, in January, 1875, and were continued there until the completion of the present church in October of the same year. The congregation naturally being confined within the limits of those speaking the German tongue, it is not large, numbering about 150. The German children in Kimberley as a rule go to English schools, but twice a week their pastor holds a class to which he gives instruction, through the medium of the German language.
The Germans are virtually “Strangers in a strange land,” but notwithstanding this, they have devoted a good deal of attention to the natives, and the resident church minister has at the present time a large native mission under his charge.
Another congregation, and one which comprises men born in the most distant and diverse parts of the world, is that of the Jewish people, who have for ages been known as judges and dealers in precious stones, and who, therefore, as may readily be conceived, muster in large numbers at the Diamond Mines of Brazil, and in still greater numbers at those of South Africa.
As soon as the wonderful finds on the Vaal River became known in Europe, many representatives of eminent English and continental Jewish firms, with, of course, others drawn from the Colony, appeared on the scene, and a Jewish circle was soon formed which at the present time numbers some 1400 souls, of which about 600 are adult males. On the Vaal River and in the first days of the Dry Diggings at Du Toit’s Pan and New Rush, the Jews had no rabbi or reader to conduct their services, nor had they a synagogue in which to read prayers with due solemnity. Consequently on holidays and festivals, of which there are six during the year, some large store or public hall was converted into a temporary synagogue where were duly explained the scrolls of the Sacred Law, and where three members of their community officiated by turns.
At that time no Sabbath holidays were kept, and if deaths occurred, or the anniversary of deaths was observed, prayers were read in some private house. When, too, the initiatory rite of circumcision had to be performed, a minister or rabbi, at a great expense, was sent for to Capetown or Port Elizabeth. The wealthy Jewish community of the Diamond Fields did not long allow this state of affairs to continue, but in 1876 built a synagogue at a cost of £3000 on ground given them by the London and South African Exploration Company. In course of time a rabbi was obtained from England, and a Hebrew school, attached to the synagogue, was duly instituted. This rabbi, the Rev. M. Mendelssohn, retired at the conclusion of the period of his engagement, and was succeeded by the Rev. A. Ornstein, a young but most energetic minister, in the month of August, 1881. The ministrations of this gifted and noble man lasted but too brief a time. He came here and found the Sabbath but rarely observed with any strictness, and in other respects too may be applied to him the words “his righteous soul was vexed with the iniquity of the wicked.” Undisturbed by the blazing heat of the African sun or the remonstrances of his friends, he pressed on his chosen path of self-denial and devotion, with the result that before a few short months had flown by he had fallen a victim to fever. His influence is not yet passed away, as the increased number of stores closed on the Hebrew Sabbath serve to testify.91
In connection with their synagogue the Jews have also two philanthropic Societies conferring monetary gifts and medical attendance on the deserving poor. Their charities, however, are not confined solely to their co-religionists, Jewish citizens having ever been found to the front in all works of charity.
Coming next to the Malays residing on the Diamond Fields: they form by no means an inconsiderable portion of the population, either in number, respectability or voting power. As long ago as the year 1871, three or four, more than ordinarily adventurous, could be seen digging at the Vaal River, and on the opening up of the Dry Diggings several might have been found at Du Toit’s Pan, but it is in late years only that the “Malay Camp” has grown to its present proportions, numbering now some 600 souls. The Malays on the Fields came of course originally from Capetown and Port Elizabeth. They mostly own and drive conveyances, and being also very expert masons are largely engaged in building operations. As a rule they are very healthy, not more than fifty deaths having occurred since the opening up of the Fields. They are honest, well-to-do, benevolent, respectful, affable, strictly sober, and, believing in predestination, they possess a remarkable serenity of mind in all the vicissitudes of fortune.
In Kimberley they have two mosques, one lately built, in which being Moslems, five times a day, as near as their avocations will permit them, they proclaim the two grand principles of their faith, the two grand dogmas of their religion, “Allah illah Allah Mahomet resoul Allah”—“There is one God and Mahomet is his prophet.”
