Call of the Muezzin - Cape to Riyadh

By Julius Schmidt

The novel is about the Kaufmann family, spanning three generations between 1858 and 1976.

Peter Kaufmann emigrated to South Africa from Germany and became a renowned wainwright. He was also involved in the construction of the first railway line between Cape Town and Pretoria. His son, Willy, became a politician and was later appointed high commissioner in London.

For many people Arabia holds something strange, something mystical. OPEC imposed a worldwide oil embargo in 1973 that affected South Africa as it did most other countries. South Africa was running low on oil reserves and urgently needed a lifeline!

After the lifting of the embargo the following year, the South African government entered into negotiations with one of the Arab oil-producing countries for assistance and proposed the delivery of crude oil in exchange for gold. Behind the scenes in London, the South African embassy played a low-key role, and Willy Kaufmanns grandson, Gnther, who served a stint as a diplomat at the time at the embassy, was also involved.

However, an unfortunate incident that shocked the Arab world prevented the proposal from coming to fruition!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Africa
• Release date: Oct 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781482803976

Julius Schmidt

The author was born in South Africa in 1946. He studied at the University of Stellenbosch in the Western Cape region of the country and earned a master’s degree in anthropology. He is now retired, and Call of the Muezzin: Cape to Riyadh is his debut novel.

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Copyright © 2014 by Julius Schmidt.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-4828-0398-3

                eBook         978-1-4828-0397-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Editor George Sole

Sub-Editor Leon Marsh

Cover design © Liesl Laurens

Cover picture with permission from © Shutterstock

Maps © Liesl Laurens

Author photograph © Alex Kotze

All characters and events in this book, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.

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Contents

Author’s Note

Preface

Part One

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

Part Two

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

Author’s Postscript

Brief Glossary

Sources Consulted

Author’s Note

I was BORN IN SOUTH Africa in 1946 and studied at the University of Stellenbosch in the Western Cape region of the country, and earned a Master’s Degree in Anthropology.

I am now retired and Call of the Muezzin – Cape to Riyadh is my debut novel.

As an anthropologist, Arabian culture and value systems had always interested me. The well-known collection of Asian stories published in, One Thousand and One Nights, and those added later to the original book - Aladdin’s Wonderful Lamp; Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves; and The Seven Voyages of Sinbad the Sailor - likewise took me as a child on a magic carpet ride!

P.C. Wren’s trilogy, Beau Geste, Beau Sabreur and Beau Ideal, and years later, Michael Asher’s Biography on T.E. Lawrence, Lawrence: The Uncrowned King of Arabia, stimulated a related interest of mine – the quests of the French Foreign Legion against the nomadic Tuaregs in the late 1800s. These people were often stereotyped as cruel rifle yielding warriors, riding high on the back of camels, and living in tents in the Sahara desert. Not always true!

For many people Arabia holds something strange; something mystical. It is here where the fascinating, mysterious world of Arabia and the West really begins.

Where Muezzins call; daily!

This is a historical novel with a difference. It is not an autobiography, but rather a record of anecdotal and personal reminiscences of my family’s history, as well as random sketches of people and events. Although partly factual, the novel is not an academic dissertation.

Sources consulted, but not cited, are listed at the end of the book. However, I take no responsibility for incorrect facts from any source.

The explanation of some foreign and other words, printed in italics, appears in the glossary.

Louis L’Amour, a popular American author of western novels once said:

A man never starts to get old until he starts to forget his dream!

I’ve dreamt of writing this book for many years, and now I have done it, despite the fact that I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease!

Alberton

Gauteng

South Africa

September 2014

This is for my wife, Rona, my two daughters,

Heidi and Liesl, my stepdaughter, Jade, and

all my family and friends who gave

me much appreciated love and support to complete the book.

I am indebted to

Leon Marsh and in particular George Sole

for editing the manuscript.

C:\Users\Julius\Desktop\Partridge Africa\South Africa Map.jpgC:\Users\Julius\Desktop\Partridge Africa\Saudi Arabia map.jpg

Preface

SCORES OF GERMAN SETTLERS CAME to the Cape and Natal Colonies in Southern Africa between 1858 and 1886. Many were employed as Tagelöhner on farms between Cape Town and Swellendam. Others who were fortunate enough to obtain land used the abundance of fertile soil, water and their skilled labour to engage in livestock farming or to cultivate the land to grow a variety of crops. Others practiced trades such as carpentry and blacksmithing.

