Although the Cape government declared war almost immediately after the
"palaver" at Block Drift, some considerable time elapsed before the
troops received final orders to take the field and enter Caffreland; and
the first week of April was nearly over when Captain Jamieson,
accompanied by his eldest son, Tom Flinders, and Patrick Keown, and
escorted by the Mounted Riflemen in charge of the horses, left
Ralfontein to assume command of the volunteers.
In the interval between the captain's return from Graham's Town and his
departure to join the army, Miss Janet and Mr Weston found time and
opportunity to get married, at a Church of England mission chapel forty
miles from the farm; so he bade farewell to his family with the
consoling assurance that he was leaving them under care of one who now
had a relation's right to comfort them in adversity or defend them in
peril.
On the thirty-second anniversary of the battle of Toulouse [Wellington
defeated Soult at Toulouse on the 10th April, 1814. It was the final
battle of the Peninsular war.] (in which action Donald Jamieson, then
sergeant-major of the --th Foot, was severely wounded) the party from
Ralfontein arrived at Graham's Town and handed over the horses to the
military authorities; and, having purchased a few articles likely to
prove of service during the campaign, they proceeded to join Colonel H.
Somerset's column, encamped at Victoria--a military post which had been
recently established on neutral territory between the Kat and Keiskamma
Rivers.
The burgher force, of which Captain Jamieson now took command, consisted
of about six-score well-armed, well-mounted men; for the most part
farmers and their sons from the neighbouring settlements, with a
sprinkling of storekeepers and clerks from Graham's Town and Bathurst.
They were hardy, active fellows enough, accustomed to the saddle and the
use of the rifle; but--with the exception of a few of the older hands,
who had served on "commandos" in former wars--they were as ignorant of
drill or military discipline as any civilian in England before the
"volunteer movement" had been thought of.
"Shure now, Masther Tom," observed Patrick Keown, regarding his future
comrades (who had mustered and formed up to receive their commandant)
with a critical eye, "we have here fornint us the raw _matherials_ for
as foine a squadron of Light Horse as there is in Her Majesty's service.
But, bedad, sorr!" he added with a solemn shake of the head, "they'll
take a dale of _mixing_."
"Mixing!" laughed Tom. "I should say they're pretty well mixed as it
is. Still, I wager a dollar they know how to ride, and they'll fight
well enough. After all, that's the main point."
"They are for work, not for show," put in young Jamieson.
"True for ye, Misther Frank," the old sergeant rejoined;
"niver-the-less, with your father's lave, I must tache them to pay
attintion to their dhressing and intervals. A loine is a loine, you'll
be plased to remimber, sorr; not a sort of double semicircle."
Of this irregular corps--which Captain Jamieson formed into two troops--
Frank and Tom were appointed officers, with the local and temporary rank
of ensign; the lieutenant-governor promising that after they had seen a
little service he would recommend their transfer to the Cape Mounted
Riflemen as provisional ensigns.
Much to his chagrin, Patrick Keown had scant opportunity of imparting
the "ilimints" of drill and discipline to the Albany farmers and
townsmen who rode in the ranks of "Jamieson's Horse;" for three days
after he was appointed sergeant-major of that corps the advance against
the Caffres commenced.
Early on the morning of the 13th April, the troops marched from Victoria
in two columns--one commanded by Colonel Henry Somerset, Cape Mounted
Rifles, the other by Colonel Richardson, 7th Dragoon Guards--and
crossing the Keiskamma near its junction with Debe River, they, on the
15th, encamped on the Debe Flats, near the base of the "Taban Doda," or
Man Mountain; here the two columns were formed into one division, of
which Colonel Somerset assumed command.
At cock-crow on the following day the troops were again on the move;
and, the camp having been broken up, they advanced towards the Amatola
Mountains. The point at which Colonel Somerset intended to enter the
Amatolas was Burns Hill, where there was a large mission station, and
near which the great chief Sandilli had his principal kraal.
Shortly before the division was formed up, Captain Jamieson received
orders to detail an officer and twenty men of his corps to join a
reconnoitring party, under command of Lieutenant B--of the Mounted
Rifles. The officer who brought the order was a very young and
consequential subaltern of the --th Foot, attached to Colonel Somerset's
staff as galloper. Said he, when he had delivered his message:
"B--has orders to advance towards Burns Hill, and if he finds Sandilli's
kraal deserted, or only held by a small force, he is to occupy it.
You'll be good enough to make your fellows hurry themselves; in affairs
like this it is important that no time should be lost."
"They shall be in the saddle in ten minutes," the captain replied. "I
hear the mission station has been destroyed," he added. "Is that so?"
