The renowned promontory of the Cape was first doubled by the Portuguese navigator, Bartholomew Diaz, in the year 1487, but the discovery was not looked on as of any other importance than as opening the maritime route to India which that nation had so long sought after. Ten years later De Gama passed along the southern and eastern coast of Africa, and coming in sight of a fertile, pleasant country on Christmas day, he gave it the name of the Land of the Nativity, (Terra Natal) whence the appellation by which it is now known. In 1620, two of the officers of the English Merchant Adventurers landed in Saldanha Bay, and took formal possession of the country, in the name of James the First, but no European, settlement was attempted until the year 1650, when the Dutch India Company, at the recommendation of a surgeon of one of their ships, named Van Riebeck, placed a colony on the shore of Table Bay, further southward, for the purpose of affording supplies to their fleets.
Though the colony was at first composed, as was usual in those days, of persons of abandoned character, it grew and prospered, and in the course of about thirty years it received an accession of population of admirable character in the persons of French and German Protestant refugees, whom the atrocious proceedings of Louis the Fourteenth, in revoking the Edict of Nantes, and ravaging the Palatinate with fire and sword, had rendered homeless. These estimable exiles introduced the culture of the vine and other improvements, and the colony gradually spread itself along the belt of level land which extends itself eastward between the Lange Kloof and the sea.
About the same time Natal was visited by order of the Governor, and some idea was entertained of forming a settlement there, but, for some reason not now known, the project was abandoned.
The Dutch continued in peaceable possession of the colony for more than one hundred years longer, and had gradually spread themselves either as settlers or elephant hunters almost to the borders of the Orange River, when in 1795, a small English force, under General Craig and Sir Alured Clarke appeared, and the whole territory was at once surrendered. At the peace of Amiens, in 1802, it was restored to Holland; but in 1806 it again came into the hands of England, and was finally ceded to us in 1814. (Note 2.)
From the period of our establishment in the colony in 1806 till 1827 (with the exception of a change in the currency very displeasing to the Dutch), we were contented to stand by the laws by which it had been governed, with only such occasional amendments and modifications as the change of circumstances required. In that year, however, after three or four years’ notice and consideration, a code of English laws (not exactly the laws of England) was adopted. As, from their non-acquaintance with our language, it was impossible to make the Dutch thoroughly conversant with the principles upon which these laws were framed, they soon became discontented. The clerks in the public offices, to whom they applied occasionally for information, were unable to give their time to listen to their grievances; and, had they been inclined to enlighten them, their ignorance of the Dutch language rendered it impracticable. Previously to this, every district had been governed by a magistrate, or Landrost. He had to assist him a council of eight individuals, called Hemraaden, chosen from among the most respectable and influential landholders, who informed the inhabitants of all events and changes occurring in the colony and its laws, explained all difficulties, heard all complaints, and were, in short, the medium of communication between the people and the authorities. The English Laws completely superseded these arrangements, and the utter want of education among the Dutch, particularly the scattered farmers, rendered them jealous and suspicious of their new legislators, whose system (practically or theoretically) they could not understand.
It is true that the bad condition, and, in many cases, the ill-usage of the Hottentots, called for investigation and amendment; but many attempts that were made to ameliorate their condition proved vain, from being as defective as they were ill-executed. General Bourke passed an ordinance, freeing the Hottentot race from all those restraints which are found absolutely necessary for the preservation of social order in all civilised communities. The consequence of this ill-advised decree is manifested to this day, for it is the cause of the gradual self-extermination (so to speak) of the race. The mischief, however, was done, and as a remedy the location of a number of them as an agricultural community on the Kit River was tried. A few respectable individuals are still to be found among them there, and in some other localities, but these are a mixed race, and it may be said that the original Hottentot race has been gradually but surely dwindling away since the enactment of the above-mentioned 50th Ordnance.
Just as matters stood a chance of finding their level, the farmer beginning to try to accustom himself to bear the inconveniences arising from the Hottentot’s freedom from all restraint, and consequent contempt of servitude (for on the enactment of the 50th Ordinance they had taken to a life of vagrancy, spurning all work), the Kaffirs sounded their war-cry, and burst upon the colony. This was in 1834. It arose thus.
From the depredations and encroachments of the Kaffirs on the Hottentot location in the Kat River settlement, the authorities ordered the expulsion of the Kaffir chief, Charlie, (so called by the express desire of his father, Gaika, after Lord Charles Somerset), from a portion of the neutral territory (Note 2) which he had been allowed to occupy on sufferance during good behaviour. This indulgence he had clearly forfeited, the depredations being almost invariably traced to his locality. Though, on solemn promise of amendment, he had been subsequently permitted to resume his position, yet, from the natural ingratitude of his race, and the pains taken by his soi-disant and injudicious European friends to persuade him how ill he had been treated by his original expulsion,—after a few months of smothered ill-will, the volcano burst, and these savages poured, en masse, into the colony; fire, devastation, and the murderous blade marking their progress throughout this astonished, peaceable, and, with trifling exceptions, unprotected frontier, to the ruin of thousands—a ruin from which many have never recovered, notwithstanding the strenuous exertions of their best friend, Sir Benjamin D’Urban. Under his able governments—crippled as it was by a change in the Ministry—the colony, after the war, resumed the appearance and probability of peace, when another great event altered the face of everything. Suddenly there was a voice, which went through all the countries of the known earth, crying aloud, “Let the slave be free!”
The Dutch were quite ready to listen to the voice that cried shame at the idea of seizing our fellow-creatures, packing them like herrings in slave-ships, and bartering for them in the market. Every one of good feeling revolted at the custom, and looked for the remedy. But how to set about the remedy should have been considered. The chain was broken, and the people of England hurrahed to their heart’s content. And the slave! What, in the meanwhile, became of him? If he was young and vicious, away he went—he was his own master. He was at liberty to walk to and fro upon the earth, “seeking whom he might devour.” He was free—he had the world before him where to choose, though, squatted beside the Kaffir’s fire, probably thinking his meal of parched corn but poor stuff after the palatable dishes he had been permitted to cook for himself in the Boer’s, or tradesman’s kitchen. But he was fain to like it—he could get nothing else, and this was earned at the expense of his own soul; for it was given him as an inducement to teach the Kaffir the easiest mode of plundering his ancient master. If inclined to work, he had no certain prospect of employment, and the Dutch, losing so much by the sudden Emancipation Act, resolved on working for themselves. So the virtuous redeemed slave had too many temptations to remain virtuous. He was hungry—so was his wife—so were his children; and he must feed them. How? No matter.
And the aged slave! He sat himself down on the hearth to which he had been accustomed, but he had no longer a right to the shelter of the roof-tree under which he had lived and his children had been born. He, too, must beg for food; but he was so old he could hardly crawl. He grew sick; there was none to take care of him but the charitable; and, fortunately for the poor, the aged, and the sick, there was charity in the land. Of what availed the slave’s freedom, under such circumstances? Still, some were harmless. It was the vicious negro who rejoiced in his freedom, and taught the Kaffir how best to rob and murder, till most probably the Kaffir murdered him, or made him toil harder than he had ever done under the Boer.
Then, the Dutch grumbled not so much at the emancipation, as at the manner of it. Even when they were willing to hire those who had been their slaves, they hesitated to receive as servants those over whom the law gave no control. As an indemnification for the loss of their slaves, the owners obtained, on the average, about one-third of the value of them. From their not being paid their compensation-money in the colony, but being obliged to draw it from England, their loss by agencies and misunderstanding was very great.
