This barbarian was a most extraordinary character. He died a few months later, as he told me he knew he should, having lost his Father, his friend and benefactor. My messengers were very peculiar fellows, too; they were all selected by the chiefs themselves, men, therefore, of their own interest. In a country where writing is not known, all communications, treaties, rules, laws, etc., are given viva voce and by message, and these fellows were brought up from infancy in that department. Their power of memory is not to be believed. I had one man from Macomo, by name Mani, a handsome fellow who had been shot through both thighs in the war. My interpreter would read a long list of orders, etc., addressed to Macomo of eighteen to twenty paragraphs. He would then say, “Mani, do you understand all?” He would occasionally ask for some explanation; then he would go to Macomo, 34 miles off. If the chief did not detain him, he would be back with me after doing 68 miles in 28 hours, apparently not in the least fatigued, and bring me an answer or comment on each paragraph in the order written down with a correctness not to be credited. I declare I have been frequently thunderstruck.
There is a curious law in Kafirland which shows how human nature in a state of barbarism provides for its own wants. “The secret and confidential” of our diplomatic and military correspondence is with messengers provided for in this manner: it is death for any one entrusted with a communication to divulge its purport to any one but the chief of whose tribe he is a member. Thus if Mani was entrusted with a message from me to Macomo, it was as safe in his company as possible. If Tyalie had met him and demanded its purport, he would have died ere he divulged it. All messengers would give me the purport of their messages from one chief to the other if I demanded, being the Great Chief. Thus, while secrecy is provided for, the supreme authority reserves to himself the power of discovering plots and conspiracies. Poor Mani! I see him now at my feet weeping. I do believe that poor barbarian would have been cut to pieces limb by limb without a groan if it would have served me, and many others would have done the same. To this day I remember with gratitude their attachment. It was like that of the most faithful dog, with this difference—reason told them we parted for ever.
Upon nearing Grahamstown, the whole of the inhabitants turned out to meet me, presented me with an address, begged me to name a day agreeable to me for a public dinner, and if there was any consolation to the feelings in the sympathy of those whom I had so served in need, whose trade I had again so brightly re-established, I had a full measure of it.
I accepted the dinner as an opportunity of thanking the inhabitants for their assistance, obedience, and desire to meet my wishes, and telling them, as they regarded me, to render that obedience and respect to my successor which loyal subjects were bound to render to any one their King had placed to rule over them.
We accomplished our journey from Grahamstown to Cape Town, I riding, my wife again in a waggon. On this occasion, I had bought a very nice light one, and had it fitted up with swing seats, etc., so that she travelled in comparative luxury. All Grahamstown turned out to take leave of me, and I could not fail to remark the difference between my entrance into the beleaguered town and my quitting it, flourishing in trade and prosperity.
At every town upon my road down dinners were given me in the Town Hall, and every Boer, or Dutch farmer, came to see me. I never had to deal with fellows who were more docile, if you took them in the right way, viz. by kindness, by interesting yourself in their welfare, and by an inflexible adherence to “Yes” and “No.”
Our journey down was delightful, through a country full of large and small game, and many is the gallop I had after ostriches, which require a fleet and right good-bottomed horse to ride down.
As I approached Cape Town, my many friends came out in shoals to meet us, and I was received in the metropolis of the Cape by every public demonstration of affection—ever so gratifying to the soldier who has worked hard to serve his country—from the noble Governor, Sir Benjamin D’Urban, to the mendicant.
I may, without any degree of mock modesty, say I worked hard, and assert that from the period I left Cape Town, the 1st January, 1835, to 18th October, 1836 (22 months), no man ever rode more miles, made more night marches or such long ones, or wrote more letters than I did. My correspondence was immense from the number of posts, and having to carry on a war over a vast extent of thinly populated country, and in peace to defend a frontier of 140 miles.
Soon after my arrival at Cape Town, a despatch was received from Lord Glenelg, which was highly complimentary to me.[119]