The whole scene, with its multitudinous details, was a commingling of the ludicrous, the touching, and the sublime. It was mirth-provoking to observe the wild energy of the coal-black men, as they sprang from side to side, with shield and assagai, driving in refractory cattle; the curious nature of the bundles borne by many of the women; the frolicking of the larger children and the tottering of the smaller ones, whose little black legs seemed quite unequal to the support of their rotund bodies. It was touching to see, here and there, a stalwart man pick up a tired goat and lay it on his shoulders, or relieve a weary woman of her burden—or catch up a stumbling little one that had lost its mother, and carry it along in his arms. And it was a sublime thought that this great army was being led, like the Israelites of old, out of worse than Egyptian bondage, into a Christian colony, as the adopted sons and daughters of a civilised Government.
It was, in one sense, a “nation born in a day,” for the Fingoes were destined, in after years, to become the faithful allies of their white deliverers, and the creators of much additional wealth in the colony,—a raw native material which at that time gladdened, and still rejoices, the hearts of those missionaries who look to the Fingoes with reasonable hope, as likely to become, in time, the bearers of the Gospel to their kindred in the wilds of Central Africa.
Chapter Twenty Seven.
The Fate of the Paramount Chief of Kafirland
Meanwhile Hintza, not having shown sufficient readiness and alacrity in redeeming his promises, was held as a hostage in the hands of the white man. He was, however, treated with the utmost consideration, and when he proposed to accompany a division of the troops, in order to exercise to the utmost his personal influence in recovering from his people the cattle and horses due, and to apprehend the murderers, according to treaty, he was allowed to do so, not only quite free in person, but even with his weapons in his hands.
Colonel Smith, however, who commanded the force, distinctly told the chief through an interpreter, that if he attempted to escape he would instantly be shot.
The force consisted of detachments of the Cape Mounted Rifles, the 72nd regiment, and the corps of Guides—350 men in all.
Towards the afternoon of the day on which they marched, a circumstance occurred which justified Colonel Smith’s suspicions as to Hintza’s sincerity. They had reached a streamlet and encamped, when one of the guides reported to him that two Kafirs, with five head of cattle, were near the camp, and that Hintza, on the plea that they would be afraid to approach, had sent one of his people to bring them in.
On being questioned, the chief declined to give any explanation on the subject, and the Kafirs not only did not come in, as they were ordered, but made off, and carried the horse of Hintza’s messenger along with them! The suspicion excited by this circumstance was increased by the evasive answers given to the Colonel’s repeated inquiries as to the point on which Hintza wished the troops to march.
“We are going right,” was the only answer that could be elicited from the taciturn savage.
After crossing the range of the Guadan Hills, the troops bivouacked on the Guanga, and here Hintza became more communicative, said that he wished them to march towards the mouth of the Bashee, by a route which he would point out, and that they must move at midnight. This was done, and they continued to move forward till eight o’clock in the morning, observing as they went the spoor of numerous herds of cattle that had been driven in that direction quite recently.
The men, being tired, were then halted for refreshment.
At this point Hintza became particularly uneasy at the vigilance with which he was watched.
“What have the cattle done,” he said testily, “that you should want them? and why should my subjects be deprived of them?”
“Why do you ask such questions, Hintza?” replied Colonel Smith; “you know well the many outrages committed on the colonists by your people, and the thousands of cattle that have been stolen. It is in redress of these wrongs that we demand them.”
The chief looked stern, but made no rejoinder. He appeared to recover himself, however, after breakfast, and was in high spirits while on the march. He rode a remarkably strong horse that day, which he appeared very anxious to spare from fatigue—dismounting and leading him up every ascent.
As the party advanced, the tracks of numerous cattle were still found leading onward, but the animals themselves were nowhere to be seen.
“You see,” remarked the chief, with a touch of sarcasm in his tone as he rode beside the Colonel, “you see how my subjects treat me: they drive their cattle from me in spite of me.”
