After six months’ residence at the Cape, at last we were suddenly hurried on board a transport for Algoa Bay, on the afternoon of the 24th of February, 1843; The agent, for the transport declared her quite ready for sea, but such proved not to be the case, and we were detained in harbour for three days, subject to many most unnecessary expenses and annoyances, as will appear from a few extracts from the journal that I began on shipboard.
“February 24th,—Hurried on board, in consequence of the signal for sailing being fired, and the agent for the owner of the ship sending us word she was ready for sea, and would sail in the afternoon. The heat quite overpowering, a hot wind prevailing—what a day for embarking at half-past two p.m.! The troops have already been on board four-and-twenty hours. Wind quite fair for getting out of harbour, with the prospect of a north-wester, which would suit us exactly if we were once out at sea. Much disappointed at not finding the Captain on board, and no prospect of even getting up the anchor. Asked the agent why he had fired the signal for sailing in the morning; he replied, ‘Because the ship and the troops were quite ready for sea.’ The ‘Malabar’ has just got under weigh, and is clearing the harbour with a fine breeze.
“Sunday, February 26th.—Cold and wet—the ship shockingly dirty. No prospect of the Captain. Some of the officers have got leave to go on shore. A wretched day, a heavy sea prevailing. Many people sick, especially on the lower decks, which are dark, crowded, and ill ventilated.
“A violent north-west gale all day and all night. I spent many hours of terror in remembering our wreck in Table Bay, in the ‘Abercrombie Robinson,’ in August. Ships should not be detained in Harbour in Table Bay without efficient reasons, especially troopships, containing hundreds crowded together.
“Monday, February 27th.—A man found dead on the lower deck, suffocated from the effects of drunkenness. Had we sailed when we ought to have done so, he would have had little chance of procuring liquor. The Captain of the ship, and the officers who obtained leave to go on shore yesterday, have come on board. Some prospect of sailing. Dead soldier sent on shore to be buried.
“Sailed at one o’clock.
“March the 1st.—We observed this evening a singular streak of light in the sky; no one able to account for it; it bore north-west from our position, steering as we were along the coast to the eastward.
“March 2nd.—The meteoric light greatly increased in size and brilliancy.
“March 4th.—Anchored in Algoa Bay, at eleven o’clock, a.m. The meteoric light, which has puzzled us all so much, turns out to be a comet, and increases in brilliancy every evening. Landed in the evening, in a private boat. The troops will land to-morrow, in surf-boats. We have reached the shore by the jetty, which reminds me of the one at Herne Bay, only that it is on a smaller scale, but is exceedingly creditable to the place, and a proof of its prosperity in trade.” (Note 1.)
“March 5th.—The single inn much crowded. The regiment has landed, and the little encampment formed on the green opposite the windows is very picturesque. How strangely the wild, dusky-looking savages contrast with the soldiers; the latter busy in their preparations for their comforts, the former lounging idly in their skins and blankets, draped not ungracefully round their dark forms!”
On Tuesday, the 7th of March, we started from Port Elizabeth for Graham’s Town.
The evening before we departed, I accompanied my husband into the Commissariat Yard, to see the waggon which was to be the abode, by day, of my little girl and myself for nearly a week. I was already all the worse for having been condemned, with my husband and child, to a cabin on board the vessel, certainly not more than nine feet by five, if so large. On seeing the huge machine in which we were to travel, I could not help remarking to the Commissary, who was so good as to point it out to me, that there were but two alternatives to decide between, ere the bugles sounded in the morning, and the tents were struck, preparatory to the troops moving off—these being suicide, or mirth. In a state of quiescence the thing looked “horrible, most horrible;” but the “start,” between the disposition to laugh, and the inclination to cry at the discomfort, was enough to make any one hysterical; and the remembrance of friends at home, who could never by any possibility be brought to comprehend the miseries one undergoes here, was strangely blended in my mind with the sights and sounds of outward objects; with the bellowing of oxen, the shouts of Hottentot drivers, the screams of children and scolding voices of their mothers in the neighbouring waggons, and the mingled oaths and laughter of the soldiers, as they picked up stray baskets, tin mugs, puppies, and babies, the latter animating the scene by occasionally tumbling off the waggons.
We left Port Elizabeth at eleven o’clock a.m. The first day of the march was fine, yet cool; the sky remaining overcast, yet without symptoms of rain. The first thing we approached worth notice was a salt-pan, looking more like a frozen lake upon which snow-heaps had been scattered, than anything else. It is not to my purpose to describe these singular works of nature here; I mention this one, lying about four miles from Port Elizabeth, to call the attention of travellers to the sight; as, being rather below the road, it often escapes the observation of those who are enclosed within that “narrow receptacle for the living,” a bullock-waggon.
We reached the Zwart-kops, the spot appointed for our out-spanning for the night, (unyoking the oxen and turning them out to graze) at about five o’clock. The scene was certainly very beautiful. Imagine a vast plain of fair green meadow-land, intersected, and in fact divided into parterres, by tall thick bushes, which here and there grew in clumps and copses, giving the ground the appearance of a vast park laid out with a great deal of taste,—an amphitheatre of hills and mountains rising one behind another, till the summits in the distance blended with the clouds, gorgeously illuminated by the rays of the declining sun, whose glory was soon succeeded by the milder light of the “gentle moon,” beside which the comet, in strange contrast, spread its long and fiery tail. One by one the tents had risen “side by side in beautiful array.” Arms were now piled; the younger soldiers, tired with their first march, lounged on the ground in clusters, till roused by the older and more experienced men, who despatched them to gather wood and fetch water; and more than a hundred fires soon lit up the camp.
