Chapter LVII: Appendix: IV (1)

Extracts from Harry Smith’s Letters to his Wife during the Kafir War, 1835.

Grahamstown, 30th Jan. 1835.

The Kafirs, from the manner in which I occupied all the passes in their rear, had been beautifully harassed, and now fly from the sight of _one_ of our people as rapidly as they flew towards him until I stirred them up a little in their own country. So you recommend shrapnel, grape, howitzers, shells! Well done! We will take your advice: for old Johnstone[253] says true, you are the best general he knows. I am sadly off for officers and assistants in my office. Selkirk Stewart would be to me worth all the clerks in my office, and old Johnstone all the officers I have in the field, Cox excepted. The quantity I have to write and to do is really incredible, and you know how quick I can get through my work. The people here are astonished. But I have eased my labours very much by establishing boards of gentlemen of the place and officers, one of clergymen for the destitute families, one to receive the claims of all persons whose property has been seized for military purposes, one to inquire into the burgher force, a clothing board for the burghers, a labour heretofore beyond even me. All these boards submit their proceedings to me. I approve or disapprove, and act as supreme. Even thus, much of my time is occupied; but it has reduced my labours much.

Bivouac between Fish and Keiskamma rivers,
close to Mount Somerset, 13th Feb.

Viva Enrique!
Mi queridissima muger,[254]

I have been in the field since Saturday last, sleeping in the bush, _never better_. Was on horseback yesterday 28 hours, attacked the Kafirs in five points like fun, gave them a good licking with a trifling loss on our parts; seventy-three killed, counted on the field, lots of wounded. Took 2500 head of cattle, goats, sheep, etc.; gave them some of your shrapnel shells, but want a few of my old Riflemen, although all my fellows are willing enough and full of fight. Do not be afraid of Enrique. He takes good care of himself, and never moves without 30 Cape Rifles as an escort.

A shocking accident occurred the night before last. The 72nd and other troops lay in position waiting for daylight to attack; though every precaution was taken and there was no fault, some one cried out, “The Kafirs!” and the men jumped up and fired on each other before the officers could speak. Three men were killed, and more desperately wounded. This rather hindered my operations, because it alarmed the enemy. However, thank God, I have done as much as I expected.

You cannot think how well I am. Nothing fatigues me, and although my force is only 1200 men and 800 horses with four guns, yet my operations are over an extent of 4000 square miles of country. We were marching from 7 o’clock the 11th till 8 o’clock the 12th. No one tired. This morning we want nothing but some grog, which I momentarily expect. God bless you, old woman, and do not be afraid. Our God will take care of us both. _Adios, alma mia._

Enrique.

Grahamstown, 26th and 27th Feb. 1835.

My Fish River trip was a very lucky one, and has had a great effect on all the Kafirs. It is reported and believed that they are all flying into Hintza’s country. He is a very powerful chief who has been wavering in his policy towards us. He is, I believe, at the bottom friendly, although he wishes to keep as much of the stolen cattle as he possibly can. It is decided that the 75th Regt. remain on the usual frontier line, and that the 72nd all go into Kafirland. The former are as much mortified as the latter are delighted. To-day I go to Hermanus Kraal, next day near to Fort Willshire to select a camp for our invading force to assemble on. We are to select the most effective men of the Burgher force, and send the remainder to the second line. The Chief is now all for invasion. Paddy Balfour will be my A.D.C.

I should like you to see me with my escort, a trumpeter, a sergeant, two corporals, and six fine fellows of the Cape Corps, five led horses, Guides (a corps all well mounted), etc., and generally five or six smart young fellows of volunteers; but I would give all the pomp and glory of war for one quiet evening with _mi vida_ at Charlie’s Hope,[255] though I am now writing by a nice little wood fire, as comfortable as can be when away from my beautiful wife. You are in no danger, _alma mia_, of being supplanted here. This is the most dull, stupid, and horrid place on earth, celebrated for the most ugly of the _fair sex_.

I have just been to inspect three detachments of Burghers. I will give you a detail. One consists of 62 fighting men and horses, 50 non-combatants, 28 waggons. Another of 118 fighting men and horses, 80 non-combatants, 36 waggons. Only conceive what an army, and every individual wants something, either shoes, shirts, bridle, saddle. It is perfectly ridiculous, but yet when the poor fellows thus dragged from their homes are in the field, they are good-humoured and willing and shoot well enough. Oh! my old woman, glory is a fine thing, domestic quiet is better. It was well enough when I was at the head, but now second fiddle is slow. I am lazy and forget when things do not fly like lightning.

All our own country is free from Kafirs, much more so than in times of actual peace; still every post the postmaster comes to me for escorts. To-day I blew him up and called him an ass. The panic with which the people were seized here will not wear off for years. Had twenty Kafirs shown themselves in the neighbourhood of Grahamstown a day or two before my arrival, all would have either run away or shot one another. What amuses me much just now, is that those who funked the most formerly are the most valiant now that the danger is dispelled.

In two months I will, with God’s blessing, be with my dear old wife to talk over my labours, which Heaven knows have been heavy enough. I have gained credit for two things—one, licking the Kafirs; another, blowing up the lazy idle rascals who will neither work, fight, nor do anything but draw rations.

So you are a schoolmistress? Mind teach the young ones to sew and work. It will do them more good than to read and write.