In the latter half of the 19th century, a number of settlers were employed by the Cape Government Railways. They assisted with the construction of the first railway line between the Cape and Kimberley and a few years later to Bloemfontein. This railway track eventually ran from the Cape to Pretoria in the north of the country. Some settlers were employed for their artisan skills.

Prior to the discovery of diamonds in South Africa in 1867 on the banks of the Orange River, near Hopetown in the northern part of the Cape Colony, the weak economic conditions at the time affected almost everyone. There was one exception though - the Boer farmers in the immediate vicinity of Cape Town. They used the opportunity to trade with the colony for durable goods, although most farmers in the outback areas, however, lived in impoverished conditions.

The poor economic situation was a catalyst that forced people in financial distress to find relief elsewhere and for them the discovery of diamonds came as a potential respite.

Four years later the discovery of a rich diamond pipe in the present-day Kimberley, led to the establishment of De Beers Consolidated Mines, under the leadership of Cecil John Rhodes, a man who would also play an important role in local politics in years to come.

As news of the find spread rapidly, locally and overseas, it led to an unprecedented influx of foreigners into the country, all heading north to the diamond fields in search of their fortune. With the discovery of gold on the Witwatersrand in 1886, the same happened.

The influx happened almost overnight, as thousands made their way to Kimberley. Some led donkeys or pack mules, carrying their only possessions in gunny sacks - rolled-up blankets or canvas, slung across their shoulders. In 1873, an estimated 50,000 diamond diggers crowded Kimberley!

Call of the Muezzin – Cape to Riyadh is a novel about the Kaufmann family spanning three generations between 1858 and 1976.

PART ONE is about Peter Kaufmann, who immigrated to South Africa from Germany. He settled in the small town of Robertson in the Western Cape region of the country and became a renowned carpenter and wainwright.

The discovery of diamonds gave impetus for the development of railways in South Africa, and Peter got involved in the construction of the first railway line to the north between Cape Town and Pretoria.

Willy, his son, became a politician and was later appointed High Commissioner in London.

For many people Arabia holds something strange, something mystical!

PART TWO deals with the 1973 oil crisis. OPEC imposed a worldwide oil embargo in 1973, which affected South Africa as it did most other countries. South Africa was running low on oil reserves and urgently needed a lifeline!

Shortly after the lifting of the embargo the following year, the South African government entered into negotiations with an Arab oil producing country through a third party, for assistance. They proposed the delivery of crude oil in exchange for gold. Behind the scenes in London, the South African embassy played a low-key role and Willy Kaufmann’s grandson, who served a stint as a diplomat at the time at the embassy, was also involved.

However, an unfortunate incident that shocked the Arab world prevented the proposal from coming to fruition.

It is against this background that the idea for Call of the Muezzin – Cape to Riyadh came to realization.

Some of the facts are based on actual events, but the author reserved the right to change some dates and adapt events to follow the storyline.

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PART ONE

1

THE BEAUTIFUL TOWN OF SWELLENDAM - the fourth oldest in South Africa - is situated one hundred and forty-five miles to the east of Cape Town, in the Western Cape Region. It is located in the shadows of the fynbos-covered foothills of the Langeberg Mountains. The Breede River that flows past the town was the only river in South Africa where ships could sail a considerable distance upstream to transport merchandise.

A number of natural pools in the river, some deep, others shallow, provide welcome relief especially for the youngsters during the hot summer days.

Soon after the town’s establishment, Swellendam became a popular destination for early travelers and explorers.

Initially, most of these adventurers and locals lacked the courage to venture off into the unknown. They either refused or were reluctant to travel beyond the borders of the village. Those brave enough to explore the land did not travel further than a day’s trek, before returning to the village.

Earlier residents of the region believed the area was sacred, and they had been wary not to disturb or anger their ancestors, a traditional belief upheld by the indigenous peoples. They were afraid of the powers of this dark world and firmly believed that evil spiritual forces roamed the land!

The Overberg area boomed with the arrival of British settlers in the early 19th century and Swellendam was soon the heart of a busy mercantile empire. By the mid-19th century, the eastern districts had been colonised by the British settlers and the town thrived. Apart from the early settlers, other explorers, hunters, traders, missionaries, travellers and herders soon trekked to Swellendam - in time known as the gateway to the hinterland.

