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قراءة كتاب Yankee Girls in Zulu Land
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
who, wanting to see the world, enlisted in an English regiment, and was stationed on the island of Saint Helena for fourteen years.
As we were leaving the island one of the little nondescripts came laughing past, and in the most workmanlike manner picked my pocket of its purse. He was caught before he could get away, when he cried bitterly, not so much, apparently, at being detected as for not being allowed to keep his ill-gotten gains.
Here is a spot for one whose soul is yearning for untried missionary fields. The interior of the island is said to be beautiful, flowers and foliage growing in great luxuriance.
Leaving Saint Helena, we sailed southeast in a straight course for Table Bay; for two days after leaving the island, our table was decorated with fresh tropical flowers and fruits in great variety. We here felt the influence of the heavy ground swell, which the sailors say is a peculiarity of those latitudes, and has given rise to the burden of a sailor’s song, “Rolling Down to Saint Helena.”
At sunrise of the twenty-eighth day after leaving London, having passed through the “summer voyage of the world,” we sighted the long, flat-topped mountain which has given its name to the bay that lies at its foot.
When we first sighted it, it appeared like a huge solitary rock standing in the midst of the ocean, but as we gradually steamed up to the arms of Table Bay, which opens to the north-west, the town nestling at the foot of the mountain became visible, and as we brought up to allow the port captain and health officer to come on board, the scene came more clearly into view. The mountains outlined clearly against the sky, the mauve and golden-tinted clouds, the deep blue water of the bay, edged with a white and curving shore of singular beauty, surmounted by bold, rocky mountain ranges, combined to form one of the most striking views we had ever seen.
We will never lose the impression of South African scenery received that morning. We had bidden farewell to the smoky fogs of London, and had changed them for a country that was rich and brilliant, where the atmosphere was surprisingly bright and clear, and the scenery bold, spacious, and grand.
The long range of mountains which completely separates the Peninsula of the Cape of Good Hope from the mainland, though at a distance of seventy miles, stood out with a sharply defined outline in the morning air, the ravines, water courses, and terraced heights appearing with almost supernatural clearness. The characteristic beauty of light, which distinguishes South Africa, was seen in the full and even splendour with which every object, near and remote, became visible. Small boulders, cavernous hollows in the rocks, patches of brush at the head of the kloofs, at an elevation of two thousand feet, could be seen without difficulty. We gazed spellbound at the distant mountain, seemingly so near that we could have seen a human figure were it climbing the heights, or heard a human voice if it broke the silence of the kloofs. And it was not until the revolving of the screw warned us that we were to enter the docks that we awoke from the reverie into which the first view of the country had thrown us. Hastening below, we made preparations for leaving the ship which had been our home for four pleasant, all too fleeting weeks, and on emerging on deck we found the vessel had already entered the well-built stone docks, and was then being made fast to the quay. Shaking hands with Captain Lamar and our other friends on the ship whom we should meet later on in our journey up the country, we told the Malay porter where to find our belongings amongst the luggage of the two hundred passengers aboard, took one last look at the good ship, walked down the gangway, and found ourselves fairly on South African soil, ten thousand miles from the “Old Folks at Home.”
Chapter Six.
One of the first things that attracted our attention on landing was the motley appearance of the people on the quay.
There were the Europeans, some in black frock coat and pot hat—a ridiculous costume for a hot climate—others more sensibly clad in white linen suits and pith helmets. But when we turned to the coloured people who formed the larger proportion of the loiterers, we found ourselves at a loss to say how many different nationalities they represented, and certainly did not know which to pick out as the representatives of the native African.
They were of all colours and all garbs, from the simple costume of rags which distinguishes the Hottentot loafer to the gorgeous silk robes of the Malay priest. It was not till we had been in the colony some time that we were able to distinguish from one another the Kafir and the negro from the west coast and the Hottentot and the Malay.
Having passed our baggage through the custom-house at the entrance to the dock, we took a cab, a regular London hansom with a Malay driver, and drove along a white dusty road to the town, distant a mile from the docks. As is the case on going behind the scenes of a theatre, much of the beauty that had impressed us from the sea disappeared when we came to the town itself. The houses, which had looked spotlessly white and very pretty from the steamer, we found to be little, old-fashioned, square, tumbledown edifices, evidently some of the original Dutch homesteads.
Presently, however, we came to a handsome street of fine stores, and an imposing railroad station, and, rounding the market square, a large rectangular piece of open land in the middle of the town, drove up to the Royal Hotel, where we were received by the proprietor and wife, who were Germans, and made very comfortable. As soon as we had rested, Eva and I sallied forth to view the town.
Our first impression of Cape Town, with its sixty thousand inhabitants, black and white, was that it was composed principally of old-fashioned Dutch houses with individual steps, so that the pedestrian had the choice of either dancing up and down the steps or walking in the middle of the road. We found that although the older houses preponderated, there were several streets of handsome residences. The streets were actually dirtier than those of New York.
The principal business streets run parallel with each other from the sea to the mountain, and are crossed at right angles by narrower streets.
On Adderley Street, which is the Broadway of Cape Town, are the elegant Standard Bank Building, the Commercial Exchange and Reading-room, and, at the further end, the large Dutch Reformed Church, which is the church found in every town in Africa. There are many other imposing buildings, beautifully decorated and built with all the modern improvements architecture can offer. Adjoining Adderley Street is Saint George’s Street, with the towering Saint George’s Cathedral rising at the end of the street; here are to be found the Post-office, club-houses, banks, and the leading newspaper office, the Cape Times. Branching off of these streets, the old-fashioned Dutch mansions of the early settlers may be seen.
They are situated in the midst of beautiful grounds overrun with tropical vines and flowers. Near by are the charming modern English villas and cottages. But the most beautiful and admired suburban houses are to be found at Rondebosch, Wynberg, and Constantia, on the east side of Table Mountain, connected by railway with Cape Town; they lie at an elevation from the town and are delightfully cool during the summer months. A drive through the groves