Love to all, and the sum total of all my love, affection, regard, esteem, everything that is dear, to you, _alma mia_.

Enrique.

5 o’clock, 27 Feb.

When once I am in the field, I will work in my own way. _Master_ is always floundering in the midst of information, whilst I like to take a look at the ground, march, and take possession. Thank God, I have been heretofore very lucky indeed. Do you recollect poor Thompson saying, when the ants were swarming in the house, “Oh, sir, it is great luck, great promotion for you somewhere”? It is very ridiculous, but I often think of it.

I long to march, although I well see I shall have all the trouble of war and marches without the all-stirring spirit of War. Ah, Venus and Mars! Enough of the latter. I begin to think a quiet life of Darby and Joan very agreeable. The fact is, it is better fun to be _together_ as heretofore: only this is such a _naked_ country. At Genadendal there was one pair of breeks between three boys, but here neither boys nor girls nor women have breeks or sarks either.

I have been writing all day, still it is with much delight I keep on writing to you, _alma mia_....

God bless my dearest virtuous wife.
Enrique.

Grahamstown, 6th March, 1835.

Thank God, my dearest old woman, you are well.... To-morrow the troops commence their march upon the base of our future operations between Fort Willshire and the Block Drift or the line of the Chumie, which runs into the Keiskamma near the Fort. I went up there last Saturday and had a beautiful ride of three days, doing everything I had to do and returning a day and a half sooner than I was expected. It is really wonderful how I bear work. I spread my karosse and lie down with my saddle-bags under my head, and after thanking my God and blessing my dear old woman, am asleep _in a moment_. The bivouac we are going to is really one of the most beautiful things I ever saw, and, thanks to the late rains, the grass everywhere is up to the horses’ fetlocks. To-morrow I start with my escort—my corps of Guides, my led horses, my interpreters, my secretaries. How you would laugh to see such a motley group!

So I am to take care they do not shoot at me from the Bush? That story about old Jem[256] and me was founded on very little truth. In the middle of my Fish River fight, just as Jem was cooking some coffee and I was writing, when we were surrounded by soldiers, three shots were fired _at the whole_. I certainly jumped up and rattled the impudent rascals “out of that” pretty quick; but, old girl, I am too much of a Rifleman to be caught napping without every precaution of war. But they do put such trash in the papers occasionally, it is quite amusing.

Camp near Fort Willshire, 12th March.

I wish you could see me, because then, you know, I could see you. It is very delightful to unbend and not act always the great man, although I assure you we laugh in camp sometimes famously. I almost kill Hallifax at some of my roar-outs to the soldiers. Yesterday morning, just before daylight in Fort Willshire, I desired his bugler to blow the “rouse,” which you well remember. He said he did not know it. “D—— you, sir, blow something.” So he blew up a _quadrille_, and I began to dance. I thought Hallifax would have laughed till he died. What a burlesque upon our school of war!

Grahamstown, 16th March, 1835.

When I came flying down from Fort Willshire the other day it was, as you may suppose, for the purpose of inducing my master to get under weigh and not to mind a Kafir and a half, which Col. Somerset’s _arrangements_ with nearly 3000 men were going to catch. Master and I very nearly fell out. In his string of operations in last week’s paper, signed by Kitty Dutton, my attack on the enemy’s position was left out. After some little jaw, he said he thought it too bold a thing to attempt with the force under my command, so I bristled up and said, “Rely upon it, whenever I hear of a Kafir, so soon will I be at him with whatever force I can collect. This is the way to treat so contemptible an enemy, although too much caution cannot be adopted to prevent a surprise, or too much activity used in following up any advantage obtained. This, sir, is my maxim, and one which shall guide me throughout the campaign.” “Oh, it is a very proper feeling, but _discretion_ is also to be observed.”

I have at last spurred him into a move, and I hope we shall get on and bring things to a close, for I am really tired of this slow work. I want to be at Charlie’s Hope again.

17th March.

The 72nd Regiment marched yesterday for the camp at Fort Willshire, and the whole of the troops will be in motion, I hope, to-morrow to concentrate. Sir Benjamin has given out a General Order appointing me to command the 1st Division.

1st Division: 100 of the Cape Corps, 40 Corps of Guides, two 6-pounders, 300 Swellendam Burghers, the whole of the 72nd Regiment, the 1st Provisional Battalion of Hottentots, 430 strong. Officered by H. Peddie.

2nd Division, 2 guns, 750 Burghers, 200 Cape Corps, Lieut.-Col. Somerset.

3rd Division: 250 Burghers, 50 Cape Corps, two 3-pounders, 2nd Provisional Battalion, 374 strong (an excellent body of men), Major Cox.

4th Division: 500 Burghers, Field Commandant Van Wyk. The troops will thus advance—

Left. Left-Centre. Centre. Right.
Van Wyk. Major Cox. Me myself and Col. Somerset.
Sir Slow as far
as he goes.

Lieut.-Col. England is to command the ordinary Frontier Posts and Grahamstown and has 1800 men, just 100 more than I had when I took the command here, re-established villages and posts which had been so shamefully abandoned, and invaded Kafirland with 450 men, so that I think the 2nd line may be considered safe and no necessity for any panic. But really it is astonishing to see how they funk.