The discontented Dutch, who had been gradually irritated by these proceedings, now began to migrate with their families over various branches of the Orange River, to the north-east of the colony. They were forbidden to take their apprentices with them; but in many instances they disregarded this order, and parties of military being sent after them, to bring the apprentices back to the colony, this measure increased the feelings of resentment already excited in the minds of the Dutch towards the English, and the commanders of such military parties ran imminent risks of their lives in the execution of these duties. Having established themselves in various localities beyond the north-eastern boundary, and having no legal executive among themselves, the Boers occasionally returned to the colony when any appeal to justice was required; but, by degrees, the stream of emigration having set steadily outwards, it swelled to such an extent that it called for more room in its progress, and, spreading itself beyond the limits of British jurisdiction or restraint, at length reached Natal. The most determined emigrants came to a resolution to establish for themselves, in the neighbourhood of that port, a colony totally independent of British rule, and regulated by their own laws. Meanwhile the Kaffir war had been, by the energy and decision of Sir Benjamin D’Urban and Colonel Smith (now Sir Harry Smith, the hero of Aliwal, and the Governor of the Cape), brought to an end. The aggressors were driven from the colony, and also from a neighbouring district between the Keiskama and the Kei, which was erected into a province called Adelaide, and stringent measures taken to prevent their again bursting into the colony. But these measures were disapproved of by Lord Glenelg, then the Colonial Secretary, the new district was abandoned, Sir Benjamin D’Urban resigned, and, under the auspices of Sir Andries Stockenstrom, the Lieutenant-Governor of the eastern province, new treaties, since known by his name, were formed, which public opinion in Africa almost universally condemns as the real cause of the late deplorable warfare. Since then, the policy that framed them has been abandoned, and the statesmanlike views of Sir Benjamin are at the present day being carried out by his former coadjutor, Sir Harry Smith.
About the year 1841 the settlement of the emigrant Boers had attained something like the appearance of a regular state. They had, partly by force and partly by purchase, obtained possession of a considerable tract of country, and had founded a town, which they called Pietermaritzburg, and after some correspondence with the Government at the Cape, they declared themselves independent. On this a small British force was despatched to Port Natal, but it was unable to effect anything against them until the arrival of reinforcements, when the Boers promised submission to the Queen’s authority; but soon after they began again to move onward, under their general, Pretorius, and it was not until Sir Harry Smith came among them, at the close of the Kaffir war, that they could be considered as fully under the control of the British Government. Even up to the present time their position with regard to it is anything but satisfactory, as the following extract from a letter recently received from the Cape (September 14, 1850), will show:—“Matters have looked a little portentous over the Orange River. The Boers, far beyond Bloem Fontein, under Pretorius, are determined that no one shall pass through their territory to the newly-discovered lake (Lake Ngami), and have already fined some severely. The lake will be easy of access down the Limpopo (river), which runs through the Boers’ country into it, as is believed; all other ways, as far as is known, are through deserts, and the ignorant people (Boers) will not suffer the missionaries to teach the natives about them. It would be unsafe to send any expedition under seven hundred men there, as Pretorius is more than 250 miles beyond any military station.”
Note 1. The Boers, however, had little liking for this arrangement, which severed them from their parent country, and their hearts yearned towards a reunion with it. Of this I had a positive assurance before it was my fate to visit the colony myself. In the year 1838 I had the honour of making the acquaintance of H.R.H. Prince William Henry of Orange, who was on his voyage home in the “Bellona” frigate from Java, viâ Saint Helena. He dwelt with great pleasure on the circumstance of several Dutch families having travelled many miles from the interior to meet him at Cape Town, when he touched there. Aged men and women, who had scarcely moved out of their farm sitting-room for years, hastened to meet a Prince from their beloved Fatherland.
Note 2. Shortly after Lord Charles Somerset succeeded to the government of the Cape, in 1817, Graham’s Town being attacked by Makanna, the pretended Kaffir prophet, a witch-doctor, Colonel, now Major-General Sir Thomas Wiltshire, after defeating a horde of these savages, followed up his success by pursuing them into their own country, where he forced them to sue for peace. This was granted, on condition of their surrendering Makanna, and giving up in atonement for their past, and as security against future offences, that tract of country lying between the Fish and Kat Rivers on the one side, and the Tyumie and Keiskama on the other.
Though the publications on the Cape colony are already so numerous, and they all more or less profess to describe the native inhabitants, it is certain that we yet know very little of their real character; more especially of the character of the Kaffirs. These are often painted as an aboriginal race, “a pastoral and gentle people.” They are neither the one nor the other. They are intruders on the lands that they occupy; their habits are the most savage imaginable; (see Note 1) their treachery is well-known to all who have been unfortunate enough to come in contact with them, and the conversions among them in ninety-nine cases out of the hundred have no other existence than in the warm imaginations of the well-meaning but ill-informed members of Missionary Societies. What converts there are, are principally from the despised slaves of the haughty Kaffirs, the Fingoes.
There are some missionary stations within a ride of Fort Peddie,—one of them, D’Urban, being scarcely a mile from the post. I rode over there one day, to see a Fingo congregation. Among them, indeed, were some Kaffirs; in foot, it was composed of many shades of colour, the pale-faced Englishman, the dingy children of fair-haired mothers and dusky fathers, the sallow, stunted Hottentot, the merry-eyed Fingo, and the more dignified Kaffir. On our approach to the building, we distinguished a loud monotonous voice holding forth in the Kaffir language, without the smallest attention to intonation, or emphasis. This was the interpreter. In the missionary’s absence, an assistant preached in Dutch, which was translated, sentence by sentence, into Kaffir. The unconcerned air of the interpreter, and his reckless bawl, were much at variance with the wrapt air of attention bestowed on the exhortations by the congregation. Some of the Kaffirs and Fingoes were well-dressed, in homely costume, indeed, but clean and neat, consisting of moleskin or fustian jackets and trousers, felt hats, like those worn by English waggoners, and strong shoes. Others reclined on the floor, with their blankets, or karosses, draped round them, and ornamented with strings of beads, whose gaudy colours contrasted finely with their dark skins. Another day, I witnessed the baptism of fourteen Fingoes. Both men and women seemed to feel the solemnity of their position, the women particularly evinced extraordinary emotion. Some were unable to restrain their sobs, and one aged being affected me much by the manner in which she sought to subdue her feelings, wiping the tears quietly away as they followed each other down her dark cheek. All were decently clothed, and particularly intelligent in their appearance.
At the close of the service, the missionary permits any of his congregation to ask questions concerning such sacred matters as they may at first find difficult to understand. Some of their arguments evince a singular disposition to subtle reasoning, and prove how arduous a task is undertaken by those who endeavour to convert these poor savages to Christianity. One day, after the missionary had dwelt on the misery arising from sin, and had expatiated on the natural proneness of man to vice rather than virtue, and on the dreadful consequences of disobedience manifested in the fall of our first parents, and its terrible results, ameliorated only by the hope of heaven through the merits of a Redeemer, in whose power to save and mediate we alone can trust, a Kaffir, who had given his whole attention to the discussion, begged leave to ask a few questions. It was granted, and he began.
“You tell us,” said he, in the measured and gentle tone peculiar to his language, “that all the world is wicked—dreadfully wicked; that man is condemned to punishment, except he be redeemed by faith. You tell us that every one is wrong, and God alone is right?”
“Certainly,” replied the missionary; “except we believe in and obey God, we cannot be saved.”
