State of Graham’s Town.
Everything in Africa is in extremes. The air is at one moment perfectly calm, the next wild with terrific storms. The sky so sweetly serene at noon, before half an hour passes is often darkened by clouds which shroud the land as with a pall. For months, the long droughts parch the earth, the rivers may be forded on foot, the flocks and herds pant for refreshing waters and green herbage. Suddenly, “a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand” appears on the horizon, and lo! the elements rage and swell, thunder booms upon the air, darkness covers the land, the arrows of the Almighty dart from the angry heavens, striking death and terror wheresoever they fall. From the far desert an overpowering torrent of sand comes sweeping on, obscuring the air, and making its way into your very house, in such profusion that you may trace characters in its dry-depths on the window-sill. The skies open, the floods descend, the rivers burst their bounds, trees are uprooted from the saturated earth, and through the roof of your dwelling the rain beats heavily, the walls crack, the plaster falls, the beams that support the thatch groan and creak with “melancholy moan,” the voices of angry spirits seem to howl and shout around you, the poor birds on frightened wing wheel past your windows, the cattle disturb you with their lowing, the dogs howl, and the unearthly tones of the Kaffir or Fingo herdsman’s song are no agreeable addition to the wild scene stirring before you. The tempest, however, subsides as suddenly as it arose, the voices of the storm-spirits die away in the distance over the mountain-tops, the dark pall of clouds is rent by a Mighty Hand, the swollen rivers rush on, bearing evidences of devastation, but subsiding at last into a more measured course; the sun lights up the valleys and the hill-sides, the air is clearer, the sky brighter than ever; and, but for the history of devastation and oftentimes of death, and the knowledge that for weeks the country will be subject to these violent convulsions of nature, the terrors of the tempest would soon be forgotten.
Such is the climate of South Africa. Lovely indeed it is for part of the year; for the rest experience is necessary to teach you whether it be agreeable or not. At one time of the day, I have known the thermometer 120 degrees; at sunset, it has been so cold that a fire has been necessary; nay, I have known it 92 degrees in a room with the air kept out at noon, and at six I have wanted a shawl, or cloak, during my walk. In the morning, you are scorched and blistered by the hot wind, while the vegetation is withering under your feet, and at night you must wrap yourself well up, and put your feet in shoes “impervious to the dew,” and yet experience shows that it is perfectly healthy. (Note 1.)
On the 25th of March we received a report in Graham’s Town, that the Kaffirs were pouring into the colony. It was afterwards ascertained that the Kaffirs were only awaiting our threatened blow as the signal for their work of devastation. They were well aware of all our movements, the numerical strength of our army, and the comparative security into which the farmers had been lulled by Sandilla’s message, or rather by the acceptance of that message; and we soon received evidence of the Kaffir’s proximity to Graham’s Town, by constant robberies of cattle, and skirmishes between themselves and the Fingo and Hottentot herds.
The 22nd of April was the first day of serious inconvenience to ourselves. Three of us, our husbands being with their divisions at different stations, were assembled with our children, as was our custom, to spend the evening together. How often had we paced the verandah, anxiously watching the lurid sky, red with the fires of devastation, and listening to the continued and heavy volleys of musketry between the herds and savages on the hills above us! We never permitted ourselves to think of an attack on the town; and, as the Kaffirs seldom risk their lives or spend their powder without a chance of plunder in return, we considered our lives safe, since the cattle could be swept away from the outskirts without venturing into the town. On the night of the 22nd, however, the frightened servants rushed into the sitting-room, exclaiming that the Kaffirs were sweeping down the hills in all directions; and that, as the house was roofed with shingles, it was likely it would be fired by the brand of the savages.
Behold us, then, preparing for our pilgrimage across the open, undefended square of the Drostdy ground (Note 2). But that we were full of anxieties for our husbands in the field, we should have laughed in the very face of apparent danger. Ill defended as the town was, we could not believe that the Kaffirs could have passed the picquets on the hills unnoticed, and accustomed to exaggerated reports, the cry of “Kaffirs!” was no longer so alarming to us personally as it might have been had we heard it before our terrors for the absent had deadened our thoughts of self. The cry was raised, however, and we were warned to seek the shelter of the new barracks, built of stone, and roofed with zinc.