In a short time our own preparations for comfort, refreshment, and repose had been made. The tent was pitched, the fire lit in the nearest bush, and the kettle and gridiron put on. We had brought with us an Indian kitchen (Jones’s Patent Indian Kitchen), a most compact thing; but, unfortunately, it had been packed up in a chest too securely to be got at without much trouble; and, as we were only a party of three, we resolved on doing without it as long as we could. For any number of persons it is invaluable, but for two or three a gridiron, kettle, and saucepan are, or ought to be, enough. Our servant had also put away the bellows and the hatchet; and, though the wind sometimes served us in lieu of the one, we were frequently obliged to borrow the other, when we halted. Having cold fowls, tongue, bacon, bread, butter, tea, sugar, and a bottle of milk (Note 2), and good store of wine, in our provision-basket, we did uncommonly well, roasting our potatoes in the ashes, comforting ourselves on the cold grass (not having thought of a tent-mat or table), with some warm negus. A piece of string wound round the pole of the tent, held a wax candle, but the wind rendering its light flickering and uncertain, we stuck a bayonet in the ground, and it made a very convenient and certainly characteristic candlestick. The meal and its fragments having been cleared away, our beds were made in the tent, which had been comfortably pitched (by an old soldier of the 27th, long used to the colony), with its back to the wind; we were thus screened from that, and could not well be inconvenienced by a shower.
Comparative quiet and much order now reigned in the camp. Every tent became more clearly defined as the evening advanced, and the sky formed a darker background for the moon, the stars, and the refulgent comet. Round the fires were assembled groups of soldiers, women resting themselves, as they called it, poor creatures, with babies on their knees,—Hottentots playing their rude violins, and merry voices joining in the chorus, led by neighbouring singers. Sounds of mirth issued from the tents of others; and the steam of savoury soup gave evidence of the proximity of the mess-tent and the talents of “little Paddy Farrell,”—the incomparable cook. Dinner there was always late, the officers never sitting down to solace themselves with good cheer till their men had been well cared for, and their different positions established for the night. Now and then the brazen tongue of a bugle intruded its call upon the stillness of the hour, and helped to disperse the groups gathered round the fire for a time, till the duty to which it had summoned them being done, they either returned to the social circle they had left, or secured a corner in a tent “licensed to hold fifteen inside” to sleep in. Gradually, the voices of the singers became mute; the feeble cries of sleepy infants superseded the monotonous tones of the Hottentot fiddles. Snoring “matches” seemed to be “got up,” as it were, between sundry waggon-drivers and their neighbours, they having their mats spread under the waggons; the peals of laughter among the revellers became less frequent, and at length ceased altogether. The fires grew dim, and the moon and her companions in the sky alone lit up the scene; tents were closed and the sound of the last bugle died away in the hushed night air, leaving all silent, peaceful, and at rest.
Although only fifteen miles from Port Elizabeth, I had been led to expect that I should hear the distant cry of the jackal, and the howl of the wolf; but, in spite of the bed being spread upon nothing but grass, in spite of the more than “whispers of the night breeze” which would be heard from under the flap of the tent, I never slept so soundly in my life.
I was up and dressed with my child, ready for the march, at half-past five. The scene of that morning, though of a different character, almost equalled in beauty the one we had so much admired on the preceding evening. The regiment was drawn up on a natural parade of smooth green turf, bounded by bush, and the background of the eastern hills was glowing at the approach of the sun, who, as he advanced in radiant majesty, tipped with gold the glittering arms and appointments of the soldiers, and shed an acceptable warmth upon us as we left the dewy grass, for the rough and stony mountain road before us. Up this hill the regiment wound, preceding the waggons,—now presenting a glittering cluster of arms, and now being altogether lost to the sight in the thick bush with which the ascent was clothed. A long line of nineteen waggons brought up the rear, and, as we proceeded, four hundred men in advance—women, children, and baggage, wending their way slowly and steadily after them, I could not but commune in my own mind on the ways of that inscrutable and unquestionable Providence, by the working of whose will, England, from her original state of ignorance, insignificance, and barbarism, is now the chief ruling power in the world, and sendeth her ships and her soldiers, (in defiance of what to other countries would perhaps be insurmountable obstacles, when we consider the dangers and difficulties arising from climates and localities ill-suited to European habits and constitutions), “even to the uttermost parts of the earth.”
The day (March 8) became dreadfully hot; towards noon the sun had full sway. Not a cloud shaded the heavens; and, though the country we passed through was rich in bush, there were no shady trees, and water was extremely scarce.
The men being much fatigued with the previous day’s march, it was determined to divide the next long march of thirty-two miles into two; and such an arrangement was not only merciful but absolutely necessary, as man by man fell by the roadside overpowered with the heat, foot-tired and faint for want of water. About one hour before we halted on the second day, we came suddenly upon a pool, where a large herd of sheep and goats (the property of a neighbouring farmer) were drinking. The men shouted aloud joyfully; and rushing precipitately to the pool, put their lips to the element, (which, though muddy, was to them most grateful), and drank copiously of the unwholesome draught. Several became ill after doing so; and, instead of being refreshed by it, were rendered less capable of proceeding than before. Fifteen stragglers fell out of one company, and were probably only induced to crawl after the battalion that evening by the dread of wild beasts. On reaching Sunday River, we learned that such a fear was not without a foundation, as five lions had, within the last few days, been seen drinking at the river side. Most gladly did I find, on reaching the “Outspan,” that a bed could be obtained at the snug, small house of Mr Rose, the Field-Cornet, close to the encampment: there, too, we obtained fresh butter, a leg of mutton, and some good English ale and porter, but rejoiced most in copious ablutions and clean bedding. My companions laughed much at my increased admiration of an encampment by moonlight that night, as I left it for a comfortable roof. “It certainly,” said I, “is a very pretty sighted—at a distance.”