"Yes, but the missionaries and their people bolted, and are now at
Graham's Town," was the reply.
"Should all go well, we shall encamp at Burns Hill this evening, and
there await the arrival of Major Sutton's `commando' of Hottentots from
the Kat River. If he joins us to-night, no doubt we shall be at it
`hammer and tongs' to-morrow--or next day at the latest."
"I trust we shall soon bring the Caffres to reason," Captain Jamieson
answered, with something like a sigh. "These oft-recurring little wars
must inevitably ruin the country, for they paralyse every industry and
trade; besides, the destruction of life and property is simply
appalling."
"I'm afraid we military men think more of `medals, rank, ribbons,' etc,
than of trade, industry, or even life and property," was the flippant
rejoinder. "Of course that is the soldier's point of view; but you
amateurs--"
"Amateurs!" exclaimed Tom, boiling over at hearing his "chief" thus
designated. "_Coxy_ young--"
"I am scarcely an amateur," Captain Jamieson interrupted, frowning at
Tom to make him hold his tongue. "Allow me to tell you, young
gentleman, that I was present at the passage of the Douro, and saw the
last shot of the Peninsular war fired at Toulouse. I presume you have
heard of the Peninsula?"
"Eh! Peninsula! Oh, yes. I--I--beg pardon, I'm sure!--thought you--
you were a--a--a civilian, you know. Very sorry--quite a mistake--
Good--good morning!" stammered the ensign turning as red as his
shell-jacket. And off he cantered, muttering to himself, "Doosid
awkward! Put my foot into it, by George! Hope our fellows won't hear
about it."
But "our fellows" did hear of it, and the bumptious youth got
unmercifully chaffed in consequence; which he most thoroughly deserved,
and which, no doubt, did him a vast deal of good.
After a brief consultation with Patrick Keown, Captain Jamieson decided
to send Tom Flinders in command of the detachment; so, twenty minutes
later, our hero found himself cantering over the Flats at the head of a
score of well-armed volunteers. Each man of the detachment was armed
with a double-barrelled rifle, hunting-knife, and horse-pistol, and
carried a "cross-bag" (after the manner of Dutch burghers when on the
"war-path") containing a supply of moss-biscuit and biltong, sufficient
to last for several days. Moss-biscuit, we may add for the information
of our readers, is a light, dry biscuit made of fine flour mixed with
"mosto," the unfermented juice of the grape; it will keep good for
almost any length of time, and is both portable and nutritious.
Lieutenant B--, who commanded the reconnoitring party, was a right good
fellow, and Tom soon became friends with him.
B--had been some years in the Mounted Rifles, and was considered one of
the smartest officers in that corps; he was also an enthusiastic
sportsman--just the man that a lad of Tom's age and disposition could
look up to, and at the same time be on terms of good fellowship with.
"Were you in the `C.M.R.' with my father?" asked Tom, as they rode side
by side; having slackened pace in order to breathe the horses, for they
had been "putting on the steam" since they left camp.
"No; but I have often met him. The Major, I think, retired in '29, and
I did not get my commission until '35; just about the time Hintza was
killed. You will remember that business, I daresay."
"Can't say I remember it, for I was quite a youngster at the time; only
just `breeched' in fact," Tom replied, "but I have heard the pater
mention it. Hintza was shot when attempting to escape, was he not?"
"Yes; when a prisoner on parole."
"I should like to hear about it," said Tom, who dearly loved a yarn.
"Well," replied his companion; "it is rather a long story, but I can
tell you the main facts, for I was one of those who pursued him. In
May, 1835, Hintza, the paramount Chief of Caffreland, was a prisoner in
the British camp, and, for his sins, had been sentenced to pay a fine of
50,000 head of cattle. This fine he expressed himself willing to pay,
if he were allowed to return to his own country to superintend the
collection of the cattle. At first the governor would not listen to
this, but after a lot of palaver and negotiation, it was arranged that
Hintza should be permitted to go, under a strong escort; his son Kreilli
and his uncle Bookoo being retained as hostages in the British camp.
"An old Rifle Brigadesman, General Sir Harry Smith, was selected to
command the escort; which consisted of both horse and foot, regulars and
irregulars, but no artillery. I was then serving in the `Guides' corps
as a volunteer, and was one of those appointed to the general's
body-guard.
"Well, the column left the head-quarter camp on the banks of the Kei,
and advanced into Caffreland by forced marches. Hintza was treated as a
sort of a prisoner at large, and usually rode with the general; he was
splendidly mounted, and had been permitted to retain his arms--the usual
bundle of seven assegais.