His Excellency has just sent for me, good old man, to say he is not pleased with his General Order of yesterday appointing me to the command of the Division. He says it cramps my power, so he has put in orders that I am to be second in command, continuing my duties as Chief of the Staff, by which means I can order everybody about like himself. It also gives old Peddie a command, which I am very glad of.

18th March.

In this stupid little room in which I am writing, I think rather too much of an old faithful woman at Charlie’s Hope, but as I hope soon to lick Tyalie, I hope soon to be with her. But my hair has grown grey. I think, if it progresses as heretofore, I shall have a white top altogether. Not quite so bad as that either! But it is grey. Oh, I should like at this moment to ride into the dear little square! I can hear your voice when I left you on the 1st January, as plainly as possible. Do you recollect the glove in the hackney coach in London?[257] And so it will be again, _alma mia_!

20th March, 8 o’clock.

Don’t be jealous, but my landlady has just sent me a present of half a dozen of champagne and two stone bottles of curaçoa, rather a treat to me the latter. The former I will astonish somebody or other with in the bivouac. Fine campaigning this, is it not?

I have just packed my leave-behind box and remaining papers, got a canteen of brandy for Paddy Balfour and myself, and ten pounds of tobacco for my escort, filled the two bags _you_ made with tea and sugar, put up my knife, fork, and spoon, and thirteen plates into a leather letter-bag. The tea-kettle is tied to my saddle-bags. We make _carbonada_ on a forked stick, oh, so good it is! quite different to what it is when done in a frying-pan: you then stick the one end of the stick in the ground, whilst the hot meat hisses in your face as you recline on your karosse _à la Turque_. Very fine. But the old round table at Charlie’s Hope would do as well!

I really am capitally equipped, and if you were like me, _young_, I should like to have you with me. God knows but it will be cold before we get back. This Grahamstown itself is the coldest place in Africa. The moment you are five miles from it, the climate is much milder. Not a tree near it, scarcely a bush, and such bleak cold-looking hills you cannot conceive, as cold as the Pyrenees—where you rather roughed it than otherwise in the old paved tent. Do you remember when old Billy Mein, 52nd, used to come and drink with me grog made of very bad rum? We were not so nice then as to have brandy.

I have desired you have a Grahamstown journal sent you, and I beg you not to believe more than one-half of the alarming lies that will be published in it. This place ought to be called “Necessity,” for it is the mother of invention.

_Adios, alma mia di mi corazon._ You have a good long letter this time.

Enrique.

Camp near Willshire, 25th March.

Up at four; sing out to cook for coffee; “Minni” (sergeant of the escort), “feed horses”; “Japps, rouse up the escort”; “Up saddle, camp.” Marched as soon as light into a nice bivouac. I have a most beautiful bush, and a still better one for His Excellency, and one between us both for Kittie. Capital breakfast; cows give lots of milk. Secretaries all at work building me a hut. Twenty men on fatigue building one for His Excellency, who has not yet arrived.

Nine o’clock. “Escort, up saddle”; “Japps, order Pompey for me and Minni’s horse for Captain Jervis. We are going to look for a new line of road.” Return to camp at one, having chalked out my road and sent a hundred men with Jervis to repair it. Report of five Kafirs prowling about the camp. Their spoor discovered back over the Keiskamma. Learn that His Excellency is not to leave Grahamstown for a day or two. Much mortified; I have built him a noble hut. Have a most capital hut myself, just completed, and wish _una vieja muger que se llama Juana_ was within it.

Just received a report that some cattle are seen on the other side of the river. “Japps! a horse and my escort.” “Ah, ah, sir!” Up saddle and off.

Just come back. I fancy I see some, and send out a patrol of 50 men under Field-Commandant Lindé, Swellendam Burghers. The finest old fellow upwards of 70 I ever saw, except my poor old Padre. Just such a game old fellow as _he_ is. Order dinner. Bruintjes (you must be acquainted with him); Painter and Minni you know; all these are occasionally called in my delicate voice. Our conversation is now beginning. “Well, Bruintjes, what’s for dinner?” “Some skin beef I can for soup mak.” (“Don’t make such a jaw, men; I can’t hear what my cook says.”) “Some pampoose too, sar, what master bring from Kafirland. Leetle onion, sar; a leg mutton for rost, sar; some bock what left yesterday, sar, what the Boers send master for hash; dat plenty, sar.” “Yes, by G—d, plenty, Bruintjes. Well, good fellow, mind, coffee ready directly after dinner, then you shall have your grog. Keep me waiting, no grog. Japps, what the devil are those loose horses doing here about my hut?” Japps, in a voice something between thunder and the croak of a frog, roars out, “Heigh, you d—d Boers! You take way your horse from Coronel.” The prospect of a good dinner makes me think I am dirty. “Painter, lay out my dressing things, lots of water, and a clean shirt.” A glorious splash, the water as cool as possible, the day not being so hot as yesterday. I think in a day or so it may rain. All the better for our grass. The cow-boy, “Black Jim.” “Well, Jim, what do you want?” “Kraal to be made for master’s cows.” “Very well, Jim; but make a kraal for the calves too.” “Yah, Mynheer.” “Or no grog.” “Yah, Mynheer.” “Now, be off.”

“Field-Commandant Dreyer wishes to speak with you, sir,” says the orderly sergeant. “Well, Dreyer, why the devil won’t you come in? What a ceremonious humbug!” “Coronel was busy write.” “Oh, you be d—d, and come in sit. Well, vaar is the Kafir?” “I canno say, meinheer. Coronel must loup into Kafirland.” “How can I, Dreyer? I must wait for the Governor.” “Well, where is the Governor? He must come; my mans is tired for ‘nix mak.’”[258] “Can’t help it, Dreyer.”

