Ward
The Cape and the Kaffirs: A Diary of Five Years' Residence in Kaffirland
Part of the 1st battalion 45th Regiment, stationed at Natal, have lately been engaged in hostile operations against a chief named Fodo, who had assembled his warriors near the Umzunculu River, and carried off a quantity of cattle, killing some of the peaceable inhabitants of the Ambaca tribe. On the 27th January, the troops, consisting of some Artillery, Cape Corps, and a party of the 45th, in all not three hundred, encamped on the banks of the Umzunculu. They were accompanied by some natives subject to our Government. The country was too rugged for the Artillery rockets to be of much use, and the bush aided Fodo’s escape. Some five hundred head of cattle were recaptured from the enemy, and five prisoners were secured. The Lieutenant-Governor has wisely offered a reward for the apprehension of Fodo and his colleague, Nomdabulu.
I have touched on the subject of this skirmish in the district of Natal, because, although that district is under a Lieutenant-Governor of its own, it is closely connected, commercially, politically, and in a domestic way, with these south-western territories, and also because our troops have been engaged there.
As a set-off to such hostilities, there are some hopes that the Dutch will pause (they paused to fight, and be conquered) in their career beyond Natal. A few words about their settlements in that part of Africa will not be irrelevant to my subject, inasmuch as, from the extension of our possessions to Natal, we are fast approaching the line of demarcation they would wish to establish.
About two hundred miles north-west of the Portuguese settlement at Delagoa Bay, a town has arisen, called by the emigrant Boers Orichstadt, after its founder Orich, one of the first who trekked in a spirit of discontent against the English. The natives of the country round Orichstadt are a branch of the Baraputses, but are called by the Dutch knob-neus, or knob-noses, from that feature being tattooed after the fashion of a string of beads. With these natives they have lately made an expedition against some of the Zooluh race, to rescue cattle. This commando lasted one day, and was successful, many Zooluhs being killed, and the cattle taken from them. Throughout South Africa the cry is still “Cattle! Cattle! Cattle!”
A sort of trade in ivory has been established between Orichstadt and Delagoa Bay, but the chief obstacle is the intervening low swampy country, which is so unhealthy that both men and oxen frequently sicken and die on the journey. The natives near the bay navigate the river Maponta in canoes. These are a half-caste race, employed by their masters, the Portuguese, to purchase ivory in the interior.
The fort at the bay is not the residence of the Governor-General of the Portuguese on the east coast of Africa. He resides at Mozambique, and the officer commanding the troops at the fortress has absolute rule over all the natives within the small district, among whom are a few European settlers, living in wretched dwellings near the native huts. The fort is useless as a defence, being built of mud, and the interior is a mere stock-yard for the Lieutenant-Governor, who traffics in ivory with the vessels which touch here. There is also some suspicion of a trade in slaves.
Near Delagoa Bay is a tract of country, called Tembia. Here Captain Owen, R.N., once proposed to occupy a position for watching the slavers on the coast. A mission was also established here, and progressed favourably for two years; but England giving up her right in Tembia to Portugal, the unfortunate natives who had gathered round “the Teacher,” were soon disposed of to the slavers. The Dutch are also suspected of being connected with this melancholy trade. Let us hope that the future state of their adopted country will be such as to induce them to return to it. The droughts which devastated this part of Africa in 1846, did equal mischief at Orichstadt, and there has been much consequent distress. It is the assurance of this which has arrested the travelling Boers from advancing further to the north-east with their families.
March 24th.—The troops again take the field this day. Páto’s message to the Government is conciliatory, based on the usual grounds—a scheme to gain time until the corn is gathered in. The Governor’s reply is, that “Páto must surrender himself unconditionally.”
Sir Henry Pottinger and his suite have pitched their marquees at Fort Peddie, in the immediate neighbourhood of the I’Slambie tribes. It is possible his Excellency will find more difficulty in dealing with these savages than with His Celestial Majesty the Emperor of China. Active operations are now been carried on under Sir George Berkeley and Colonel Somerset in the I’Slambie country; and, in the mean time, the key to Kaffirland is to be made use of, at last; the Buffalo Mouth is to be opened at once; and, for the present, the haughty spirit of the Gaikas seems at rest.
