The Bushmen who have lately been exhibited in London, were described as belonging to a race of people, “caught on the banks of the Great Fish River,” which is altogether a mistake, as the few Bushmen left in Africa have now gone far to the northward. The Boers beyond the Orange River know their haunts, and often supply them with game, to prevent them from stealing and destroying their sheep, for, what they cannot eat on the spot, they will kill and mutilate, in the spirit of sheer mischief. These unfortunate little beings live literally among the clefts of rocks, subsisting on locusts, roots, and anything else they can find in the eating way.
A Dutch farmer, who for some time had regularly furnished a small colony of Bushmen with game, became surprised at the non-appearance of the periodical envoys for it, and therefore went up to their “dwelling-places among the conies.” A wretched scene presented itself: the measles had broken out in the community, and the dead, the dying, the sick, the old and the young, men, women, and children, were all heaped together within the caves and nooks of the steep krantzes. He dragged them from their covert, but they would listen to no suggestions calculated, if acted on, to remedy or lighten the disease, and all he could do was to rescue some of the children from the pest-house in the wilderness.
Unlike these Bushmen, and some other savages, the Kaffirs are most cautious in endeavouring to avoid all infections maladies; and, when the smallpox swept off the aborigines in numbers, the different tribes of the Kafirs established cordons sanitaires, and framed and abided by the most stringent laws of quarantine.
I could write many pages on the subject of Mr Pringle’s charming and admirably-planned location. I shall long think of the Bushman’s haunt, the little chapel in the fertile valley, and, above all, the kindly welcome I met with at Glenthorn, but such agreeable reminiscences must be reserved for another time; these pages are dedicated to a history of war and turmoil, and I must not pause to dwell on pleasant memories connected with my journey through those mountain-ranges.
None of Mr Pringle’s family deserted the mansion during the war. It was made defensible, and afforded a refuge for many who dared not remain on their isolated farms. It was quite a little garrison in itself, and was never even attacked by the Kaffirs.
On our way to the Mancazana, we rested again at Mr Macmaster’s farm—a place with a pretty, peaceful-looking garden, backed by such cliffs! and interesting from its being associated with the poet Pringle, and his works, many of them having been written on this romantic spot. In the Maacazana valley we passed by the ruins of several farms, and at the post we heard an indistinct rumour of the deaths of five officers (Note 2); that such a number had been killed was clear, but to what regiment they belonged I could not ascertain. In no happy frame of mind I reached Mr Gilbert’s farm, within seven miles of Fort Beaufort; here again were the evidences of war—bullet-marks on the walls, palisades torn up, and gates well battened. A charger, formerly belonging to Captain Bertie Gordon, of the 91st, stood peaceably eating his forage in the yard, but his once sleek skin was rough, and his frame looked worn. Poor “Prussian!” his owners regretted his changed appearance, and so did I.
On our return to Beaufort, we learned further particulars of this frightful affair in the field, which were eventually fully confirmed. The sorrowing comrades of these poor officers have raised a monument to their memory, on the site of the General’s camp on the Conga (see Appendix I).
The following particulars, extracted from the “Cape Frontier Times,” correspond so entirely with the information I received from Sir George Berkeley himself, from Colonel Somerset, and other private sources, that I subjoin them in preference to writing my own impressions on the subject.
A most magnificent view of the adjacent country, from a peninsula stretching out upon the Kei, had tempted some of the officers of the General’s camp to form a plan for visiting it. The day before they started on this expedition, Captain Baker, of the 73rd, dined with Sir George Berkeley, who told me that had he known the intention of these ill-fated men to visit a locality so far from the camp, so thickly wooded and precipitous, he would not have permitted their departure. Captain Faunee, and Lieutenant Nash, 73rd, were to have accompanied the party, but happily their duties prevented them from doing so, Lieutenant Littlehales started with them, but, rain coming on, and having a severe cold, which he was unwilling to increase in the field, he turned back. In the evening of Saturday, the 13th of November, “he became alarmed at the absence of his brother officers; and, half-an-hour afterwards, Captains Somerset, Berkeley Seymour, (the General’s Staff) and Captain Bisset, C.M.R., started in search of them, and descended into the bed of the river. It was dark, and they returned at two o’clock on Sunday morning, their search having been unsuccessful. Two hours afterwards, the same officers, with a company of the 73rd, took up the spoor of the missing officers again, and succeeded in finding the unfortunate men in a deep chasm near the river. They were all lying near each other. It is conjectured that they had all been to the top of the mountain, from which elevation they had been seen by the Kaffirs, who had posted a large body to intercept them on their return.” Since the event, this has been ascertained to have been the case. “At this time, a large quantity of cattle was perceived going down to the Kei, with a number of the enemy; a dispatch was immediately sent back to the camp, and the party was reinforced by detachments from the head-quarter division, and Colonel Somerset’s.” The latter headed the people from his own camp. After a night march of great fatigue, the troops were all anxiety for the attack: the 73rd were furious, and the sight of the dead bodies, stripped of everything, and with every proof about them of having fought desperately against the savages, enraged their brother soldiers more and more at every step they took.
The force selected for the engagement, consisted of a hundred and thirty of the Cape Mounted Riflemen, three hundred of a native levy, thirty or the 7th Dragoon Guards, and two hundred of the 73rd Regiment; there were also about eighty farmers: the native infantry were under the command of Captain Owen. When the dispositions for attack had been made, “the troops were formed into small divisions, and a point of attack assigned to each. During these operations, the General and Staff climbed the Table Mountain, to the top, and Colonel Somerset endeavoured to cross a ford on the river; but, being baffled in his design, joined the General. A number of cattle being descried in the bend of the Kei, Colonel Somerset, with his people, wound down a pass to reach them.” The Kaffirs stood their ground here unusually well, but the 73rd dashed at them in gallant style, and soon dislodged them, while the Provisionals, Captain Hogg’s levy, and the Cape Corps, pushed onwards for the cattle. Colonel Somerset was busy exchanging shots with the enemy at one of their drifts, Lieutenant Macdonald, C.M.R., having been the first, with his detachment, to commence the attack at the river.