“Well, Sandford, what do you want? Paddie Balfour, and be whipped to you, don’t make such a noise. Japps, send this order to Commandants Lindé and Dreyer.” “Yas, sar.”

Sandford. “Colonel, I want an escort for empty waggons to Grahamstown.” “How many?” “Twenty-two.” “By Heavens, we shall eat up all our stores, lying idling here: I will order an escort. Let them make haste back, and lots of rice and spirits, mind.” “We are getting very short of beef too, sir.” “Damnation, I hear nothing but bad news. Orderly, tell Greyling and Nel” (two capital Boers) “to come to me _immediately_. I will get meat, Sandford. Any more bad news?” “No, sir, plenty of stores as yet.” “Well, Ford, did you bleed them?” “No, the camp is very healthy, and the wounded at Fort Willshire are all doing well.” “Send for Adair. Order an escort for Sandford’s waggons. Ford, come and dine with me, and be off now, I am busy. Well, Greyling and Nel, where are the bullocks and sheep?” “I know no tings, sar.” “The devil you don’t. Be off both of you immediately beyond Fort Beaufort. Bring me 40,000 sheep.” “Nay, Mynheer.” “Well, go and bring me as many bullocks and sheep as I shall give you an order for, when I and the commissary have made our calculations. Here, Andrews” (the Dutch secretary), “make out passports and authorities for all persons to aid and assist Greyling and Nel to go to Beaufort for sheep. Well, sir, what do you want?” (A great fat stupid-looking Boer standing at the hut door.) “Mynheer, mi vrouw——” “Andrews, what the devil does he want?” “To go home, sir, or to have his gun mended.” “No, sir” (in a very low voice); “I want to go to my vrouw, but by G—d I can’t.” “No more shall you. Go to your camp, and be ready to shoot Kafirs. Here, bugler, sound the grog-horn.” Then such a hurrah! “Almost dinner-time, Painter?” “No, sir, only five.” “You are wrong.” “No, sir, I am right.” “You, sir, why do you contradict me? It is six by my appetite. Well, Hallifax, what is going on in Fort Willshire?” “Fort Harry, sir, will be finished in a day or two.” (A little post he has established as a look-out, and named after me.[259]) “Wounded doing well.” “Are you going to stay and dine?” “With great pleasure.” “Southey” (captain of Guides), “let this way-post be sent to Captain Jervis, who knows where to place it at the turn-off of the new road.” “Well, Bagot, what is it?” (He commands a battalion of Hottentots.) “Shall I post any additional sentries to-night?” “_Why?_” “Five Kafirs were about the camp.” “I care not a —— if 5000 were around my camp. I will post my own picquets, ah! and sentries too—or vedettes, as I call them; ah! and take good care of our camp too. Five Kafirs shan’t take us, be assured.”

Well, old woman, this is a little specimen of one of my days in camp; so that you may readily conceive what a holiday a ride is. But all this is good fun enough, compared to the quill-driving in Grahamstown.

* * * * *

What shall I do to-morrow? Think of old Juana. Yes, because I do nothing else, I believe; although all the fellows wonder what the devil I am made of. I am here, there, and everywhere. No party do I ever send out but in two seconds I am amongst them; when they look grave I sing (_beautifully_, as you know), and the Boers laugh at my gaiety beyond everything. A young, big, fat Dutchman has just come to my tent door, saying that he has no blanket, and that it is very wet. What is he to do? “Go to the devil, and warm yourself, you spoony. Make a fire, sir, and sing over it. I have given you grog. Why, I never had a blanket campaigning for ten years. You want pluck, sir. Be off.” This is the way I go on almost day and night.

Night scene. “Hallo, sentry.” “Sir.” “What the devil are the dogs making such a noise about?” “Don’t know, sir; they always make a noise.” “Are the horses right?” “Yes, sir.” “What horse is that, biting himself so?” “That horse is master’s old horse, what carries the canteen.” Then sleep. In an hour, “What horses are those I hear moving?” “Some escort with letters for Coronel.” Out with a lucifer: light candles. Sometimes the letters are worthy a candle, oftener cock-and-bull stories. Lie down and sleep again. “Sentry, near daylight?” “No, sir, moon.” “I wish the dogs were at the devil.” “Make too plenty noise, sir.” Sleep. Soon after, awake, look at my watch. “Hallo, bugler, blow the rouse; Japps, feed; Bruintjes, coffee. Painter!” “Coming, sir!” “Where are the straps to my trousers?” “Under your ’ead, sir.” “Why, what an ass you are! Leave them in my boots. You, Jim, where’s the milk?” “Here, Mynheer.” “Balfour, where are you?” “Coming, sir.” “Why, the shadow in your tent makes you look like the knave of clubs.”...

_Adios, hija. Tu fiel, fiel_,

Enrique.

Camp on the Debe Flats,
8 o’clock on the night of the 1st April, Tom Fool’s Day.

We are now pretty well collected, and Master is quite ready for anything. He is really a perfect soldier in the field, and to hear him laugh when I blow up the fellows in Dutch (that is, _my_ Dutch)! But his delight is to dine and breakfast with me, particularly the latter. Our breakfast to-day was really perfection.

