So, now, this headstrong savage became a hunted outlaw. He who had vowed to drive the white man to the sea,—that white man who should not “taste of the Tyumie waters,”—had not now a resting-place for his head!
The remembrance of an interview I once had with Tola (Tola, Dodo, Eno, Moshesh (Moses), will be recognised as patriarchal names) occurs to me at this moment. It was in a picturesque spot near Colonel Somerset’s residence at Post Victoria, in the centre of a large bower, which had been constructed round some splendid trees. What had once been a fair pasture land for Tola’s herds, was now worn with the tread of soldiers’ feet; the stir of the camp filled the air which once breathed over a comparatively silent space, and not far from us a band played Irish tunes, to which Tola’s Kaffir councillors and attendants listened with a grave silence, unmoved at the grotesque attitudes of Hottentot children. On a rustic bench sat Tola, with his kaross wound round him; his face resembled that of a wolf—his eyes glaring and the teeth projecting, and his hair, dressed with red clay, looked more like a knitted worsted wig than anything else. There were other ladies present besides myself, and also some officers. I asked Tola if he belonged to the war-party? He replied, it was only the young men of Kaffirland who were for war,—he loved peace. He is the freebooter of his tribe!
“Why,” I asked, “are the young men permitted to raise their voices above the old ones?”
“The young men are numerous, and hold the assegai.”
“Well, have the old men no power to restrain them from throwing it?” I inquired. “If so, Young Kaffirland will soon have the voice in council, and there will be little wisdom.”
Tola sat in deep silence many minutes, and then observed, “It is true.” He afterwards asked the interpreter how it was that white women spoke with the minds of men? A female offering any opinion at all was a source of astonishment to him. The Kaffir women are, however, remarkable for shrewdness; but this is seldom exercised but upon great occasions, and then only by witch-doctresses, who profess also to have the gift of prophecy.
All this time that Tola was professing to deprecate war, he was filling his kraals with colonial cattle, sending out marauding parties (gipsies), and collecting ammunition.
An English paper states, “it is said that the attack on the escort in charge of a Kaffir prisoner, was absolutely planned, by Bothman and Tola, on the market-place at Fort Beaufort.” That it was planned there, and carried into execution an hour or two afterwards, I know, and that Tola was the planner. Bothman is an inferior Chief and quite dropsical. We one day met him out riding; he begged us to raise our veils, which we did, laughing, and he acknowledged the courtesy by a sound between a bark and a sigh.
When the movement of the troops was anticipated by Sandilla, he named Macomo’s son, Kona, as his successor, in the event of his death. Of Kona’s wife, an anecdote, illustrative of her shrewdness, was told me by the Acting Quartermaster-General at Block Drift. During a foray made on a Kaffir kraal in that neighbourhood, the enemy fired on our troops, and managed, ere the fire was returned, to screen themselves behind some of their women. Among these was Kona’s wife. Some days afterwards, she presented herself to Capt. Scott, 91st Regiment, Acting Quartermaster-General, saying that Colonel Hare had desired her to ask him for rations, in consequence of her previous suffering and distress. As a token of the truth of her statement, she produced a biscuit which Colonel Hare had given her, desiring her, she said, to show it to Captain Scott, in proof of her assertion. Rations were issued to her, and she enjoyed them till Colonel Hare counter-ordered them, never having mentioned the subject to her: he had merely given her a biscuit when he met her, as she complained of hunger!
We were not sorry to hear that the women of Kaffirland began to dread an invasion of their kraals, and threatened to strike work. They were tired of the war, they said. Although they have no voice, their assistance in the Ordnance and Commissariat departments is invaluable. Poor wretches! no wonder they dreaded another year of privation and toil.