The Cape and the Kaffirs: A Diary of Five Years' Residence in Kaffirland

“It is thought that this expedition over the Kei will be the last, and perhaps Kreli may make a merit of necessity, and give up Páto and his plunder. This latter, however, is only my own idea. Colonel Somerset, will follow up the enemy, as far as he is permitted to do so. At this period, while Kreli’s people are only waiting to reap their corn, it seems to me that it would have a good effect, to threaten the Chief with a march through his country in search of cattle, unless he exerts himself to restore what we know is either there, or has passed through it.

“The resources of the colony are open. We have troops, supplies, and some fresh horses. The Graham’s Town Journal of the 19th of December, has some remarks on the efficacy of sending a vessel to the mouth of the Umzimvooboo, in Amapondaland. ‘In one month,’ says the writer of this article, ‘the British flag may be floating at the mouth of the Umzimvooboo.’

“This river lies about midway between Graham’s Town and Port Natal, being, rather nearer to the latter place.

“While Colonel Somerset’s division is in preparation for another forward movement, the Government Agents are busy in registering black British subjects. The Kaffirs see that it is to their interest to make peace for the present. They will apparently submit to any terms we may dictate, but no matter what promises they may make, or what guarantee for future good behaviour they may give, their promises are written upon sand, and their bond is insecure, because void of all honour. Thieves and liars they will remain, until some system is established to overcome their heathen customs, and subdue their vicious natures. Whether the proposed system be available for these purposes, can only be judged of by the result.

“Sir John Malcolm, in his ‘Central India,’ says there is no other way of converting heathens than by beginning with children; the prejudices of the old ones are too strong to be eradicated. Sir James Alexander makes a remark to the same effect, and in no country can there be greater proof of it than in this.

“I yesterday happened to open ‘The Report of the Directors to the fifty-first General Meeting of the London Missionary Society, on the 15th of May, 1845,’ and in a notice from King William’s Town, find these words in conclusion: ‘Jan Tzatzoe and the other native assistant have made extensive journeys through the year, for the purpose of diffusing the name of Christ and the knowledge of his salvation.’ My first impulse was to laugh, knowing that Jan Tzatzoe, the propagator of Christianity in 1845, has been foremost in the mischief of 1846; but it is melancholy to think how we have been imposed upon. The very writer of the report probably considered Jan Tzatzoe in earnest. It is hard to accuse others of deliberate mis-statements, unless their motives are fully proved. Jan Tzatzoe has also had the advantage of religious instruction in England, having been exhibited there as a Christian Kaffir a few years ago!

“December 29th.—Intelligence has been received from Colonel Somerset’s division, which is moving along the sea-coast. He has captured two hundred and sixty head of cattle from the I’Slambies. Sir Peregrine Maitland had come up with the second division, and would cross the Kei at Warden’s Post on the 21st of December. Colonel Somerset would proceed by the mouth of the Kei, and the two divisions would meet at Butterworth, the missionary station between the river and Kreli’s kraal. The whole country is said to be teeming with cattle. There have been some encounters between the Burgher patrols and the cattle-stealers, and a Hottentot Burgher was shot last week at Kaffir drift.

“More mule-waggons have passed up the hills to-day, with provisions for the troops. How invaluable would be the camel in this country! Some object to the use of it, in consequence of the moist state of the country after severe rains; but the slow-moving oxen, with the heavy waggons, are often detained for weeks. The camel, by its swift pace and its strength for burden, would soon make up for time lost by casualties. The latter animal, too, would always thrive on the food from the bush, and would have less need of water than the ox. I heard an officer of well-known intelligence and keen observation remark how useful elephants might be made in such warfare; the bush would afford them provision, and a howdah, filled with armed men, and placed on an elephant’s back, would make a splendid portable battery for the low jungle of Africa.

“The troops cross the various rivers in boats, which they carry with them. There must be something very imposing in the sight of an armed force, varying in numbers from two to four thousand men, moving along these vast wilds by moonlight; but choosing such paths as shall screen them from the spies, who lie in wait to bear intelligence back to the enemy, and give warning of the approach. In these wilds will be found much grander scenery than in the colonial districts. Here the grass is richer, the trees are of a superior height, the rivers clearer, the mountain slopes more abundantly clothed, sometimes with vast forests, and the valleys are more fertile. Here the Hottentots, Kaffirs, and Fingoes dwell amid the finest pasturage, and in the most healthy part of the country.