Chapter XIV.
Opening of the Second Campaign
The opening of the mouth of the Buffalo river, for the transmission of stores seaward to Kaffirland, will, I trust, prove the usefulness of this key to the seat of war and turmoil. With what breathless eagerness will the first boat be watched careering through the foam, which at times separates, as a veil, the stream from the ocean! Intent as we, poor exiles, are upon every movement that affects the progress of operations, languishing for home, as well as interested in the welfare of the colony, we gaze earnestly on each convoy of waggons wending its slow, uncertain way up the hill “hard by,” on its way to the front. On the 22nd of March, we paused in our evening walk to observe the train of twenty-six waggons, en route for the Buffalo mouth. What an example of African locomotion it presented! Some of these contained ammunition, and it struck me that the nature of their contents might have been concealed rather than manifested by their funereal coverings of black canvas. The foremost in the train suddenly stopped. Had a steam-engine led the van, it would have panted, and puffed, and tugged in vain, along such a pathway. The transport for soldiers’ necessaries in this country is so small, that this waggon had been loaded beyond the capabilities of so cumbrous a machine, and it stuck fast; none of the others, therefore, could move along the narrow road. In vain, the driver slashed his long whip,—the echoes only mocked it. In vain, he shouted “Bosjeman!” “Abeveldt!” “England!” to his oxen; in vain, the Hottentot forelouper screamed, and leaped, and scolded “Ireland” and “Scotland.” He might as well have attempted to move those two ancient kingdoms from their foundations, as the oxen named after them: they only tossed their heads at him and their tails at the driver as if in pure scorn. They were weary, and chose to rest! The despairing escort, foreseeing delay, used frantic exertions to push the huge vehicle from behind, and the drivers in the rear took advantage of the blockade to light their pipes and smoke them with their usual imperturbability. The shrill voices of the vrouws, who accompany their husbands on all occasions, to make their coffee, light their fires, and broil their carbonatje, formed a chorus, in very high treble and very low Dutch, to the unmusical medley.
At length, there was at attempt at an advance; but, as the leaders would only move up the face of the hill on one side, or down the slope on the other, very little ground was got over; and, soon after sunset, the opening between the hills was illuminated by the fires of the encampment formed there.
In March the second campaign fairly commenced; Páto was yet unconquered. Three companies of the 73rd marched from King William’s Town for the Buffalo Mouth, and were relieved by the same number of the 45th, from Fort Hare. Colonel Buller, Rifle Brigade, commanded the field-force at King William’s Town; Colonel Van der Meulen, the 73rd, at the mouth of the Buffalo, where Lieutenant Jervois, R.E., selected the site, and made preparations for building a military post for 300 men. Colonel Johnstone, 27th Regiment, was appointed Commandant at Fort Hare. The great Chief, Macomo, went wandering about the town at Fort Beaufort in a state of frenzy, from intoxication, having made the canteen his head-quarters. The only wife, out of ten, who clung to him in his fallen fortunes, complained, at last, of the injuries he had inflicted upon her, by blows, as well as with a sharp instrument; and his child, whom he had in some whim named “Magistrate,” narrowly escaped the fate of the poor little creature at Fort Hare, which, if not murdered at once by him, died from the effects of his savage treatment.
The intelligence received from the Buffalo Mouth on the 4th of April, was, that Major Smith, 73rd, had been wounded by the enemy in ambush near the camp, when visiting the sentries; and two Burghers and a Fingo shot. There was the usual detail of cattle stolen and recaptured, with casualties on both sides pretty equal, waggons fired at, and a successful chase by Captain Armstrong, Cape Mounted Rifles, after a Kaffir lad, whom he rode down, but who would give no satisfactory information, although he was endeavouring to communicate with some mounted Kaffirs, swimming their horses across the Keiskama. Colonel Somerset, in his dispatch, suggested “the expediency of establishing a cavalry post on the cast bank of the Keiskama, to intercept marauding parties, who are constantly passing out of the Colony with cattle.” Sir Henry Pottinger decided on shooting all such captured cattle as could not be removed without encumbering the troops, or delaying them in their operations.