We were up with the dawn next morning, and crossed the beautiful ford of the Sunday River, at sunrise. “Who would imagine,” thought I, “that such a scene of peace and beauty should be one of the fastnesses for wild beasts?” Green boughs met each other across the stream. Down such a pleasant-looking river I had often glided in “merry England,” singing, by the way, with young companions, to the gay music of our guitars, while the plash of oars kept time to the measure of our happy voices. There, in our own happy land, no lions prowled in our neighbourhood, no panthers could we fancy glaring on us from the bush, no venomous reptiles awaited our feet as we stepped upon the green sod from the boat. A South African climate is beautiful all the year round, except when visited by terrific thunderstorms, with their usual accompaniments of hail, rain, and lightning. Ah! that word “except;”—“except” for our dark November days and painful frosts, England would be an unexceptionable residence; still, even with these outward discomforts, look at our fire-sides!
But why go dreaming back from the brimming, shady Sunday River to the “stately homes of England!” On, on! and let us be thankful, that so far from home there is yet so much to be thankful for, and to enjoy. Oh! for the blessed philosophy which teaches us to make light of every thing! Truly, content is riches! In a moral point of view, may it not be considered as bearing an analogy to the story of the philosopher’s stone, (always remembering the one to be theory, the other practicable), which was supposed to possess the gift of transmuting whatever the possessor of it touched into gold?
On, then, through the river! The sun is up upon the hills; the troops are refreshed, the oxen willing, the day balmy, and the road better than I expected. How the mimosa-bushes scent the air! and here and there some, taller than the others, fling down a pleasant shade, affording cool resting-places for the travellers.
At night we outspanned on the Quagga Flats, not so beautifully picturesque as the spots we had hitherto selected, but still pretty well wooded and watered. Here, for the first time, owing to the rain, which began to fall in torrents, we slept in the waggon,—an arrangement I did not at all like; its narrow and close shape give to an excitable mind the idea of the German story of the “Iron Shroud.” I was awakened in the middle of the night, by the lowing of the cattle and the rattling of the horse’s halter, by which he was fixed to the wheel. We soon found that the restlessness thus manifested by the poor animals arose from the noise of neighbouring wolves, which are always more likely to approach the dwellings of man in wet than in favourable weather. The rain poured in torrents, the violence of which can only be understood by those who have experienced it. Fortunately, the morning proved tolerably fine, and we proceeded, in the usual order, through the Addo Bush, the scenery decreasing in beauty as we advanced, but still affording a tolerable supply of wood and water at the spots where we outspanned. I had read and heard much of steenboks, and other noble game, but we saw nothing of the kind, not even a monkey; nor did we even hear the laugh of the hyena at night. Others said they had done so; but we did not.
Among some of the most remarkable things we observed were the ant-hills, that were scattered all over the face of the country through which we passed. On a green plain they reminded us of hay-cocks in England, being about that size. Their similarity in shape to the huts built by the Fingoes, Kaffirs, and, indeed, almost all savage nations, is not the least curious feature in their appearance. I had imagined that the ants themselves were the only architects of these ingenious buildings, but I was told by the Hottentot drivers that they take possession of a hole which has been forsaken by the mole (which, indeed, they sometimes attack and hunt out of its domicile), and thus obtain a foundation, on which to begin the upper works of their establishment.
In consequence of the second day’s march having been divided into two, we did not reach Sly Kraal (twelve miles from Graham’s Town) till Saturday. Ere we did reach it, however, we were overtaken by the most terrific thunder-storm I had ever witnessed, save on the night of our memorable wreck in Table Bay. Those who have never witnessed one can have no idea of such storms as those to be met with in South Africa. All the artillery of heaven seems opening at once, while floods of light struggle for mastery with torrents of rain and hailstones. The knowledge that such storms are often attended with danger, makes their approach more awful. The place where we were overtaken by the one to which I allude was a barren spot, only varied by rocky eminences here and there, and scattered over with loose stones and pieces of rock. The horizon was bounded by vast mountains, the tops of which were vividly illumined by the continued blaze of the lightning. The ground soon became so slippery that it was considered almost unsafe to proceed; men and officers were drenched to the skin, and there, in the height of the storm, we, poor helpless crowd, were obliged to await its progress and abatement. The waggon conductor, Pullen, (a most amusing character, as well as a useful and obliging man), was as much to be pitied as any one, since many who were annoyed with the detention, would not listen to reason, and were very much inclined to quarrel with him for it. As for me, I could hardly bear to see the little flasks of brandy handed about among the few to whom it could be distributed, while the weary, thirsty, shivering soldiers stood by, looking on. The violence of the hail and rain decreased at last, and we essayed proceeding, but had not gone far before we were obliged to descend from our vehicles, as one of the passes had become dangerous, from the softness of the earth in consequence of the rain. Well may it be said, “God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb!” Many who might have caught cold in moving from one room to another less heated, awaited the passing of the waggons up to their insteps in water, and went on their journey with damp feet, and with rain drops pattering through the tops of the waggons.
Wet, weary, and hungry, we reached Sly Kraal at last. Here we were to rest till Monday; for the waggon conductor would not suffer them to proceed on the Sunday, and we thus passed two nights and a day in the camp.
