Ward
The Cape and the Kaffirs: A Diary of Five Years' Residence in Kaffirland
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.”
Chapter II.
March to Graham’s Town
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.”10
“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 milk11, 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.
