FIRST ATTEMPTS AT DISCIPLINE IN CORPS--PREPARE TO START FOR
THE FRONT--DIFFICULTY OF GETTING MEN ON BOARD SHIP--REVIEW AND
SHAM FIGHT--FIRST FEATS OF ARMS--EMBARKATION--ARRIVE AT FORT
ELIZABETH--ONWARD MARCH TOWARDS GRAHAM’S TOWN--FIRST ENCAMPMENT
IN THE BUSH--MUTINY AND PUNISHMENT--FURTHER ADVANCE--PANIC AND
FLIGHT.
To return to my men at the Cape;--Happy Jack and I, after many a
good look at one another, were gradually nearing the point of trying
conclusions as to which of the two really commanded the corps. On his
part it was one perpetual scene of half-drunken, half-intentional
defiance. He rolled about the streets in uniform, followed by besotted
comrades, to gain, as he said, by their jolly appearance, fresh
adherents. No one, he pretended, could look at their happy condition
and refuse to join such companions. The fact is, he did bring in
many recruits, and I hardly knew how to get on with or without him.
Providence, however, decided in my favour. Colonel Ingleby, commandant
of the town and castle, a fine old soldier, and extremely kind to me,
sent a small detachment of artillerymen to keep order in the barracks.
Happy Jack’s fate was sealed. A picket of regulars sent to scour the
public-houses for absentees, brought Jack to barracks in a woful
plight. He had had a frog’s march--that is to say, on hands, belly,
and knees--almost from one end of the town to the other. Refusing to
obey the picket, and march to barracks on his legs, he had been kindly
allowed to come on all-fours, held up by the collar of his coat, for
fear of stumbling, and the seat of his unmentionables. Poor fellow! he
felt sorely his abject degradation in the eyes of his associates, male
and female, and kept ever afterwards well in the background.
The day now approached for our starting to the front. Captain Hall, who
commanded the man-of-war on the station, had prepared to take us all on
board, but the difficulty was how to get the men there. Every one knew
perfectly well, from their many loud boastings on the point, that they
had not the least intention of going; and as no means existed in the
town by which forcible coercion could be attempted on so large a body
of men with a reasonable chance of success, it did look a very dubious
question.
The matter, however, was finally arranged after this fashion, between
Captain Hall, Colonel Ingleby, the police, and myself. We were to have
a grand field-day, to end by a display of military prowess on the part
of the men in a sham engagement, and thereby prove their fighting
capacity against her Majesty’s sable foes. The general plan consisted
in the police, and all the artillerymen Colonel Ingleby could spare,
landing on the beach just outside the castle, under the protection
of the guns of Captain Hall’s ship. They were then to proceed inland
towards Wineberg, and, on arriving about two miles from the shore, were
to be suddenly confronted by my corps, and driven back to the ship.
The first part of the plan was carried out as intended. In the first
place, Colonel Ingleby, in full uniform, attended by a sub-lieutenant,
Dr B----, and two commissariat officers in regimentals, passed a review
of the men, 167 rank and file. They looked very well in line, and knew
enough drill to take open order for inspection; so that the first part
of the programme gave every appearance of having a happy issue, by the
way in which it was being carried out.
Colonel Ingleby, however, had the unfortunate idea to make the men
a speech in praise of their gallant appearance. This was not in the
order-book, so I scarcely knew what to say in reply. Happy Jack,
however, was equal to the occasion. He stepped boldly out of the ranks
and walked up to the Colonel, and said that as he was so pleased with
their trim, he hoped he would, man-o’-war fashion, order a glass of
grog all round. The good-tempered Colonel, rather taken aback, replied,
“You had better ask Captain Lakeman for that.” “No, no,” said Jack;
“I know better than to ask the skipper when the admiral is present,
so please order the grog.” It _was_ ordered. The Colonel drank to our
success, I returned thanks, the men cheered, and then broke out with
“We won’t go home till morning.”