The kindness of Providence is manifested in providing the South African traveller with wood that is not the less capable of ignition from being wet. Our tents, saturated as they were, were soon pitched; but we were again obliged to sleep in the waggon, which we did most soundly, after a welcome meal of carbonatje (meat toasted on a wooden prong before the fire, or broiled on the ashes), brown bread, and warm negus. The sun burst into the waggon in all his glory, the next morning, and, although within so short a distance of Graham’s Town, I cannot but admit that I was glad of one day’s rest before my entrée into the capital of the frontier. We had, indeed, been so thoroughly knocked up, that, though refreshed by sleep, the having time for ablutions and the selection of clean linen was a great treat on such a journey. The Sabbath of the 12th of March was thus passed in camp. The ground we had taken up reminded me of the grouse moors in Scotland, and in the wildest parts of Yorkshire, and we were told there was abundance of game about; at dinner, indeed, we were regaled with some hare-soup, sent to us from the mess-tent. As we approached the end of our journey, I could not but acknowledge how much better we had got through it than I had anticipated; and, accustomed to judge of things by comparison, to seek content, in fact, by measuring my own case, with that of those who are worse off, rather than those who have more apparent luxuries than myself, I felt thankful, in spite of the anxiety and fatigue I had encountered, for all the benefits bestowed on us; and, while I pondered gratefully, as I rested on cushions spread on a mat within the shadow of the tent, I learned that a poor woman had been confined the evening before, just as the waggons came to their resting-places. I went to visit her immediately, though the sight would have been enough to make one weep, had it not been for the cheerful voice of the poor soldier’s wife herself. She sat up in the waggon with her husband’s cloak and a blanket under her for a bed, a small red handkerchief round her neck, her new-born infant in her arms, and three other children gathered round her. But, oh! the kind voices and ready hands which helped and cheered her! and, instead of repining at her fatigue and trouble, she looked up at the sky, and observed, “it was a blessed, gladsome day.” I left her, satisfied that that wretched vehicle contained lighter hearts than many a darkened room, where closed shutters and costly draperies shut out the noise of the uncaring world, and the glare of a too saucy sun from the heirs of vast possessions.
On Monday, at six o’clock we started on the last day’s march, and reached the hill above Graham’s Town, a little before nine a.m. Here we were met by crowds of Hottentot women: some of them young, rather pretty, and decidedly graceful. They came bounding on to meet the drums and fifes, and with their red-handkerchief head-dresses, gay-coloured clothes, and glittering ornaments, formed a picturesque group, as they danced on in front of the battalion, to the great entertainment of the soldiers. At the very top of the hill, the band of the Cape Mounted Rifles awaited our approach; their appearance, in their plumed shakos and scarlet trousers, being very showy. A little further on, we were met by the band of the 91st (attached to the first battalion), and that of the 75th; and in this gay order we entered Graham’s Town, the bands relieving each other, and playing the liveliest airs. Here, a Hottentot woman tossed her arms aloft, and spun round to the tune of “Nix my dolly, pals,” there, a driver snapped his fingers to “Rory O’More.” These two tunes, and the “Sprig of shillelah,” seemed their especial favourites; and, if the dancers did not move with the stateliness of Taglioni, or the airy grace of Cerito, they certainly rivalled them in the activity of their limbs and the steadiness of their heads; for they whirled round and round, like the Dervishes in the Arabian Nights. The sun illuminated the town, lying within its sheltering circle of hill and mountain, the rabble shouted welcome, and all looked glad as they approached their destination (although only a temporary one for some of us), and the well-spread table, and cleanly appearance of the apartments provided, truly gave promise of “ease in mine inn.”
Note 1. This fine jetty was destroyed in a gale of wind, in 1847, by a ship, which, having broken from her moorings, was driven, stern foremost, right through the fabric. The unfortunate crew, jumping from the ship to the lower end of the jetty, had congratulated themselves on their escape from the raging waves, when another vessel coming in contact with the wood-work, carried the whole of it away with its unhappy and ill-starred freight into the boiling surge beneath!
Note 2. It is very unsafe, when travelling in Southern Africa, to trust to procuring anything on the road; such a chance is very uncertain. Milk, boiled with plenty of white sugar, will keep good if bottled, for three days at least.
We left Graham’s Town for Fort Peddie, on the 22nd of March, 1843, the waggon allowed by the Commissariat being only half the size of the one we obtained at Port Elizabeth. Just as we were about to start, we were ordered to halt and await further orders; and then I had to listen to a variety of reports. Some said another regiment had arrived at Cape Town, and we were to proceed to Natal; others whispered something about the Isle of France. At all events, important despatches had reached Graham’s Town from the seat of Government. So there was I, in my waggon, hired and packet for Fort Peddie, the troops under arms, the commissariat preparations made for the march, the tents struck, etc, and a probability of all these arrangements being upset. At last, a mounted orderly arrived, full of important haste, and breathless, as becomes a herald of South African counter-orders. The detachment was to be detained—for an hour—I forget what for, something about a few extra men, or arms, and we were thus delayed till the afternoon, when we proceeded as far as we could, and pitched our tents on the top of one of many hills, between which the wind came rushing in gusts that threatened to withdraw our shelter from over our heads. My child I screened a little from the chilling wind by placing a saddle in an angle at her head—a novel addition to the couch of a young lady.
The next day’s journey led us over grassy plains, in which the mimosa, with its bright golden clusters, abounded; and on the third day from Graham’s Town we reached Trumpeter’s Drift. Here we were detained for two days, owing to the swollen state of the river. When we crossed it, we sent the waggons before us, ere we took our seats in the ferry-boats, as it is not an unusual thing to be wrecked in the Great Fish River, although seated in a ponderous waggon drawn by fourteen oxen. The following ingenious mode of crossing a river was once displayed by a Kaffir who had for some time stood watching the vain attempts of a party of soldiers to struggle across the stream at a time when to ford it was attended by considerable danger. After smiling at their efforts with that sardonic expression remarkable among these savages, he quietly raised a heavy stone, placed it on his head, and then walked, with perfect ease, through the torrent to the opposite side.
Another instance of Kaffir ingenuity has been related to me. A missionary and his family were travelling in severely cold weather; now and then they lighted fires, warmed themselves, and then went on. The Kaffir drivers snatched brands from the fires, running on in advance, setting fire to the bushes on the roadside, returning to the waggons, again advancing, and so on, till they left a long line of fiery bushes in the track they had passed over.