“And you are sure,” continued the Kaffir, “that man is very wicked, and God alone is good?”
“Quite sure,” replied the missionary.
“And there have been thousands—millions of men, and many, many countries far away and beyond the waters,” pursued the savage, “full of sin, who cannot be saved, except they love and fear God, and believe in him and in all these mysteries which none of us can understand, and which you yourself even cannot explain?”
“It is but too true,” said the missionary.
“And there is but one God?” pursued the Kaffir, in a tone of inquiry.
“But one God,” was the solemn answer.
The savage pondered some minutes, and then observed, “What proof have you that God is right, and men are wrong? Has no one ever doubted that One being wise and the other being weak and sinful? How strange that the word of your One God should be allowed to weigh against the will and inclination of the whole world! Your cause is hardly a good one, when hundreds and millions are opposed in deed and opinion to one! I must consider your arguments on Christianity well before I decide on adopting your creed.”
Another remark of one of these natural logicians equally illustrates their determination not to be persuaded to anything without having their own reasons for it. Wherever their inclination leads them, they possess such an art of defending themselves as would be an invaluable addition to the talents of a special pleader in a criminal court. One Kaffir who had become a Christian, at least apparently so (for I doubt the decided conversion of any, except the Chief, Kama)—was striving, for reasons of his own, to bring others to the creed he had adopted. After much argument, one, who grew tired of it, closed it by observing that “since such punishments were in reserve for those who neglected the laws of the Master whom they engaged to serve, he preferred enjoying the world as much as he could while living, rather than becoming a subject of one whose laws were irksome, and whose punishments were so terrible.”
This art of reasoning, however it may lead them into discussions as full of sophistry as ingenuity, may be the means of converting some of them to Christianity. It makes them keen listeners; and, since the Word of God is so plain, that “he who runs may read,” may not these poor people be persuaded to that which must teach them that wisdom and power, and mercy, and unbounded benevolence, are the attributes of that God whom they are invited to worship? Sometimes, I hope this, and then some proof of Kaffir treachery makes me wonder how I can ever form such a hope.
I should say, with Fingoes, Kaffirs and Hottentots, persuasion and quiet reasoning would work the will of God before all the threats relative to that dreadful world where sinners are described as in everlasting torment. This is hardly the place for such discussion, but I cannot help saying, that I think the creed of many who profess to explain the Word of God, a fearful one: instead of holding up our beneficent Creator as a Being worthy to be served for love, they dwell too much on the punishment of sin, rather than on the reward of virtue. It is by some deemed wiser to frighten the ignorant into serving God, than to lead them by gentle means to love Him, to honour and to put their whole trust in Him. What a mistake! I have often pondered on the difference (if I may so express it) of the two sources of religion—the one proceeding from fear of our great spiritual enemy (and which, after all, is a fallacious kind of worship)—and the other from love of the Almighty!
Tell the savage that God is infinitely wise and powerful, and good to those who serve Him, and he will at least listen further; by which means much may be done. Talk to him of a dreadful place of punishment, he will turn his back on you, and refuse to enlist under the banners of those whose chief arguments are based on such threats. Begin with reference to God as merciful, as well as just, and the savage will soon acknowledge the necessity of punishment for evil deeds in an equal degree with rewards for virtue. It is right he should know that eternal suffering awaits the sinner, but, before he is thus threatened, teach him “the beauty of holiness,” and “praise God as one worthy to be praised.”
On my journey into Kaffirland, our road one day lay through a pleasant country, where the grass was green, and the mimosas bright with their golden clusters of flowers. At the spot where we outspanned, a waggon, driven by Fingoes, had halted: it was drawn close up to a bush, and the party in charge of it, consisting of two men, three women, and their children, were seated in the shade. To our surprise, we observed that one man was reading aloud to the party; and, anxious to hear the language, which is peculiarly soft and liquid, we walked up to the group. Our surprise was increased when we found that the book occupying their attention was the Bible, translated into the Kaffir language, which, by the way, scarcely differs from the Fingo. The sight of this dusky group so employed, had a strange effect, and the flowing ease and beauty of the language in which the Word of God was explained to the attentive listeners, increased the interest we felt in the scene. None of them could speak English; but the reader, pointing to the book, uttered the single word “Good” impressively.
It is singular enough that Barrow and other travellers do not allude to the race of Fingoes; this oversight is probably owing to their having been, till of late years, the slaves of the Kaffirs. (See Note 2.) The following account of them I have gathered from a work compiled by the editor of the “Graham’s Town Journal,” and published in 1836:—
“It appears that the term ‘Fingo’ is not their national appellation, but a reproachful epithet, denoting extreme poverty or misery,—person having no claim to justice, mercy, or even life. They are the remnants of eight powerful nations, which have been destroyed or driven out of their country by the destructive wars carried on amongst the natives of the interior. Five of these nations were destroyed by the cruel Matawana, and the rest by the notorious Zoola Chief, Chaka, or some of the tribes tributary to them. The names of these nations were:
“1. The Amalubi,—signifying a people who tear and pull off.
“2. The Amazizi,—a people who bring. About twenty years ago, they, as a powerful nation, inhabited the country on the north-east of Natal.
“3. The Amabile,—people of mercy.
“4. The Amazabizembi,—axe-vendors.
“5. The Abasaekunene,—right-hand people.
“6. The Amantozakive,—people whose things are their own.
“7. The Amarelidwani,—no definite meaning.
“8. Abashwawo,—revilers or reproachers.
“These nations being broken up and dispersed, many of those who escaped flew westward, and thus came into collision with the Amakosa Kaffirs, but principally with the tribes of the late Hintza, whose death is graphically described by Sir James Alexander, 14th regiment, in his account of the last Kaffir irruption in 1834 and 1835. They became slaves, herds, ‘hewers of wood, and drawers of water,’ as well as tillers of the ground. They were oppressed in every way; when by industry they had gathered together a few head of cattle, they were either forcibly taken away from them, or, being accused of witchcraft, their property was confiscated. In short, their lives and property were held on the same precarious tenure, the mere will of their capricious, cruel and avaricious taskmasters.
“This state of bondage at last became utterly intolerable, and its victims only looked for an opportunity to throw off the yoke. Their attention had been anxiously turned towards the colony, and communications had been made to the frontier authorities long before the irruption in 1834, urgently praying for an asylum within our boundary: but this application was kept a profound secret, from a conviction that were their intentions known to the Kaffirs, the indiscriminate massacre of the poor Fingoes would be the consequence.”
The war, of which many histories are given, delivered these poor creatures from their bondage, and they are now a happy people, with their own independent possessions of cattle, Sir James Alexander supplies an interesting description of their deliverance from captivity.
They are a fine muscular race, bearing a great resemblance to the Kaffirs, yet easily distinguishable from them: unlike the Kaffirs, they are a cheerful race. The moonlight nights seem their seasons of festivity; and their wild chant, now rising loud and shrill, from the huts opposite Fort Peddie, and now felling into a low muttered chorus, now led by a single voice, and again sinking into indistinctness, has a singular effect on civilised ears, not the less extraordinary from its being sometimes united with a running accompaniment of wolves howling about the cattle-kraals, and dogs yelling after them. At such times, the wild chorus generally ceases, lights are carried to and fro in the kraal (see Note 3), or hamlet, and there is a sound of a hunt, such as one might fancy would be ably illustrated by Retzsch’s wondrous pencil. After successive shouts from the Fingoes, and yells from the dogs, the yelp of the wolf is heard further off, and changes to a smothered whine, till it ceases altogether. The dogs continue barking for some time, the torches are extinguished, and, as all again becomes quiet, the strange chant recommences. Sometimes the noise of clapping of hands, resembling, from the distance at which it is heard, the sound of the tom-tom, or rude drum, may be distinguished, marking time probably to the steps of the untiring dancers, for their revelry generally lasts till morning’s dawn.