In the course of half an hour passed in this agreeable manner, the men
fell readily enough into the ranks, and proceeded in a rollicking,
spirited manner towards the position assigned us in the forthcoming
engagement. We had hardly taken up our post in the bend of the road
that led to the Observatory, when the continued booming of Captain
Hall’s guns told us the enemy were disembarking. Shortly afterwards
they could be espied feeling their way through the brushwood that led
up the valley. In approaching the cross-road that wound its way towards
Wineberg they divided their forces. One party--the police--took the
road; the other--the regulars--continued their way through the scrubby
brushwood. They advanced but slowly, taking all due precautions,
probing the ground right and left, with an advance and a rear guard.
The police, on the contrary, came up the dusty road in a most
disorderly, unhesitating manner--looking like a swarm of blue-bottles
on a white, smoking, Cambridge sausage. This was setting such a bad
example to my recruits that I determined to give them a profitable
lesson; so, calling in the outposts, I prepared to meet them suddenly
with the whole force at my disposal.
On they heedlessly came to the bend of the road, when they found
themselves confronted by an impassable barrier of prickly cactus, that
I had hastily strewn there. They evidently thought this a warning
of approaching danger, for, hastily unslinging their carbines, they
prepared for action. But I left them no time for this ceremonious
proceeding. The order to fire was given, and these brave but misguided
invaders received such a peppering discharge from both sides of the
road that the error of their ways became pungently manifest; and,
without the slightest demur, they wriggled their bent forms into the
smallest possible shape, and bolted in the opposite direction. But my
men were most anxious to prove their capacity for far harder fighting
than the evanescent police force allowed them to display; so, with
loud shouts and exulting halloos, they jumped up from behind the fence
which had hitherto concealed them, and started off in pursuit of the
scuttling foe.
Many a long itching grudge was feelingly rubbed off that day upon the
heads of the police. Happy Jack was particularly conspicuous, as, with
tucked-up sleeves, he laid the butt of his rifle (much to my dread of
its breaking) upon the heads and shoulders of his natural enemies, in a
manner quite uncalled for by the stricken.
But there is a turn in the tide of events which, taken at the flood,
makes one at times feel somewhat giddy as it whirls us round. This
dizzying ebb of fortune ran counter to Happy Jack, and threw him on his
beam-ends in the most reckless fashion.
It happened that Sergeant Herridge of the police force, and in
command of that party, seeing the discomfiture of his men, had had
the discretion to lead them back to Cape Town, and was showing the
way as fast as his portly person, under the sweltering heat of the
sun and the battle combined, allowed him to do. Happy Jack espied
the retreating chief, and took up the pursuit like Achilles after
affrighted Hector, chevying him round and round his admiring followers.
At length he reached the spent chieftain, and placing the muzzle of his
firelock between the outspread coat-tails of the flying victim, blew a
cartridge off at that part upon which people usually sit. The effect
was startling. Hector cut a double-shuffle high up in the air like an
exploding cracker, and while still wreathed in smoke, swung round his
truncheon with Parthian address on the grinning face of Jack, whose
head came to the ground--cracker number two.
Now was the time for the victorious sergeant to make off: the road was
clear, and he had my good wishes that it should be kept so. But the
foolish fellow, instead of running away, to live and fight another
day, sat deliberately down in the dusty road and began bumping his
hindquarters violently on the ground, to stamp out the fire the
cartridge of Happy Jack had lit in his rear. This ludicrous display of
stern-firing gave time for other men to come up; he was made prisoner,
and Jack, recovering his senses, feelingly kicked the fire out of the
singeing sergeant in double-quick time. Herridge was removed on board
in a critical state, refusing in his disgraced condition to be taken to
Cape Town; ultimately, upon recovery, he enlisted in my corps.
On the discomfiture of the police, the artillerymen in the valley
began to retreat; but in this direction the pursuit was very slack.
My men bent all their energies in scattering every vestige of civil
authority; they evidently began to consider themselves as one with the
soldiers--in fact, it was in recounting the mishaps that had that day
befallen the police that we retired laughingly together, with those
whom we were supposed to be repulsing with great vigour.
Finally, on arriving at the beach from whence the enemy had started,
a still greater surprise awaited us; but this time (as if by just
reprisal) it fell exclusively upon my own men, and that in a most
bewildering manner.
Captain Hall had landed his marines and a detachment of blue-jackets,
who, _sans cérémonie_, disarmed my men, as they arrived in batches
of twos and threes, and placed them in files along the sea-shore.