One of our waggons stuck in the mud on its way; the drivers shouted, the dogs barked, the oxen struggled, but all in vain till the soldiers lent their assistance.
It is said that Trumpeter’s Drift is so called from a trumpeter of the 21st Light Dragoons having been lost in the river one dark night. It is a small post about twenty miles from Graham’s Town. The little barrack for the soldiers and the officer commanding, faces inwards upon a quadrangle, and makes but a dull abode, the windows looking into the little square, and the air being admitted through loop-holes in the outward walls. This gives the quarters a dreary appearance; but, in a land of savages determined to annoy us whenever they dare, and in whom no faith should be placed, prevention is better than cure.
Fort Peddie, from a distance, reminds one of Cooper’s descriptions of groups of buildings erected by settlers in the prairies of America. The Fingo huts scattered all round favour the delusion, especially at night, when dark figures stalk to and fro, dimly seen in the light of their fires, and the chant I have endeavoured to describe rises and falls on the air. It was worthy of English philanthropy to rescue the Fingoes from their captivity, under their hard taskmasters, the Kaffirs; but their idleness is almost incredible. It is true that on occasion they are able assistants to the Government agents in rescuing stolen cattle; but for this they are amply rationed. The Missionaries are indefatigable in teaching them their catechism; but no attempt is made to fit the women for service. Idle they are, and idle they will be; and we foster their idleness by protecting them with troops, while they absolutely refuse to milk the cows, unless they want money at the moment.
As Fort Peddie is on the eastern side of the Great Fish River, which is frequently impassable from its swollen state, we were often without the comforts of butter, rice, flour, wine, etc. The mutton, of the Cape breed, is indifferent, and the beef execrable. The bread was of the coarsest description. Poultry could only be obtained, when the Fingoes took the trouble to catch their fowls and sell them.
Since the Kaffir war, a tower has been built here, on the top of which is a six-pounder. An excellent barrack has been built for the Cape corps, and another for the troops of the line, but as yet no officers’ quarter. The houses which are scattered about the plain on which the fortifications stand, (for, besides the barracks, there is another temporary fortress thrown up from the earth, and protected by a ditch), give a picturesque air to the spot, and the thatched cottages and white chimneys rising above the few trees which have thriven round them, make a tolerable picture to look at, however little comfort there is to be found within them. The climate is certainly good, especially in the winter, which reminds one of our English autumnal days. The hot winds occasionally prevailing in the summer, when the thermometer is at 120 degrees, are most unpleasant; but the house may be kept cool by closing and darkening doors and windows. These winds never last many days. I must not omit to mention our simple barometer, which saves us the trouble of carrying one about. Thus, take a bottle with a wide neck—a large anchovy bottle for instance—and fill it nearly up to the neck with water; into this insert an inverted empty salad flask, or bottle of such description, and in the neck of the flask place a loose piece of cork, of a size that will admit of its free movement up and down. The falling of the cork indicates the approach of wet or windy weather, while the rising of it foretells it will be fair. Mention is made of such a barometer in some old Dutch manuscript lately brought under observation at the Cape.
And now, having given an abstract of particulars relative to the inhabitants of this land, in order to explain their relations to our Government, and the character of the people among whom England has established settlers and soldiers, I shall begin to relate such occurrences as I witnessed during my sojourn on the eastern side of the Great Fish River; I shall not confine myself strictly to either the diary or the narrative form, but shall use either as it may seem best to answer my purpose of giving my reader a lively idea of the events that I attempt to describe.
In looking over my rough journal, I find the part best worth transcribing is dated April 12th, 1843, and opens with a description of the “Entrance of Sandilla to Fort Peddie.”
“I was sitting at my work one morning in my low cottage room, when the tramp of horses’ feet, long continued, like troops on a march, attracted my attention. I looked out, and saw across the plain a crowd of wild-looking horsemen. A young man was at the head of them, preceded by an advanced guard, armed and mounted. Forty others followed their chief, the young Sandilla, son of old Gaika, and head of the Gaika tribe, his mother being Sutu, a Tambookie; he is also nephew to Macomo, at present nominally our ally. The appearance of this troop was certainly picturesque; a bright handkerchief formed the head-dress of each, save one, whose head was shaved in token of mourning. The corners of the handkerchiefs hanging down on the left side, gave a jaunty air to the said head-gear; the kaross concealed the form but the feet and right arm, the right hand carrying the war allowance of seven assegais. They rode on in great precision, the advance guard alone preceding the chief, who was professedly on his way to visit Mr Shepstone, but was supposed to be sent out of the way of a council at Beaufort, under some pretext, by Macomo, as it was well-known that Mr Shepstone was absent. Sandilla, being of royal blood, great jealousy is felt towards him; he is imagined by some to be a fool, by others a knave. He has always an Imrad (councillor) at his elbow, who watches him, and, as he speaks no English, interprets for him, and is no doubt his principal guide in words and deeds.
“Not long ago, a picture was exhibited in London of Sandilla, in his boyhood, and a note appended to the picture informed the curious that ‘this young prince might be considered a fortunate youth, since, in the first instant of his birth, he stood a chance of being destroyed in consequence of his left foot being withered, but that during the war, he was concealed, and taken care of; otherwise, but for his extreme youth, he would have been sought out and murdered by some of his uncles, who would gladly have established themselves in his government, which is superior to most others; the Gaika Chief being head of many other great tribes, each having their chiefs with petty chiefs under them.’ His uncle, Bothman, long ago seceded from Sandilla, establishing a tribe for himself, despising him as a chief on account of his youth: he is now barely one and twenty.
