The pithy motto of "Deeds, not words," is fraught with sound sense;
nevertheless, words uttered with calmness and decision, to a suffering
community, carry comfort to the hearts of men, if, by their import, they
simply prove that the sufferer's cause is understood.
Sir Henry Pottinger left Cape Town on the 10th February, 1847, in the
"President" flag-ship, Admiral Dacres, and an address was presented to
him on his landing at Algoa Bay, by the inhabitants of Port Elizabeth,
to which he replied in a manner that evinced his determination to meet
the difficulties before him unflinchingly.
Whilst Sir Henry Pottinger was receiving and replying to the addresses
of the inhabitants of Algoa Bay, Sir Peregrine Maitland, his family and
suite, were embarking at Cape Town for England. Every demonstration of
respect towards the ex-Governor and Lady Sarah Maitland, was displayed
by the inhabitants, who pressed forward to offer a kind farewell.
On the 24th of February, the guns from the battery above the Drostdy
Barracks announced the arrival of Sir George Berkeley, K.C.B., the newly
appointed Commander-in-Chief of Her Majesty's forces on the South
African frontier; and, on the 27th, another salute told of Sir Henry
Pottinger's approach to the then immediate seat of Government, Graham's
Town.
The registration system has not succeeded. A farmer misses his cattle,
sheep, and horses, or his garden is trampled down, or stripped of its
produce. He represents the case to the officer of the line, or the
Burgher in command of the nearest post, or bivouac. A patrol is
ordered; the spoor is traced, and the men enter the thick bush, creeping
on their hands and knees. They first come on the ashes of a fire, and
the _debris_ of a meal; the eyes of a savage scout gleam through a
screen of mimosa thorns, and then disappear; there is a rush through the
bush, a Kaffir exclamation of "Ma-wo!" a stray shot or two from the
enemy, fired with deadly intent, but unsuccessfully generally, from the
very desire to take unerring aim, a volley from the patrol, then a chase
to no purpose; for, shortly after, the savages utter a yell of defiance
from some distant or impracticable pass, or more frequently vanish in
silence, leaving, perhaps, the traces of blood, the Kaffirs possessing
extraordinary vitality, and rivalling, though in a different sense, that
celebrated British Corps, the "Die Hards." The deserted bivouac of the
enemy is then examined, and the booty that presents itself as a reward
of toil and courage, consists of the bones of an ox, the remnant of a
roasted goat, or sheep, some trophies from Burn's Hill, in the shape of
an artillery powder-bag, part of a leather belt, a few stray assegais,
perchance a good hair-trigger gun, some filthy karosses, and a
registration ticket or two, setting forth how Cana, or Weni, or Tuti,
Number 300, or 3000, etc, had "surrendered himself at Fort Hare, or Fort
Peddie, on such a day, 1847," the said surrender, by the way, having
been followed up on some occasions by a gift of cattle recaptured by the
troops on the very morning perhaps that it was presented to the said
Cana, Weni, Tuti, etc, etc.
On the 25th of February, the Grenadiers of the 91st Regiment having been
detained many days on the eastern side of the Fish River, in consequence
of its being impassable from its swollen state, the soldiers adopted a
peculiar mode of getting the baggage-waggons across this gulf of dark
and sluggish waters. Availing themselves of a short period when the
drift became navigable, these patient and experienced soldiers took the
waggons to pieces, and embarked them piecemeal with their cargoes in the
clumsy craft which forms the sole means of conveyance.
The first two years of our sojourn here, the locusts devastated the
land. The prophet Joel describes this dreadful visitation as "Like the
noise of chariots on the tops of mountains," "Like the noise of flame of
fire that devoureth the stubble," as a "strong people set in battle
array;" and any one who has ridden through a cloud of locusts, must
admit the description to be as true as it is sublime. On one occasion,
at Fort Peddie, the cloud, flickering between us and the missionary
station, half a mile distant, dazzled our eyes, and veiled the buildings
from our sight; at last it rose, presenting its effects in some acres of
barren stubble, which the sun had lit up in all the beauty of bright
green a few hours before. Verily, "the heavens" seemed "to tremble,"
and the sky was darkened by this "great army," which passed on "every
one on his ways," neither "breaking their ranks" nor "thrusting one
another." So they swept on, occupying a certain space between the
heavens and the earth, and neither swerving from their path, extending
the mighty phalanx, or pausing in the course: the noise of their wings
realising the idea of a "flaming blast," and their whole appearance
typifying God's terrible threat of a "besom of destruction."