“I do not want your
subjects’
cattle, Hintza,” was the Colonel’s pointed reply; “I want, and will have, the
colonial
cattle which they have stolen.”
“Then,” returned the chief, “allow me to send forward my councillor Umtini to tell my people I am here, that they must not drive away their cattle, and that the cattle of your nation will be alone selected.”
Although it was quite evident that the chief meditated mischief it was thought best to agree to this proposal. Accordingly, the councillor, after being enjoined to return that night, which he promised to do, mounted and left the camp at full speed, accompanied by an attendant.
There was ground for uneasiness and much caution in all this, for those who knew Hintza best were wont to say that he possessed in a high degree all the vices of the savage—ingratitude, avarice, cunning, and cruelty, and his treatment of the traders and missionaries under his protection, as well as his secret encouragement of the border chiefs, fully bore out their opinion.
“Now!” exclaimed the chief in high spirits when Umtini had left, “you need not go on to the Bashee, you will have more cattle than you can drive on the Xabecca.”
The path the troops were passing was a mere cattle-track leading up hill, from the bed of the Xabecca river, among tangled brushwood, and occasionally passing through a cleft in the rocks. Colonel Smith was the only member of the party who rode up the hill; Hintza and the others led their homes. On drawing near to the summit, the chief and his attendants mounted and rode silently but quickly past the Colonel into the bushes.
One of the guides observing the action called to the Colonel, who immediately shouted, “Hintza, stop!”
The savage had no intention of stopping, but, finding himself entangled in the thicket, was compelled to return to the track. He did so with such coolness and with such an ingenuous smile, that the Colonel, who had drawn a pistol, felt half ashamed of his suspicions, and allowed the chief to ride forward as before.
At the top of the steep ascent the country was quite open. The Xabecca river was seen in front with a few Kafir huts on its banks. Here the chief set off at full speed in the direction of the huts.
Colonel Smith and three of the guides pursued. The latter were quickly left behind, but the Colonel, being well mounted, kept up with the fugitive. Spurring on with violence, he soon overtook him.
“Stop, Hintza!” he shouted.
But Hintza was playing his last card. He urged his horse to greater exertion, and kept stabbing at his pursuer with an assagai.
The Colonel drew a pistol, but it snapped. A second was used with like ill success. He then spurred close up, struck the chief with the butt end of the pistol, and, in so doing, dropped it. Hintza looked round with a smile of derision, and the Colonel, hurling the other pistol at him, struck him on the back of the head. The blow was ineffectual. Hintza rode on; the troops followed as they best could. They were now nearing the huts. At length, making a desperate effort, the Colonel dashed close up to the chief. Having now no weapon, he seized him by the collar of his kaross, or cloak, and, with a violent effort, hurled him to the ground. Both horses were going at racing speed. The Colonel, unable to check his, passed on, but before he was beyond reach the agile savage had leaped to his feet, drawn another assagai from the bundle which he carried, and hurled it after his enemy. So good was the aim that the weapon passed within a few inches of the Colonel’s body.
The act afforded time to those behind to come up. Although Hintza turned aside instantly and ran down the steep bank of the Xabecca, the foremost of the guides—named Southey—got within gun-shot and shouted in the Kafir tongue to the chief to stop. No attention being paid to the order, he fired, and Hintza fell, wounded in the left leg. Leaping up in a moment, he resumed his flight, when Southey fired again, and once more the chief was hit and pitched forward, but rose instantly and gained the cover of the thicket which lined the bank of the river. Southey leaped off his horse and gave chase, closely followed by Lieutenant Balfour of the 72nd regiment. The former kept up, and the latter down, the stream.
They had proceeded thus in opposite directions some distance when Southey was startled by an assagai striking the cliff on which he was climbing. Turning sharply, he saw Hintza’s head and his uplifted arm among the bushes within a few feet of him. The savage was in the act of hurling another assagai. Quick as thought the guide levelled his gun and fired. The shot completely shattered the upper part of Hintza’s skull, and next instant a mangled corpse was all that remained of the paramount chief of Kafirland.