As a body they follow out their religious observances with commendable regularity. Imaum Doud, whom I know well, is a most exemplary citizen. He has held the position of priest for the last eight years, yet no special respect is shown him on account of his “cloth,” for like all Moslem priests he is not paid, and has no authority, but is judged and held in general estimation simply for his piety and learning. Following out one of the most important duties of their religion, namely, that of performing a pilgrimage to Mecca, which is a duty incumbent on every Moslem once in his life to perform, unless poverty or sickness prevent, the Moslems of Griqualand West have in considerable numbers visited Arabia, no less than twenty having left Kimberley in one party in 1881. This a few years ago was a very expensive undertaking, the title of Hadji, which both men and women acquire by this pilgrimage, at that time costing each adult about £400. Now, however, rail and steam have reduced the expenses of this trip to about £100. Their funeral ceremonies, too, are carried out with exactness. After life has gone, the dead body is washed by one duly appointed, wrapped in grave clothing, no coffin being used, and then after the Koran has been read all night, the body is carried on a bier and buried on its left side in the grave. After certain ceremonies have been performed, the friends, wearing no signs of mourning, return and pray for seven nights in succession in the house of the deceased, while for forty consecutive days they religiously repair to the grave and pray over the remains of the departed.
The Moslems like the Jews circumcise their male children; swines’ flesh, as well as the flesh of most animals forbidden by the Mosaic law, is also prohibited. These disciples of Mahomet also believe in good and evil angels, in the immortality of the soul, in the general resurrection and judgment of the dead, in future rewards and punishments, and lastly in Heaven and Hell.
In perusing this short description, the question may naturally present itself to my readers, Whence did these Malays first come into the Cape Colony? I will answer this question very shortly. In the first place Europeans, going home from the East Indies, Malacca, Java, Sumatra, Celebes, the Philippines, etc., used to bring Malays as slaves as far as the Cape and there leave or sell them; secondly, the Dutch East India Co. supplied slaves to the burghers in order to cultivate on a more extended scale; thirdly, the Cape at that time was a convict station, to which many criminals were transported from the East; and lastly, free Malays returning from Holland, where they had gone as servants, on return often remained at the Cape, the Amsterdam authorities, in fact, recommending this line of action in 1656. It will be seen from this, that our Malay population, which numbers one-fifth of the inhabitants of Capetown, and about one-fifteenth or more of the Diamond Fields (white population), does not necessarily spring from either exiled, slave or criminal ancestry.
Before I conclude this brief description of our Malay fellow citizens, I may mention that they are exceedingly tenacious of their civil rights. An instance of this came personally within my knowledge. I have told my readers in a former chapter, something about the disease supposed by so many to be “small-pox,” which ran riot on the Fields in 1884. Now the Cape laws give power to the authorities to build lazarettos and forcibly remove all persons suffering from infections diseases, if they have not proper medical attendance and unless they obey strict quarantine laws. I was at the time of the last outbreak of so-called small-pox attending a well-to-do Malay suffering from the disease, and I took especial care that his friends obeyed the law to the very letter, as my patient had a great horror of being dragged from his home, and moreover was determined that the officer of the Board of Health should have no excuse for removing him. The health officer of the day, however, who was highly energetic (for which, so far he deserved due praise, if he was not too judicious), wishing to show his activity, attempted to drag this man against his will to the lazaretto. I happened very fortunately to arrive on the scene, just as this illegal attempt was being made by that officer, who assisted by about thirty police was dragging the sick man amidst the hoots and execrations of an infuriated mob through the streets into an ambulance. Knowing the law I at once advised the Malays to resist his removal pending an appeal to the magistrate, Mr. L. J. Truter, to whom a statement of the case was immediately sent. The magistrate saw at once the unlawfulness of the whole proceeding, gave instructions accordingly, and to my intense delight these myrmidons of the law who would not, who dare not, have attempted such officious illegality in the case of an European, had to slink away completely crestfallen. The man afterwards recovered, and to show his gratitude for my exertions both from a medical and civil point of view, organized the presentation of a silver cup to
J. W. Matthews, M.D.
“for his successful efforts in protecting the Mussulman interest.”