“December 31st.—New Year’s Eve! Home! Home! Where are the happy faces I have seen gathered round the cheerful hearth long years ago? How often, as I look back on past years, am I reminded of Mrs Hemans’s ‘Graves of a household!’ We are sundered—scattered far and wide. One who returned to us, after long years of absence in the service of his country, found his grave at last in Canada. Another moulders on the rock of Saint Helena, snatched away in the bloom of life by the ruthless hand of consumption. One has been called by duty to the shores of the Mediterranean; another has returned to England, debilitated by the climate of the West Indies; and even the sisters from that ‘household hearth,’ to which I turn with sad remembrance, are, with two exceptions, suffering from the vicissitudes of a military life. Vicissitudes, trials, privations!—these are indeed to be found in Africa, and in the space of four years I have suffered from the horrors of shipwreck and of war.

“A strange wild sound of music comes up across the green from the barracks, and the moon is just old enough to shed her tender light upon a group of Malays, who, in their picturesque dresses, are marching to the measured beat of a drum of their own making, and the sounds of several rude flutes, clarionets, and horns, shaped hurriedly from the bamboo, but emitting not unpleasant music, in most perfect time. This is the peculiar feature in the talent for harmony displayed by the Hottentots and Malays: no matter how rude the instrument, or how poor the voice, tune and time are perfect. The old Irish air of ‘Garryowen’ has a strange effect played by this untutored band, their rude instruments assisted by voices of many kinds, from the deepest bass to the highest soprano. And now their war-song!—what a fine wind-up, with its curious combinations that sound scientific, and yet have no musical grammar in them! It is over, and the air is still again. There is the tramp of their feet over the parade-ground, and—oh, poesy! oh, heroism!—they have changed their solemn tread for a quick march, and their stirring war-song for the lively Polka!”

“There is as much trouble here as ever, and less excitement. The registered subjects of British Kaffiraria have taken to robbing orchards, while idling in search of plunder, coolly acknowledging their purpose, producing their registration tickets, and offering as a reason—for it cannot be called an excuse—that ‘the English have taken their cattle from them, and they want them back again.’

“January 1, 1847.—At Fort Hare, the registration system proceeds as usual. Macomo, in a fit of wilfulness, took his departure from thence a few days ago, with a single follower; and, being traced to Fort Armstrong, not far from the Tarka Post, has been detained there. A letter from the Commanding Officer of a large division on the Kei says, ‘There is still much work before us; the patrol is back, bringing in about four thousand five hundred head of cattle. Colonel Somerset, and a party of the Cape Mounted Riflemen, are gone on towards Butterworth. One of the Rifle Brigade is killed, and another wounded, in crossing the Kei drift; about fifty Kaffirs are killed. The Camp will break up to-morrow, and next day cross the Kei, and join Colonel Somerset. The natives are determined to show fight. They walked away with three span of oxen this morning; however, they were hotly pursued, and all but five had been recaptured. They were in numbers, challenging our people to come on,’ etc.

“This day brings the unexpected intelligence of Sir Henry Pottinger’s appointment to the Governorship of the Cape of Good Hope. The Home Authorities have doubtless seen how impossible it is for a man of Sir Peregrine Maitland’s great age to undergo even the physical toil attendant upon a government of so vast a tract of country; and, when it is also considered that, in consequence of the distance of Cape Town from the frontier, Sir Peregrine was prevented from appearing on the scene till the conclusion of the first great act of the war, every one will be sensible of the immense difficulties with which he has had to contend. Every one is assured that Sir Peregrine Maitland has acted honourably, conscientiously, and disinterestedly throughout the war; and, in leaving the frontier of South Africa, he bears with him the acknowledgements of the colonists, whom he has done his best to serve, and the earnest respect of the troops, whose toils and privations he has patiently shared, and to whom he has been an example of British courage, perseverance, and true nobility of principle.