Chapter Twenty Eight.
The Results of War
“Peace at last!” said Edwin Brook to George Dally, on arriving at his ravaged and herdless farm in the Zuurveld, whither George had preceded him.
“Peace is it, sir? Ah, that’s well. It’s about time too, for we’ve got a deal to do—haven’t we, sir?”
George spoke quite cheerily, under the impression that his master required comforting.
“You see, sir, we’ve got to go back pretty well to where we was in 1820, and begin it all over again. It
is
somewhat aggrawatin’! Might have been avoided, too, if they’d kep’ a few more troops on the frontier.”
“Well, Jack, the treaty is signed at last,” said Robert Skyd to his brother, as he sat on his counter in Grahamstown, drumming with his heels.
“Not too soon,” replied John Skyd, taking a seat on the same convenient lounge. “It has cost us something: houses burnt all over the settlement, from end to end; crops destroyed; cattle carried off, and, worst of all, trade almost ruined—except in the case of lucky fellows like you, Bob, who sell to the troops.”
“War would not have broken out at all,” returned Bob, “if the Kafirs had only been managed with a touch of ordinary common sense in times past. Our losses are tremendous. Just look at the Kafir trade, which last year I believe amounted to above 40,000 pounds,—
that’s
crushed out altogether in the meantime, and won’t be easily revived. Kafirs in hundreds were beginning to discard their dirty karosses, and to buy blankets, handkerchiefs, flannels, baize, cotton, knives, axes, and what not, while the traders had set up their stores everywhere in Kafirland—to say nothing of your own business, Jack, in the gum, ivory, and shooting way, and our profits thereon. We were beginning to flourish so well, too, as a colony. I believe that we’ve been absorbing annually somewhere about 150,000 pounds worth of British manufactured articles—not to mention other things, and now—Oh, Jack, mankind is a monstrous idiot!”
“Peace comes too late for us, Gertie,” said Hans Marais to his wife, on their return to the old homestead on the karroo, which presented nothing but a blackened heap of dry mud, bricks, and charred timbers; herds and flocks gone—dreary silence in possession—the very picture of desolation.
“Better late than never,” remarked Charlie Considine sadly. “We must just set to work, re-stock and re-build. Not so difficult to do so as it might have been, however, owing to that considerate uncle of mine. We’re better off than some of our poor neighbours who have nothing to fall back upon. They say that more than 3000 persons have been reduced to destitution; 500 farm-houses have been burnt and pillaged; 900 horses, 55,000 sheep and goats, and above 30,000 head of cattle carried off, only a few of which were recovered by Colonel Smith on that expedition when Hintza was killed. However, we’ll keep up heart and go to work with a will—shan’t we, my little wife!”
Bertha—now Bertha Considine—who leaned on Charlie’s arm, spoke not with her lips, but she lifted her bright blue eyes, and with these orbs of light declared her thorough belief in the wisdom of what ever Charlie might say or do.
“They say it’s all settled!” cried Jerry Goldboy, hastily entering Kenneth McTavish’s stable.
“What’s all settled?” demanded Sandy Black.
“Peace with the Kafirs,” said Jerry.
“Peace wi’ the Kawfirs!” echoed Sandy, in a slightly contemptuous tone. “H’m! they should never hae had war wi’ them, Jerry, my man.”
“But ’aving ’ad it, ain’t it well that it’s hover?” returned Jerry.
“It’s cost us a bonnie penny,” rejoined Black.
“Nae doot Glen Lynden has come off better than ither places, for we’ve managed to haud oor ain no’ that ill, but wae’s me for the puir folk o’ the low country! An’ I’ll be bound the Imperial Treasury’ll smart for’t.