"They shall walk every one in his path!" Nothing turns them from it.
And, if the traveller endeavour to force his way through them with
unwonted rapidity, he is sure to suffer. I have ridden for miles at a
sharp gallop through these legions, endeavouring to beat them off with
my whip, but all to no purpose! nothing turns them aside, and the poor
horses bend down their heads as against an advancing storm, and make
their way as best they can, snorting and writhing under the infliction
of several sharp blows on the face and eyes, which their riders
endeavour to evade with as little success. One draws a long breath
after escaping from a charge of locusts, and looking round you, you
exclaim with the prophet, "The land is as the garden of Eden before
them, and behind them a desolate wilderness; yea, and nothing shall
escape them."
The white ants are another plague--books, dresses, carpets, etc, all
fall a prey to their voracity in a few days; the very houses give way
before them; and when they are on a march, never swerving from their
path, some thousands in number, the earth has the appearance of being
covered with ashes. Twice, then, have I seen the land subject to this
curse; and in 1846 the droughts proved perhaps a worse misfortune. Here
again the prophet's words were applicable: "How do the beasts groan! the
herds of cattle are perplexed because they have no pasture; yea, the
flocks of sheep are made desolate!"
The rise of the rivers is another of the wonderful sights of Africa. At
one moment the bed of the river presents little but a surface of mud; a
distant murmur is heard, then a roar; nearer, yet nearer, and a wall of
water is visible up the stream. On, on,--not foaming, nor leaping, nor
glancing in the bright sun,--like a cheerful, honest, English torrent--
but with a slow sluggish movement, the wall advances, swelling in its
career, and gradually filling the great chasm with a dull and sluggish
volume of lead-coloured fluid; while the cattle stand trembling and
gazing on the brink of this African Styx, their Fingo herdsman making no
bad representation of "Charon grim!"
Pato's last message to Colonel Somerset might be admired for its
coolness, if the intentions implied in it were serious in all their
bearings. His ambassadress, a Kaffir woman, came into Graham's Town
lately, to tell Colonel Somerset that Pato desired to meet him [Note 1],
and that speedily, as his (the Chief's) tobacco-pouch was worn out, and
he only waited for his enemy's skin wherewith to make a new one! There
is no doubt that Pato would readily appropriate the said skin of his
persevering foe to the purpose required, but as to meeting Colonel
Somerset, that is "quite another thing."
Witchcraft is working its mischief in Kaffirland, accompanied with the
most revolting ceremonies. After the first affair on the Amatolas,
Sandilla presented Umyeki, one of his numerous fathers-in-law, with a
trophy of victory. The skull, skin, and right hand of our unfortunate
friend, Captain Bambrick, 7th Dragoon Guards, were considered by the
young Gaika chief as worthy offerings to this celebrated witch-doctor,
or worker of spells. These wizards outrival the chiefs in power, and
have hitherto carried on their incantations with a success that baffles
both missionary and military exertions.
The wizard, Umyeki, then gathers round him a vast assemblage of his
fellow-savages; and, after going through the usual harlequinade
attendant on those mysteries of Kaffirland, he exhibits a decoction, a
mixture of herbs with Sandilla's trophies, and as this boils and foams
over on the fire he has prepared according to form, under it, he dips a
stick into it, stirs it up, and then pointing the magic wand in the
direction of our outposts, camps, bivouacs, and leaguers, he decrees as
he thinks fit, sickness to one, fear to another, and so on; and thus by
persuading his deluded and superstitious countrymen that he paralyses
the colonial forces, the Kaffirs acquire fresh courage, and persevere in
their aggressions. A clever artist has seized on this for a subject,
which promises to make a fine picture. The demon look of the wizard,
the curiosity depicted in the faces of some of the spectators, the
terror of others who turn aside, or shrink away, with faces
half-averted, are all well portrayed. Such a scene can only be imagined
by people who are accustomed to the study of the Kaffir countenance.