Neither Fingoes nor Kaffirs seem to take much note of time: they sing and dance when they are merry, sleep when fatigued, eat and drink when hungry and thirsty. Days, weeks, months, and years pass by unnoticed, and uncounted. If in want of comforts which must be purchased, they work to earn money; if well provided, they will do nothing. In cold weather, they will not leave their huts even to milk their cows.
One of the most interesting anecdotes I have heard, was told me one day, relative to a Fingo man, tallying well with the scene I have alluded to of the group reading the Bible under the shade of the mimosa-bush. A poor Fingo had made several applications, from Graham’s Town, to a missionary nearly fifty miles off, for a Bible; but for some time there had not been a sufficient number printed to meet the devout wishes of those “who would become Christians.” Two years elapsed from the time this man first asked for the Bible. At last one day, he suddenly appeared at the station, and asked the missionary for one. The latter replied, that he was afraid he yet had none to spare; “but,” said he to the Fingo, “if you will do what business you may have on hand in the neighbourhood, and come to me before you leave it, I will endeavour to procure you one, if such a thing is to be had;” but the poor traveller surprised the missionary when he said he had no business to transact there, save the one thing which had brought him so far. He had come all the way from Graham’s Town, on foot, for the Bible; he would wait till one was found, or even printed for him. So the missionary was constrained to seek for one immediately, which he succeeded in obtaining; and the Fingo then offering 2 shillings 6 pence (the price of the book being 1 shilling 6 pence), the missionary offered the 1 shilling in change, but the traveller waited not. With the precious book which had cost him so much toil to obtain, in one hand, and his knob-kiurrie (war-club) in the other, away he trudged, light of foot, and certainly light of heart. He evidently considered his prize as more to be “desired than gold, yea than fine gold.” Such instances of sincere conversion are very rare.
There seems little doubt that Barrow’s idea of the origin of the Kaffir tribes in this country is a just one. He imagines them to be the descendants of those Arabs known to us by the name Bedouin. “These people” says he, “penetrated into every part of Africa. Colonies of them have found their way into the islands of Southern Africa, where more difficulties would occur than in an overland journey to the Cape of Good Hope. By skirting the Red Sea, and turning to the southward, the great desert of sand, which divides Africa into two parts, would be avoided, and the passage lies over a country inhabited, as far as is known, in every part.” The circumstance of their having short hair, would seem to militate against their Arabic origin; but their intermixture with the Hottentots and other nations along the coast may have produced this. Barrow adds, “Their skill in music is not above the level of the Hottentots.”
The latter have a most perfect ear for music, and cannot resist dancing and chorussing to a tune that pleases them. I have never heard the Kaffirs evince any disposition to sing, unless I except the monotonous drawl which the women utter for the men to dance to. Of the Fingo evensong, I shall have occasion to speak by and by.
It is already well-known that the Bosjemen and Hottentots are the aborigines of the whole of this part of South Africa. As one great proof of this, we find the names of the rivers are in the Hottentot language, between which and the Kaffir there is no affinity. It may, by the bye, be observed, that the Bosjeman and Kaffir languages have one thing in common,—a singular click, varying in its sound according to the letter pronounced: thus, C, T, R, and Q, appear to be the letters uttered in clicks—T is uttered between the teeth, like teh; the R also resembles T in its pronunciation; Q is produced by a click nearer the front of the teeth than is requisite for the pronunciation of the C, which in its turn resembles the noise made in imitation of drawing a cork, and when two Kaffirs, Fingoes, or Bushmen, are conversing together on any subject that excites them to unusual rapidity of speech or gesticulation, the effect is extraordinary.
I desire not to lengthen my work with long quotations from other writers, though to do so with that experience which a residence in the country must give, would be to compile a useful and entertaining chapter; but by here and there comparing what I see of these wild people with what I have read, much may be gathered together that will throw a light on matters connected with them in their present domestic state, if such a term may be applied to a who are not yet tamed, and who, I doubt, never will be so. Like the lion, the tiger, the panther, and all the roaming tenants of the bush, the mountain, or the kloof, the Kaffir has become identified with the country to which he now belongs; and, though here and there one or two may be brought to understand the meaning of good principle, as a body, the Kaffirs will fulfil the destiny of their great progenitor, Ishmael, of whom it has been decreed by God, that his descendants shall “have their hands against every man, and every man’s hand against them.” Even though a man be brought up among Christians from his youth, and accustomed to his dress by day, and his bed by night, in manhood he will most joyfully return to his kraal, his kaross, and his mat. The daughter of Cobus Congo (Konky) is a striking instance of this. Educated in the house of an excellent missionary, taught the value of principle, Konky is now married to a chief who has many other wives; she wears the kaross, and rides an unsaddled horse, after the same fashion as her husband and his cortège. If, however, the missionaries fail generally in the one grand object of converting the Kaffirs and Fingoes to Christianity, many among them may be brought to some degree of civilisation. Already those who have been prevailed upon to learn to read (the difficulty lies in getting them to learn at all,) are diligent, and thirst for knowledge; as they progress in this, their communion with Europeans becomes more intimate, gradually they may acquire a wish to be clothed, and this may be of consequence to our manufactories. Already the English blanket, greased till it becomes the colour of ochre, begins to supersede the skin kaross; and the common brown coverlid is another favourite drapery of the Kaffir. A printing press is established at D’Urban (a missionary station near Fort Peddie); and, besides the translation of the Bible, a periodical is published monthly, containing articles suited to the taste, comprehension, and habits of the native.
I have imagined that if some profitable employment were set on foot among them it would have a beneficial effect; but I understand that wool-combing was tried, which would have added to their cattle flocks of sheep, besides promoting habits of industry; but this failed,—their idleness is incorrigible. The principal articles of our manufacture coveted by them are fire-arms. There was before the late war some ill-devised and worse-executed law for the prevention of the sale of these, but it was of small effect. Even assegais made in England have been sent out here, but the Kaffirs object to our manufacture of iron, as being too malleable, preferring that prepared at their own primitive forges. I have heard it remarked that the bellows they use in forging are proof of their having sprung from a race more skilled in the arts of civilisation than themselves. Two pieces of hide are sown together in the form of a pointed bag; the wide part at top is stretched open by two sticks; in the point at the bottom, also open, is inserted a bullock’s horn, filed at the point, through which passes the air, which is admitted by opening and shutting the bellows at the wide end.
To enter upon a minute description of Kaffir habits, customs, ceremonials, and superstitions, would be to exceed my limits. I prefer confining myself to the results of my personal observations, which, however, from my long residence in Kaffirland, will embrace many points left unnoticed by writers who have merely travelled through the country.
Note 1. Even in their hunting expeditions, the Kaffirs exhibit a peculiarity which goes far to prove that the sight of blood renders them unnaturally ferocious. At the death of a jackal, a buck, or any large game which, they have run down, each hunter presses on to give a last stab at the victim, even after death. I observed this also among the Fingoes, in their war-dance, as afterwards described. Captain Harris alludes to it in his “Sporting Expedition in Africa,” when he so graphically describes the death of a young eland. “The savages came up,” he says, “and in spite of my remonstrances, proceeded with cold-blooded ferocity to stab the unfortunate animal, stirring up the blood, and shouting with barbarous exultation as it issued from each newly-inflicted wound.”