This was presented to me at a large meeting of Malays in October, 1884.
A passing word would not be out of place concerning the Indians who are now on the fields in considerable numbers, say 700 to 1000 souls.
They possess no place of worship, that is the pure Hindu, the believer in Brahma, Siva and Vishnu, but the Mahomedan division have just built a mosque and sent specially to India to procure an Imaum who will conduct their services in the future with proper rites. In October, however, of each year the Mahometan party form large processions and make the air discordant by the beating of “tom-toms.”
They celebrate this feast a whole week with allegorical imagery, men painted and chained like tigers dancing about to harsh music. This forms not so much a religious as a historical festival, by which they commemorate the murder of two of Mahomet’s sons and at the same time rejoice at the beginning of another year and keep green the memory of their early days in India.
It is not to be supposed that all professors or expounders of “Holy Writ,” are immaculate. Some crave after position and power, some after ease and pleasure, some after luxury and wealth.
To the second class I have specified belonged the most eccentric individual, who has made a trade of religion, that I have ever met. This “Apostle of the Faith,” as he called himself, turned up at Du Toit’s Pan in the year 1876. He was an odd creature, wore black broadcloth, a white choker and a bell-topper hat. In those days, a tall beaver was as rare as was the existence of the conservative working man according to the imagination of Professor Rogers, therefore “Bishop” Mellett, in his singular get up, was quite the sensation for a time among the diggers.
“Was he a real live bishop?” some asked; “Where was his diocese?” others inquired; “Was he a greater knave than fool?” “Was he an impostor trading upon the artless boer, under the cloak of religion?” These were queries with which “his Reverence” was soon confronted. “His Lordship” was a short man, of some fifty years, with a good deal of doggedness in his weather-beaten features, while every now and then a nervous twitching of the lips was evident to the close observer. The wags of the place were determined before he left to have some fun at his expense, and invited him to lecture to them.
To this he cordially acquiesced, especially when a dinner to be given in his honor was hinted at, to enable him to fortify himself for the oratorical effort he was expected to make. At this dinner, given in the dining-room of the Royal Hotel, Du Toit’s Pan, there were many visitors from Kimberley, and the high jinks played upon the “bishop,” of which, by the way, he seemed to be perfectly unconscious, created considerable hilarity among the jovial crowd. Dinner over a procession was formed, and a march made to the new billiard-room just being built for a rival hostelry, the “Fox and Hounds,” where a temporary platform and reading desk had been erected for the occasion upon two empty beer barrels. Candles were stuck here and there around and business immediately began. The Chairman appointed was a Dr. Graham, the very broth of an educated but rollicking Irishman. Duly introducing the “Bishop,” that reverend gentleman rose, and at once commenced his lecture, but the “Bishop’s” knowledge of the English language being very imperfect, he was asked to speak in Dutch, which was very humorously interpreted by a Hollander who was present. About an hour’s rambling twaddle brought the lecturer to his seat, his discourse concluding with the information that he was prepared to answer any questions concerning Holy Writ which might be put to him. Many were the questions and curious; the audience relishing the fun and seemingly vying with each other in their endeavors to confuse him, but the question that took the first prize in public opinion was, “Will His Lordship kindly explain why corrugated iron is sometimes called Gospel Oak?” Well this fairly nonplussed the “Bishop,” as probably it will some of my readers. This is one of those jokes that requires an explanation. Corrugated iron was the material generally in use for building, and the favorite brand was “Gospel Oak,” so-called because the manufacturer’s works, situate somewhere in the vicinity of London, were so named. The efforts of the “Bishop” to explain made the thing more ludicrous, and just as he was in the throes of a learned disquisition upon something or other, out went the candles, upside-down was turned the platform, “his Lordship’s” bell-topper became irretrievably ruined, a few rotten eggs beplastered his sunburnt visage, and in less time than it takes to tell, the impudent hypocrite was seen slipping away, hurriedly scrambling through an open window to the rear of the premises. A “hue and cry” was raised, and the whilom bishop on being run to earth received the