Those who witnessed Sandilla's first offer of _amende_ to the British
Government described it as singularly impressive, and were touched with
some feelings of compassion for the restless Gaika. The image presented
is a mournful one. Sandilla, at the age of twenty-four, hitherto Lord
Paramount of the Amakosas, including Gaikas, I'Slambies, and many
smaller tribes, sits moodily on the mountain-ridge, awaiting an answer
to the conciliatory message wrung from him by force of the British arms;
and, surveying in silence the territory he has forfeited,--lands
extending as far as the eye can reach--mountains and deep valleys, green
pastures, and sheltering bush--the home of the savage, all threaded by
the Tyumie stream--those waters, of which he once vowed "the white man
should never drink,"--on its fertile banks, the tents of the English now
stand in proud array. The echoes round that vast space give back the
bugle call, the fife's shrill notes, the drum's dull rolling sound,
where once was heard the hunter's shout, the jackal's cry, the peevish
whine of the wolf, the mocking laugh of the hyena, and but lately the
wild whoop of the Gaika warriors. Silently sits that young Chief upon
the mountain edge, but not alone--to him, at least, his people are true.
A chieftain's power is absolute, but, alas! it is only applicable to
mischievous purposes. His vassals watch him, and a proud sorrow is
depicted in their countenances as they gaze on him, turning from time to
time their fierce and scowling eyes on the British Commissioner. In
strong contrast to this, Sir Peregrine Maitland, with his Staff, rides
slowly by--his calm features totally unmoved, as he hands a written
decree to his delegate, and passes on. With their arms folded, and yet
with every nerve on the alert, and hands ready to seize the short
destructive assegais at their feet [these are used when compelled to
close with the enemy], the warriors of the Amatola, unsubdued in spirit,
haughtily await the "word" of the "White-headed Chief of the children of
the foam," to which Sandilla vouchsafes no reply. Apart, a young Gaika,
Anta (Sandilla's brother), speaks words of bitter scorn. Eye and hand
sweep round the glorious territory, and at each pause in his vehement
harangue, a low and solemn sound, like the distant roar of many waters,
rolls through the circle of his auditors. No notice of what is passing
is vouchsafed by the Amakosa Chief. At last, drawing his robe of
tiger-skin around his withered limb, he moves slowly and, in spite of
his lameness, with dignity, from the council-ground, and is lost in the
deep recesses of the "bush."
All this, I say, presents a mournful image to the mind, and many a
romance has been formed on poorer incidents; but we must remember when
we hear the broad assertion of philanthropists at home, that we are not
justified in taking from the Kaffir, "the land of his fathers," that the
country is only his by might--no more his than ours, he having driven
the aborigines from the dwelling-place God originally led them into.
Where are these poor Bushmen now? Far up the country, among the steep
recesses of the mountains, where they form a link between the animals of
the wilderness and human nature. Thither civilisation may follow them
when the land of their forefathers shall be under British rule!
It may here be remarked that the Zooluh tribes, near Natal, now punish
witchcraft among themselves with death. Umwangela, a chief, lately
ordered a Zooluh wizard to be destroyed by one of the tribe, named
Nomgulu; both the chief and his subject were seized by the British
authorities, and tried for murder. Umwangela's defence was, "I was
dead; I had lost my family by the wizard, and determined to have his
life in return." Nomgulu pleaded that he was "only the dog of
Umwangela; that witchcraft was a crime punishable by death." Umwangela
and his "dog" were found guilty of murder on the British territory, and
sentenced to death; but the sentence was not carried into effect. The
witnesses who discovered the prisoners arrested them when returning from
bathing, it being the custom of the Zooluhs to wash after an execution.
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. Pato'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 "Pato 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.
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Note 1. The Kaffir _sobriquet_ for Colonel Somerset implies, in their
language, a peculiar species of hawk, famous for its keen sight and its
activity.