I have some excellent guides to all the passes in the ridge of hills which we are going to stir up to look for cattle. This Kafir war is nothing else than that. Read of Walter Scott’s Borderers, and you will learn what Kafir warfare is:

“He would ride
A foray on the Scottish side.”

It is just that. You gallop in, and half by force, half by stratagem, pounce upon them wherever you can find them; frighten their wives, burn their homes, lift their cattle, and return home quite _triumphant_.

4th April.

Last night at eight o’clock, on our return from a march of twenty-two hours, I received your dear letter. Yesterday I roared myself into one of my Vittoria lost voices,[260] and to-day I am whispering and swearing exclusively for my own amusement, for no one hears me. Old Doyle says I am still in advance in the talking way, and could afford a year’s silence at least. Murray is sitting with me; he is my great friend. Your description of your robbery and the “cuchillo”[261] is highly amusing. I ought to publish it in this army, and show what a Spanish woman dare, for, by heavens! here I have some arrant cowards. The Boers of the old Commandos talk of the glories of former times, when the Kafirs had only assagais. But now that they have a few guns, which they use very badly, Mynheer funks. There are, however, some very fine fellows amongst them.

Quite delighted to hear of the “Green Jacket” getting on the windows. We want very much some “Green Jackets”[262] here, for this warfare has all—nay! more than all—the fatigue of any other without the real excitement of war. Oh! the noise of the devils of captured cattle. Above a thousand head of cows and calves are now roaring in our ears.

Headquarters, Camp on the Debe, 5th April, 1835.

Our Hottentots are the most willing fellows possible. I call them my children, and all their little complaints, wants, and grievances they lay before me, which I listen to most patiently, for I exact a deal of work from them.... I will send off a warning order to the troops to march to-morrow at daylight. I always like to give the fellows all the warning I can. _Arrangements_, as His old Excellency calls them, are leather and prunella; for though he writes them beautifully, and in the most military and technical terms, there is not a soul in this camp who understands what he means; so that the pith of the matter is contained in the words, “March at daylight to-morrow, Monday, the 6th instant, commissariat and other waggons following column.” There it is, and all hands understand that it takes just two hours for our commissariat train to arrive, from the moving off of the first waggon to the arrival of the last, when the road is good. You may, therefore, General Juana, conceive what it must be when there is any serious obstacle to pass. It is really quite ridiculous to see the proportion of soldiers to the waggons; for when stretched out on the road, each with eight bullocks, it looks as if each soldier had one waggon at least. You, General Juana, accustomed only to regular armies (except a few guerrillas or so), would laugh to see our motley group, with every costume of a mean kind which can be imagined,—the Boer with his old white slouch hat, his long gun, his miserable saddle and bridle; the Hottentots with a little low-crowned hat, black jacket and trousers; the 72nd’s men with crackers,[263] their pipe-clayed belts left behind, and a little ordinary pouch substituted for the large one, wearing a forage cap with a large red leather peak, which makes every man look exactly as if he had sore eyes; old Dutton strutting about the camp in the paraphernalia of a Kafir chieftain’s wife.

Camp on the Buffalo, daylight or nearly so,
Friday, 10th April, 1835.

The Third Division, under Jem Cox, and the Fourth Division are going to remain here to hunt the rebel chiefs, while the First and Second and Headquarters go on to Hintza to bring back the captured cattle. I hope twelve days may see us back here again.

Bivouac on the Gunga Rivulet, six miles from the
Gonoube River, 4 p.m., 11th April, 1835.

I am writing on my knees, the table not having arrived in the waggon just yet, in a most beautiful bivouac on the banks of a woody streamlet with beautiful water, and grass up to the knees. We have marched twenty miles from the Buffalo upon the main road into Kafirland over very open country without seeing anything but some Kafir cranes, two khorans, and three partridges. Lots of kraals, but all have been deserted for some time.

I am half afraid Master is only to go to the Gonoube to-morrow—six miles—and halt the next day. Such slow work is quite dreadful. Last night I had a regular fight with him. He funked dividing the army—nay, actually gave it up for all I could say or do. I was perfectly mortified. However, in the middle of the night he changed his mind, and I had it all my own way. He is far too scientific for this guerrilla warfare, always full of combinations and reserves, and rears, and fronts, and cautions and dangers, and false movements, and doubts and fears. The greatest fault one can be guilty of is dash. Yet it is _the thing_, and there is nothing to fear.

I wish you were with me just now. The tent is all pitched, my table up, the rushes laid down, all my clothes put inside (as it looks as if a heavy dew were going to fall), a large heap of beautiful dry wood laid ready to light at daylight. The soup has been on at least two hours. Our dinner, I hope, will be good, for _me_ most certainly, for all I care about is soup with rice, and I eat such a lot, about five times as much as when with my dear old woman. We get also a lot of beautiful pumpkins from the Kafirs’ gardens, which help the soup, and we boil it with our rice. To-day, had there been time, we should have had a hare, which one of the men brought me yesterday; which I ordered to be stewed with rice and a piece of ham (Viva España!). But then we ought to have had _un poco de aceyte y una cabeza de ajos_.[264]... I wonder how I write Spanish. Do you understand it or not? I get on just as fast with it as English, anyhow; and if you do not understand, ’tis you who have forgot your own language, and not I how to write it.

