Walter Raleigh were at length realised in a negative way. Miniature
"Murphies" fetched four pence halfpenny _each_, while an adult member of
the _genus_ at ninepence was worth two of the little ones. Mr. Rhodes
may have luxuriated on potatoes (_cum grano salis_!) but few others were
so very Irish. The De Beers Company owned a large garden, and that this
should have been given over to the hospital was a delicate consideration
of which even the dyspeptic could not complain. Cabbages were a dream.
Of cauliflowers a memory lingered. Soft words buttered no parsnips.
Onions were "off"--so we went on weeping. Everything in the garden but
some wizened carrots had withered away. Such carrots! small, cadaverous,
brick-coloured things, no bigger than a cork, as dry, as masticable,
and, still like a cork, with little save a _smell_ to commend their
indulgence. But like the donkeys that we were, we ate them every time!

Talking of corks reminds me of bottles, and the precious little that was
in _them_. We had no whiskey; think of that, ye Banks and Braes! There
were nice crystal brands in the hotel windows, but--I shall be dealing
later with _oils_. Sceptical tipplers, whose every feature spelled
whiskey, were reduced to the painful necessity of diluting their sodas
with lime juice; and so strongly did the "claret" taste of timber that
the beverage was adjudged a non-intoxicant with _extraordinary
unanimity_! Port and sherry, being beyond our reach, were despised, like
our neighbour's sour grapes. The publican, however, had good spirits
still; Cape brandy (or "Smoke," as it was called) found a market at
last, and swelled heads enormously. But if the signs and portents of a
drought in beer and stout were to be trusted, the unkindest cut of all
was yet to come. And it did come. In the thirsty clime of Kimberley the
consumption of the brewer's goods was large; and in the restaurants,
with bars attached, good meals were sold cheaply to facilitate the sale
of the beer which "washed" the food down. When the drought came the