Graaff Reinet, January 20, 1835.
My dear Mother,
As I cannot help thinking, that when news from this colony arrives in England, you will feel some anxiety about our state, I must tell you that we are plunged into the greatest distress and trouble by internal war. The Caffres have made an attack on the whole line of frontier, burning and destroying every thing before them, and murdering, in the most barbarous manner, the unhappy residents. They have done incalculable mischief; and should they not soon be stopped, the destruction of the colony is inevitable.
On the 24th of December, 1834, we were made uneasy by a commando being called out to assist against the Caffres. But this was soon followed by the most distressing accounts I ever read. They first proceeded to murder all the men (and in some cases whole families), to plunder all the cattle, and burn the dwellings.
On the 26th, news arrived from my dear children in Graham's Town, viz. A——, my eldest son, and G——, who, with her husband (Mr. D. Mahoney), were in the utmost anguish, his father and brother-in-law having been murdered under the following melancholy circumstances:—Mr. Mahoney, sen., had a fine farm near Graham's Town. His son-in-law, Mr. Henderson (a truly respectable young Scotchman, married to Mr. M.'s only daughter), had gone out with his wife and sweet family to spend the Christmas at the farm, and were to have been joined by my dear children and Mr. D. Mahoney. On the Monday preceding Christmas-day, Major O'Reilly advised Mr. M. sen., rather to bring his family into Graham's Town, as some cattle had been stolen, and the Caffres appeared in a disturbed state. He determined to follow this advice, and on Wednesday morning started for Graham's Town with his wife, their two grandchildren, Mr. Henderson, and a slave servant, Mr. M. sen. following the waggon himself on horseback. They had not gone more than a mile, when they were attacked by about twenty Caffres, who began stabbing poor Henderson: he had fifty assagais in his body! and the poor father shared the same fate. The old lady escaped with one child, and the slave woman with the other; and after wandering about, separately, thirty-one hours on foot, without food or water, having lost their way, they at length met at Graham's Town.
This was only the beginning of sorrows; for every day's tidings are more dreadful. Graham's Town is totally surrounded, and every farm either destroyed or deserted. The most barbarous murders are continually committed.
January 2nd. Our tidings are truly appalling. My poor children cannot come out to us. E—— is now near her confinement. Her dear little babe, with my son ——, are obliged to sleep in the church, or in flat-roofed houses near it, as they all concentrate, in order to be the better protected. All the men are under arms. This village has been stripped also. The few who remain are formed into patrols.
The Caffres have extended themselves over the whole line of frontier from Uitenhage to the Winter Field. Somerset has been also in the same state of danger. Fort Beaufort, Wiltshire, Caffer's Drift, Gualana, Bathurst, and Salem, have been left to their mercy, having remained as long as resistance was of any avail. Those who are spared have escaped only with life: in short, I can give you no adequate description of our present distress. The outcry for provisions is grievous: no supplies can be sent in by the farmers; they have it not, nor could they send it in if they had. We have had no market here since December 22. The Bay, I believe, has as yet escaped. We hear that the governor and troops are on their way to the frontier. May God grant them success! On Sunday, Jan. 4, all the places of worship were closed till 9 o'clock at night. In St. George's church, the galleries being filled with women and children, and the body with the men (under arms), the minister read the thirty-seventh of Isaiah, and commented upon the most striking passages. I assure you my spirits sink within me when I reflect on the probable consequences. Oh, how much you have to be thankful for in happy England! Pray for us, that, amidst all the wreck of time and fortune, our minds may be stayed upon God. Believe me, without the consolations of religion I should be totally cast down; but although clouds and darkness are round about us, yet it is the Lord that reigneth. True, indeed, these dispensations of his providence are dark and mysterious. Why so many valuable lives are cut off, and such a dreadful blow is given to our poor countrymen, after fifteen years' hard labour, we know not. Many of the missionaries have been in the greatest danger. We have not heard of the murder of any of them; but all the English who lately traded with the Caffres have been murdered but one, who came out, and told the fate of the rest. He states that one who was sitting at breakfast with a missionary was dragged out and killed before his eyes. They have told the missionaries they may go if they will: they do not appear to intend to destroy them.
The cattle they have already captured is beyond all belief. I wish we could get away as far as Cape Town: I shall never feel at peace on the frontiers again. My school had been very good, and I fondly hoped to be a little more comfortable; but we are again reminded that this is not our rest. The reflection on my last birthday was, "Hitherto the Lord hath helped me." On the retrospect I have much to be thankful for, and much cause to be humbled under his mighty hand. As to ourselves, we have not much reason to wish many days to be added to our lives; but we have still a large family dependant on our exertions, having yet seven to provide for. At all events, I trust I shall be resigned to the Lord's will.
Since writing the above, another post has arrived. We have received news of the arrival of Colonel Smith. The Governor and troops have embarked for Algea Bay. He has placed us under martial law. Are you aware what that entails? No lights after 8 o'clock. If any disregard be paid to orders, or disaffection evinced, you must be tried by court-martial—flogged—or even shot! Our little village is as yet unattacked. Our streets are regularly patrolled. No shops are open but butchers' and bakers'—provisions are dreadfully dear—no money to be obtained—no courts of law open—no licenses have been granted this year, so neither beer, nor wine, nor spirits can be sold—and in the midst of all this distress my dear husband's health is visibly wasting. If, in addition to all my other troubles, he is to be removed, I know not how I shall be able to bear up, as I shall be totally destitute. Oh, that I was near enough to hear one word of consolation from your lips! I do now feel bitterly where I am—truly banished.