An interesting group of people known as karretjiemense moved into the area. They moved around in roughly fashioned wooden mule or donkey-drawn carts, doing seasonal work on farms, particularly with sheep.

The artisans and traders who had settled in the village took advantage of this influx of visitors. They developed a thriving business offering goods and services such as food, shelter, provisions, including horses and oxen and even weaponry. The local blacksmith in particular enjoyed a roaring trade, as there was a constant demand for horseshoes!

Early in 1858 Hans Hafemann returned to his place of birth, Frankfurt-am-Main - the largest city in the German state of Hesse. He had been working as a general handyman on a farm in the district of Swellendam for nearly five years. Hans, Johann and Cornelia Bauer, a young couple from Frankfurt, had been good friends for years. Johann trained as a carpenter under his father’s strict supervision and qualified after six years.

Hans Hafemann visited Johann and Cornelia one evening for supper a week after his return, and he enthusiastically told them how much he enjoyed his stay in Swellendam. He elaborated on the abundant natural beauty of the area, with its multitude of wild flowers and fynbos which turned the grassy plains in the valley into a kaleidoscope of colours in spring and summer. He also described the snow-dusted mountain peaks in winter and how beautiful they looked on cloudless days, etched against the blue sky. The three friends laughed when he related how the locals complained about the chill factor when the wind blew. For Hans, it was just a little bit colder than the average summer’s day in Germany.

Hans was particularly vocal and enthusiastic about their annual winter hunting expedition. For three weeks at the end of July, the farmer, Werner Brouwer, together with three of his friends, including Hans, went to the same area, the valley beyond the Langeberg Mountains. Twelve helpers, one of whom was a seasoned tracker, as well as four hunting dogs, accompanied them.

Brouwer always considered certain factors - the weather, the workload on his farm, availability of helpers and most importantly, the availability of game, before he felt comfortable making a decision about their departure. Traditionally the hunting party gathered in the barn before sunrise on that day being offered slices of freshly baked bread, thickly spread with lard and afterwards mugs with steaming black coffee.

Hans continued, Mr Brouwer said a prayer for everyone’s safe return before we departed, some of us on horseback and the rest on one of his wagons.

You should have seen the excitement when we departed! The men were always in a jovial mood, loudly chattering and roaring with laughter as we moved down the road, heading for the outskirts of the village, he paused to take a sip of coffee.

Why did you take wagons? Wouldn’t smaller wagonettes have sufficed? Johann asked.

No, we needed the wagons to transport meat of animals we had hunted, Hans replied.

Of course, Johann grinned at his ignorance.

In any case, I found it interesting to see how the farmer cured the venison. He mixed salt, pepper and sugar – of all things! – in a bowl and then meticulously rubbed the meat with it. Afterwards, he put the meat into used, flour-bags and kept it in a box underneath the driver’s seat, or even hung it underneath the wagon near the back wheels.

Do you want to tell me the meat didn’t go off? Cornelia asked sceptically.

On my word of honour. The meat somehow dried out, but very little went off.

Cornelia made more coffee, and a while later Hans commented, You won’t believe me, but I also learned to eat dried raw meat.

You ate what? Johann gasped, But that’s disgusting.

"No, it’s not. Let me tell you, once you get used to the taste, you cannot put it down! It tastes divine. In fact, the locals regard biltong as a delicacy."

I still cannot believe that raw meat don’t go off, Cornelia commented dubiously.

As I’ve said, yes, occasionally some of the meat did go off, and we had to discard it. However, mostly the meat was excellent.

I cannot think that something like that is edible? Johann shivered and pulled his face.

My friend, it is edible, believe me.

How do they make the -- what do you call it again?

"Biltong! Hans laughed and then he explained, They use the fillets. They cut the meat into strips. Then they season it, before hanging it in a wooden container, with a wire mesh door - usually under the canopy of an ox-wagon, out of direct sunlight."

During the 1800s, the preferred vehicle for long journeys was the ox wagon. The oxen walked very slowly, though, resting and feeding as they went along and although this slowed down the travel time, on average they still managed about ten to twelve miles a day.

Hans entertained his friends with more stories and Johann was particularly interested in their camp life - how they camped; what time they left each morning to go hunting for the day; for how long they hunted every day; and what they ate.

