It was on Sunday, the 19th of December, while Sir Harry Smith was yet in Graham’s Town, that the work of Colonel Somerset was, so to speak, brought to a close by the surrender of Páto.
While moving with his forces towards the Kei, and debating where he should “off-saddle” and bivouac, for a short refreshment, Colonel Somerset observed two Kaffirs riding at a rapid gallop towards him. These were two of Páto’s councillors, who looked tired and frightened beyond description, but they rode direct for Colonel Somerset; and, as soon as one of them could get breath, he spoke. He had been sent by his chief, he said, to make terms of surrender. “The tribe was broken up. Páto was hunted down, and could hold out no longer.” Colonel Somerset asked what guarantee he should have that Páto would keep his word: a word which had been broken so often? “I am Páto’s mouth,” said the messenger; “I speak his word, and now it is true. I have been told to ride and find Somerset, or die.”
Colonel Somerset refused to give any promise until Páto came forward personally, and surrendered at discretion. With this answer, the councillors departed. Old Cobus Congo, Páto’s brother, next made his appearance, and Colonel Somerset’s peremptory command to have the arms given up was followed by the approach of Kaffirs in all directions, hurrying down the hills, and emerging from the apparently uninhabited kloofs, with guns and assegais. The eminences, which had appeared untenanted by man, were now dotted with these wretched creatures; the silent krantzes gave up the warriors long concealed therein; and, two days afterwards, Páto, with twelve councillors, all haggard, dirty, and trembling with terror, approached the bivouac, and, in a state of the most abject misery, the treacherous savage surrendered himself. He had been “hunted from rock to rock,” he said, “for three months: he was no longer a man, but a baboon, for he had been dwelling among the monkeys; he had concealed himself where no cavalry could come, but the dreaded name of Somerset had stirred him from his hiding-place, and he now implored to be taken out of the bush.” He spoke of the miseries to which he and his people had been subjected; at times, they had not been able to kill an ox for food, and some of his followers had been compelled to eat their shields. (This was no more than our allies, the Fingoes, were frequently obliged to do.)
All his professions were in a tone of the deepest humility. In short, he had been hunted like a dog, as he deserved, and he was ready to submit to anything to be allowed to have the mountains near the Amapondas, and to “sit still,” at least, for a season.
Colonel Somerset was, of course, perfectly aware of the motives which directed this pacific movement on the part of Páto, who was quite ready to submit to any terms for the present. Cattle were demanded. Páto promised five thousand head down. More arms were asked for; the ease with which many guns and assegais had already been produced, was sufficient guarantee for the future. Colonel Somerset, however, held no responsible position as a diplomatist; during the whole war he had only been the fighting-man in Kaffirland. So, having beaten Sandilla, Páto, Umhala, Souto, Stock, etc, etc, and their tribes, he was to submit the rebel and his propositions to Sir Harry Smith, and his Excellency was to meet the Chiefs at King William’s Town, and hold a parley there on the 23rd of December, preparatory to the great meeting on the 7th January, 1848. This last assembly was fixed on that day as the anniversary of a solemn convocation of the kind, held on the 7th January, 1836.
The present Governor has, as Umhala would say, “ears that hear,” and “eyes that see,” and will not abuse or neglect the confidence reposed in him by the colonists. His Excellency’s decisive replies to the Chiefs when he met them at King William’s Town, and the clearness with which he impressed on their minds that they held their present position only by right of active allegiance on their parts towards the British Government, were the best guarantees of the manner in which he would carry out the plans as yet only in abeyance. “I am the Inkosi Enkulu (the Great Chief) of Kaffirland,” said he. “From me, as the representative of the Queen of England, you hold your lands. My word shall be your law, and whoso shall disobey it, him will I sweep from the land!”
Now, one great secret of Sir Harry Smith’s rule is, that the Kafirs know he will execute what he threatens. They are sure he will keep his word. As Páto knew Colonel Somerset would never rest till he found him and hunted him and his people down, so Gaikas and I’Slambies, Tambookies and Zooluhs, feel that Sir Harry Smith, too, will be “up and doing” among them, if they fail in their promises.
When Sir Benjamin D’Urban resigned the Government, in 1836, he took up his residence near Cape Town, and there, for ten long years, he sorrowfully abided the result of the system which had been introduced by his opponents. His friends thought that he ought to proceed to England, and there expose the mischiefs that were gathering round the Colony; but he “bided his time,” and it was not until the events of the war had proved the soundness of his former arguments, and that he had truly described the Kaffirs as “irreclaimable savages,” that he repaired to the Colonial Office in London. His statements had now their due weight, and the offices of Governor and Commander-in-Chief were again united in the person of Sir Harry Smith, whose opportune arrival in England from India was hailed with joy by the very party that had, in 1836, discarded the opinions and overthrown the policy of Sir Benjamin D’Urban and Sir Harry himself. His appointment to the Government of the Cape soon followed his triumphant reception at home as the hero of our Indian successes.