I almost wish I could mention the names of those—and
they were not a few—who showered so much kindness
upon me.
Wynberg, with its picturesque surroundings of mountain,
forest, and sea, is truly the garden of Cape Colony- But I
must say farewell to the place, cherishing its ever happy
memories of hospitable friends and their enchanting companionship,
the kindly influence of which can never be
forgotten.
I made inquiries at the most reliable quarters as to the
probabilities of my success in accomplishing a journey alone
overland to Central Africa. I did not get much encouragement.
The arguments against the proposal were many.
* What will you do about the language ? ” said one.
“ What will you do about the fever ? ” inquired another.
« If it catches you when you are alone, it will soon stop the
expedition.”
“ You can’t pass the Diamond Yields,” remarked a third,
" for the small-pox is raging there.”
And so the objections arose ad libitum. What was I to
do ? Stop in unapproachable Cape Town, and inhale the
ungenerous winds of the south-eastern Atlantic ? For the
contrast, it must be remembered, between Cape Town and
lovely Wynberg is remarkable. The mountain stands
between them, and while the Cape Town side has a barren
exposure to the merciless south-east “ trades, which I
had the misfortune to encounter once or twice during my
stay, Wynberg’s sequestered position is delightful in its
shelter.
By the way, one man said, “ Don t go to Port Elizabeth ;
it is by long odds the worst ash heap of the diamond cities
of the south.”
Was I blind to beauty, or indifferent to enchantment ?
MAP STUDIES. 7
Was I in the oasis of Africa, or # its sterile Sahara? The
words of m e n -C ap e Town m e n — declared for the oasis, my
experience for the Sahara.
I stand in the middle of Aderley Street,, in front of the
Standard Bank. The sand in circling storms wraps me in
its gritty embrace. Where am I ? In the Sahara, surely.
And yet this cannot be, for through the blinding whirl I
stretch forth my hand, and feel a rounded form of solid
stone, fashioned unmistakably by the hand of man. What
is it ? Moving curiously forward towards the object, I find
myself hugging a pillar, beside which I soon gain shelter
from the searching sand, driven so mercilessly by the pitiless
south-easter. After rubbing my eyes to clear them from
r the grit, I perceive that I am in the portico of the agency
office for steamers. Happy thought! I will make inquiries
about the departures for Port Elizabeth. I find that the
| earliest steamer will start in a day or two.
Most of the time was now occupied in studying maps.
These I could see were far from being perfect. Eiver
I courses especially were inaccurately defined ; so, at least, I
judged from their manifold variations. Few names marked
I the lands that lay to the far north-east between Matabeli-
I land and Lake Nyassa. I t would be my aim to fill up,
I however slightly, some of these imperfections, and thus
I contribute something toward the geographical description
I of little known lands, should I be able to carry out the
; jdUrney which I had purposed to do.
Hesitation soon vanished, and ultimately I determined
t to make the attempt to reach the lake regions of Central,
I Africa overland by a northward course, and thence to pro-
I ceed towards the Indian Ocean.
Dr. Holub, the eminent naturalist, was in Cape Town
I equipping an expedition which seemed to me, from the