“Sandilla and his followers hung about the post for two or three days, and were remarkably insolent in their demands; asking for rations as a right, and carrying off as much firewood as they wanted on their bivouac, from the wood-stacks of the inhabitants. They went to every house with the usual cry of ‘Baseila!’ and asking for wine and tobacco.
“I was standing with my husband on the green, round which the fort, tower, barracks, and outbuildings are erected, at Fort Peddie, when Sandilla, himself on horseback, but with two followers on foot, came up to us at full tilt. When in front of us he reined in his horse, and, leaning forward in his sheepskin saddle, took a quiet survey of us. There was something singularly wild and almost interesting in his demeanour. For a minute, he sate with his gleaming eyes glancing from one to the other with an intensely earnest look, and helplessly at his horse’s side hung down his withered foot and ankle, no larger than a child’s. Near him, in silence, stood his two followers, magnificent-looking creatures, with complexions of dark olive, set off by their bright blue head-dresses. Their attitudes, as they leaned on their assegais, were easy and graceful. So they stood, till their young chief had finished his survey, while we repaid him glance for glance. Sandilla then spoke in a low, muttered tone to his followers, who repeated, as if demanding a right, ‘Baseila!’ But we had nothing with us, and, after another examination of our countenances, Sandilla turned his horse away, and galloped off without further salutation, his running footmen keeping pace with his swift steed. They then established themselves at our cottage-garden gate; but at last, getting tired of waiting for us, the crowd of savage cavalry withdrew to the position they had fixed on for the night, about a mile from the post. In a few days, they departed, in the same order as they came.
“Our most interesting visitor is the Christian Kaffir Chief, Kama; his habits and demeanour are those of a gentleman, his dress is of good, though plain materials, and his mild voice, coupled with his smooth and gentle language, is pleasant to listen to. He has long been a convert to Christianity, and is so conscientious that, some time ago, he created a dangerous party against himself by sending back to her country a Tambookie woman (the Tambookies are considered as a royal race of Kaffirs)—who had been offered him as a wife—saying that the religion he had embraced permitted him only one wife. On the Tambookies complaining to his brother-in-law, Macomo, the latter declined interfering, whether from from policy or good feeling is doubtful. So uncertain is Kama of the good faith of his brothers, Páto and Cobus Congo, that he is about to remove to the Bechuana country, where he intends putting himself under the protection of Mosheesh, the Basoota Chief, and having, like Mosheesh, a house built in the English style. So far, Mosheesh is civilised; but on my asking how many wives he had, he replied, ‘Perhaps a hundred!’
“We showed Kama, the other day, a six-barrelled revolving pistol, and an air-cane. What wonder and admiration were depicted in his fine countenance! The Kaffir seldom expresses open surprise; all that he says is ‘Soh! soh!’ repeated slowly, and with a reflective air. Kama was more delighted with the workmanship of the pistol, than with the wonderful power of the air-cane.
“One day, while we were seated at dinner, with the door open, the day being warm, Cobus Congo walked in. He had on an old artillery uniform, which belonged to the late Colonel Storey. On that day, as it was Cobus’s first visit, we did not turn him out, but we resolved on not following the foolish custom of permitting the Kaffirs to take, with us, liberties which are not suffered among themselves. Old Páto, also, with his panther eyes, came up to the door, begging, as usual; and, when they had obtained the tobacco we gave to get rid of them, off they walked, no doubt thinking us great fools for our pains.”
Another entry in my journal refers to the dispute between Umhala and Gasella, which was considered of sufficient importance to bring the Lieutenant-Governor, with a hundred men of the 71st, and fifty of the Cape Corps, to Fort Peddie. I find the account of the quarrel and its consequences in my journal tally so exactly with that given in the “Graham’s Town Journal,” that I quote the latter:—
“The outline of the facts connected with this affair, is as follows:—The youths of two neighbouring tribes, as is often customary when they happen to meet, had engaged in a fray, in the course of which some of them were hurt, and one of them is said to have been killed. On this, the father of one of these boys, a petty chief, belonging to Sandilla’s tribe, proceeded to the kraal of Gasella, to whom he demeaned himself so insolently, that the chief, irritated beyond endurance, knocked him down, and commanded him to be driven from the place. This appears to have been seized upon as a sufficient pretext for carrying into execution the design long entertained of crippling the power of Gasella, and driving him from his present position, where, with his well-known friendly disposition towards the colony, he has been a most vexatious check upon the forays of the neighbouring tribes upon the cattle and horses of the colonial farmers.
“To understand this matter aright, it may be necessary to explain that Gasella resides in the very centre of Kaffirland, his kraals occupying a tract of open country at the base of the Amatola Mountains, at the extreme point of the range which then turns towards the Tambookie country. These mountains are of a most impracticable character, rugged, encumbered with impervious thicket, and acclivitous,—and hence, the spot occupied by Gasella, just at the apex of the bend, is the key or high-road into Hintza’s country, and also into the interior of Tambookie-land. It will appear very evident from this sketch, that such a position, occupied by a chief so friendly disposed towards the colony as Gasella has proved himself to be, must be a continual source of annoyance to those tribes who consider the plunder of the colonists as nothing more than a kind of primitive commerce, and who appear to think that the colonists should supply them, without grumbling, with beef and mutton, and saddle-horses, whenever they may please to require them.
“The present moment appears favourable for disabusing the Kaffirs, and their apologists, of these notions, and we have now to learn whether the Government will permit the design in question to succeed, or whether, by prompt and efficient interference, the Kaffirs shall be taught to respect British authority—and be convinced that those who act faithfully towards the colony will not be suffered, for their fidelity, to be crushed by their refractory and dishonest countrymen. Gasella has long requested the support of the British Government, and it is important to remember that there is no point in Kaffirland where a force might be placed with so much advantage to the colony and so well calculated to secure the peace of Kaffirland, as the territory from whence an attempt is now being made to drive the chief in question.
