It was no part of my business to grumble, but I felt inclined to when I learned that we were to have ten days at home and sail on Christmas Day of all days. It was an outrage, for there was no necessity for it; it was just one of those sardonic jokes that directors collectively at times take a delight in. We were to carry no passengers, but were to make a somewhat longer trip than usual, for after going up to and down from Natal, we were to make a trip to Zanzibar before returning home, in fact it was to be a five months’ voyage. Never shall I forget that Christmas morning. We were to leave at noon, and every one seemed anxious to kick us out and go back to their own firesides, also I had more than an idea that several of the crew had not got quite over Christmas Eve. I had a boatswain named Barrett, a good man, but one who wanted some handling. We got outside the Needles and found a stiff breeze blowing, with too much wind to carry whole trysails, so the job was to put in a reef and set them. By this time most of the crew were asleep, and my chief officer was hardly the man physically to get a move on them, so I proceeded in the first place to the boatswain’s cabin. It was touch-and-go how it went, but Barrett was sober enough to retain a pride in his manhood, and after that there was no more trouble. He was a man of powerful physique, so the crew appeared in a twinkling, like bees from a disturbed hive, and the work was soon done. The doctor, who was named Ernest Walters and now practises in Essex, proved himself a good useful man when occasion arose, even outside his own work.
I had been trying to see what I could do to improve the compasses in dock, with so unsatisfactory a result that I did not feel sure whether I should make the Start or Ushant going down Channel, for we were not to call at Plymouth that trip. I had to replace a much-loathed compensation at the first opportunity, but we did fairly well on the whole, coming in for a fair dusting, however, as we got off Finisterre. About this time there were two schools of thought as to the best way to handle a steamer in bad weather. One party maintained that head on to the sea was the correct plan, the other people varied in detail but agreed in denouncing the end-on principle. On this occasion I tried the end-on plan, but came to the conclusion, which I have since retained, that almost any position is better in really bad weather; of course the size of the vessel has a great deal to do with it.
To the best of my belief we got to Cape Town and docked on the morning of January 22, 1879, the day on which the battle of Insandlwana was fought. We had a good bit of cargo to land, and there was no great hurry. That evening I was in town, gossiping at the club or something of the sort about 11 p.m., when a rumour was whispered of a great British defeat. All the Company’s shore officials were in the country or in bed, and it occurred to me that there were troops in Cape Town who would have to be moved up to Natal, also that I was the man to do it in a hurry. I made at once for the office of the Cape Argus and, by dint of an exercise of modesty, got hold of the Editor. I wish I could remember his name. He was not popular, but on this occasion showed me every courtesy. Without giving particulars, he told me a disaster had happened, and that reinforcements were urgently wanted at the Front. That was enough for my purpose. I made straight for Government House, from there to the Castle, and then went down to the ship, knowing that I had secured the job to take what troops there were to Natal. This was all the more satisfactory because there were three or four Currie ships in the dock that could have sailed at short notice, but I doubt if they could have gone as fast as we did. When daylight came in I set every one to work to get the cargo out of the ’tween decks to make room for the troops, and must say my fellows worked like good ones. That afternoon I went up to see Sir Gordon Sprigg, who was then Premier, and promised that I would not anchor between the Cape and Natal. By the courtesy of Captain A. D. W. Browne, Captain and Adjutant of 2nd Battalion, The King’s Own Regiment, I am able to quote from the regimental records.
“The detachment at Capetown (i. e. C, G, and half E companies, with Major Elliott, Captains Knox and Leggett, and Lieutenants Bonomi and Ridley) was brought at a few hours’ notice to Maritzburg, sailing in the s.s. African on January 23, and landing at Durban on 26th.” I take leave, however, to doubt the absolute accuracy of this record for the following reason. The disaster happened on the 22nd. Certainly one day elapsed, for it was in the afternoon of the 23rd that I saw Sir Gordon Sprigg, and I have a distinct recollection of going out of dock in a thick fog before breakfast, and the caution of the port captain that there was a big sailing ship at anchor very near the dock entrance. This discrepancy, however, is of no great importance. There was one little incident in the embarkation of the troops that took my fancy very much. Said young Bonomi, “Did you notice, major, when we left that the barracks were on fire?” as if the matter were one of the smallest importance only. If they were burning, at all events they were soon extinguished.
We left Cape Town docks in a thick fog, which, however, cleared when we got to the entrance of the Bay, and we made the best of our way round the coast. We had to call in at Algoa Bay, but I did not anchor, as I had to do (though for a few minutes only) at East London, and on the evening of the 26th we were all very thankful to make the Bluff light at Natal where we anchored about 8 p.m. I should explain that by common report it was one of the threats of Cetewayo that one night he would come in and put out the big candle on the Bluff, meaning the lighthouse, so that when we saw the light it gave us relief, for we knew at all events that the worst had not happened. It is an easy matter to think it over quietly now, but at the time there was a great deal of uncertainty as to what the Zulu power was really capable of, and on the previous voyage I had heard Judge Lushington Phillips, who knew the country thoroughly, make the remark that if we tackled the Zulus we should have many empty saddles before the affair was finished, which unfortunately was a true forecast.
