Cape of Good Hope (South Africa) -- Description and travel
A few days before landing I caught a bad cold, and kept my bed. I caught
this cold by ‘sleeping with a damp man in my cabin’, as some one said.
During the last gale, the cabin opposite mine was utterly swamped, and I
found the Irish soldier-servant of a little officer of eighteen in
despair; the poor lad had got ague, and eight inches of water in his bed,
and two feet in the cabin. I looked in and said, ‘He can’t stay
there—carry him into my cabin, and lay him in the bunk’; which he did,
with tears running down his honest old face. So we got the boy into S—’s
bed, and cured his fever and ague, caught under canvas in Romney Marsh.
Meantime S— had to sleep in a chair and to undress in the boy’s wet
cabin. As a token of gratitude, he sent me a poodle pup, born on board,
very handsome. The artillery officers were generally well-behaved; the
men, deserters and ruffians, sent out as drivers. We have had five
courts-martial and two floggings in eight weeks, among seventy men. They
were pampered with food and porter, and would not pull a rope, or get up
at six to air their quarters. The sailors are an excellent set of men.
When we parted, the first lieutenant said to me, ‘Weel, ye’ve a wonderful
idee of discipline for a leddy, I will say. You’ve never been reported
but once, and that was on sick leave, for your light, and all in order.’
Cape Town, Sept. 18.
We anchored yesterday morning, and Captain J—, the Port Captain, came off
with a most kind letter from Sir Baldwin Walker, his gig, and a boat and
crew for S— and the baggage. So I was whipped over the ship’s side in a
chair, and have come to a boarding house where the J—s live. I was tired
and dizzy and landsick, and lay down and went to sleep. After an hour or
so I woke, hearing a little _gazouillement_, like that of chimney
swallows. On opening my eyes I beheld four demons, ‘sons of the obedient
Jinn’, each bearing an article of furniture, and holding converse over me
in the language of Nephelecoecygia. Why has no one ever mentioned the
curious little soft voices of these coolies?—you can’t hear them with the
naked ear, three feet off. The most hideous demon (whose complexion had
not only the colour, but the precise metallic lustre of an ill
black-leaded stove) at last chirruped a wish for orders, which I gave. I
asked the pert, active, cockney housemaid what I ought to pay them, as,
being a stranger, they might overcharge me. Her scorn was sublime, ‘Them
nasty blacks never asks more than their regular charge.’ So I asked the
black-lead demon, who demanded ‘two shilling each horse in waggon’, and a
dollar each ‘coolie man’. He then glided with fiendish noiselessness
about the room, arranged the furniture to his own taste, and finally
said, ‘Poor missus sick’; then more chirruping among themselves, and
finally a fearful gesture of incantation, accompanied by ‘God bless poor
missus. Soon well now’.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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