Every evening, without exception, everyone converged around the campfire, relating some of the interesting hunting moments of the day. As soon as the coals were ready, the cook barbequed marinated venison. I asked him repeatedly for the secret recipe he used, but he was not willing to share it with me. Apparently it was a family secret!

Did they tell hunting stories? Johann waved his hand at a vexatious moth and glanced at Hans.

Of course! We sat night after night listening to them and let me tell you, often hair-raising stuff.

It must have been boring after a while?

No. Not at all!

Don’t they tell the same stories over and over?

Never, Hans reacted, Remember, they were all seasoned hunters. Not just in the hinterland area. They travelled quite a lot. You should hear the close encounters some had with lions, elephants and buffalo. My word, scary stuff! Oh, no, it was fascinating to listen to them, I hung on every word! Hans drank some water.

They did not go hunting far afield every year, he continued, It took too long; months at a time. One of the farmer’s Dutch friends had a saying, Africa is not for softies!"

They all chuckled.

Hans also told them about the daily events in the village; of the interesting people that lived there; of the wide streets lined with old oak trees; and of fishing in the river.

Once a year, before the winter set in, Hans accompanied Brouwer to the Cape to buy necessities which were not always available in Swellendam - building material, especially steel nails, rope, canvas, bags of sugar, tins of coffee, gunpowder and lead to cast bullets. Most of the time his shopping list included rolls of dressmaking material for his wife, dark brown chewing tobacco for his workers, various dried spices, household utensils and candy for the children on the farm.

Brouwer would use the opportunity to buy various bottles of medicine, plasters and ointments, to replenish their huisapotheek. He never returned home without buying some hessian bags filled with grain and maize-seed for the planting season. On Hans’s last outing the farmer bought two cast iron pots, one for making boerseep and the other for cooking.

Four years after Hans arrived on the farm, he broke the news to the farmer that he had to return to Germany in a couple of months’ time. His mother had passed away, and his father needed care.

Hans had made many friends over the years, and he was sorry to leave them all behind when he departed.

He left for Cape Town by mail coach that was a cheaper way to travel than the twice-weekly stagecoach. A passing sailor near the harbour entrance tipped him off about affordable accommodation. The inexpensive boarding-house had a room available, although it had no view; when he opened the curtains, the room overlooked the back of the building, with piles of refuse dumped in the one corner. The nauseating smell of the waste and rotting fish drifted from the harbour every time the wind changed course, forced him to keep the room window closed.

Nevertheless he stayed there until the steamer departed for Hamburg the following week.

Hans made use of the time to visit the Castle of Good Hope, built by the Dutch East India Company in the latter half of the 17th century. It was infamous for a particular prison chamber - the black hole – that had no windows and was pitch-black when the door was closed. Prisoners were incarcerated in this dungeon, often for long periods, chained to one of the walls with sea water dripping on their heads. Many went insane as a result of this torture.

Goodness me! Even the way you describe it sends a chill down my spine, Cornelia said, her fingers touching her parted lips.

Hans eloquently entertained his friends with his stories for another couple of hours and the three of them had an enjoyable evening. Cornelia brewed and poured more coffee, and when he put his empty mug down a while later, Hans said, Well my friends. That is it for tonight. I have more stories to tell, but that will have to wait until the next time.

Hans’s experience in Southern Africa left a lasting impression on both Johann and Cornelia, but initially, they did not discuss it with each other. Johann mulled over it for some time and then one evening after supper - and after their evening prayers - he raised the topic.

They first tidied the kitchen and Cornelia poured them each a glass of milk. Johann lit his pipe and sat at the table. The oil lamp’s wick burned too high; he turned it down a little, replaced the glass lampshade and looked at his wife. Cornelia untied her apron and hung it behind the kitchen door. Johann sat with both hands on the table, fingers inter-locked. He gazed at the flame of the burning wick, which gently swayed and twirled in the light draft coming from the kitchen, sending a thin line of smoke to the ceiling. The reflection of the flame through the glass brightened up the room, and it created a warm, friendly ambiance.

Johann? You seem to be very pensive tonight.

Sorry darling. Come sit, he stood up and pulled out a chair for her. He sat down and said, Cornelia, father’s carpentry business is not doing so well of late. In fact, he confided in me a while ago that he might have to sell and move back to Dresden. However, mother knows nothing about this yet. Only me and now you.

I had no idea, Cornelia was shocked, I’m so sorry to hear that. But what now? What about us?

I have given it a lot of thought. If father sells his business, I could be without an income.