rough handling (which did not, however, go the length of physical violence) which my readers may imagine he would receive from a rough mining crowd. After getting as much fun as they wanted out of their victim, the affair wound up by escorting him into a neighboring canteen, where everybody, “bishop,” digger, diamond buyer, or loafer became just as “fou” as was compatible with walking to his respective bed. When the “bishop” got to his room in the hotel, however, a cruel practical joke awaited him. Worn out with excitement and fatigue he threw himself on his bed to sleep, but pins and needles had been stuck all over and at once out he bounded with miraculous agility. Then came through the open window such a roar of laughter that the “bishop” could see further trouble was looming in the distance, and “discretion” with him “being the better part of valor,” he donned his nether garments and with coat, handbag, umbrella and bible, he cleared out as fast through the friendly door as his legs could carry him, and has, mirabile dictu, never since been seen on the Fields. He was recognized, however, some few months ago in the Transvaal still carrying on his pious frauds. In pursuit of his ecclesiastical functions he goes from farm-house to farm-house, staying here a month and there a month, or as long as the farmer will keep him, and so he plays his hypocritical “part” among the ignorant and confiding boers.
Griqualand West has been, until the advent of the railway, at too great a distance from the large towns of the colony to entice many celebrities to come and see the mines, and visitors, especially those belonging to the religious world, have been few and far between.
Since the opening of the Colesberg Kopje, I can recollect only the spasmodic visits of one or two Bishops of the English Church, the short stay of a lecturing infidel and buffoon, whose name I will not advertise by mentioning, but who was publicly presented with a diamond ring by certain gentlemen possessed of more money than brains, the mission of Dr. Somerville in connection with the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, and the meteoric appearance of Father Henerberry, a second Father Matthew, who for fourteen days filled the Roman Catholic church to overflowing by his powerful crusade against drink. For some twelve months past the Salvation Army has been established, but contrary to expectations has attracted comparatively little attention of either a favorable or opposite character.
I should be shirking an evident duty if I were to omit calling attention to a matter which must ever hear witness against Kimberley and the surrounding camps, and that is the opportunity which for years the religious section of the inhabitants have thrown away of spreading the truths of the Gospel to the natives,92 who have been attracted to their very doors from the far interior. I am within the mark when I compute that during the last sixteen years an average of at least 10,000 natives (new arrivals) has each year been drawn to work in our mines by the reports, carried from one to another by those returning, of the riches awaiting them. What a field for missionary enterprise has not this presented? Now, has not the chance been lost? What “glad tidings of great joy” might not even one or two in whom the seed thus sown had borne fruit, have spread on their return?
I am glad to notice, however, that at last proper advantage of this vast field for the propagation of the truths of the Gospel is about to be taken.
One important point must not be overlooked: every man in Kimberley even now is but a bird of passage, merely drawn by the chance of making money quickly as the first arrivals were, and then escaping from a place which possesses very few social attractions, and, in respect of natural beauty and comfort of dwellings, none—the impossibility of getting away felt by some, the desire for further accumulations evinced by others, keeping together a mixed and heterogeneous population such as could scarcely be found in any other country.
The rising generation is mostly to be pitied, doomed to spend their young lives in a place which in South Africa at least can only be exceeded in wretchedness by the Namaqualand copper mines. No trees, no grass, no carolling birds, no rippling brooks. Nature seems paralyzed or dead. No wonder the seeds of early piety are all blown to the winds, when God’s day is desecrated by the sight of the open offices in the diamond market (although fortunately on that day no business can be legally transacted), by the noise of continuous blasting in the mines, and the sight of railway drays laden with fruit and flowers running through the streets. At times the man of strong religious instincts feels sick at heart, and for the moment thinks that money alone is thought of—Regina Pecunia, the “Almighty Dollar,” the sole deity adored.