Note 2. The term “Kaffir,” is by no means recognised by the Kaffirs themselves. It was bestowed on them by the Portuguese. The word is from the Arabic, and signifies “Infidel.”
Note 3. The word “kraal” applies either to the group of huts forming a village, to a single hut, or the fold for the cattle.
The Kaffirs have no idea of a future state, and many can hardly be taught to believe that there are countries beyond their own. Some have a crude idea that Europeans, particularly the English, live on the waters in ships. Even to their own chiefs, and people who have been in England, they will give no credence. A Kaffir believes only what he sees. Latterly, they have become more inquisitive, and ask questions, wondering “if the Queen of England is like other human beings!”
They are so exceedingly superstitious that the more cunning members of their community take advantage of a weakness common to all, but possessed in a greater degree by some than by others. The system of “eating-up,” as it is called, arises from the prevalence of superstition, and may be thus described. A man, who, from his knowledge of herbs and practice among the sick, is considered and denominated a doctor, entertains, perhaps, a spite against some individual. He hears that another is sick,—if a chief so much the better for his purpose,—or perhaps he may employ some nefarious means to injure the health of a man by whom he intends to be employed. The chief, then, falls sick, naturally, or by foul means; meanwhile, the “doctor” has not been idle, he has carried to some hiding-place some herbs, skin, or something of this kind, and has buried it in a nook. Soon after comes the summons for him. He goes. The patient is suffering, and the mode of questioning the sick man is singular enough. With a grave face and solemn air, the doctor begins his inquiries,—“Does his head ache?” “No.” “Has he a sore throat?” “No.” “Pain in the shoulders?” “No.” “In the chest?” “No.” “In the arms?” “No.” And so on, till the part affected is touched. Then the pain is acknowledged, and there is a long pause. No one ventures to speak, save the doctor and the patient. At last, the former asks the invalid who has bewitched him? All disease is looked upon as the effect of magic, from their total ignorance of a Providence. The patient replies, he does not know. It is not improbable, indeed, he may be leagued with the doctor; or, if he be a chief, that he may have resolved on possessing himself of some poor dependent’s cattle, and therefore bribes the doctor to assist him in his scheme. All the inhabitants of the kraal are summoned. They come. Perhaps, they expect a feast, unless they are aware of the chief’s illness. The doctor moves through the assembly, examines the countenances of this man and that, retires, deliberates, returns, and at last points out the unfortunate man who has already been devoted to ruin. The victim protests his innocence. It is of no avail. The wise doctor can prove where he has hidden the charm which works the mischief. He goes to the nook where he himself has concealed it. The people follow. Wonderful;—he discovers it—brings it to the chief, who orders the victim to pay so many head of cattle, the tax imposed being always so heavy as to injure the unfortunate creature beyond redemption. Frequently, he is condemned to death, and frightful cruelties are to this day practised on men and women accused of witchcraft, who, with their heads smeared with honey, are bound down on an ant-hill, and at their feet a blazing fire. Unable to move, they lie for days enduring this torture, till they are released or die. In the former case even, they are crippled for life. A case came to my knowledge, in which a rain-maker, a character similar to that of the doctor, but whose business is curing the weather, caused a poor creature to be put to death; and, strange to say, on the following day, though we had not had a drop of rain for nearly four months, and were very short of water, the torrents which fell deluged the country, and filled the tanks and rivers beyond what had been seen for a considerable time.
I confess that, as I have ridden through the kraals, and seen the groups of Fingoes, or Kaffirs, sitting about the fires, surrounded by their children, cooking their corn, chattering and laughing, while at a little distance young boys basked in the sun, playing with pebbles at some game, or, lying on the grass, idle, and happy in their idleness, without a thought beyond the present, any more than the herd that cropped the green herbage round them, I have said to my companions, “How can we expect these happy wretches to be other than savages?” The earth yields them food, and their cattle, milk and clothing. Trees provide them wood for the frame-work of their huts, and their fires, and the clay on which they sit is shaped into utensils for their use. Wise in their own conceit, they must be but too happy and independent to change their condition of their own free will. They have no idea of the sin of a theft, or a lie, being equal to the folly which permits it to be found out.
I shall have occasion by and by to describe a council at which I was present, wherein Umhala, a Kaffir chief, was summoned by the Lieutenant-Governor, to show cause why he had threatened to “eat up” Gasella, another chief, his step-brother. The secret of the threat was said to lie in Gasella’s friendly feeling towards the English, and his consequent determination to prevent the inroads of the Kaffirs upon the colony, for the purpose of abstracting cattle; but I strongly doubt the existence of such a feeling in any Kaffir whatever. The constant thefts of cattle give rise to “Commandos” to recover them, and after a successful one, a military party in charge of cattle, conducting them into Graham’s Town, is not an unamusing sight. How would some aristocratic papas and mammas be horrified at seeing their gentlemanlike sons heading the party, and playing the part of principal herdsman on the redoubtable occasion! Such expeditions require the utmost caution, and are frequently attended with danger; and, though it would be no addition to the soldier’s wreath of glory to be assegaied, or shot, in the execution of such a duty as that of driving cattle, he would be not the less killed “for a’ that,”—dead,—lost to his sorrowing friends and his unsympathising country for ever.
The restless desire for plunder among the Kaffirs speaks much in favour of their Arab origin. So do their tent-shaped huts, their riches consisting in herds of cattle, and their wandering habits. The Kaffirs’ principal instrument of war is the spear, or assegai. Such, a weapon is now in especial use among the Arabs. The poising and hurling this spear constitute a trial of dexterity which they love to exhibit; and there could not be a finer subject for a painter than a tall Kaffir, majestically formed, with one foot firmly planted before him, his head thrown back, his kaross draped pound him, leaving the right arm and foot free and unfettered, in the act of poising an assegai before he sends it flashing through the sunlit air. Their wearing clothes will be an excellent thing for our manufactories, but will help to enervate the savage.
I cannot avoid reverting to the fact that writers have never, in their descriptions, separated the Fingoes from the Kafirs. There is no doubt that they once formed one vast nation, but are now not only distinct but opposed to each other. In advertisements relative to servants, and setting forth Government ordinances, mention is made of all the tribes of Kaffirs to the utmost limits of the known territory, also of Hottentots and Bushmen, but no reference is made to Fingoes, who differ from the Kaffirs in appearance as well as in habits.