"Is it that bad, darling?

I’m afraid so. He looked down at his hands and frowned.

Goodness, Johann? What you told me is scary, her voice trembled, and tears slowly trickled down her cheek. She used her handkerchief to wipe them away, blew her nose and looked at her husband.

And? she managed to ask.

Lately Hans has often been on my mind and I have given a lot of thought to what he told us about the Cape.

Cornelia suddenly had a premonition about what her husband wanted to say.

Yes?

I want to make a suggestion.

What?

Johann took a deep breath and sighed, Why don’t you and I travel to the Cape and see if we like it? We have nothing to lose, my dear. Who knows? Maybe the Lord has brought Hans back into our lives to show us what to do?

Excuse me? You cannot be serious, darling. Do you expect us just to pack up and leave? I think it is a very risky thing to do. Don’t you agree?

I know. But what else can we do? There are a number of carpenters in this area and not enough work for all. It is just a matter of time before father decides to sell. That leaves us with nothing here, he put his pipe down on the ashtray and pushed it away from him.

And remember, Cornelia continued, Hans travelled alone. Our situation is different. We have only been married for a couple of months, she paused to wipe away tears, and it won’t be easy for me to leave my loved ones behind so soon.

True, sweetheart, but we need to be open-minded about it. Johann stood up and gave his wife a reassuring hug.

She lowered her eyes and whispered, I know.

In the weeks that followed, the possibility of moving to the Cape gradually became a reality, and it dominated discussions with family members and friends. After weeks of uncertainty and deliberations, the couple decided to take the bold step to leave.

It was a very emotional moment when they bade farewell to their parents, family and friends, unsure if they would ever see them again.

It was in the dying days of August 1858 that Johann and Cornelia Bauer left Hamburg on board the Wandrahm – a steamship under the command of Captain Heinrich Decke. They formed part of one of the initial groups of German settlers heading for Southern Africa and brought with them a wealth of knowledge and expertise. In fact, they had much to offer the local people.

The couple took their luggage to the cabin allocated to them and was surprised to find that it was sea-facing. Their porthole overlooked the harbour – the booking clerk had told Johann that their cabin would be below the waterline, and they both felt the excitement in their bellies!

At last the captain called, Gangway up! and a short while later the vessel moved away from the wharf and headed slowly toward the harbour exit and out into the open sea, leaving behind a white wake in the deep, blue-black water. The passengers on the deck, including the Bauers, listened to the steam engines as they pushed the ship further away from shore.

Captain Decke sat at the helm, running his fingers through his beard and over his moustache. He looked contented although he was well aware of the responsibility that rested on his shoulders.

During the Bauers first night at sea, they were intermittently awoken by things moving about in their cabin. But they soon became accustomed to it. Johann, in particular, fell into the habit of emerging on deck before dawn where he lit his first pipe of the day and watched the orange and purple-coloured sunrise. The bow, ploughing a wide furrow in the ocean mesmerized him each morning.

Their first time on board a ship was an exhilarating experience for Johann and Cornelia!

On Captain Decke’s estimated day of arrival in the Cape, Johann was up early and went on deck. It was miserable outside. He walked forward to the bow, but the rain drove him back to his cabin to fetch his thick jacket. His wife was still sound asleep. He paused in the cabin door for a moment, How far she had come and how much she had left behind. She’s a brave young woman, he said to himself, I’m so immensely proud of her.

He returned to the bow, but the wind and rain made it difficult to light his pipe. When the tobacco eventually burned, he sucked deeply and blew a smoke circle up in the air. It immediately disintegrated in the wind. Johann bit the stem of his pipe between his teeth and stood for a while with his hands deep in his jacket’s pockets. He squinted and scanned the horizon. He had wanted to catch sight of land, but the long and dark cloud bank on the horizon had dashed this thought. Johann puffed at his pipe as he watched the lightning play over the sea, and he heard the low murmuring rumble of the thunder. Instinctively he adjusted his coat and pulled the brim of his hat a little lower over his head.

He walked along the deck to the stern of the ship and leaned on the railing for a while. The rain poured down, pelting his back, his pipe went out, and he had to relight it, again in a contest with the elements. He put his right foot on the lower rail and steadied himself with his right arm on his knee, Nothing like a good smoke so early in the morning, he thought. Eventually, it became too unpleasant, and he ducked into the wheelhouse and waited for the rain to subside.

