Chapter Seven.
Light in the Wilderness.
Ormsby was thoroughly discomfited by his accident, and his impatience, and unwillingness to apply the remedies prescribed by Fitje, duly aggravated the inflammation: he would walk, he would bathe, and at last was fairly laid prostrate for two or three days.
Utterly disgusted, and intensely pained by the jolting of the wagon, he listened one morning with complacency to May’s information, that there was a Dutchman’s farm at the foot of a long, low hill in front. The sun shone down upon the settlement, which at that distance looked fair and pleasant; but May said it was but a desolate place within, for the master was heart-sore. He had lost five sons in the last war; he had but few cattle left; and whenever he began to till the land, he was told by his neighbours—there were none within twelve miles—that it was not safe to stay. The bushman had heard this two months ago from the Boer himself at Beaufort, when he came there, in his perplexity, to consult his fellow-colonists.
Frankfort immediately thought of helping this poor man in some way, and the cavalcade directed its progress towards the farm; but on reaching it, they found it abandoned—“Silent all and lone.” The house was empty, the doors and windows open, the garden desolate.
Both sportsmen agreed, that if this abandonment of the location was the result of a rumour of war, it was high time for them to think of rejoining their regiment instead of pursuing their expedition. Ormsby would fain have had the cavalcade halt here for the night; but May informing them that, if they would consent to advance three miles further, they would find a halting-place within only two hours’ distance of the settlement of Annerley, a property belonging to a retired British officer, Frankfort decided on moving on.
The party proceeded slowly forward, the character of the country changing at every step. The bush grew thinner; wide undulating plains, dotted with ant-heaps, and here and there a dump of dwarf mimosas, were spread before the traveller’s eye; and as the last rays of light gleamed in dying glory on the waste, several dark objects were descried moving in a body at speed.
Frankfort, by the aid of the telescope he carried, fancied he recognised European horsemen. A slight indentation of the ground hid them from his sight for a minute or two, and as they reached the elevation, the wide hat, ostrich feather, long roer (gun)—in short, the whole guerilla air, bespoke the Dutch border colonists of South-Eastern Africa.
At sight of the wagons, the party came galloping down the slope, and approaching Frankfort in breathless haste, announced that the new British commander of the forces, Sir John Manvers, had issued a manifesto desiring the chiefs of the Gaika and T’Slambie tribes to meet him in the neighbourhood of the garrison of Fort Beaufort, on the Kat River, on a certain day; that the chiefs had hesitated, asking for more time, to consult their councillors, which time was, of course, to be employed in making ready; that the war-cry had already faintly issued from the Gaikas, who only waited for the gathering of the tribes to shout it aloud from the Amatola mountains; and that, as soon as the warriors could be organised, an attack would be made upon the colonists.
This mounted troop of stout and determined Burghers had been despatched, by the commandant of a frontier outpost, to warn the farmers in the north eastern districts of their danger; and, being loyal to the Government, were proceeding, as far as they dared, to sound the alarm among all the landholders who were considered to be discontented, but as yet were not avowedly disaffected. These were expected to join a Burgher force, ready for action, if called upon; while the farmers near the colony were advised to put their homesteads in a state of defence; and if this was difficult, from want of hands, or faulty position, to establish lagers (bivouacs), and bring their families together, for the sake of security.