Mr Shepstone, the Government agent, has kindly written down, from what he has gathered from them in conversation, the idea of the Kaffirs respecting their own origin. He says—
“The traditions among the native tribes on the south-eastern coast of Africa, which essay to describe the origin of the human race, are as various as the tribes themselves. Perhaps, the one most curious in its detail is the following:—It assumes the pre-existence of the sun, moon, and stars, etc, as also of our earth, with everything in it as it at present exists, with the exception of men and cattle. It then describes two chasms in the earth, from one of which emerged three descriptions of men; first, the Kaffir; second, the Bushman (the original Hottentot); and third, the white man. These are the fathers of mankind. Out of the other chasm came cattle; the greatest part of these were given to the Kaffir, and he was told they should be ‘his life and his children’s.’ The Bushman ‘was given the honey-bird,’ (Note 1), and was desired to follow it, as its fortunes should be ‘his life and his children’s.’ The white man was shown the sea, and was told to ‘try everything.’ Another account represents the white man as having been incited by curiosity to explore the chasm whence had issued the cattle; that, after he had entered it, the mouth closed up; but that by extraordinary exertions he cleared his way out, which explains the cause of his descendants possessing such persevering ingenuity. Their different callings being thus defined, they were permitted to increase and multiply, and live in love with one another. This injunction was followed for a considerable period, when one morning, when the sun shone as brightly as usual in the heavens, one of their number was discovered motionless! speechless! cold! The utmost dismay was the consequence; all assembled to endeavour to ascertain the cause, and remedy what was felt to be a serious evil; some ran with water, to sprinkle the lifeless form; others hastened with broad-spreading leaves, to fan the rigid countenance, and every effort was made to restore their companion so far as to be able to tell the cause of such fearful apathy. All was in vain—not a ray of hope was left—despair took possession of their breasts. The form of their friend and fellow creature began to moulder.—Nothing remained at last but the more substantial parts of the person once familiar to them. Then a voice came and named it ‘Death!’ It is curious to observe,” remarks Mr Shepstone, “in all this the recognition of a superintending and benevolent power, independent of man; whereas, in every other tradition, the fortunes of the human race are represented as under the control of the good and evil spirits of their forefathers, whichever may, circumstances, predominate at the time.”—Fort Peddie, May 19th, 1843.
Note 1. A small bird, which, attracting the notice of travellers by its cry, guides them to the wild bees’ nests in trees, or clefts of rocks.
There was nothing very pleasant in the prospect before me of leaving England just as summer was opening her gates, and exhibiting her flower-strewn paths and fragrant hedgerows. My health was not good, and to my mode of travelling I looked forward as anything but agreeable; since a troopship can never be considered as affording even convenient accomodation for a lady, and the miseries of a sea-life must of necessity be enhanced by being shared with a crowd of fellow-sufferers of various classes.
Nevertheless, on reaching Ireland, (land of green spots and generous hearts!) my spirits rallied; my soul could not but respond to kindly sympathies and disinterested hospitality, and by the time the troopship, “Abercrombie Robinson,” arrived in Kingstown Harbour, whence we were to embark (in all upwards of 700 souls) for the Cape of Good Hope, I had shaken off my unavailing regrets in a great degree, and was prepared to meet my destiny with a fortitude worthy of a soldier’s wife,—a fortitude, indeed, earned by experience in my encounter with “perils by sea and land.”
But people now don’t care for rhymes romantic,
And I must cease to think of former years.
This, my third trip across the vast Atlantic,
Hath taught me to subdue a world of tears;
For worse than idle, on a joyous track,
Were the vain sorrow earned by looking back! - My Journal.
The inhabitants of Dublin, “in the merry month of May,” 1842, emigrated by instalments to visit the “Abercrombie Robinson,”—a ship of 1400 tons being rarely seen in Kingstown Harbour. A few short months after, she lay a wreck upon the sands of Africa, a true type of the littleness of man’s works, and of the power of Him who “blew with his winds and they were scattered.”
We embarked, and for a day or two enjoyed the balmy breezes of the summer sea as we lay in harbour. His Excellency the Lord Lieutenant came on board in the barge, to see the ship, the barge being steered by the agent, Lieutenant J.R. Black, R.N. The guns saluted, the yards were manned, bands were playing, colours flying, soldiers cheering, etc, etc. The Lord Lieutenant congratulated us on our fine prospects, and drank our healths, wishing us prosperity (and I am sure he was in earnest); and his Aides-de-Camp looked as civil as they could, considering they were very much bored: and, when we had all played at company and propriety for a given time, his Excellency left the ship, steered as before, and there was a repetition of guns firing, soldiers shouting, etc; and the people on the shore, no doubt, thought it very fine indeed.
We were better off with regard to accommodation than we had been as inmates of a transport on a former occasion, when we went to Saint Helena. Our ship was strong, apparently, as a castle, and our accommodation very superior. With the first favourable breeze we spread our canvass, and sailed out of Kingstown Harbour, hundreds cheering us from the shores of green Ireland, while our men responded to their shouts.
The voyage was dull enough, only varied by a due quantity of parades, roll-calls, mustering of watches, with a running accompaniment of bugles, bagpipes, and drums. Our party, in general, was an agreeable one; the average quantity of ill-humour being small in proportion to our number, and therefore falling harmlessly enough on those who were willing to make the best of every thing. We paid by the way a visit to Madeira.
The view of this beautiful island (or rather of Funchal, the principal town) in some magazine, is the best representation of it I have seen. The town is prettily situated, but deplorably spoiled by the narrowness of its streets. (Note 1.) I was, unfortunately, too much indisposed,—suffering as I was from the effects of a species of scarlet fever,—to visit the interior of the island; but even the outskirts of the town were most refreshing. There was a sound of running waters, a waving of green boughs, scenting the air with their fragrance, and making me imagine myself, in my weak state, fanned by the kindly wings of unseen angels. The last fortnight on shipboard had been passed in great discomfort: heavy sickness at all times is a severe tax on our patience, but at sea, in a narrow cabin, where one’s weak voice is often drowned by the creaking of masts, the dashing of the waves, and the hoarse calls of the seamen, it is beyond all conception to those who have not similarly suffered. My little tour in my tiny palanquin at Madeira was, therefore, most delicious. First I lingered in the square, under the trees, looking at the 11th regiment of Portuguese troops on parade. Well-dressed, well drilled, well appointed, and withal well looking, they had every appearance of being an efficient body of men. Then their harmonious band (no one instrument being heard distinctly above another) exceeded in sweetness any regimental band I ever heard in our service. The big drum, instead of being struck with violence, merely swelled in accompaniment; and, when the fifes took up the strain, the brazen instruments lowered their tone in perfect unison with the powers of the lesser ones. This over, I was carried onwards through alleys green with the foliage of the graceful vine; the distant hills made me long for refreshing landscapes and “spicy gales,” but these were denied me, and my bearers carried me into a garden adjoining a house which we understood belonged to the English Consul, but which we found was tenanted by Lady Harriet D—, who was residing at Madeira for the benefit of her children’s health. On learning this, as we were about to retire, a man-servant followed, begging us, in his lady’s name, to proceed. We did so, and under a group of trees we discovered Lady Harriet, surrounded by books and work, and apparently intent on the instruction of two sable pupils. The sound of her voice as she rose to meet me, bespoke her pity for my pale looks and exhausted frame, and the refreshment we accepted at her ladyship’s hospitable hands enabled me to endure the fatigue of returning to the town better than I should otherwise have done.
The gun from the “Abercrombie” announced her being under weigh, and we were obliged to depart in haste, the heavy surf and constant swell of the sea at Madeira rendering the passage from the shore to the ship always tedious and more or less difficult.
Almost every one has heard of Clementina, the beautiful nun, at the Convent at Madeira. Her name has been so often before the public that there can be no possible harm in relating a singular incident of which she was the heroine, and which occurred while we were there. A large party (from the English frigate lying like ourselves at anchor) landed and paid a visit to the convent. Among the group assembled in front of the grafting, behind which the nuns appear to receive visitors, was a Mr H. As Clementina advanced she caught sight of this gentleman, and had no sooner done so than with a sudden scream she fainted. Every one was amazed, Mr H as much so as any. On recovering her senses, the fair nun inquired if the gentleman who had caused her emotion bore the name of H? On being answered in the affirmative, she almost relapsed into a state of insensibility; but on recovering herself, she begged further to know if he was the Mr H with whom she had formerly eloped from the convent? It was explained that the Mr H she now saw was the cousin of her lover, to whom he bore an extraordinary resemblance. On learning this, she requested him to be the bearer of a letter from her to his cousin, which she afterwards forwarded to him, and then the curtain dropping between the nuns and the visitors closed this singular and romantic interview.