“January 18th.—The mournful news has just been received of the murder of three officers and four soldiers, by Kaffirs, on the banks of the Kei. They lost their lives in the following manner:—They belonged to a party sent to guard a drift at the Kei, and, having been some days without meat where they were, a patrol went in search of some, and, seeing cattle at a distance, those mounted, namely, the three officers (namely, Captain Gibson and Dr Howell, Rifle Brigade; and the Hon. Mr Chetwynd, 73rd Regiment), and four provisional Hottentots, went in advance, leaving the infantry, about forty men, some way behind them; they had secured some cattle, and were returning, when a horde of Kaffirs rushed from a neighbouring kloof and overpowered the party, killing the officers and two of the Hottentots. The infantry were too far away to be of any assistance. On reaching the spot where they expected to find the officers, not a trace of them was to be seen, nor were the bodies found for two days after the event. The three murdered officers died nobly. They made a stand at once on the approach of the treacherous enemy from his lair. Dr Howell’s horse fell wounded at the first fire, and the others, determined not to desert him, fought by his side till their ammunition was expended. The remaining Hottentots gave information, after their escape through the bush, of the scene of strife, and the bodies were sought for. There were at first some rumours of mutilation, but there is scarcely a doubt now of their having been shot dead at once. Mr Chetwynd received a ball through his heart, and Captain Gibson had no less than six gun-shot wounds.

“Ten miles beyond the Kei, these brave spirits now lie at rest. Beside a spot called Shaw’s Fountain, they were buried by their sorrowing comrades. Far from the habitations of the white man are their simple graves; no monument marks the burial-ground in the mighty wilderness, but the memory of these gallant spirits is embalmed the breasts of their fellow soldiers, and their lonely abiding places in the far desert will be henceforth hallowed spots in an enemy’s country.

“The act by which they fell a sacrifice to savage treachery was an imprudent one, but they were ‘strangers in the land,’ and knew not that it is a common trick of the Kaffirs to show cattle at the edge of the bush, and lie in wait.” (See Appendix.)

Chapter XII.

Sufferings of the Settlers

“Another year has opened its pages in the book of life, and the record of the Kaffir war promises nothing in the shape of peace. Our enemy, instead of being subdued, appears more obstinate than ever, and deeply intent on every device that can thwart our purpose and forward his own.

“When the Kaffirs first began to make concessions, I was of opinion that they were willing to submit to any terms at the moment, in order to gain time to plant and reap. The result has been what every one experienced in the Kaffir character ought to have anticipated. We have dealt too mercifully with the treacherous and cruel foe; cruel he is by nature; witness his brutality even among those of his own colour, nay, his own blood. Some say he is not cowardly; it is certain he meets death at the last moment calmly, and he has a peculiar pride in bearing pain and annoyance at all times with apparent indifference. A Kaffir will not raise his hand to remove a fly from his face; and, as he rubs his skin with clay and grease to protect it from the effects of the sun, these attract the flies, and I have known a savage sit for hours in the sun with his cheeks and brow covered by these tormenting and fidgetty insects, without attempting to remove them. It must be allowed, though, that a Kaffir skin more resembles the hide of some powerful animal than the skin of a human being. In the early part of this war, some person procured the entire skin of a Kaffir, and had it treated in the same way that leather is first prepared for tanning. I am told that the texture is at least three times the thickness of a white man’s, and I see no reason for doubting the assertion.

“The Kaffir has neither generosity nor gratitude, which are invariably the attributes of a brave nature; he will not meet his adversary openly, unless he has the advantage immensely in numbers, as in Captain Sandes’s case. When there are some thousands, to one helpless or unarmed man, they will annihilate him without mercy. The Kaffir has no genuine pride, for he will submit to any personal degradation to obtain his ends; in short, he is an ignoble foe, and we gain no more credit, or profit, in fighting such an enemy than if we were endeavouring to circumvent an army of baboons. The Kaffir warriors move from kloof to kloof, from drift to drift, with their provisions in their pouches, or deposited at certain distances in the bush, while their women contrive to support themselves in the neighbourhood of the British camp, making occasional excursions to see their relatives in the field, to furnish them with useful intelligence and gunpowder. Where the latter is obtained is, professedly, a mystery! The resources of the Colony present temptations to those who have long lived by trading in the country beyond the Kei; and, although provisions have not been forwarded along the coast, small vessels have made their way to the mouths of the rivers between Waterloo Bay and Natal. A report, founded on good grounds, is abroad, that the Kaffir women have lately been employed in conveying ammunition to their friends, by means of pack-oxen, from Algoa Bay to the interior of Kaffirland, right through the Colony. This is by no means improbable, when the territory is so vast, and the population scattered, and comparatively small.