"On the fourth morning after leaving the camp, the column reached the
summit of a table-topped mountain. We now had a splendid view of the
country beyond the Bashee River, and to our surprise, saw thousands and
thousands of cattle being driven _away_ from us.
"This circumstance somewhat staggered us, and Sir Harry was examining
the retreating masses through his field-glass, when suddenly somebody
shouted, `Hintza has bolted!'
"On hearing the cry, Sir Harry dropped his glasses and, putting spurs to
his charger, raced after the fugitive, who had got a start of fifty or
sixty yards. We, of course, joined in the chase, but the general soon
distanced us, and, overtaking the chief, ordered him to pull up;
whereupon Hintza made a stab at him with his bundle of assegais.
"Sir Harry parried the thrust, and drawing a pistol threatened to shoot
the chief, if he did not immediately surrender. Hintza replied by
making another attempt to stab him, so Sir Harry fired, but without
effect.
"Thousands of Caffres were now to be seen crowning the hills in all
directions, and towards them Hintza rode for dear life. Once more Sir
Harry dashed up to him, and, seizing him by his tiger-skin kaross,
hurled him to the ground; but the impetus of his gallop carried him past
the fallen chief, who was on his legs in an instant, and off down the
precipitous side of the mountain.
"By this time four of the Guides, who had joined in the chase, came up,
and jumping from their horses, followed the fugitive on foot; these four
were S--y, D--r, B--r and myself. I sent two shots after the flying
chief, both of which went wide of their mark; he then gained the bush at
the foot of the hill, and disappeared from sight.
"S--y and B--r now entered the bush from above, and D--r and I (who were
further down the hill) from below; and, working towards one another, we
presently closed in upon our human quarry, S--y being the first to come
upon him.
"Hintza was then standing up to his middle in a narrow stream, which ran
through the bush, beneath a shelving rock; and when he caught sight of
S--y he drew an assegai, and poised it. Nothing daunted S--y approached
and called upon him to surrender, whereupon the Caffre threw back his
right arm and was in the act of hurling the assegai at his pursuer, when
the latter, seeing that he must either kill or be killed, levelled his
rifle and fired. His ball struck the fugitive right in the centre of
the forehead, and throwing up his hands, he fell backwards against a
rock. We rushed in and lifted him up, but the rifle-ball had done its
work, and Hintza, the powerful Chief of Caffraria, had gone to his last
account."
"Serve the treacherous scoundrel right!" exclaimed Tom, when the
lieutenant came to the end--the tragical end--of his narrative. "Had he
got the escort into his power not one of you would have lived to tell
the tale. I suppose that was what he was aiming at?"
"No doubt of it; his purpose was to entice us into the heart of his
country, and then surround us with an overwhelming force," rejoined Mr
B--. "He played a bold game, and lost it! Still we were, one and all,
from the general downwards, sorry for his untimely death; and nobody
more so than the man who shot him. And now, Flinders, I think you had
better ride with your troop, for yonder is Burns Hill. The mission
station lies to the right, and Sandilli's kraal is a little beyond it."
In another ten minutes they came in sight of the mission station, and
B--galloped forward to join his advanced files.
"Keep your fellows well in hand," said he to Tom, before riding off;
"and be ready to support me if necessary. From the fact that the houses
and chapel are still standing, I am inclined to think that Sandilli
intends to hold his ground."
Mr B--, however, was mistaken, for on approaching, with every
precaution, Burns Hill, he found that both the mission station and the
chief's kraal were deserted; but though the former was not burned down
(as had been reported), every house had been ransacked, and broken
furniture, papers, school-books, Bibles, and many other articles lay
scattered in all directions.
"Verily, the Caffre is a destructive animal!" cried Tom, when he rode up
and surveyed the scene. "His bump of mischief must be strongly
developed."
"A European mob would commit quite as much damage, if in the mood,"
Lieutenant B--answered. "I don't think there would be much to choose
between Santerre's `sans culottes,' and Sandilli's `amadodas.' But
behold our only trophy!" he added, holding up a couple of lions' tails.
"Sergeant Jackson found them at the entrance of the chief's hut."
"What are they?" asked Tom. "Chamboks?" [A peculiar kind of thonged
whip.]
"Chamboks! no indeed; they're the Caffre emblems of royalty."
Towards noon the division reached Burns Hill, and encamped near the
mission station, and shortly afterwards Major Sutton's "commando"
marched up, and formed a separate camp on the other side of the
Keiskamma River. So when the tired soldiers lay down to rest that night
it was pretty well understood that there would probably be warm work on
the morrow.