Again we set sail, and the same monotonous routine continued with little variation. Occasionally, we fell in with a passing ship looking like a thing of life upon the solitary world of waters, which brought us the consolation of being able to write homewards. Homeward letters! Ah! what eager hearts at home were wishing for those letters! How much of affection, and sorrow, and anxiety, and prayerful love was in them I thought, as the bag, ere the boat departed for the “Homeward bound” lay at my feet upon the senseless deck! It is the habit of tracing the common things of life back to their sources, be they sad or sweet, which has sometimes given me pleasure, oftener pain. There moved off the gallant ship, there rang the cheers of our soldiers, there sounded the reckless voices of the young, the gay, the heartless, and the high-spirited, and while they perhaps were little thinking of the parents, the friends, the sisters, to whom they had sent home letters, my eyes were filling as:
“Eager memories rushed upon the heart
And burst oblivion’s cloud.”
On the 22nd of August there was a cry of “land!” and, on the following morning, the vast mountains forming the boundary of part of the south-western coast of Africa, lay stretched before us. Then Table Mountain and its smaller companions reared their cloud-capped crests; and the white villas at Green Point tantalised us with their proximity, from which, owing to the wind, we were obliged to bear away constantly. For two days we hovered in the offing, but on the evening of the 25th, we hailed the sound of our anchor-chains. It was a most lovely night, the unclouded moon illuminating the white houses in Cape Town, and the lofty mountains standing out in strong relief against the clear sky; while our bugles, drums, and fifes, made merry music on the poop of our gallant ship. How we lingered about, unwilling to retire to rest, so anxious were we for the morning! It came at last, and the commanding officer went ashore to report in due form our arrival to the Governor. On his return in a few hours, we learned that all of us, except the Colonel and the Major, were to proceed, by way of Algoa Bay, to the frontier. The flank companies and the band were to be brought from thence to Cape Town, and the three companies expected from Saint Helena were to be detained there on their arrival. Many of our party, especially the gentlemen, rejoiced at this; liking the prospect of an active and sporting life infinitely better than that which would be merely varied by lounging about Cape Town, attempting races, or philandering at the balls. We were to remain in harbour about five days for water and provisions, (our stock being quite exhausted) then to proceed on our voyage.
On Saturday morning, the 27th of August, all the officers not for duty obtained permission to go on shore; the command of the troops on board devolving on Captain Gordon, 91st regiment. All landed but six; my husband was one of those to remain, consequently I did not accept the kind invitation of a friend to accompany him with my little girl to his house near Cape Town. Afterwards, in the hour of danger, and in the time of extreme terror, I had a strange undefinable satisfaction in having remained, though the sight of my child made me wish I had sent her on shore in the morning. Towards evening, the wind increased considerably; but, though there was a heavy sea and every prospect of a gale, our captain depended on his anchors. The Agent, Lieutenant Black, R.N., had gone on shore on duty at four o’clock in the evening, and being invited to dine with the Governor at seven o’clock, was in consequence prevented, by the impossibility of boats getting off, from returning on board, The whole responsibility, therefore, devolved on the Master, Mr John Young. The wind and sea rising caused at first but little alarm; at twelve o’clock, however, the ship shivered; apparently from being struck by a heavy sea. She trembled in every joint, and the same sensation being almost immediately after felt again, it was evident the vessel touched the bottom and with some violence. I rose from my bed, and dressing my child and myself, we proceeded with my husband to the cuddy, where some of the officers were assembled round the stove, the night being bitterly cold. The captain, still depending on the strength of his anchor-chains, saw no great cause of alarm, and having put my child to sleep on a chair, which Captain Gordon kindly prepared for her, I retired again to my berth, and being quite worn out, soon fell fast asleep. I was awoke by my husband bidding me rise and come on deck immediately, the anchor-chains having both snapped one after the other. My little Isabel stood beside her father partly dressed, and pale and silent. I have no distinct recollection of what happened for the first half hour after this awful intelligence. I remember hearing the water splashing about my cabin, and seeing our little lamp swinging violently backwards and forwards. I remember being dragged in unshod feet along the wet deck, up the steerage hatchway, while my husband carried my child. I can remember, too, her little voice issuing from my bed, into which she had crept to fasten on her warm boots, and begging me not to be frightened.
“How calm she is!” said I, to my husband.
“Poor thing!” he whispered, “she does not know her danger.”
“Yes, I do,” she answered, overhearing us; “but mamma has often told me that God Almighty can take care of us if He pleases; and I keep saying that to myself, and then I am not half so frightened.”
I remember the very height of the storm, when the noise of the thunder could scarcely be distinguished from the roar of the waters, and the torrents of rain,—when the elements in fact howled wildly and angrily at one another,—when the lightning pouring, as one may call it, on our decks, blazed in at the fore windows of the cuddy, being horror-stricken at the ghastly faces assembled under the uncertain and flickering light of a broken lamp. I can remember when the water rose up to my knees, being carried between decks with my child, through rows of shrieking women and silent soldiers. The conduct of our men was beyond all praise.
For some time, I sat on a chest with my child, near the fore-hatch, the ship continuing to drive, every moment striking against the sand, and our only hopes resting on the coming of the dawn, which would show us where we were, the floods of rain preventing the lightning—vivid as it was—from doing this distinctly. About six in the morning, the master came down among us with some comfort, saying he hoped the ship was making a bed for herself in the sand. In truth, she had been all night like some great creature scratching her way through it with restless impatience. The rudder had been carried away from the first, the stern cabins knocked into one, and the sea bubbling up like a fountain in the after part of the ship. We were yet uncertain of our safety, for there were rocks not many hundred yards from us on which the “Waterloo” convict ship had already struck; but of her anon. Meanwhile, our people attaching a rope to a shot, fired it on shore, but in vain. All night the guns from the fort and other vessels had been giving awful warnings to the town, while the constant roll of musketry onboard the convict ship, led us to imagine that the convicts were mutinous. This was, however, discovered afterwards not to be the case; they had been loosened from their bonds on the first alarm, and desired to make use of the first possible means of escape.
At length, as we neared the coast, which for some time had been crowded with spectators, we were enabled, through God’s mercy, to get a boat on shore with a rope attached to the ship, and afterwards fastened to an anchor driven in the sand. As the surf-boats put off, the first of which brought Lieutenant Black, the Agent, on board, our men gave nine hearty cheers, and in a few minutes we commenced our disembarkation; the women and children being lowered into the boats first: I waited for the third boat. Such a noble example had been shown by the officers to their men, and its effects on the latter had been so important, that, in spite of my anxiety to land, I felt unwilling to exhibit it by hurrying from the ship to the shore, and thus creating unnecessary fears among the poor uneducated women, whose terrors I had witnessed during the awful hours of the night. As I was carried between decks, I had been struck, in spite of my fears, with the scene that met my view there. Pale women, with dishevelled hair, stretched themselves from their beds, wringing their hands, and imploring me to comfort them. Some prayed aloud; others, Roman Catholics, called on the Virgin and their favourite saints to help them in their peril; and many bent in silent but eloquent agony over their unconscious infants. One woman who had, during the whole voyage, been considered as dying of deep decline, sat up in the hammock which had been carefully slung for her, and with a calm voice, which was yet distinguishable from the noise around her, imparted a certain confidence in the power of the Almighty to all who were willing to listen to her, or at least prepared them to view their possibly approaching fate with more resignation. That calm, steady voice sounded strangely amid the cries of fearful women, the hoarse voices of reckless sailors, and the crashing of timbers; while, above all, still rolled on the sound of musketry from the convict ship, “Waterloo,” now beating violently against the rocks, and beyond immediate help; while the appearance of hundreds on the beach striving, some to get their boats off, and others with daring spirit urging their horses through the surf, formed a scene difficult to describe, even by the pen of a mere looker-on.