“There is little doubt that the Resident Agent at Block Drift now sees the uselessness of endeavouring to carry out the late arrangements of Government with regard to ‘British Kaffraria.’ How he ever supposed such measures could succeed must remain a puzzle to all acquainted with the Kaffir’s nature! ‘I beseech you by the meekness and gentleness of Christ,’ is an appeal which the South African savage, in his present state, cannot be brought to understand.

“January 6th.—We have the old story from the field; the troops have been patrolling, and have rescued two thousand head of cattle from the I’Slambies. The 6th, under the command of Colonel Michell, have had their share in this foray. Much sickness continues to prevail. The cunning Páto has again succeeded in eluding pursuit, although Colonel Somerset hemmed him in. The gallant Colonel, while moving through a mist with a party of troops, came suddenly on his enemy. The surprise of seeing Páto’s panther-like face, as the gloom cleared for an instant, elicited an exclamation from Colonel Somerset, as he drew his pistol from his holster, and Páto escaped into the bush ere the shot could take effect. At the time the despatches were written, only one part of the troops had crossed the Kei, and our private letters mention that the rivers were rising fast. Those who were on the eastern bank, had only a few days’ provisions with them, and they may be cut off from all communication with the troops on this side for two or three weeks.

“News from England.—Orders have been received to this effect:—the 27th, 90th, and 91st Regiments are to embark for England immediately, if they can possibly be spared. The 90th are to march to Graham’s Town at once, and onward to the coast. I despair of our removal with the 91st. Sir Henry Pottinger is daily expected on the frontier. The 27th and 91st Regiments will no doubt be detained till his arrival, and what his movements may be it is impossible to know.”

On the 12th of January, Sir Peregrine Maitland arrived at Graham’s Town, from the frontier, on his way to Cape Town, bringing with him the intelligence that two thousand head of fine cattle had been captured across the Kei by Colonel Somerset’s division; this was a second recapture in less than a fortnight, and under considerable difficulties. But the grand capture, of six thousand head, was made afterwards, and on the 17th of January, Colonel Somerset crossed the Kei at the imminent peril of his life, but the patrol, with all the cattle, were unable to ford the stream, which was still rising with such force that nothing could stand against the torrent. All provisions and supplies were cut off, and the troops had nothing but a few mealies (Indian corn) to subsist on. Three men were drowned on the morning of the 15th: Serjeant-Major Ritchie, 7th Dragoon Guards, and two of the Cape Corps: and Mr Allen, Assistant-Surgeon of the Cape Corps, was only saved by disengaging himself from his horse and swimming ashore.

The command of the troops on the frontier now devolved on Colonel Somerset, until the arrival of General Berkeley. The efficiency of the Colonel for such a command has been fully proved during this long and harassing war.

On the 19th of January the force made its way across the Kei, with eight thousand head of cattle, captured in Kreli’s country. The Kaffirs hung upon the rear, disputing each drift and passage with the troops. In crossing the Kei, a serjeant of the 6th, and a private of the Cape Mounted Rifles, were shot by the enemy.

Having recaptured so much cattle, Colonel Somerset now determined to fall back towards the Colony, and on the 19th he issued an order, warning those in command of posts and divisions, to be as vigilant as ever in their observations of the enemy’s movements, as hostilities had not ceased.

Meanwhile, sickness prevailed among the troops in the field and still increasing. Rheumatism, camp-fever, and dysentery, reduced the subject of them to a deplorable state of debility, and it was melancholy to see young men, who had been scarcely three months in the Colony, brought to positive decrepitude from these sufferings.

“February 6th.—The 91st are under orders to proceed from Fort Peddie to Graham’s Town, for the purpose of preparing for embarkation for home.

