BLINKWATER
(and Waterkloof Heights)
A couple of hours' rest for the horses, and we rode on to Fort Beaufort, passing on our way the newly-made grave of an Englishman, killed there a few days before. It was the same spot where I had been attacked by the rebels a few months previously.
Next day a party of officers from the garrison rode out to meet the Rifle Brigade, just out from England, said to be halted about six miles off, at Dans Hooght Hill. They were inspanning their baggage train as we came up, and about to march. To my surprise and delight I encountered among the accompanying draft of officers my brother, a young Ensign in the 74th, come out to take his share in the toil and hazards of the campaign. As we approached Beaufort our band and Pipers met the new-comers, and preceded them through the town.
The day following, the head-quarters of the 74th Highlanders marched in from the field, under Major Douglas Patton, who, since the death of our lamented Colonel, had been in command of the regiment. The Rifles encamped on the green plain outside the Fingo quarter of the town; and Beaufort, which had been almost deserted, again swarmed with troops.
Leaving my brother in quarters, B—— and I turned our faces once more towards our distant mountain fort, riding by a short cut through the bush, off-saddling for an hour at the Blinkwater camp to give our nags a roll (as good as a feed of corn to a Cape horse), and then striking off to the right, took our route by the eastern valley, riding for about twelve miles along the wooded banks of the Kat River, especially picturesque at this point, with its alternate pools and rapids, and fringe of weeping willows. Shortly after sundown, the distant fires of Colonel Napier's camp were seen ahead, and an hour's stumbling along by broken paths and dangerous drifts, in the most intense darkness, brought us nearly within musket shot of the sentries. The 'cease firing' and 'regimental call' of our bugle were answered, almost before the echo had died away, by the 'advance,' and we clambered up the rising ground on which the camp was pitched, and soon found ourselves among old comrades, whose familiar voice had not greeted us for months. They had just returned from the Kei expedition, and many were the hunting adventures they had to tell, ample evidences of which were seen in the half-cured skins, grass-stuffed heads, and quantities of horns strewed about every tent.
On the following morning, after the luxury of a cold bath under a fine fall of the Kat River, we set off for Post Retief, making the ascent of the verdant Katberg mountain by a path of extraordinary steepness; the heat of the sun was overpowering. Three hours of uninterrupted and most toilsome climbing, brought us to the table-land above the beautifully-wooded ravine, Bothas bush; off-saddling our panting horses at a clear spring that bubbled out of the ground, we lay down to recover our breath, feasting our eyes on the extensive view below us.
On the morning of the 24th, in accordance with orders from head-quarters, we marched from the Post at five o'clock, having a party of artillerymen, sixty rank and file, a 6 lbr. howitzer, and a waggon with tents, tools, and rations. Our point was the dangerous Bushneck Pass; our orders to cover the ascent of the Rifle Brigade from that end of the Waterkloof. When about half-way the waggon sunk so deep in a soft gully that neither spades and picks, nor the appliance of an extra span of oxen and a couple of score of fellows yoked to the gun tow-ropes could move it, and it had eventually to be unloaded.
As the valley below our position had showed no sign of living creature all day, we retired in the evening to Bear's Farm, a ruin about a mile off, where having pitched our tents and picketted the mules and horses among the blackened walls, we made a blazing fire and prepared to pass the night as comfortably as we could.
By eight o'clock next morning the reconnoitering party of Cape Corps, which had been sent at daylight to the top of the Pass, returned with intelligence that the Rifles were advancing up the valley with a large train of waggons; our party was instantly in motion, and, in a very short time back at its position on the edge of the ridge commanding the Pass. While the column was halting for breakfast about two miles from us, we amused ourselves by looking at them through the glass. The rows of piled arms glancing in the sun; the smoke of the fires rising straight upwards in the motionless air; white covered waggons peeping through the green bush; herds of cattle, and multitudes of dark figures moving about in all directions—in the calm of a Sunday morning formed a picture which two hours' gazing upon did not weary us with. At last the faintly heard sound of bugle was followed by a general movement in the bivouac; the oxen were driven in, the confused masses of troops fell imperceptibly into companies, and the companies into column; while, as if by instinct, the oxen gathering into groups, took their place at the waggons, and all was in simultaneous motion. Another change as striking and remarkable followed. The last waggon had scarcely entered the bush and the rear-guard quitted the ground, when the whole of it was dotted over with Kaffirs, stealing in from every part of the bush, where, unconscious of their nearness, the troops had so recently been encamped. We counted thirty-five men, besides women, gathered round the smouldering fires, searching about for what they could find.
Nine hours we sat on the ridge, watching the laborious and slow ascent of the column, a span of eight and twenty cattle being required to bring each waggon up. A few Kaffirs on the top of the hill, out of range, chaffed them about their oxen, which they said were "too swift and strong, and even dangerous," the poor brutes being, in reality, half starved. It was dark before one-half the train was up. Three companies of the Rifles encamping on our position for the night, while the remainder bivouacked below, left us at liberty to return to the ruin and sleep in our tents.