Through the Kalahari Desert. G.A. Farini
as high as 140° in the sun, and has been known as high as 150°. The streets are in a state of nature, and when a trek-waggon, with its four-score hoofs, ploughs through the dust, you might as well be in a sandstorm on the Sahara at once. When the wind blows across the heaps of debris from the mines, the town is filled with clouds of white dust like a petrified London fog, that fairly blinds and chokes you. As for houses, the tin-kettle establishments reflect the rays of the sun outwardly, and bottle them up inwardly,, so that it is hard to say whether the stifling heat of the interior or the blinding glare of the exterior is the worse. As for provisions, the following is a list of some of the prices ruling when I was there:—
Potatoes, 225. per bag.
Oats, 325. per bag.
Maize, 525. per bag.
Large sacks of straw, used, as forage (called chaff), weighing I6O lbs., 21s.
Grapes, 1s. per lb.
Melons, from 1s. to 3s. 6d. each.
Tobacco, 2s. 6d a roll of 21/2 lbs.
Wheat, 36s. per sack of 200 lbs.
Onions, 22s. per bag.
Small fowls, from 2s. 6d. to 3s.
Wood was dearer than all else. A load of about 1000 lbs. sold for 18l. to 20l., and at one time would have fetched 40l.
As to the moral atmosphere of Kimberley, what I have said will sufficiently show that it cannot be classed as very first-rate. It may be said that there
The Morals of Kimberley.
are but three really flourishing institutions in the town—the Detective Department, the cemetery, and the gaol; but, notwithstanding that I would sum up the character of the place in that way, I must join issue with the sweeping statements made by a recent writer on the subject. Mr. Stanley Little, in his book on “South Africa,” says of Kimberley, that from beginning to end the diamond-fields of South Africa have been the hot-beds of rowdyism, and all that is revolting in human nature may be found there. The libertines, forgers, bird-catchers, and outcasts of Europe have found an asylum there, as in Alsatia of old. The Houndsditch Jew and the London rough reign supreme. . .The bully is in the ascendant, he lords it over all. As to the moneyed men on the fields, is it a libel to say that most of them owe their wealth either to illicit diamond-buying or to taking advantage of the necessities or inex- perience of unfortunate diggers?. . .The social life of Kimberley has become so utterly low and repugnant, that the decent man at length flies from it in disgust, as he would from the confines of a lazar-house. The vices of drinking, swearing, cursing, bullying, lying, cheating, and all kinds of utter abomination permeate society, I was going to say from top to bottom, but in such a community one can scarcely say which is the top and which is the bottom.”
Like Denver or Leadville, San Francisco or Ba- thurst, and other great mining centres which have held out the hope of sudden wealth to the digger, Kimber- ley has attracted numbers of the very scum and dregs of mankind; but, in applying the above expres- sions to Kimberley in its present state, I am bound
The Mining Pioneer.
to say that Mr. Little somewhat lets his zeal outrun his discretion—or rather his imagination ride rough- shod over facts. The description given by him may have been true enough in the first days of diamond- digging. The class of desperado that he pictures as the sole denizen of the fields is the pioneer of all un- appropriated lands whose mineral riches hold out the prospect of immediate fortune to the first-comer. The better class of people will not rough it, or take the desperate chances of a great rush. But as the popu- lation increases, and the mining population is suc- ceeded by provision-dealers, builders, engineers, and so forth, as the success of the “rush” is perma- nently established, laws become necessary, rooting out the extreme rough and making the place tolerable for a better class of people, who come to invest as well as to dig. The single digger, working on his own luck, is tempted to surrender his claim for ready cash, and the claims get into fewer hands; the provident digger, who sees a prospect of making a profit by steady work, remains; whilst the “last chance” man rushes off” on another forlorn hope; and so order is gradually evolved out of chaos. Hence, whatever Kimberley may have been, its present condition is not so bad as is pictured by Mr. Little. It is true that the extraordinary opportunities of theft which a diamond-mine must always offer cannot fail to attract an unusual number of blacklegs and vagabonds with an eye to the off-chance. A valuable pebble can be easily secreted on the person, or even swallowed at a pinch, and hence Kimberley may be expected to always have more than its fair proportion of dregs among its humanity. But I have met there some of
Temptations.
the kindest, most straightforward, hospitable, and educated gentlemen, who are doing all they can to improve the tone of the place.
Not that there is not room for such efforts. In the anxiety to become rich even the finest consciences become dulled, the most delicate susceptibilities are blunted—and the more delicate and the finer a thing is the more likely it is to suffer from contact with the rough and the rude. “Evil communications corrupt good manners,” and though a man with gentlemanly feelings and delicate instincts is horrified at the sur- roundings of a newly developed “diggings,” yet constant contact—even constant warfare—with them can hardly fail to have a baneful effect on his normal standard of morality. Yet to apply to such men the opprobrious epithets quoted above is a libel— none the less serious because promiscuous and not individual .
CHAPTER IV.
A dangerous experiment—A mimic volcano in eruption—Packing up —Starting for the Kalahari—A Bastard encampment—A big bag of partridges—Making friends with the Boers—A good investment—A South African Crusoe—”Lots of trees”—A massacre of the innocents.
Going back to the hotel one day, after spending the morning listening to Mr. English’s explanation of the ins and outs of diamond-mining, I missed Lulu and his camera. It was about noon, the hour at which the dinner-bell rings. ‘‘He’s off after that mad scheme of photographing the blast,” I thought; and, hurrying out, met the overseer, who told me that my surmise was correct. He had warned Lulu of the danger of making the attempt; but the impetuous youth had made up his mind, and nothing could stop him. Hastening down to the mine, I reached the edge of the reef just as the first discharge took place, and the air was so full of smoke and dust that I could not see to the bottom of the crater. As the air cleared, I turned my glasses down the pit, and there, right away at the bottom, looking at that distance not much bigger than a child, stood Lulu, holding the tripod. “Boom!” went another explosion; and a perfect hail of gravel, mingled with huge chunks of clay, fell around him. When next I saw him he was on one knee, still close to the camera. He must be hurt,” I thought. “Why did he not take shelter in one of those
Photographing an Explosion.
iron tramcars into which the men who fire the time- fuse retire?” I was about to run down to him, when out thundered the roar of another charge. Once more the storm of dust and stone, rising some 300 or 400 feet into the air, concealed him from my view for some moments. Then I could see that one of the legs of the tripod was broken. Yet, holding it with one hand, he was changing the plate with the other. I ad- mired his pluck—which I had never doubted—but I did not think any picture in the world worth such a risk. There was a pile of timber beside him. Surely he would try and take shelter behind this before another explosion occurred? But no! There he stood, patiently waiting for the discharge, as calmly as if he were in his studio at home. Another tongue of flame, another cloud of dust and débris, another thundering roar, and a fresh charge, apparently heavier than all the others, was fired, I could wait no longer. Without stopping to see the result, I hurried down, fearful for his safety if regardless of my own. But fortunately this was the last discharge. He was unhurt; only the tripod was broken.
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