6 o’clock, evening. 12th.

No ladies or any cattle brought in to-day, but I think we are running the whole population to earth on the Kei. There are great marks or spoors of innumerable cattle having been driven towards it. This should be our _boundary_. It is as bare of wood as the fens in my country, or even your country, scarcely covert for a hare, much less for the wily Kafir, whom I look upon just as a wild beast and try to hunt him as such. I little thought that the pains I took to make a huntsman of myself would hereafter befit me for a general of renown in Kafir warfare. But so it is. “Right ahead” and a “forward cast” will soon ensure you “Woo-hoop,” or as you call it “Oo-oop.” (Don’t “queeze” me, it is very “estraordinary,” you always do so.)

I hope that you may hear from me every week. I do my best to ensure it, and as yet I trust you have not been disappointed. If you are, be assured it cannot be helped. The distance is so enormous, and the odd devils we have to send as escorts with the mails do not, like regular soldiers, enable one to say that it will arrive on such an hour on such a day. The Hottentots are to be trusted, poor fellows; but the Boers are too fond of sleeping. Although I get on famously with them, I have no _particular_ opinion of their pluck, and always have about me my twelve men with double-barrelled guns, my escort, with old Japps, whose very holloa! would frighten a Kafir if his shot did not. Twelve more plucky fellows I never saw, and they watch me like hawks. If I move, they are after me and all round me, and every night mount sentry over me. If I whisper, Japps hears me. My bugler is no great hand as a musician, but the gamest fellow I ever saw (I am my own trumpeter, _n’est-ce pas, ma femme_?); but all our fighting is now over. It is quite an affair of Smithfield Market now, or will be in a few days.

Daylight on the 13th April.

We were all ready to march, when Master sent for me, and because Somerset’s division is not up yet, has ordered a halt. I remonstrated, but it was of no use. He became touchy, talked of principal combination, military errors, etc. So I dropped the matter, as I always find it best to do at the moment, and renew it hereafter. Upon the whole, we are doing very well, but I fear he does not think so. He has been disappointed in not fighting a general action; which is a thing as likely to occur as that, _if_ such were the case, the Kafirs would beat us.

They are in terrible dismay. Last night (for always two or three of them creep near us), the wind being favourable and the night very still, my Kafir guide sitting by the fire distinctly heard one call to another, “Ah, ah, the troops are come, and we shall be all killed.” In my tent I heard their howl. I will indulge in another wash, although it cannot wash away the stain of this day’s delay.

A nice cool morning, and I hope the day may be so too, for we have no shade. Not that I care about it; my hands are as black as my face, and that is the colour of dear little Moira’s nozzle, and my head about as gray as her nose. A big Dutchman just put me in half a rage. He came for a bullock skin. I gave him the order on the commissary, and the brute said he did not know where or who the commissary was. Now surely it was right to blow up such a fellow? I have improved in my Dutch wonderfully, almost as much as your dear Spanish figure has progressed towards the Dutch.

This lost day is a bore. I shall be tired of it _all_ soon. Indeed, the little excitement there was in the warfare has subsided, now that we have no enemy and I cannot make my little patrols. I have no ambition to be a Smithfield Market drover. We will make Hintza’s Kafirs drive our cattle back, and guard it too. As I have before told you, it is wonderful how these devils can make the cattle go, when they are ever so tired. I feel delay more than ever, but a light heart (which thank God I possess) keeps me the most lively fellow in the camp. All the fellows in camp rejoice in me, thank God, and the soldiers would go to the devil for me. I feed them well. Two of the wounded fellows passed me yesterday, those with assagai wounds who had been with Murray. “Well, my boys, how are you?” “Oh, quite well, sir.” “Ah, it is me who gets you into such scrapes.” “We will soon be ready to fight under your honour again with all our hearts and souls.”

Halting-day, 13th April (continued).

We are just going to take a ride—Master, me, and escort—upon the road to the Kei, with some of our guides. And then such questions as he will ask these fellows, who are as ignorant of what he wants to come at as possible—the name of this hill, and the other, the source of this river, and that t’yaron, sometimes with impatience. But the dear old gentleman sets down all this to the credit of science and information, and thinks my guerrilla ideas are far too wild. To-day he said, “In your view of the case there is no combination. All is trusted to a blind succession of chances.” So I bristled up and said, “General, war in itself is a succession of chances, like all other games. But science must be its basis, and the great science of war is to adapt its principles to the enemy you have to contend with and the nature of the country. If you do not, you give _him_ so many chances of the game.” This rather posed him. “Oh, certainly, I do not deny that. On the contrary, I agree with it.” I did not like to push him any further, for the great danger I have to avoid is that of assuming towards him a dictatorial manner; and God knows my manner is _brusque_ enough, soften it down as I will. I am obliged sometimes to speak out; but I do so with every endeavour to avoid hurting his feelings.

14th April, 4 o’clock in the afternoon.

Just arrived from a march. We have taken a Fingo, a Kafir of an inferior order, who has given us very important information. He states that Hintza has all the Colonial cattle collected and ready to restore to us, and that he is within two days’ march of us at his residence near the missionary station of Butterworth. I ought to have told you where we are: which is, as the crow flies, within six miles of the Kei, but twelve miles by the waggon road. The bed of the river is very evident, and the country now most beautiful again, intersected with ravines on a minor scale like those of the Pyrenees, beautifully studded with gardens, and with pumpkins innumerable.