The climax had arrived; and to the astonishment, no doubt, of many
beholders from the town, who had come to witness what they supposed was
likely to be an exciting performance, I was quite equal to the task of
stage-manager on this occasion. In a few words I explained to my future
heroes that the time was come to go to the front and show to the
Kaffirs what we were capable of doing. The black was pressing hard on
the white man, who looked to us for help; the ship was ready to convey
us; the cheers of the inhabitants of Cape Town were a token of what was
expected; in fact, the time had arrived when the very humblest had a
duty to perform.
Go we must; so I called for three cheers, and “Forward to the
boats!” Some murmured that they had not wished friends “good-bye;”
others talked of kits left behind; but they were too tired to resist
physically, and without consultation they were unequal to combined
action; so, _nolens volens_, we managed, one after another, to get them
all aboard ship, excepting some twenty or so, who had come to grief
in our late engagement with the police, and these I left behind. By
the exertions of Captain Hall, who appeared to me a most painstaking,
energetic officer, we soon got safely stowed away on board, and three
days after landed at Port Elizabeth. Mr Durant Deare, a merchant of
that town, kindly offered me quarters under his hospitable roof. The
men were billeted in the town; and two days afterwards, with seven
waggon-loads of ammunition and five gun-carriages, we started for
Graham’s Town.
Foreseeing the disorderly manner in which my rough lot would probably
leave the grog-shops, I started very early in the morning, before
the inhabitants had got up--for I was loath to show our, as yet,
disorganised state. I waited until fairly on the march before bringing
a tighter hand to bear upon the many ruffians in my corps, who, half
in joke, half inquiringly, looked me in the face, and called me mate,
skipper, or captain, as they interpreted its meaning.
On the evening of the second day we arrived at the Ada bush; this
was some twenty miles in breadth, composed of jungle-wood, free from
Kaffirs, but infested with bands of marauders, consisting of native
levies who had fled, weapons in hand, from the seat of war. As we were
encamped that night, I strolled the greater part of it around the
fires, and gathered from several parties that the next day something
eventful was to take place in which _my_ fate was concerned. I felt
perfectly tranquil, however, trusting that I should be equal to the
task of holding my own against such an abandoned, disunited lot--for I
had also many good, God-fearing men among them.
The next morning, on the order being given for the men to fall
in for roll-call, no one stirred. Sergeant Waine, who had been a
non-commissioned officer in the 44th, but broken and discharged for
bad conduct, to whom I had given the stripes in consideration of his
regimental knowledge, stepped up to me, and said that the men wanted
grog served out to them before they would budge, and if they did not
get it, would return to Port Elizabeth. I did not reply to him, but,
getting on my horse, rode up to the men and asked if they had enlisted
with the intention of obeying orders or not. No one replied; and giving
the word to fall in, they sullenly did so.
The Hottentot drivers inspanned the bullocks, and I repeated “Forward!”
in a tone that seemed strange even to myself, so authoritative and
full of energy did it sound in my own ear. All obeyed, and we started
on the march; scarcely, however, had we entered the bush before a shot
was fired. I saw from the smoke where the discharge came from, so,
riding to the spot, inquired who had fired. Sergeant Waine came to
the front and said he had. I reminded him of the order which had been
given that no firing was to take place under any consideration, unless
I or Lieutenant Pilkington gave the command. He muttered something
unintelligible in reply; and I repeated the order aloud, to be heard
by all around, that if any man discharged a firelock without orders I
would have him punished as severely as the circumstances allowed. I
then rode on again towards the head of the column, when another shot
was fired, and this time the bullet came whistling very close to my
head. On looking round I saw that the shot was fired from the same spot
again, around which the men were now gathered in a cluster. I felt
that the crisis had come, so loosening my pistol in the holster-pipe
(an Adams’ revolver, one of the first made), I rode back and asked
who fired. Waine replied he did. “Who gave the order?” said I. “A
magpie,” he answered. I called out for Sergeant-major Herridge, the
late police officer, who had quite recovered, and had become a most
efficient subordinate. “Take Waine’s firelock from him,” I said. This
was quickly done. “Now tie him up to that gun-carriage and give him
three dozen.” Waine bawled out to the men, and asked whether they would
see him flogged like a nigger. Before they could reply I drove my horse
amidst them, revolver in hand, and cried out that the first man who
opened his mouth, or moved, I would blow his brains out, at the same
time pointing the muzzle to some of their heads, as I saw they were
more or less inclined to disobey my injunctions. Sergeant Herridge was
a powerful man, and Waine was soon tied up; but there being no “cat”
to flog him with, I ordered it to be done with his belt. And well was
it laid on. The fellow bellowed lustily, and I asked the men what they
thought of such a blubbering cur. Happy Jack now began to cry “Shame.”