Johann was no stranger to wet weather, and he loved the sensation of raindrops falling on his face and the fine, briny taste of the ocean spray. He recalled all the events that had taken place since they had decided to move to the Cape. It was still quiet on the deck and despite the wind he could clearly hear - and feel - the steam engines rhythmically driving the screw-propeller of the steamer. He looked down at the water. It glistened in the ship’s wake, making the deep water of the sea look white.

Good morning!

Johann had not noticed First Officer Blanckenberg approaching him from the stairs leading to the bridge. He came upright and looked round.

I was so occupied with my thoughts, he apologized, Good morning.

Johann and Blanckenberg had become good acquaintances over the months together on the ship, and Blanckenberg had often invited Johann to the bridge. One day the ship was caught up in a fierce storm and he was amazed to see how cool, calm and collected the captain, officers and crew were as they steered the ship safely through the monstrous waves until they reached calmer waters hours later.

Lousy weather. Isn’t it? On a clear day you would have been able to see Table Mountain, the famous landmark, rising above the horizon, but unfortunately.., he lifted the collar of his jacket higher to cover the back of his neck; Johann did the same, at the same time finding it difficult to keep his pipe alight.

An unusually heavy cold front had moved across the Cape and further up the countryside. Some seasoned locals later told Johann that although it was in the region’s summer season, it had been one of the coldest and wettest November months in living memory.

The Cape region has a Mediterranean climate. Summers are mild, dry and very sunny. It rains a lot during winter, and the weather is chilly and often bitterly cold. However, the chill in the air cannot hide the beautiful scenery - snow-capped mountain tops – and it is lovely to sit in front of warm log fires, enjoying some of the wines of this region!

The area is also known for the famous Cape doctor – strong south-easterly winds that blow across the landscape, often sweeping locals and visitors off their feet! It clears the air of pollution, though and hence the nickname Cape doctor.

Meanwhile, the Wandrahm made slow headway through the rough seas, with colossal waves breaking furiously over the bow. Visibility was poor and Captain Decke and his officers called on all their seamanship to safely manoeuvre the ship through the narrow stretch of water between Robben Island on the left and the shoreline to the right, before reaching the calmer waters of Table Bay.

Frequent poor weather during winter months, treacherous seas along the coastline – in particular at Cape Point – and the roar of the mighty Atlantic, had been most sailors’ worst nightmare. Although the Bay has been a haven for ships for centuries, it is exposed to gales from both the south-east and north-west.

They arrived in the Cape nearly three months after leaving Hamburg. The voyage was exhausting and by the time they reached their destination, most of the passengers and crew were very tired. On top of that, an outbreak of scarlet fever had claimed the lives of eleven people, including that of a child. A number of passengers also fell violently ill from cholera and typhus, but the ship’s young doctor, August Hanf from Prussia, prevented more mortalities. These two incidents had disheartened the passengers on board.

Standing sheltered in the galley of the ship with a view of Table Mountain through one of the portholes, Johann wondered how long the inclement weather would last. Cornelia joined him, wearing one of her thick woollen jumpers.

Several passengers had also come out on the deck to watch the steamship’s approach to Table Bay.

It was still pouring with rain whilst Decke and the harbour captain proceeded to dock the ship. It took longer than normal in the unusually rough waters, but they managed to drop anchor and skilfully moored the ship.

I wonder how many ships have anchored here and how many perished in the infamous Cape of Storms, Johann wondered.

Next to the Wandrahm a scattering of fishing boats danced up and down their anchor chains, in sync with the movement of the ocean.

The harbour is home to various birds and the most common on the quayside - flocks of grey-headed gulls - squabbled for titbits. Dozens more floated around or circled above the ship for scraps of fallen food. A fisherman in one of the small boats tossed pieces of fish onto the wharf and a scavenging of gulls immediately descended upon it, wildly jostling for a share of the spoils in a flapping, pushing and pecking frenzy accompanied by a cacophony of screeching and squawking. The pungent smell of dead fish hung heavily in the air.

The rain still came down in sheets, driven hard by the south-east wind.

After mooring the vessel, Captain Decke signaled the all clear that the Wandrahm had been safely secured and that the passengers who had been travelling to the Cape - twenty-six in total - were permitted to head for the gangway for disembarkation. They made their way down the slippery gangway and were met on the quayside by a representative of the shipping company. He accompanied the group to a building close by, where they were made to wait. An assistant of his had a copy of the passenger list which First Officer Blanckenberg had given him. From this list, he called out the names of each whose name he scored off the list once they responded.