Colonel Somerset’s plan, of dotting the Colony with troops, was the means of protecting it materially from Kaffir thieves. An old Dutch settler’s cattle were once driven, by a band of these robbers, right into Commatje’s post, on the Fish river; proving that they were hurried or intercepted in their march, or, what is equally probable, that they had come from a distance. One lot of cattle was recaptured in the neighbourhood of Double Drift, another post of the Fish River; the Kaffir thief was first observed reclining under a bush, calmly contemplating his precious booty. Occasionally, we were without milk, in consequence of the milkman’s cows having vanished in the night, within three miles of Graham’s Town. Such losses, however, not unfrequently occurred from carelessness on the part of the owners, or herds; the cattle straying to the edge of the bush, where there were always Kaffirs lying in wait to “lift” them.
Bathurst, in Lower Albany, may be said to defend itself to its best ability. This pretty settlement has risen and flourished under the patient labour of emigrants, sent thither in 1820, chiefly through the instrumentality of the Duke of Newcastle. The labourer, the mechanic, the unthriving tradesman, the servant without work, may not only find employment, but are absolutely wanted here. The former may plant his three, and sometimes four, crops of potatoes in the year, to say nothing of other produce, and manifold resources of gain and comfort. It is singular that Great Britain, in 1847, suffered from the failure of the crops; the gardens of corn, pumpkin, etc, in Kaffirland, were more than usually productive.
One of the most thriving establishments I have seen is a location called Clumber, five miles from Bathurst, originally established by an emigrant sent hither by the Duke of Newcastle. Here, as in other places, the chapel is built as a place of refuge in case of war; it stands on a green mound, commanding an extensive view, and its position is admirably adapted for the purposes of defence and observation. I am struck with the church, which would be an ornament to any large, well-built English town.
The ride to the Kowie, from Bathurst, is exceedingly pretty, and I shall never forget the by-path to the sands, from the small inn at Port Frances. Such is the name of the scattered village (for it cannot be called a town), rising in the immediate neighbourhood of the little bay, or, more properly speaking, creek. On turning a corner, we entered a shrubbery, thickly planted, by the graceful hand of Nature, with a variety of flowering shrubs and trees. On each side rose tall grey rocks, relieved in shape and colour by the euphorbia, and other stately plants. The velvet turf under our feet was enamelled with flowers of various hues; wreaths of jessamine floated over our paths, and festoons of the wild cucumber, with its glorious scarlet, but poisonous fruit, hung in graceful garlands, forming natural arches above our heads. Silently our little party wound its way through these fragrant and beautiful arcades. How grand was Nature in her solitude! undisturbed, save by the occasional trill of some bird, the more valuable because the voices of birds are seldom heard in the magnificent solitudes of South Africa! Amid such fair scenes, I have often regretted the want of water, which always adds life to a picture; but here, on emerging from this green and quiet nook, our horses bounded upon firm sands, with the sea before us, dashing up its vast and glittering volumes of spray and foam in indescribable grandeur.
The house built for Mr Cock, the enterprising individual who has resolved on establishing the harbour, gives evidence of great expectations of success, and, should Port Frances ever assume the character of a moderately thriving town, it will form a charming locality for the settler.