15 April, 4 o’clock in the morning.

Just received a beautiful letter from Master, which put me in great alarm—full of very military reasons why our march to-day should be delayed, and begging me to come to him that we might discuss it. So off I started from my barrack-sheets and karosse, and after a little preamble I found him much more easily turned into my path than I expected. So we start to-day at seven. The enemy is so disheartened now, that I think if you were here with your female attendants and that large knife, with a red cloak on, the sable foe would fly before you.

“Now, Paddy Balfour, you ugly beast with your moustaches, pour out the coffee, and be d——d to you.”

“Battle over, sleep in clover;
Who so happy as we in camp?”

I am in great spirits this morning at having overcome the delay. “Up saddle.”

6 o’clock, 15th April.

This day has turned out much more auspicious than my utmost desire anticipated. I told you in the morning I was in high spirits, because Master consented to march down to the Kei. So I took care to be long before my time on horseback at his tent, with the advanced guard and my escort. He said with his usual politeness, “Pray, do not wait for me, Smith. Go on.” The hint was quite enough. It was all I wanted, and off I set in as fast a shuffle as I could keep the cavalry horses in, down to the river (about 11 miles). We could observe the tops of the hills (almost mountains) on the other side covered with Kafirs. The more there were, the more I pushed on. On my arrival at the ford, I was challenged from the opposite side by “Hallo, English, do you know what river this is? This is Hintza’s country. What do you want here?” I halted my troops, and made my Kafir desire one of them to lay down his arms and to come down to the river to speak to me. They were dreadfully frightened, but at last one laid down his assagai and by degrees in about an hour approached my Kafir. I told him to say that we were come to make Hintza give an answer to our former demand; that we would enter their country for the present as friends. All depended upon themselves and Hintza whether or not we were afterwards enemies.

During our conference we were joined by His Excellency, who highly approved of what I was doing. I went close to our side of the river—my Kafir sitting in the middle, Hintza’s Kafir on the opposite side—and had a long jaw,[265] which ended in our entering Hintza’s country for the moment as friends, and sending off for him. But no Kafir was to come near us with an assagai. The Kafir was a clever fellow, and wanted me to name a place to meet Hintza. I told him Hintza should have been on the river to meet the Governor, and we should march on until Hintza came. His Excellency was satisfied, so I said, “Now, sir, let us cross immediately.” He was full of two or three little doubts, fears, military precautions, when I could stand it no longer, and roared out, “Mount!” “Now, General,” I said, “I will cross, and you will see every fellow fly before me. Then pray send the whole army on.”

It was as I said. The fellow with whom I had the parley came up to me on my ascent from the river and told me he would desire the people to keep out of my way and would lead me wherever I might like to go. He is a most civil, athletic savage, 6 feet 3 inches high. He is now sitting with me, having eaten half a sheep, and his manner is really very fine. He liked my gingered tea exceedingly, but could not bear brandy. We have just had a visit from three of Hintza’s councillors. He himself is in the upper country. We have told them what I have before stated, and they are to send off for their king immediately. They promised fairly, and seemed terribly frightened when we threatened them with Fakoo in their rear.

I can talk Kafir wonderfully—_Asapā_, “come here”; _A Bāmbā_, “good-bye”; _Ekwee_, “yes”. Now that is a great deal to learn in one day, besides crossing a river and getting over a flock of _sheep_ rather than _soldiers_, pleasing a master, writing nonsense to an “auld wife,” and orders for the camp, blowing up fifty people at least, shaking hands with some fifty Kafirs, and giving them tobacco, and a breakfast to two of them, who were highly delighted. The graceful air and gentlemanlike manner in which they thank you is really astonishing. No French marquis of the _ancien régime_ could exceed their bow and expression of countenance. The knowledge they have, too, of passing events is totally surprising. They are perfect politicians, and talk to me of the general policy of our countries.

4 o’clock, 16 April.
On the road to Butterworth, Hintza’s residence.
Gona Camp, 7 miles over the Kei.

Hallifax, who literally loves me, has made a fort, which he and Bingham—the impudent rascals!—call Fort Harry, just above Fort Willshire; and last night they sent me a copy of a drawing they have made of it, and which I send to you. It is a very useful little work, I assure you, and must be admired by you because its name is Harry.

FORT-HARRY.

Hallifax et Bingham fecit]

Old Pato has just arrived with the waggons and one of his chiefs, come, he said, to learn _the news_. He has sent a message to his cousin Hintza. Old Pato says Hintza is a _great chief_. We must wait patiently with him, and give him time. He is a _great chief_. So I told him, great or small, if he or a messenger from him were not in to-morrow, I would be at his people immediately. At this old Pato and his captain laughed fit to kill themselves. They are two monkey-faced rascals, but they are dressed like Dutchmen, and really very well-behaved fellows. _Adios por el momento._

17th April, 4 o’clock in the afternoon.

After rather an uninteresting march, the country being very monotonous, here we are in the most beautiful and highly cultivated valley, close to Hintza’s residence and immediately in front of the missionary institution of Butterworth, formerly occupied by Mr. Ayliff, but now abandoned. We breakfasted in a nice little ravine with good water and visits innumerable from the Fingoes, whose cattle are grazing all around us, giving the air of harmony, peace, and confidence. These Fingoes are a race of men formerly dispersed by Dingaan’s tribe. They took refuge in Kafirland, and are but ill treated and little looked upon by the Kafirs. They are exceedingly inclined to befriend us, and if Mr. Hintza is not what I know he will be, we will arm all these Fingoes and use them as an instrument of vengeance against their oppressors. They are a fine athletic set of fellows.