Soon after the passengers had been accounted for, the group was told that six horse-drawn carriages were ready to convey them to various boarding-houses in town. The remainder of the passengers, who were on their way to Kaffraria, were later permitted to go ashore for the day. The Wandrahm weighed anchor at sunrise the following morning and departed to Kaffraria.

When they eventually arrived at the boarding-house, the rain had subsided to a drizzle and the misty bank of clouds that embraced Table Mountain, had gently lifted. In a brief gap in the clouds, she revealed her majesty to all new visitors to the Cape.

Streams gushed down from the mountain, and a number of small springs poured water into ravines.

Johann and Cornelia were pleasantly surprised by the view they had of the mountain from their room.

What a magnificent sight, Johann remarked softly.

It is beautiful, Cornelia agreed.

Johann went to reception later to enquire when the next stagecoach was scheduled to leave for Swellendam.

That will be the day after tomorrow, provided they have enough passengers, the friendly lady on duty informed him, If you like I’ll speak to them to secure passage for you and your wife, and I’ll add the fare to your bill.

Thank you. Much obliged, Johann smiled and lifted his hat in salutation, Enjoy the rest of your day.

And you too.

During the afternoon the rain subsided and a while later the clouds lifted a bit. The sunshine tried bravely to dry the wet landscape and the wind gusting from the sea pushed clouds over the top of Table Mountain.

Johann and Cornelia were standing on the front verandah.

It looks like a huge blanket covering the mountain, Cornelia remarked.

It does, he said and put his arm round her shoulders.

There is an interesting folktale about the cloud on the mountain. It was the lady from reception.

Oh yes? Johann reacted.

You can decide for yourself if you want to believe it or not! She said and laughed heartily. Then she told them the story of Van Hunks and the Devil!

Van Hunks was a pipe smoker who lived at the foot of Table Mountain in the early 18th century. He had been a pirate on the high seas who decided to take a wife and settle at the Cape.

In order to escape his wife’s sharp tongue, he would ascend the slopes of the mountain to smoke at his favourite spot.

One day as he approached his usual position, he was surprised to see someone else sitting where he normally sat. The stranger was tall and lean and wore a black cloak, sporting a broad-brimmed hat that covered most of his face.

Van Hunks was flabbergasted when the man greeted him by name, but not wishing to be rude, he sat down next to him and they began to talk. The stranger asked Van Hunks for tobacco, and the retired pirate soon boasted how he could smoke a large quantity of tobacco and about the amount of smoke he could inhale without getting sick.

The stranger replied that he could easily smoke as much, if not more. This angered the old pirate, and he challenged the man to a smoking contest. He placed a huge pile of his tobacco between them, and they filled their pipes – then the competition began!

Before long huge plumes of smoke enveloped them and started moving up the mountain. The contest continued for days and eventually the whole mountain was covered as clouds of smoke drifted over the mountain.

Van Hunks became tired and irritable. However, the competitor was not looking too happy himself. Still the contest continued!

Then the stranger became unable to continue. He leaned forward and his black hat was dislodged. Van Hunks backed off in fright. The man was none other than the devil himself! The devil was furious at having been beaten by the former pirate

Suddenly there was a flash of lightning and Van Hunks and the stranger vanished into the smoke.

Now legend has it, the woman concluded, "that the cloud of tobacco smoke they left behind became Table Mountain’s famous table-cloth and Van Hunks is forced every year to repeat his duel.

Very interesting, Johann responded. He reached for his pocket and took out his pipe, Let me give Van Hunks a run for his money!

At supper, the receptionist walked over to their table and confirmed that she had made a booking for them on the next Red Star coach that would depart for Swellendam.

As I said this morning, the coach will depart as soon as they have enough passengers, she explained, But it would appear that they will be ready to leave in two days from now. In the meantime, enjoy your stay in our town.

Ah. I appreciate your kindness very much.

It is my pleasure, sir. Please remember that the stagecoach will be here at the boarding-house between six and seven o’clock on the day of departure.

That evening they heard the call of the muezzin from the Auwal Mosque in the village.

