This T’Jatzoe, to whom I have before alluded as a Kaffir who had been exhibited in England (at Exeter Hall, at Sheffield, etc, in 1836) in the false character of a Christian Chief, played a cunning part during the war of 1846-7, and was actually engaged in the attack on the waggons at Trumpeter’s Drift. The British public were completely imposed upon by this savage heathen, for such he is, and ever will be. On his return from England, whither he had gone, or rather been taken, in direct opposition to the orders and wishes of his father, a petty Chief (Note 1), he was asked many questions by his tribe, concerning the country he had visited.
“Was it large?”
“Yes, it was large; but the people were so numerous they found it small.”
“Were they so very numerous?”
“Yes; England was like a huge piece of meat covered with flies crowding upon each other.”
“What surprised him most?”
“The waggons which travelled without oxen or horses.” (Railway carriages.)
“Ah,” said Macomo, after a conversation of this kind with T’Jatzoe, “I have always told our people, that there was no use in trying to conquer the white man. It is like little boys attempting to shoot elephants with small bows and arrows.”
Macomo, with all his people were removed to the neighbourhood of Algoa Bay. He was opposed to the war, from policy, from the beginning; but when once the cry was raised in the mountains, he immediately assumed the command, being the General of the Gaikas, and, when sober, an able warrior and councillor. He was glad when an opportunity offered of surrendering himself, the charms of the canteen superseding the desire for glory among his tribe; but he used every means to remain on his old location. His appeal was pathetic enough, but we have profited somewhat by our experience in the “word of a Kaffir.” “Here,” said he, stretching his hand over the beautiful territory, “my father, a great Chief, dwelt; these pastures were crowded with cattle”, stolen, of course; “here I have lived to grow old; here my children have been born; let me die in peace where I have so long lived.” These entreaties, however, could not be listened to for one moment; and, as a last trial, his daughter, Amakeya, the beauty of Kaffirland, made her way to the tent of Colonel Campbell, 91st Regiment, who, totally unprepared for her appearance, was yet more astonished at the sacrifice she offered, if her father’s sentence of banishment might be rescinded.
I have elsewhere mentioned Amakeya as the belle of the camp at Fort Hare, and no doubt she had been sufficiently reminded of her charms to make her sensible of the value of them. She made her strange offer in all the consciousness and pride of beauty; and, with her finely-moulded arms folded before her, she spoke without hesitation, for she was guided by motives worthy a lofty cause—motives, how desecrated! how degraded! Poor Amakeya!