Master is very communicative to me, and, I am vain enough to think, takes my advice, but it is difficult to advise. My mind is not enough awake to the subject. When the responsibility is mine, my versatile disposition turns the subject in a thousand ways, and at daylight a bright ray of intellect has heretofore been kind enough to say, “Enrique, do so-and-so.” It is really astonishing when I reflect upon my late career; everything has occurred to me as if by inspiration. All my little successes have flashed across my mind in an instant, and have been to the utmost of my power as instantly put into execution.

Midday, Saturday 18th.

One of Hintza’s principal councillors, who came to us the first day, has just come in with a long tail, and claims an audience. He is a little shrewd-looking old fellow with a tiger-skin karosse, and brings as a present and token of good faith and amity a bullock.

We have given him a saddle and bridle, and oh, the delight of the fellow! Thirty-five are sitting round me, having thrown off their karosses, as naked as they were born, one, a great orator, holding forth to the honour of the British nation—I dare say a great humbug; however, we can humbug too. I have just given all of the councillor’s tail a piece of tobacco, and his orator a tinder-box; also to two a knife apiece, and oh, such kissing of hands! He says Hintza will be here to-night or to-morrow.

_7 o’clock._—Oh, it has just begun to lighten tremendously, and the thunder rolls ten thousand cannon. Such vivid lightning I scarcely ever saw, like a blue light at sea, and lasting almost as long. Heavens, what a storm! I must shut up my desk. Good God, how it blows and rains and lightens! The candle is almost flapped out with the walls of the tent; I will finish this page though, if possible, rain or no rain. Viva Mr. Hintza’s country! You are a changeable fellow, hot and cold, wet and dry, light and dark in a moment. Blow, rain, thunder, lighten, but pray let me write to my poor old wife, for I can’t go to my bed yet, the rain so spatters through my tent.

Evening of the 19th, Sunday.

About 2000 Fingo captains have come in to say they must return into the colony with their wives and families, which will be granted them, so that I shall have a pretty increase of my cares. These are, as I have before told you, real game fellows, and, supported by my best of Hottentots, will drive more cattle out of the kloofs on the bed of the Kei in one day than we could in a week. It will be a measure of great policy, too, to bring with us a settlement of people so well disposed towards us and place them upon our new frontier. They appear to be of a much more docile nature than the wild Kafir, whose head is mischief and heart deceit.

I therefore hope to see them and their families comfortably located on a good ground and their huts built before winter, and hereafter they must be taught to build cottages. I feel convinced that nothing would tend to the civilization of these poor people more than domestic comfort in a nice cottage in place of lying all together like dogs in a kennel.... Good-night, my soul, my love, my wife.

Enrique.

9 o’clock at night, 19th April.

I have just received a deputation of _royal blood_. The look-out officer reported to me that about one hundred Kafirs were coming towards the camp in a friendly manner and without assagais, so off I started with my orderlies to meet them, making sure they were from Hintza. On my approach I halted them, and desired one to come out, when out came a tiger-karosse man. He said he was the captain, Kuba, come to pay his respects to the Governor, and asked the _news_, which is their mode of wishing to know whether we are friends or foes. I told him that four of his people might come with him, and I would then conduct him to the Governor. The Governor told them the news was with Hintza. This was all they could get from him, but he was very civil.

We encamp in a very curious way—not as in the Peninsula, the General some distance from the camp. We are all in a square, the troops outside, the General and staff and all the commissariat and oxen and waggons within. Sentries outside of the whole.

I have just returned from poor old Master, who now is _very kind_ to me, and treats me with the most marked attention. He said, “Well, have you sent the sketch of yourself to Mrs. Smith?” “Oh yes.” “Do you know what Michell says?” “No, sir.” “Why, that if he could get you to stand still for one minute, he could make a perfect likeness of you.” “By God, sir, I have not time to stand still.” “I believe you,” said the old boy; “you have not stood still;” and he shook my hand.

20th April.

I have just ordered Bruintjes to bring me a camp-kettle lid full of embers, and now am quite warm. Such a cold day as this would put me in a fever about you, were you here, lest you should get cold, lest you should not have all you want. For years now (that horrid thing, Time!) you have been accustomed to luxury. When I was first _troubled_ with you, you were a little, wiry, violent, ill-tempered, loving, always faithful, little devil, and kept your word to a degree which at your age and for your sex was as remarkable as meritorious. How often have I admired you for it! Had it not been for your own good sense and faith to me, I should not have had my dearest love as a young woman, nor an old Boba to whom to pour out the feelings of an affectionate heart. But please Almighty God, I shall have this old woman with me, until we both dwindle to our mother earth. And when the awful time comes, grant we go together at the same moment!

It is time we changed our camp. This delightful valley, so beautiful in its crops of Indian and Kafir corn, the hills around, so luxuriantly clothed with grass, are all now eaten off or trod down by the innumerable bullocks, horses, and animals we have with us, and bear the countenance of what you have so often seen—war and devastation. When we march to a fresh bivouac, all is again green and gay.