Our ship was a stout vessel, and held well together. I embarked at last in a surf-boat with my child (my husband of course waited for his company), and with a heart full of earnest gratitude to the Almighty, I approached the land. Had I dreamt of the awful calamity which afterwards befell our unfortunate neighbour, the “Waterloo,” I should not have felt the exhilaration of spirit I did as the Lascars bore me from the boat to the shore through the surf, while Mr Dalzell, of the 27th, carried my child gallantly through it before him on his saddle. Mr Jenkins’ carriage stood waiting for us on the beach; and having had the satisfaction of witnessing my husband’s disembarkation with his men, we started for our kind friend’s charming villa, in the neighbourhood of Cape Town. As we drove on, the sight of the “Waterloo’s” inverted flag, half-mast high, made me shudder; but, as the tide was falling (which, by-the-by, increased the danger of her position, but of this I was unaware), I trusted the boats might be enabled to reach her, and thus hoped for the best. In half an hour afterwards, her mainmast fell over her side, the ship parted in four different places, and in less than ten minutes upwards of 200 unfortunate beings were precipitated into the raging surf. About 70 escaped by swimming on shore; among them Mr Leigh, of the 99th regiment; many were crushed beneath the falling spars; ghastly faces gleamed up from the boiling waters, and with outstretched arms implored help from the shore. Eyes, glazed with agony and despair, burst from their sockets as the rising heads of the sufferers got jammed between floating timbers; and mothers, with infants clinging to their bosoms, were washed off the rafts to which they vainly strove to cling, whilst:
”—The bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony,”
rose above the roar of the elements, and in a moment was smothered by the dash of the raging waters over his helpless limbs. Only one woman was saved: she, poor creature, had seen her husband and child swept away before her; On being brought into the barrack square at Cape Town, where the Governor and his Staff were assembled, the unfortunate woman flung herself at the feet of the former, and embracing his knees exclaimed, “Can you not help me? you have power here; can you not give me back my husband and my child? you look a good man; can you do nothing for me? Ah! I know you will help me. Sir, I beseech you to give me back my husband and my child!” And this was only one of many scenes of distress.
Great praise was afterwards deservedly bestowed on our men for their steady conduct and ready obedience to their officers. The detachments of the 27th and Cape Mounted Riflemen deserved equal praise. Young men, too, they were—the average age of the battalion being scarcely more than twenty-one years. Many of them had never been drilled—never even had arms in their hands;—almost all the rest were volunteers from different regiments, and consequently little known to their superiors. The real cause, however, may be traced in the example shown them by their officers; and too much praise cannot be bestowed on Captain Bertie Gordon, to whose charge they fell on the senior officer’s leaving the ship. Young in years, and comparatively so in experience, he acted with a calmness, decision, and judgment, that give high promise of future good. Much more could I say on this subject, but that (as is the case with all high and generous spirits) he who most deserves praise is always the most unwilling to have it blazed abroad. All, however, must have esteemed themselves fortunate in falling under the command of one so able to do his duty under such trying circumstances.
It may not be irrelevant to say a word or two here on the subject of the frequent wrecks in Table Bay during the winter months, viz, in May, June, July, and August. Ships during these months are ordered to go round to Simon’s Bay, but this cannot always be done, as in our case. There had been a great deal of sickness on board during the whole of our voyage; three days before we made the land, three men belonging to the 91st regiment had died of typhus fever in the short space of thirty-one hours and a half, their bodies and their bedding being committed to the deep without one moment’s unnecessary delay. Fresh provisions and vegetables were thus most desirable, especially for the invalids. Simon’s Bay being between forty and fifty miles by sea, and twenty-three by land, from Cape Town, it was a point of great importance to disembark the troops if possible at the latter place. It must be remembered that it was only on arriving in Table Bay, when the commanding officer communicated with the Governor, that we learned we were to proceed to the frontier. It was also necessary to take in fresh stock. Furthermore, the wind (after we had been beating about the offing for three days in a calm) became favourable for entering Table Bay, the weather was remarkably fine, and the winter season at its close.
Our vessel was one of Soames’ finest ships, and for nearly a month after the wreck lay firmly imbedded in the sand; but the pieces of the hull of the “Waterloo” which were picked up on the beach, crumbled to dust in the hands of those who tried their strength. I have said thus much of ourselves, and I have said it impartially, because, in cases of shipwreck, the captain is frequently blamed for what he cannot help—for what, in fact, is a visitation of the Almighty. To the master of the troopship, as well as to Lieutenant Black, R.N., we were indebted, during the whole of the voyage, for the utmost attention and kindness; the more so as, from the unanimity subsisting between them, they were enabled to act together for the benefit of us all; and I think I cannot close this part of my narrative better than by publishing a letter written to Captain Young a few days after the wreck by Captain Bertie Gordon. (One equally complimentary was written to our esteemed friend Lieutenant Black.)
“Main Barracks, Cape Town, August 31, 1842.
“My dear Sir,
“As commanding the reserve battalion of the 91st Regiment at the time of the wreck of the transport ‘Abercrombie Robinson’ in Table Bay, I feel myself authorised to express my sense of your coolness, intrepidity, and readiness of resource, during those anxious hours of responsibility, when, from eleven o’clock on the night of the 27th of August, to daylight on the morning of the 28th, the lives of seven hundred souls depended, under God, on your firmness and seamanship. They are qualities essential in the commander of a ship at all times, and must be more than ever necessary when several hundred soldiers, women, and children, crowd his decks.
“They conspicuously distinguished your conduct throughout that night, whose scenes were too full of danger not to have impressed every one with the near possibility of destruction.
“The question of life or death seemed often to hang on each minute’s duration; but, through God’s mercy, your able conduct brought us safely through a host of perils.
“On the part of the officers, non-commissioned officers, and soldiers of the reserve battalion 91st Regiment, and of the detachments of the 27th Regiment and Cape Mounted Riflemen, then on board, I beg to offer our united acknowledgments of the praise and gratitude which your exertions so highly merited.
“I remain, my dear Sir,
“Very truly yours,
“Bertie E.M. Gordon, Capt. 91st Regt.
“The undersigned officers of the 91st Regiment, on board the ‘Abercrombie’ at the time of her being driven ashore on the morning of the 29th of August, beg to subscribe their names to the above letter of thanks.
“J. Ward, Captain 91st Regt.
“J.C. Cahill, Paym. Res. Batt. 91st Regt.
“J.H.E. Stubbs, M.D., Asst.-Surg. 91st Regt.
“J. McInroy, Ensign 91st Regt.
“Robt. Lavers, Ensign 91st Regt.”
Note 1. An inhabitant of Madeira gave an excellent reason for this apparent fault, viz, that the houses being built closely together afforded a shade from the sun that wide streets would not have have done.