Captain Baynton was acting now as the Company’s manager in Natal. He came off at the earliest moment and disembarked the troops; he also gave me instruction to land one of the African’s twelve pounder guns, with all its necessary equipment, for the defence of the Pynetown laager. This was done, and the gun was duly mounted, though never used.
There is no doubt that at that time Durban was very uncertain as to what would happen. A decision had been come to that if the worst came to the worst they would all have to take to the ships, and consequently great wooden barricades had been hastily run up across the Point to assist in resisting any victorious Impi that might be out on that particular piece of business. Very many of the stoutly built houses in Durban were loop-holed with sandbags, and the entire male population was being organised for the best resistance possible. On the first evening I landed I went into some big hall, I forget which it was, and saw the inspector of police, Alexander, putting the townsmen through their drill with old Snider rifles. There never was a more attentive class. So far as my remembrance serves me, there was not at this time any naval officer to superintend at the Point; all that sort of thing came in the course of the next month or so.
But although Rorke’s Drift had been fought and the Zulu rush stayed, the ordinary trade had to be carried on, and I was soon dispatched down the coast again. It is wonderful in these cases of emergency what can be effected by the display of pluck and experience. In all the excitement which prevailed, Baynton was unmoved, save with some little scorn, perhaps, for those who took too seriously the normal reverses of war. The 24th regiment, which was cut up at Isandlwana, was a great favourite with every one, and I had known many of the officers intimately, and enjoyed the hospitality of their mess. To this day Pat Daley’s picture hangs in my bedroom as a memento of one of the cherished friendships of early days, for he was of the best of them, but old Ted was sternly practical, and retailed for the benefit of the uninitiated the lessons he had learned in the Crimean War. As it happened, on the previous voyage home I had with me, as passengers, wives and children of officers who were killed, and the disaster came to me with a great sense of personal loss.
It was found by experience that the Zanzibar mail work could be better done by larger vessels than those we had on the coast, and the African was to be the first of our intermediates to make the trip. One of our captains, H. De La Cour Travers, had been on shore on the East Coast for some little time on Company’s business, and he came up the coast with me. Nothing of importance occurred, but our stay at Zanzibar was a very pleasant one. Leaving that port there were two passengers of interest. One was Archibald Forbes, the other Lord William Beresford. Of the great war correspondent there is little that is fresh to be said, but the following anecdote may be permissible: I did not like card-playing in the saloon on Sundays, and said so, but when I was in my cabin dozing after dinner with one eye open, some of the others came to Forbes, asking him to play and to disregard me. “No,” said Forbes, “the skipper isn’t a bad chap, and he doesn’t like it, so there will be no play,” and there was not. This was the more noticeable, for I had had to address a few unpleasant remarks to him on a certain subject. With regard to Lord William it was another matter. We most of us have an idea of the energies of the Beresford family, but here was the quintessence of it. I first met him jumping down the steps of De Sousa’s shop, just as a child would do, both feet together. We were soon on very good terms, and I owe to him my introduction to Gordon’s poems and some other things of a like nature. He was full of romance, and in order to get a look in at the Zulu War was taking letters from Lord Lytton, the Governor-General of India, whose A.D.C. he had been. I never saw him again after I said goodbye in Durban Club, with the words “Luck and a V.C.” He got both.
Natal Roads was a different place in April to what it had been in January or even March. There was a great collection of steamships there, and the entire harbour was very busy. We skippers found it a little awkward to get on shore and come off again, for the Company’s tug was almost the only reliable conveyance, and she could not spare individual attention to our ship only. Eventually the Curries got a tug of their own, and that made matters better. The African was now bound home, and things were working very smoothly. Sailing from Cape Town, however, we stayed in the Bay for some hours to pick up some celebrities who wished to sail with us. Amongst these was the Rev. Charles Clarke, the celebrated elocutionist. We became great friends, and I enjoyed his society very much. The saloon was full of passengers, and I well remember the events of that sailing day. I had to deal with peppery men standing up for their rights on the one hand, and the supplications of beauty in distress on the other, whilst looking on with calm serenity were the wonderful eyes that years afterwards were to be my guiding stars. I had to exercise considerable diplomacy to arrange matters, but eventually it was done, and peace reigned for the rest of the trip. Upon that occasion we had a really live ship’s mother, and any one who has travelled much knows what that means; but she was a charming, good-natured soul, and her husband was the best tempered man I think I ever met. In case they are still alive and chance upon these lines, I should like to say that the kindest remembrances of them remain, for we were shipmates afterwards on more than one occasion. There was a very fair spell at home that time, and I had my first experience of playing expert witness in a law case. It related to the loss of a vessel on Point Padrone in Algoa Bay, and the fees we received were grateful and comforting, but the masterly summing up of the case by the then Master of the Rolls, Sir George Jessel, was a thing to remember.