The lady of the house roused one sleeping child from its bed, and dressed it hastily, but with perfect calmness, while her boy danced about and tumbled head over heels with delight at the prospect of “such fun!” The young ladies of the party, my own girl among them, collected what they considered most valuable, their books, work-boxes, trinkets, a guitar, a doll in a polka dress, a monkey, and their dogs; and the wife of one in command at Fort Peddie thrust money, jewels, and papers into a box, which she carried under her arm. Ere we were ready for the trek, the servants appeared with their “valuables,” the hoards and savings of many years. Oh, the confusion of tongues on that night, as we passed through the Square! Exclamations in Dutch, Irish, Fingo, broad Scotch, and provincial English, assailed us on all sides; children cried and laughed alternately, women screamed, Hottentots danced, and sang, and swore, the oxen attached to the waggons which had accompanied the 90th uttered frightful roars, and muskets were going off in all quarters of the town. Onwards we sped; there was sufficient light to see the tents of the 90th, who had only arrived the day before, standing up in regular order. We made direct for the line between the tents, when lo! they vanished; they were struck to the ground as if by magic, and lay as flat as linen on a bleaching-green. The young girls could not help laughing as they stumbled over the tent-pegs.
We reached the barrack-rooms appropriated to my use. If the air was “full of noises,” much more so was the house. In one room were officers loading pistols as merrily as if they were going pigeon-shooting; in the kitchens, the men-servants were unslinging the loaded muskets from the wall; and up and down the passage stalked dragoon soldiers, fully accoutred, and ready for the saddle at a moment’s notice, their horses standing in the yard, neighing with impatience; while we ladies, girls, and children, with three or four officers, sat waiting the result of the hubbub with the doors open; and the townspeople occasionally rushing in with affrighted faces. Had the Kaffirs been at all aware of their own strength, and our defenceless state, they might, with very little loss on their side, have burned and pillaged the town, murdered many of the inhabitants, and possessed themselves of the magazine. We had not two hundred soldiers, and most of these were of the 20th Regiment, who had just arrived from a ten years’ sojourn in Ceylon, and were therefore little fitted for active service. That the enemy meditated an attack, there is no doubt; but the reports of their advance proved exaggerated, and at midnight it was ascertained that they had swept off what cattle they could from the outskirts, and set fire to the neighbouring farms. We had very certain testimony of this from the windows, for the glare of these burning homesteads of the industrious settlers illumined the sky, and the hills all round were bright with wreaths of flame from the bush.
We were all too much excited to obtain much repose, and at daylight the next morning the warning bugles of the 90th gave note of preparation for their departure, with part of the 91st, for Fort Beaufort, with supplies and ammunition. Great doubts were entertained as to whether this long train of waggons, with its slender guard, would be permitted to pass unmolested through the Ecca Valley, twelve miles from Graham’s Town, the road winding along the edge of a precipice, and being commanded by a steep krantz. From this narrow road, where only one waggon at a time can pass with safety, you look down on a bush so dense that hundreds of savages might be concealed there; and, on the opposite side, tremendous mountains, fit haunts for the savage, or the wild beast, slope down, overshadowing the valley with awful gloom; while the mocking echoes give back the sharp slash of the waggoner’s whip, or the crack of the traveller’s rifle, with a strange precision.
Every precaution was taken to ensure a safe passage through this defile, and a slow match was so placed in the ammunition-waggon that, had the Kaffirs poured suddenly upon the party in such numbers as to render it impossible to save all the waggons, the ammunition was to be left in their hands as an instrument of destruction. Happily, the party met with no obstruction; but all the day long we were listening in expectation of the explosion in the Ecca. Meanwhile, farms still blazed around us, the hills were obscured by smoke, and, as night approached, fresh rumours arose of “Kaffirs close to the town.” About ten o’clock, we were again warned of danger; our first notice was the blast of the bugle sounding the “alarm” close to our windows. Fatigued with the watching and excitement of the previous night, we had retired early to rest. We were up in an instant. Lucifers were at a premium that night, I am sure: great was the smell of brimstone—fit atmosphere for the expected foe. Still, we had become too much accustomed to the cry of “Kaffirs!” to feel great alarm; and, to say truth, there was something in being within stone walls, and under a roof on which the brand could take no effect.