“The ‘Thunderbolt’ steamer, having on board Her Majesty’s Commissioner, Sir Henry Pottinger, and Lieutenant-General Berkeley, the Commander of the Forces; in rounding Cape Recife, on the 3rd of February, struck upon a sunken rock, sprung a leak, and it is feared will go to pieces with the first south-easter. The disappointment of the 90th, who were waiting at Algoa Bay for this vessel to convey them to Cape Town for final embarkation, may be will imagined. The old soldiers who stood eagerly watching her approach, set up a universal shout as they saw her coming round. What must have been their feelings when they beheld her run right ashore?

“The appearance of the 90th on leaving the Colony is so totally different to what it presented on its arrival here, that it goes far to prove the good effect of the Cape climate on constitutions debilitated by Indian service. Under every disadvantage of fatigue, privation, and a residence under canvas during an African summer, with the thermometer at times 157 degrees in the open air, the 90th, on their march from Graham’s Town to the coast, presented a perfect picture of a regiment of British veterans.

“We lately saw them in our evening ride, as they toiled up a steep hill before us with their long line of waggons and dusky waggon-drivers. How cheerful they looked! I envied them as I turned my horse’s head back to the land of banishment and anxiety! I could not help uttering the words, ‘Happy 90th, God speed you!’ aloud, as the last waggon passed us, and an old soldier, with a bronzed cheek and grey hair, saluted our party, by way of ‘Thank you for your good will!’ How little they anticipated their disappointment at Algoa Bay!”

It is not long since we rode a few miles on the Fort Beaufort road to see the cattle that had been captured by Colonel Somerset’s division across the Kei. We reached the bivouac just as the sun was declining. The cattle, seven thousand in number, were gathered into a dense mass, and surrounded by their guards. I never see a poor patient-looking Cape ox, that I do not think of the strife continually existing here for the sake of its race. The mass of cattle was a Smithfield show; but the tents round it—the huts contrived to hold one person—being a few bushes and a piece of tattered canvas, the fires where the Hottentots and their vrouws cooked their suppers, the piled muskets, the picquets and scouts turning out for the night, and the pack-oxen, apart from their fellows, and so tame as to be pets and playmates of the boys who watched them, presented an extraordinary sight, particularly in that strange light between the setting of the sun and the reign of the moon. This crowd of cattle had been brought into the Colony with great speed and security, by the levy in command of Captain Hogg, 7th Dragoon Guards; and, as was anticipated, the enemy followed them, in various parties, through the different passes between Kaffirland and our own territory. Fortunately, Captain Hogg and his people had been too swift and careful in their movements to be circumvented even by Kaffirs, and the cattle was distributed to the farmers without delay.

We took another ride one day, which created sad sensations. Above the Drostdy barracks, on the western side of Graham’s Town, is a succession of hills and undulating plains. We chose our path along the open ground, being a vast irregular space, evidently very fertile, for the turf was gay with beautiful wild flowers. Gigantic mountains, piled one above the other, formed the background of this noble amphitheatre. Here and there a hill was clothed in patches of deep green, and on its summit waved a few small trees, but there was no dense bush, and two or three farms dotted the plains, many miles in extent.

“These farms have probably been secure from the Kaffirs during the war,” said I.

We reached one of them. Although it had escaped the brand of the savage, it looked desolate. The owners had only returned within a few days. They had not deserted it till the last moment; their cattle had been stolen and their herds wounded, their land was untilled, and the little watercourse was choked with rubbish. We passed on to the farm a short distance beyond it. The settlers, a man and his wife, perfectly English in appearance, but pale and harassed, stood surveying their miserable homestead. This, too, from its open position, had escaped the brand; but the windows were shattered, the door swung on imperfect hinges, the steps were broken and grass grew between them; the little garden laid waste; and, as if in mockery, a scarlet geranium streamed garishly over the crumbling embankment; rank weeds filled the place of other plants under the broken boughs of the apricot trees, and a few poor articles of furniture which had been borne away to Graham’s Town, on the family flitting, stood in the open air, awaiting more strength than the exhausted mistress of the place could command. Her husband had been trying to bring a piece of ground into some sort of cultivation, but it was heavy work; the long droughts had parched the earth, and the mimosa fence was scattered over the face of the patch, which had once yielded vegetables.