5
5
The war of 1884-6 cost the Treasury 800,000 pounds, and the colonists lost in houses, stock, etcetera, 288,625 pounds.
But it’s an ill wind that blaws nae gude. We’ve taken a gude slice o’ land frae the thievin’ craters, for it’s said Sir Benjamin D’Urban has annexed all the country between the Kei and the Keiskamma to the colony. A most needfu’ addition, for the jungles o’ the Great Fish River or the Buffalo were jist fortresses where the Kawfirs played hide-an’-seek wi’ the settlers, an’ it’s as plain as the nose on my face that peace wi’ them is not possible till they’re driven across the Kei—that bein’ a defensible boundary.”
“So, they say that peace is proclaimed,” said Stephen Orpin to a pretty young woman who had recently put it out of his power to talk of his “bachelor home at Salem.” Jessie McTavish had taken pity on him at last!
“Indeed!” replied Jessie, with a half-disappointed look; “then I suppose you’ll be going off again on your long journeys into the interior, and leaving me to pine here in solitude?”
“That depends,” returned Orpin, “on how you treat me! Perhaps I may manage to find my work nearer home than I did in days gone by. At all events I’ll not go into Kafirland just now, for it’s likely to remain in an unsettled state for many a day. It has been a sad and useless war, and has cost us a heavy price. Think, Jessie, of the lives lost—forty-four of our people murdered during the invasion, and eighty-four killed and thirty wounded during the war. People will say that is nothing to speak of, compared with losses in other wars; but I don’t care for comparisons, I think only of the numbers of our people, and of the hundreds of wretched Kafirs, who have been cut off in their prime and sent to meet their Judge. But there has been one trophy of the war at which I look with rejoicing; 15,000 Fingoes rescued from slavery is something to be thankful for. God can bring good out of evil. It may be that He will give me employment in that direction ere long.”
These various remarks, good reader, were uttered some months after the events recorded in the last chapter, for the death of the great chief of Kafirland did not immediately terminate the war. On the contrary, the treaty of peace entered into with Kreli, Hintza’s son and successor, was scouted by the confederate chiefs, Tyali, Macomo, etcetera, who remained still unsubdued in the annexed territory, and both there, and within the old frontier, continued to commit murders and wide-spread depredations.
It was not until the Kafirs had been hunted by our troops into the most impregnable of their woody fortresses, and fairly brought to bay, that the chiefs sent messengers to solicit peace. It was granted. A treaty of peace was entered into, by which the Kafirs gave up all right to the country conquered, and consented to hold their lands under tenure from the British Sovereign. It was signed at Fort Wilshire in September.
Thereafter Sir Benjamin D’Urban laid down with great wisdom and ability plans for the occupation and defence of the annexed territory, so as to form a real obstruction to future raids by the lawless natives—plans which, if carried out, would no doubt have prevented future wars, and on
the strength of which
the farmers began to return to their desolated farms, and commence re-building and re-stocking with indomitable resolution. Others accepted offers of land in the new territory, and a few of the Dutch farmers, hoping for better times, and still trusting to British wisdom for protection, were prevailed on to remain in the colony at a time when many of their kindred were moving off in despair of being either protected, understood, or fairly represented.
Among these still trusting ones was Conrad Marais. Strongly urged by Hans and Considine, he consented to begin life anew in the old home, and went vigorously to work with his stout sons.
But he had barely begun to get the place into something like order when a shell was sent into the colony, which created almost as much dismay as if it had been the precursor of another Kafir invasion.
Conrad was seated in a friend’s house in Somerset when the said shell exploded. It came in the form of a newspaper paragraph. He looked surprised on reading the first line or two; then a dark frown settled on his face, which, as he read on, became pale, while his compressed lips twitched with suppressed passion.