Both of them woke up early on the morning of their departure feeling excited! The weather had not improved much since their arrival, and their clothes were damp. They went to the dining room where they enjoyed a hearty breakfast - fried eggs, tomato, a beef sausage, warm freshly baked white bread and apricot jam. Afterwards, Cornelia went back to the room to see if they hadn’t forgotten anything. In the meantime, Johann stood on the front verandah, smoking his pipe.

It started to rain exceptionally hard, and Johann watched the water bucketing down. Higher up the mountain the south-east wind whisked threatening looking clouds up into the air and over the mountain top.

A table-cloth often drapes over Table Mountain and is a spectacular sight. The Cape doctor is a dry south-easterly wind that blows on the South African coast from spring to late summer. The wind force picks up warm moisture from the ocean at False Bay and blows it around the eastern flank of Table Mountain. This pushes up the air against the slopes of the mountain creating thick clouds - and rain - that hovers on top of the mountain; a phenomenon known as the Table-cloth!

Peter looked at his fob watch, finished his pipe and went to fetch their luggage. He then settled their bill and went back to wait on the verandah. Cornelia joined him, looking fresh and beautiful. The other passengers – an older couple from Holland who were traveling to Worcester – sat on a dilapidated bench, waiting in anticipation.

Just shy of six o’clock, a coach from the Red Star Line, owned by the Gibson brothers, arrived at the boarding-house and the driver pulled in as close as possible to the front door.

You are very lucky. It was the voice of the owner of the boarding-house approaching Johann from behind.

He turned round and raised his eyebrows, Why is that?

It is one of Red Star Line’s finest coaches. They imported four from England. I went to have a look when they arrived a while ago. They are quite comfortable and more luxurious than others operated by opposition companies.

That is good to know, Johann laughed and puffed on his pipe.

Well, I have to go. Have a safe trip, and I hope to see you in the future. They shook hands, and Johann glanced at the coach.

Very impressive, he thought.

Most coaches could carry nine to twelve passengers inside and six seated on the roof – three in front and three at the back. These passengers often secured themselves with straps to the luggage rail, to avoid falling off when the coaches occasionally rounded bends at speed, or when drivers sometimes recklessly braved drifts.

Stagecoach teams would always stop and change horses or mules about every twenty miles at outspan stations. Most coach companies kept between eight and twelve horses or mules at every stopover. They also had spare wheels and axles at most of the stations.

It was always uncomfortable to travel by coach and not always safe. In fine weather and over good terrain they managed six to eight miles an hour, however this dropped considerably in sandy or rugged conditions.

Coaches normally had two drivers each - one to hold the reins and the other to wield a long whip, constantly cracking it in the air above the horses’ heads.

On mule coaches, drivers also held the reins, whilst their assistants ran alongside, beating the animals with a short whip and shouting at them when required.

The coachman, a lean man and his assistant, stepped off the carriage and approached the verandah, walking stooped to keep the rain out of their faces. They both wore oversized coats, balaclavas, with thick scarves wrapped round their necks. The driver gave them a friendly greeting, sporting a gap from two missing front teeth, Good morning. My name is Adam Matthys, and I’ll be in charge of the two coaches. My friend here, he indicated the younger man, will assist me. The man grinned shyly.

Good morning. Nice coach you have, Johann remarked.

"Yes, seur, it is. They even made storage space beneath my feet for dry rations – rusks and bread – and water bottles."

Johann nodded his head slowly.

At that moment, another vehicle arrived – the mail-cart. It was a heavily built, sturdy coach that could also accommodate passengers. Six horses pulled this hooded cart. The driver of the mail-cart, as well as three young male passengers – all on their way to Swellendam - ran through the rain to the verandah and shook the water off their clothes. All were in a jovial mood, despite the foul weather and their infectious roaring laughter soon put Johann and Cornelia at ease.

The rain still belted down.

Adam Matthys assessed the situation and then decided that they would leave shortly. He informed all the passengers and then his men loaded the luggage. The men braved the rain, and when all the trunks had been loaded onto the roof-rack and tied on securely, they covered the luggage with a large sheet of canvas. They were soon soaking wet, and Adam sent one of the men to fetch dry clothes from their homes. They had to wait for him to return and this delayed their departure.

Before they left, Adam readied himself against the rain and inspected both coaches, shaking all the wooden wheels.

Why is he doing that? Cornelia asked and frowned, Could the wheels fall off in this weather?

No darling! It is just to test their tightness on the axles, Peter said,