“It is creditable to the Lieutenant-Governor that he appears resolved to act with determination in this matter, and to sustain Gasella against his enemies. His Honour is now at Fort Peddie, whence a message had been sent by him to Umhala, requiring his attendance. The messengers returned on Tuesday with Umhala’s reply, viz—‘I am also a chief, therefore I will not come at the bidding of his Honour. I say so because I have not yet heard who has complained of me to the Government, and because I know not for what reason I am called—therefore I will not come!!’ Another message has been sent him, to the effect that his Honour holds him responsible to the British for the welfare of Gasella, and requires Umhala’s attendance at Fort Peddie forthwith, and that if he does not appear, he (the Lieutenant-Governor) will enter his country with troops, and he (Umhala) must abide the consequences. In the meantime, more troops are ordered from Fort Beaufort on this expedition.”
Colonel Hare and his aide-de-camp arrived at Fort Peddie on the 24th of April, 1843, drenched to the skin, and without even a change of clothes, till the Orderly and saddle-bags arrived. The 91st and the Cape Corps had been hurried away from church parade; and one could not but admire the example of a man in Colonel Hare’s position in not staying to provide himself with personal comforts, which were even permitted to the soldier; for the Lieutenant-Governor, with the possibility of being obliged to proceed into Kaffirland before him, had neither tent nor waggon at command for his own personal convenience.
More troops were under orders at Fort Beaufort. Day after day, during the week, some subtle message was received from Umhala. He was evidently delaying his march till his spies brought him intelligence from Fort Peddie, and till, as he himself expressed it (affecting courtesy, but intending insolence), he had collected a force of sufficient number to meet Colonel Hare’s assemblage. Umhala, as was afterwards proved, was lingering in the neighbourhood, conferring with his brother Umki, and his nephew Sandilla, both of whom are bitterly opposed to Gasella. It was said by many worthy of credence, that these plots had long been concocting between the parties; hence, probably, arose Sandilla’s unexpected and protracted visit to Fort Peddie, whither he was accompanied by Umki.
On Saturday, April 29th, Colonel Hare, learning that Umhala was resting at a missionary station four miles from Peddie, with the intention of advancing to the council on the following Monday, resolved on leaving the meeting to the arrangement of Major Lamont, next in command; and, having become acquainted with the leading features of the case, returned to his duties at Graham’s Town. Umhala had at first proposed to bring his followers to Peddie on Sunday, but this was not to be permitted, nor was he at all events to approach nearer to it than Somerset Mount, about four miles off. Having ascertained from Mr Shepstone that the meeting would be a peaceable one, I was prevailed on to accompany my husband and his brother officers to the conference, and at nine in the morning of the 30th of April we rode out, keeping pretty close to the Cape Corps, the Roed Batjes, or red-jackets (as they term the British troops on the frontier) being left at Fort Peddie in reserve. It was a lovely morning, resembling in its temperature the opening of one of our warm spring days. The mimosa-bushes, more powerful than our own May, yet reminded us of its redolence; but there were no singing-birds. This is one of our wants in South Africa. A kind of swallow, though, which built its long bottle-mouthed nest in our verandah, occasionally enlivened us with its merry chirrup and long trill, clear as a silver bell.
I own to feeling a little bewildered; the arrival of more troops at Fort Peddie had been sudden, and the total want of provision for comfort among the officers, called forth activity in at least making them welcome to such refreshments as we could offer; while the determination to witness the proceedings of the conference having been a thing of a moment, produced a certain degree of excitement not easily to be subdued. As we proceeded, the advance guard hastened on in front, and I confess that, when they made a sudden halt, and called out in Dutch that the Kaffirs were in sight, my heart fluttered. As a corrective to this, I gave my horse his head at once, and kept up, at a little distance from the road, with the hand-gallop of the troops. Be it remembered, in defence of my womanly attributes, which I would not abjure for the world, that I had the greatest faith in Mr Shepstone’s assurance that the Kaffirs would be peaceably disposed as long as we remained so, and I knew his information, from his knowledge of their character and policy, to be correct. Still, I own to the beating of my heart, and a slight coldness about the lips. On, however, I went, determined to resist the feeling; and the fresh morning air, the sight of English officers, and the knowledge of the effectiveness of the accompanying troops, soon dissipated my nervous feelings. Before us, advancing down the hills, was Umhala, mounted, and surrounded by his followers, also mounted, in number about two hundred. As soon, apparently, as they had obtained a full and fair view of us, enabling them to estimate pretty accurately our number, they dismounted. Away went their horses, none being saddled, nor, apparently, bridled, to enjoy the sweets of the fresh grass. Then the Kaffir chief and his people formed themselves into a phalanx, certainly of most warlike appearance; each man bearing his war allowance of seven assegais, and carrying a musket in his right hand. Now, too, I remarked that the blanket and brown coverlid had almost superseded the kaross. In a short time, they formed themselves into a semicircle, six or eight deep, Umhala himself, in European costume—resembling a mechanic’s Sunday coat and trousers, and with a hat to match—being seated in the centre. Down they all squatted, with their arms close by them, for use in case of need. The English commissioners (for so we may term Major Lamont and Mr Shepstone) shook hands with Umhala, as he rose from his seat and advanced to give them a civil greeting, as the latter did also with his adversary, Gasella, who had ridden with us to the conference.