Finishing the paragraph, he crushed the newspaper up in his hand, and, thrusting it into his pocket, hastened to the stable, where he saddled his horse. Leaping on its back as if he had been a youth of twenty, he drove the spur into its flanks and galloped away at full speed—away over the dusty road leading from Somerset to the hills: away over the ridge that separates it from the level country beyond; and away over the brown karroo, until at last, covered with dust and flecked with foam, he drew up at his own door and burst in upon the family. They were concluding their evening meal.
“Read that!” he cried, flinging down the paper, throwing himself into a chair, and bringing his fist down on the table with a crash that set cups and glasses dancing.
“There!” he added, pointing to the paragraph, as Hans took up the paper—“that despatch from Lord Glenelg—the British Colonial Secretary—at the top of the column. Read it aloud, boy.”
Hans read as follows:—
“‘In the conduct which was pursued towards the Kafir nation by the colonists and the public authorities of the colony, through a long series of years, the Kafirs had ample justification of the late war; they had to resent, and endeavour justly, though impotently, to avenge a series of encroachments; they had a perfect right to hazard the experiment, however hopeless, of extorting by force that redress which they could not expect otherwise to obtain, and the claim of sovereignty over the new province must be renounced. It rests upon a conquest resulting from a war in which, as far as I am at present enabled to judge, the original justice is on the side of the conquered, not of the victorious party.’”
“Mark that!” cried Conrad, starting to his feet when Hans had finished, and speaking loud, as if he were addressing the assembled colony instead of the amazed members of his own family,—“mark that: ‘
the claim of sovereignty over the new province must be renounced
.’ So it seems that the Kafirs are not only to be patted on the back for having acted the part of cattle-lifters for years, but are to be invited back to their old haunts to begin the work over again and necessitate another war.”
He stopped abruptly, as if to check words that ought not to be uttered. There was a momentary silence in the group as they looked at each other. It was broken by Conrad saying to his youngest son, in a voice of forced calmness—
“Go, lad, get me a fresh horse. I will rouse the Dutch-African farmers all over the colony. The land is too hot to hold us. We cannot hope to find rest under the Union Jack!”
We can sympathise strongly with the violent indignation of the honest Dutchman, for, in good truth, not only he and his kindred, but all the people of the colony, were most unjustly blamed and unfairly treated by the Government of that day. Nevertheless Conrad was wrong about the Union Jack. The wisest of plans are open to the insidious entrance of error. The fairest flag may be stained, by unworthy bearers, with occasional prostitution. A Secretary of State is not the British nation, nor is he even, at all times, a true representative of British feeling. Many a deed of folly, and sometimes of darkness, has unhappily been perpetrated under the protection of the Union Jack, but that does not alter the great historical fact, that truth, justice, fair-play, and freedom have flourished longer and better under its ample folds than under any other flag that flies on the face of the whole earth.
But Conrad Marais was not in a position to consider this just then. The boy who is writhing under the lash of a temporarily insane father, is not in a position to reflect that, in the main, his father is, or means to be, just, kind, loving, and true. Conrad bolted a hasty supper, mounted the fresh steed, and galloped away to rouse his kindred. And he proved nearly as good as his word. He roused many of them to join him in his intended expatriation, and many more did not need rousing. Some had brooded over their wrongs until they began to smoulder, and when they were told that the
unprovoked
raid of the Kafir thieves was deemed justifiable by the Government which
ought
to have protected their frontier, but had left them to
protect themselves
, the fire burst into a flame, and the great exodus began in earnest. Thus, a second time, did Conrad and his family, with many others, take to the wilderness. On this occasion the party included Hans and Charlie Considine, with their families.
There was still wanting, however, that last straw which renders a burden intolerable. It was laid on at the time when slavery was abolished.
The Abolition Act was carried into effect on the 1st December 1834, at which time the accursed system of slavery was virtually brought to an end in the colony, though the slaves were not finally freed from all control till 1838. But the glory of this noble work was sullied not a little by the unjust manner in which, during these four years, the details relative to the payment of compensation to slave-owners were carried out. We c