I rode him down, and as he scrambled from between my horse’s legs
in an awful state of funk, some of the men laughed outright, and he
got no more openly-shown sympathy than his comrade Waine. After the
flogging was over I told Herridge to give back to Waine his leather
jacket. The ruffian said, “You will give me my jacket, but why don’t
you give me my firelock?” “Give him that also,” said I. On getting it
he began loading, and looking at me in a most significant manner. When
he came to put the cap on the nipple, either from the numbing pain of
the flogging, or from the violence with which Herridge had pulled off
his pouch, he could not find a cap. I offered him one--it was only a
pistol cap (but I did not think of that at the time); when he looked at
me, threw down his firelock, and said, “No, I won’t shoot you.” Seeing
this sign in my favour, I began to explain to the men that no one had a
greater horror, of flogging than I had, and that I never would have had
it done had it not been to punish a cowardly villain who had attempted
to shoot me from behind. If any of them had a complaint to make, let
them come to me, face to face, and explain, and they never would find
me unwilling to listen, or to redress any just grievance. Waine was
then placed on a gun-carriage alongside of Happy Jack, and we once more
started on our march. From that day my orders were obeyed, and matters
assumed a more orderly aspect.
On fording Sunday River, which runs through the Ada bush, the whole
column nearly came to grief. All due precautions had, however, been
taken as though passing through an enemy’s country, lining both sides
of the ford--an advanced-guard and a rear-guard. But notwithstanding
orders, some of the men had strolled down the banks of the river in
order to find a favourable spot to bathe. While thus proceeding, some
marauding Fingoes were espied; a cry arose that the Kaffirs were
coming, a stampede ensued, and my men bolted like rabbits into the
bush. The Hottentot drivers cut the traces of their oxen, disappearing
with their cattle, and I was left alone with the waggons in the
middle of the river, with five or six men whom I had managed to keep
together--my anxiety barely sufficing to retain my laughter at the
ridiculous disappearance of the whole party.
The Fingoes, however, were as much frightened as my men had been,
and ran away in the opposite direction; so when my fellows had been
sufficiently scratched and blown by making their way through the
prickly underwood, unmolested by all except their own fears (and
the thorns), they soon retraced their footsteps, and could be seen
in twos and threes peeping from the outskirts of the jungle to know
whether the coast had become clear. On getting them together again, I
made a speech, and so enlarged upon their ridiculously discreditable
behaviour, that they swore, one and all, that they would never so
commit themselves again. To put their courage to the test, I determined
to encamp that night where this occurred--in the middle of the bush.
This was rather hazardous; but I counted upon the danger of Fingo
marauders to keep them together, and in my own bold attitude to keep
the latter off.
My position was a strange one; and as I lay that night upon a
gun-carriage, having for companions Waine moaning over the pains in his
back, and Happy Jack muttering threats of courts-martial, I thought, if
Providence did not intervene, the thread of my existence would possibly
snap somehow.
The night passed off calmly enough, and the next morning saw us safely
on the other side of the bush; and that evening we encamped at a farm
belonging to Mr Bruckyer, a Dutch settler from Haarlem--which town, by
the way, was the home of my forefathers in King William III.’s reign;
therefore, being somewhat akin through ancestral associations, we soon
became good friends. This gentleman not only furnished my corps with
an abundance of farm produce--accepting only our thanks in return--but
also took charge of seven men who were incapable, from illness and sore
feet, of continuing with the column. These men were afterwards sent on
in a waggon to Fort Beaufort, some hundred and twenty miles off, to
rejoin the corps. Mr Bruckyer again refused all remuneration.