They had just printed the first
book in the Caffre language (I've got it for Dr. Hawtrey,) -
extracts from the New Testament, - and I made them read the sheets
they were going to bind; it is a beautiful language, like Spanish
in tone, only with a queer 'click' in it.
The boys drew, like
Chinese, from 'copies', and wrote like copper-plate; they sang some
of Mendelssohn's choruses from 'St. Paul' splendidly, the Caffres
rolling out soft rich bass voices, like melodious thunder. They
are clever at handicrafts, and fond of geography and natural
history, incapable of mathematics, quick at languages, utterly
incurious about other nations, and would all rather work in the
fields than learn anything but music; good boys, honest, but
'trotzig'. So much for Caffres, Fingoes, &c. The Bastaards are as
clever as whites, and more docile - so the 'rector' told me. The
boy who played the organ sang the 'Lorelei' like an angel, and
played us a number of waltzes and other things on the piano, but he
was too shy to talk; while the Caffres crowded round me, and
chattered away merrily. The Mantatees, whom I cannot distinguish
from Caffres, are scattered all over the colony, and rival the
English as workmen and labourers - fine stalwart, industrious
fellows. Our little 'boy' Kleenboy hires a room for fifteen
shillings a month, and takes in his compatriots as lodgers at half
a crown a week - the usurious little rogue! His chief, one James,
is a bricklayer here, and looks and behaves like a prince. It is
fine to see his black arms, ornamented with silver bracelets,
hurling huge stones about.
All Gnadenthal is wonderfully fruitful, being well watered, but it
is not healthy for whites; I imagine, too hot and damp. There are
three or four thousand coloured people there, under the control of
the missionaries, who allow no canteens at all. The people may
have what they please at home, but no public drinking-place is
allowed, and we had to take our own beer and wine for the three
days. The gardens and burial-ground are beautiful, and the square
is entirely shaded by about ten or twelve superb oaks; nothing
prettier can be conceived. It is not popular in the neighbourhood.
'You see it makes the d-d niggers cheeky' to have homes of their
own - and the girls are said to be immoral. As to that, there are
no so-called 'morals' among the coloured people, and how or why
should there? It is an honour to one of these girls to have a
child by a white man, and it is a degradation to him to marry a
dark girl. A pious stiff old Dutchwoman who came here the other
day for the Sacrament (which takes place twice a year), had one
girl with her, big with child by her son, who also came for the
Sacrament, and two in the straw at home by the other son; this
caused her exactly as much emotion as I feel when my cat kittens.
No one takes any notice, either to blame or to nurse the poor
things - they scramble through it as pussy does. The English are
almost equally contemptuous; but there is one great difference. My
host, for instance, always calls a black 'a d-d nigger'; but if
that nigger is wronged or oppressed he fights for him, or bails him
out of the Tronk, and an English jury gives a just verdict; while a
Dutch one simply finds for a Dutchman, against any one else, and
ALWAYS against a dark man. I believe this to be true, from what I
have seen and heard; and certainly the coloured people have a great
preference for the English.
I am persecuted by the ugliest and blackest Mozambiquer I have yet
seen, a bricklayer's labourer, who can speak English, and says he
was servant to an English Captain - 'Oh, a good fellow he was, only
he's dead!' He now insists on my taking him as a servant. 'I
dessay your man at home is a good chap, and I'll be a good boy, and
cook very nice.' He is thick-set and short and strong. Nature has
adorned him with a cock eye and a yard of mouth, and art, with a
prodigiously tall white chimney-pot hat with the crown out, a
cotton nightcap, and a wondrous congeries of rags. He professes to
be cook, groom, and 'walley', and is sure you would be pleased with
his attentions.
Well, to go back to Gnadenthal. I wandered all over the village on
Sunday afternoon, and peeped into the cottages. All were neat and
clean, with good dressers of crockery, the VERY poorest, like the
worst in Weybridge sandpits; but they had no glass windows, only a
wooden shutter, and no doors; a calico curtain, or a sort of hurdle
supplying its place. The people nodded and said 'Good day!' but
took no further notice of me, except the poor old Hottentot, who
was seated on a doorstep. He rose and hobbled up to meet me and
take my hand again. He seemed to enjoy being helped along and
seated down carefully, and shook and patted my hand repeatedly when
I took leave of him. At this the people stared a good deal, and
one woman came to talk to me.
In the evening I sat on a bench in the square, and saw the people
go in to 'Abendsegen'. The church was lighted, and as I sat there
and heard the lovely singing, I thought it was impossible to
conceive a more romantic scene. On Monday I saw all the schools,
and then looked at the great strong Caffre lads playing in the
square. One of them stood to be pelted by five or six others, and
as the stones came, he twisted and turned and jumped, and was
hardly ever hit, and when he was, he didn't care, though the others
hurled like catapults.
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