One ordinance of the Lord High Commissioner was important, and doubtless had a great effect on the Kaffirs, especially at the opening of the South African winter. All traffic was forbidden “between her Majesty’s subjects (whether residing within or without the boundaries of the Colony) and the different Kaffir tribes who were still in arms, or had been recently so, against Her Majesty’s paramount authority and dignity.” Instructions to this effect were given to Mr Calderwood, (Commissioner for the Gaika tribes) on the 25th of March, 1847, but “that no persons may plead ignorance of, or want of information with respect to the said notice,” Sir Henry Pottinger again announced that “any of her Majesty’s subjects who might attempt, under whatever plea or pretence; to evade it, would do so at their peril, and would be held to be in treasonable intercourse with her Majesty’s enemies.” The withdrawal of the traders from Kaffirland must have worried the enemy considerably. The Kaffir is miserable without tobacco; men, women, and children indulge in smoking to an extraordinary degree; and as the winter advances they will feel the loss more and more. Snuff is another luxury with which they have become fairly infatuated—they will even eat it, frequently swallowing it in the shape of a ball; and the English blanket is now one of the necessaries of life. They carry their love of ornament to such an excess, that they have certain fancies relative to their beads, which have as much sway over the fancies of the sable belles of Kaffirland, as any fiat, or caprice, from the divan of a Parisian modiste, or the penetralia of a Mayfair beauty. One year the leathern bodice of a Tambookie bride is parsemented with beads of a dead white; another season, the I’Slambie girls will quarrel for a monopoly of bright blue, and the Gaikas set up an opposition in necklaces of mock garnet and amber. Birmingham buttons ornament the skin cloaks of the women of Kaffraria, and brass bangles, from our manufactories, conceal the symmetry of their arms, which are models for sculpture.
Although our British traders would suffer individually, for a time, by this cessation from their traffic, the most respectable of them acknowledged that they saw the necessity of it, and anticipated advantageous results hereafter. The great object of this measure was to prevent, or rather check, the sale of gunpowder. It is by these means that the Kaffirs have been enabled for years to collect it, and it is still to be feared that there are many men among the “pale faces,” wicked enough to traffic, not only in the articles named above, but in arms and ammunition. Magazines have long been stored with the latter; and as the traveller passes through a village of Kaffir huts, he little imagines that two or three of these rude edifices, standing side by side, were unceasingly and jealously watched by as many idle-looking savages, whose listless air well conceals the importance of their real occupation.
Our enemies soon learned that we were determined on tiring them out; that we could not only reduce them to subjection, but leave nothing undone to keep them so. They were made to understand, that we were not merely “fighting for a hatchet!” During the operations of the troops under the command of General (late Colonel) Hare, against the Gaika tribes, the enemy, when beyond the range of our musketry, would call out from the ridges of the hill, “Well, Umlunghi, have you found the hatchet yet?” In January, 1847, a Kaffir woman’s body being discovered near the camp at Fort Hare, horribly mutilated, the legs and arms amputated, some of her countrymen stated that, a stolen hatchet having been found in her possession, they had determined to make an example of her, lest an additional cause should arise for the continuance of the war. Had this been legally investigated and proved against the perpetrators of the deed, they would have suffered for the atrocity; but, although the story wanted official confirmation, it was believed by most of those who were in camp at the time.
A long line of posts was immediately planned along the Buffalo River. The General, Sir George Berkeley, had a narrow escape on the 31st of March, being fired at by the enemy from behind a bush, the ball passing at no great distance from him. He was encamped at the mouth of the Buffalo, awaiting the arrival of ships with stores and provisions. No field operations could take place until the question was decided as to the practicability of landing cargo there; the surf is at times tremendous, but the place is allowed to be equal to Waterloo Bay, if not safer.
In the mean time patrols were scouring the bush in the neighbourhood of Páto’s gardens, near the Buffalo; and although shots were occasionally fired into the camps, they were too uncertain to be often effective. As usual, the enemy was scarcely ever seen; he fired from his cover of rocks, and thus, his own loss was concealed. Stock and Nonnebe profess to be friends, and to protect certain passes, but Colonel Somerset recommended caution in this respect, as he knew they were not to be trusted.
In dwelling on the necessity of emigration, as a refuge and amelioration for the condition of the Irish especially, I have called to mind circumstances under which I have known great solicitude expressed by them, when separated from all communication with their priest. The Roman Catholic clergyman who left this, in 1846, was unremitting in his duties towards his flock. Sunshine or storm, Father Murphy and his black horse, each identified with the other, were seen wending their way, at a sharp pace, towards the humble cottages of Irish emigrants, or the hospital, where lay some poor Catholic, who “could not die” until he obtained comfort from his pastor. His successor, the Rev. Mr Devereux, is rapidly gaining the esteem and confidence of his people, by his unremitting attention and exertions. It is, indeed, honourable to the colony to witness the readiness with which all unite in the great purpose of forwarding relief to the poor stricken creatures at home.
