But it was impossible that such an unequal contest could last for more than a few minutes.
Tom Flinders was the first of the trio who fell. Struck on the head by a jagged piece of rock, hurled by one of the infuriated Caffres, Tom dropped as if shot; and rolling between the wheels of the waggon lay motionless on his face—to all appearance dead.
Almost at the same moment Captain Jamieson received a ghastly wound in the breast, and sinking lifeless to the bloodstained ground was instantly despatched by his ruthless assailants. Hard fate his, poor old man! to have fought through many a hotly-contested action with “foemen worthy of his steel;” to have survived the glorious perils of the Peninsula campaigns; and then at last to have fallen by the hand of a South African savage!
When Sergeant-major Keown saw that his chief and his beloved master’s son were both down, he gave utterance to a bitter cry of mingled rage and sorrow, and with uplifted sword rushed madly into the very midst of the exultant foe. Once—twice—thrice did his sabre flash in the sun, and each time that it descended a Caffre “bit the dust.” Then a crushing blow from a knobkerrie—delivered from behind—brought the brave Irishman on his knees; he staggered up, and wiping away the blood that, streaming down his face, obscured his vision, he shortened his sword and thrust at the nearest Caffre, driving the keen point deep into his side; but the next moment a dozen assegais were plunged into Patrick Keown’s body, and he fell to rise no more.
A few of the ill-fated corps succeeded in hewing themselves a path through the dense masses of the enemy, and rode back to the rear-guard; whilst one or two—of whom more anon—were taken prisoners; but the majority of those who took part in the fatal charge were slain fighting—like their heroic commander and his sergeant-major—to the very last gasp. The volunteers who escaped to tell the woeful tale were attached for the rest of the day to a troop of the Cape Mounted Rifles, and with them fought their way across the Keiskamma, and thence on to Chumie Hoek; where, late that same evening, they were joined by Frank Jamieson’s party.
Frank’s grief on hearing that his father and Tom Flinders were amongst the slain was very great, and he would certainly have gone forth alone to search for their bodies, had not the brigadier given him a peremptory order to remain in camp; declaring that—being one of Captain Jamieson’s oldest friends—he would not hear of the young man throwing away his life to no purpose.
The “General Order” issued on the evening of the 18th, informed the weary soldiers and Burgher troops that it was the brigadier’s intention to quit Chumie Hoek on the morrow, and march with his entire force and “impedimenta” to the mission station at Block Drift. This was anything but welcome news to the poor fellows, who sorely needed rest after the fatigues they had undergone, and had looked forward to remaining quiet at least a clear day, instead of only a few short hours; nor were they permitted to enjoy these few hours undisturbed, for during the night they had repeatedly to stand to their arms in order to repel the attacks which the enemy made on the camp. Then when morning dawned there was every indication of another day’s desperate fighting; the mountains above the camp being alive with the enemy, whilst masses of their mounted warriors had assembled on the lower heights of the Chumie range.
As Colonel Somerset’s advance-guard marched from the camping ground, the Caffres moved down from the mountains in vast numbers, extending themselves all along the line of route; and when the column approached the bushy country towards Block Drift, they attacked it in front, centre, and rear.
Somerset immediately gave orders for the Royal Artillery to come into action, and the guns opening with shell and canister, quickly drove the enemy back. When the head of the column neared the mission station, Colonel Somerset rode forward with his advance-guard and two guns, and taking possession of the ford of the Chumie River, placed the guns in position, and opened a hot fire upon the Caffres; who were still hovering round the flanks and rear of the baggage-train—attacking the waggons whenever an opportunity occurred.
About two and a half miles from Block Drift the enemy were strongly posted on a sugar-loaf, bush-clad hill, at the base of which the road passed; here there was some severe fighting, and the rear of the column was at one time very hard pressed. To do the Caffres justice, it must be confessed that they exhibited undeniable courage, and returned again and again to the attack; and that in the face of a destructive artillery and musketry fire, such as might well have daunted even European troops. The passage of the Chumie River was not effected without considerable difficulty and delay, for the banks being precipitous and slippery, many of the waggons stuck fast in the bed of the stream, and had to be hauled up on “terra firma” by the soldiers—the bullocks not being equal to the task.