Umhala then retired to his position, and there was a silence of some minutes, the Kaffirs examining us with their keen glances, and we, in turn, looking at them in true English style, “straight in the face.” At last, after a long pause, Mr Shepstone entered upon the business of the meeting, by reading to them a translation, in the Kaffir language, of Colonel Hare’s letter, demanding Umhala’s reason for annoying and letting his people annoy Gasella, etc, etc. After due deliberation, and sundry whispers between his Hemraaden, or councillors, and himself, Umhala began his reply by apologies for keeping Colonel Hare at Fort Peddie, in expectation of his arrival. He said “the weather had been severe, the rains had made the roads heavy for his horses, his people were unable to hurry themselves,” and so forth; and all this apology was delivered in a cold sarcastic tone, indicative of a contempt he scarcely cared to conceal. He denied much that Gasella had stated, though the story was well authenticated; and, though I could not understand the language, the characters of the two chiefs were manifested in their deportment. Umhala spoke slowly and deliberately, having listened patiently (with an occasional ejaculation of “Soh,” “Soh,” at each period) to Mr Shepstone’s address. Now and then he smiled scornfully, and with an air of mock civility, towards Gasella, and the whole import of his speech appeared to me to mean this—“I hate you—you are the ally of the English; we dare not touch you now, as you are surrounded by them, but this is only temporary, we will annihilate you whenever a good opportunity offers.” I found afterwards that my translation was wonderfully literal.
Gasella, in replying, rather lost his temper, and no wonder, finding that Umhala denied everything, and persisted that his adversary had seriously injured the Imrad, though he had taken care to leave the said Imrad at the kraal, where he had been seen a day or two before, by an agent of Mr Shepstone’s, and was reported perfectly free from injury.
Finding the meeting such a peaceful-looking affair, another officer’s wife who was of the party, proposed that she and I should ride on half a mile farther, to the missionary station, but it was thought unadvisable; and it was as well we remained where we were, for we learned that the peaceful valley behind the site of the council contained a thousand armed Kaffirs, Umhala fearing we might attempt to take him prisoner. The sight of those savages would have been unpleasant, though, without a signal from their chief, they would not have molested us. On each hill-top, looking gigantic, as the clear sky threw out their forms in strong relief, were scouts—their blankets or karosses flying in the wind, and their assegais over their shoulders—placed there, no doubt, to watch our proceedings, and alarm Umhala’s “reserve battalion,” in the event of our displaying hostile intent.
Umhala asked several times, in a tone of quiet impertinence, “by what right Colonel Hare had summoned him at all? What proof was there of his hostility towards Gasella?” and thus Umhala sneered, and Mr Shepstone remonstrated, and little shabby Gasella scolded, and then the council was dissolved, it being decided that Gasella, having already paid a heavier fine of cattle than he ought to have done, should pay no more, although Umhala had demanded fifty head above what Gasella had given, as compensation for the Imrad’s pretended injury.
As we returned from the scene of the council, which had taken place on an elevation crowned with mimosa-bushes, the phalanx rose, and one fired a musket in the air, a genuine feu de joie, no doubt, at our peaceful departure.
Gasella returned to Fort Peddie with us, and, in the afternoon, the troops marched back to Graham’s Town. Though Gasella gained his point in not paying the cattle demanded by Umhala, it would eventually be taken openly, or stolen from him. In short, the meeting between these two adverse chiefs reminded me of two quarrelsome boys being summoned before the master, reprimanded, and sent away, both being more bitter enemies than before, and the stronger one resolved to have his revenge on the weaker as soon as he gets him into a quiet corner.
I was rather amused at the “introduction” of the chief Gasella to me, on the evening before the council was to meet. I was sitting over the fire, chatting with an officer, when, Páto and an inferior Kaffir came in, followed by a dirty, miserable little man, in a threadbare surtout, broken hat, etc. On my asking Páto some question relative to the quarrel with the chiefs, which had sent the troops a three days’ march in miserable weather, he pointed to the wretched little object who had advanced to my elbow, and said, “There—Gasella.” I stared, and, feeling some sympathy for the creature, gave him a chair. Both asked for wine and tobacco; I gave them some cigars. At this moment Kama arrived, and, seeing they intended lighting their cigars at my sitting-room fire, he pointed out the impropriety of it, and they departed. Gasella is less civilised even than Páto, and very unlike a Kaffir in appearance.
We could not but observe Kama’s cautious bearing, as we questioned him concerning Umhala. It was evident, however, that he had been entrusted with no political secrets. Every trait in Kama was interesting; his gentleness, consistence, patience, and hazardous position between his richer brothers, Páto and Congo, made him, indeed, an object of our care and protection. Nevertheless, poor Kama gave us very little trouble, asked for no presents, being resolved on quieter establishing a position for himself on the other side of the Orange River, or the Keiskama.
May 4th. Every day brings accounts of cattle-stealing about Beaufort, in the more immediate neighbourhood of Graham’s Town, and the outposts nearest to it. The news that has arrived from England concerning Natal, is promising, though some inquire what compensation is made for the loss of such promising officers as Lieutenants Wyatt and Prior, who were just as much killed in action as any of those “brave and lamented soldiers who fell in the late disastrous affair of Afghanistan?” How such leniency will operate, remains to be proved. Already the Boers about Colesberg are beginning to creep off to the other side of the Orange River, ostensibly to attack Panda, the Zoola chief, but in reality to assist the insurgent Boers at Natal.
May 26.—Chief Kama, the only Christian Kaffir chief—I believe the only Christian Kaffir—is passing through Peddie, with his family, baggage, followers, and fifteen hundred head of cattle. His life is not safe in the neighbourhood of his brothers, Páto and Cobus Congo. He is bound for the Bechuana country, on the other side the Orange River; but, until spring commences, he will make a halt near Beaufort, and act under the protection of our nominal and drunken ally, Macomo, uncle of Sandilla, and a chief of the Gaika tribe.
The post of to-day brings, as usual, accounts of continued depredations, and the Fingoes of this neighbourhood, the people we are protecting, have been made to render up more than three hundred head of cattle which they had appropriated to themselves, from the kraals of various people.