“April 13th.—News from the Front! Sir Henry Pottinger has received an order from the Home Government to augment the regiment of Cape Mounted Riflemen to twelve companies, thus adding a battalion to that efficient corps.
“I shall look with great anxiety on the progress of recruiting for the Cape Corps, having long since earnestly dwelt on the advantages to be derived from such a measure. It is worthy of remark that, when an order was given in London, in 1842, to raise a certain number of boys, for the Cape Mounted Riflemen, it was carried out in less than two days, without the slightest difficulty. The Hottentots here will not be so easily obtained, at least until better pay is promised.
“Another victim has fallen a sacrifice, not to the bullet or the assegai, but to the bodily hardships and anxiety of mind undergone during the war. The Colony has lost a friend by the death of Mr Mitford Bowker. For several years he held the appointment of Resident Agent to the I’Slambie tribes; but after his retirement from this office, he became a sheep-farmer, and for ten years suffered from the depredations of the savage. He was one of those brave settlers who stood by his homestead till ‘the word had been given to kill,’ remaining on his farm, with his family, till the last moment. Forming a little encampment near a kloof, he and his brave brothers, with a small body of steady friends, were attacked by the enemy, whom they kept in check, losing one of their number, of the name of Webb, Mr Bowker himself being struck by a ball. At last, from the smallness of the force, they were compelled to break up their encampment; and then, Mr Bowker, although long and decidedly opposed to the policy of Sir Andries Stockenstrom, accepted the appointment of Commandant of part of the force under the latter officer. Worn out in body and mind, and ruined in fortune, he finally sought shelter under a brother’s roof, and died at the age of forty-five, leaving a wife and children, with the good name their father bore as their sole inheritance.
“In a sketch which I have read of his life, he is spoken of as belonging to the aristocracy of England, ‘being related to Lord Redesdale’ through his mother’s family. Mrs Bowker’s eight sons may be considered among the props of the Colony, and to their mother they owe an education which has enabled them to fill the position of British settlers with credit; and, it might have been, with eminent success. From a stirring mother of a numerous and thriving family, assisting all in their industrious occupations, and cheerfully sharing their toils, anxieties, and difficulties, I hear it stated by her intimate acquaintances that Mrs Bowker has become a broken-hearted woman. What a reward after more than twenty years’ patience, perseverance, and good example! As an honourable close to the outline I have quoted of Mr Mitford Bowker’s life, I have to add that he was not merely ‘a relation of Lord Redesdale’s,’ but of our own dear English Miss Mitford—God bless her!
“In the record of a war, where troops and settlers are united in the field, and where each among the latter has a stake at issue beyond mere worldly fame, the settler claims an equal place with the soldier, and honourable mention when he deserves it. Alas! within the last twelve months how many have ‘died and made no sign,’ who, with hearts crushed under the weight of sorrow and anxiety, and toil-worn and dispirited, have sat down at last, awaiting their release from present misery, in dull, absolute despair! ‘Ha!’ exclaimed the Kaffir scouts one day from the hills, ‘ha! ha! Umlunghi, we will put the cold hand upon you!’ Truly, they have kept their word, in more ways than one. Those who fell in the first engagements have escaped a year’s anguish, and much ‘hope deferred.’ Let us trust that those who die now, like Mr Bowker, leaving his widow and children mourning for him on his desolate land, may at least close their eyes on the dawning of a bright horizon.”
I must not omit to mention the death of another settler, Mr Philip Norton, holding the temporary rank of Captain in the Graham’s Town Hottentot Levy. Here we have the same record of misery, the same tale of slow fever induced by the fatigue, exposure, and privations incidental to the state of this frontier at the present juncture. Driven from his home, a year before, by the rush of the Kaffirs, his premises were fired, his flocks were scattered, and he was obliged to take up arms in the common defence. At the age of seven-and-twenty, this young man, who commenced his career with every prospect of success, dies the victim of the late disastrous war, leaving a young widow and four little children to mourn his loss.
