“March the 1st.—We observed this evening a singular streak of light in the sky; no one able to account for it; it bore north-west from our position, steering as we were along the coast to the eastward.
“March 2nd.—The meteoric light greatly increased in size and brilliancy.
“March 4th.—Anchored in Algoa Bay, at eleven o’clock, a.m. The meteoric light, which has puzzled us all so much, turns out to be a comet, and increases in brilliancy every evening. Landed in the evening, in a private boat. The troops will land to-morrow, in surf-boats. We have reached the shore by the jetty, which reminds me of the one at Herne Bay, only that it is on a smaller scale, but is exceedingly creditable to the place, and a proof of its prosperity in trade.” (Note 1.)
“March 5th.—The single inn much crowded. The regiment has landed, and the little encampment formed on the green opposite the windows is very picturesque. How strangely the wild, dusky-looking savages contrast with the soldiers; the latter busy in their preparations for their comforts, the former lounging idly in their skins and blankets, draped not ungracefully round their dark forms!”
On Tuesday, the 7th of March, we started from Port Elizabeth for Graham’s Town.
The evening before we departed, I accompanied my husband into the Commissariat Yard, to see the waggon which was to be the abode, by day, of my little girl and myself for nearly a week. I was already all the worse for having been condemned, with my husband and child, to a cabin on board the vessel, certainly not more than nine feet by five, if so large. On seeing the huge machine in which we were to travel, I could not help remarking to the Commissary, who was so good as to point it out to me, that there were but two alternatives to decide between, ere the bugles sounded in the morning, and the tents were struck, preparatory to the troops moving off—these being suicide, or mirth. In a state of quiescence the thing looked “horrible, most horrible;” but the “start,” between the disposition to laugh, and the inclination to cry at the discomfort, was enough to make any one hysterical; and the remembrance of friends at home, who could never by any possibility be brought to comprehend the miseries one undergoes here, was strangely blended in my mind with the sights and sounds of outward objects; with the bellowing of oxen, the shouts of Hottentot drivers, the screams of children and scolding voices of their mothers in the neighbouring waggons, and the mingled oaths and laughter of the soldiers, as they picked up stray baskets, tin mugs, puppies, and babies, the latter animating the scene by occasionally tumbling off the waggons.
We left Port Elizabeth at eleven o’clock a.m. The first day of the march was fine, yet cool; the sky remaining overcast, yet without symptoms of rain. The first thing we approached worth notice was a salt-pan, looking more like a frozen lake upon which snow-heaps had been scattered, than anything else. It is not to my purpose to describe these singular works of nature here; I mention this one, lying about four miles from Port Elizabeth, to call the attention of travellers to the sight; as, being rather below the road, it often escapes the observation of those who are enclosed within that “narrow receptacle for the living,” a bullock-waggon.
We reached the Zwart-kops, the spot appointed for our out-spanning for the night, (unyoking the oxen and turning them out to graze) at about five o’clock. The scene was certainly very beautiful. Imagine a vast plain of fair green meadow-land, intersected, and in fact divided into parterres, by tall thick bushes, which here and there grew in clumps and copses, giving the ground the appearance of a vast park laid out with a great deal of taste,—an amphitheatre of hills and mountains rising one behind another, till the summits in the distance blended with the clouds, gorgeously illuminated by the rays of the declining sun, whose glory was soon succeeded by the milder light of the “gentle moon,” beside which the comet, in strange contrast, spread its long and fiery tail. One by one the tents had risen “side by side in beautiful array.” Arms were now piled; the younger soldiers, tired with their first march, lounged on the ground in clusters, till roused by the older and more experienced men, who despatched them to gather wood and fetch water; and more than a hundred fires soon lit up the camp.
In a short time our own preparations for comfort, refreshment, and repose had been made. The tent was pitched, the fire lit in the nearest bush, and the kettle and gridiron put on. We had brought with us an Indian kitchen (Jones’s Patent Indian Kitchen), a most compact thing; but, unfortunately, it had been packed up in a chest too securely to be got at without much trouble; and, as we were only a party of three, we resolved on doing without it as long as we could. For any number of persons it is invaluable, but for two or three a gridiron, kettle, and saucepan are, or ought to be, enough. Our servant had also put away the bellows and the hatchet; and, though the wind sometimes served us in lieu of the one, we were frequently obliged to borrow the other, when we halted. Having cold fowls, tongue, bacon, bread, butter, tea, sugar, and a bottle of milk (Note 2), and good store of wine, in our provision-basket, we did uncommonly well, roasting our potatoes in the ashes, comforting ourselves on the cold grass (not having thought of a tent-mat or table), with some warm negus. A piece of string wound round the pole of the tent, held a wax candle, but the wind rendering its light flickering and uncertain, we stuck a bayonet in the ground, and it made a very convenient and certainly characteristic candlestick. The meal and its fragments having been cleared away, our beds were made in the tent, which had been comfortably pitched (by an old soldier of the 27th, long used to the colony), with its back to the wind; we were thus screened from that, and could not well be inconvenienced by a shower.
Comparative quiet and much order now reigned in the camp. Every tent became more clearly defined as the evening advanced, and the sky formed a darker background for the moon, the stars, and the refulgent comet. Round the fires were assembled groups of soldiers, women resting themselves, as they called it, poor creatures, with babies on their knees,—Hottentots playing their rude violins, and merry voices joining in the chorus, led by neighbouring singers. Sounds of mirth issued from the tents of others; and the steam of savoury soup gave evidence of the proximity of the mess-tent and the talents of “little Paddy Farrell,”—the incomparable cook. Dinner there was always late, the officers never sitting down to solace themselves with good cheer till their men had been well cared for, and their different positions established for the night. Now and then the brazen tongue of a bugle intruded its call upon the stillness of the hour, and helped to disperse the groups gathered round the fire for a time, till the duty to which it had summoned them being done, they either returned to the social circle they had left, or secured a corner in a tent “licensed to hold fifteen inside” to sleep in. Gradually, the voices of the singers became mute; the feeble cries of sleepy infants superseded the monotonous tones of the Hottentot fiddles. Snoring “matches” seemed to be “got up,” as it were, between sundry waggon-drivers and their neighbours, they having their mats spread under the waggons; the peals of laughter among the revellers became less frequent, and at length ceased altogether. The fires grew dim, and the moon and her companions in the sky alone lit up the scene; tents were closed and the sound of the last bugle died away in the hushed night air, leaving all silent, peaceful, and at rest.