CAMPAIGNING IN SOUTH AFRICA. 1879.

CAMPAIGNING IN SOUTH AFRICA.

1879.

CHAPTER I.

THE ROUTE-PREPARING FOB DEPARTURE-A FLOOD OF LET

TERS-RIVAL TAILORS-INSPEOTED BY THE DUKE-LABT

DAY AT ALDERSHOT-DISILLUBION-EMBARKA.TION.

THE Zulu War came to us, as to many others,a sorrow and a surprise.

On the evening of the 11th February thepapers had been full of accounts of the disaster of the 22d of the previous month at Isandlwana, and it was felt that England would makea great effort to retrieve that reverse; but thatit should come home to us as individuals wasnot so clear.

2 CAMPAIGNING IN SOUTH AFRICA.

Upon the morning which followed the receiptof the news, there was to be a "Brigade day,"-the regiment was quartered at Aldershot,and, after an early breakfast, I went up to barracks to take part in it. But instead of findingthe companies standing on parade in readinessto be inspected, I found the men gathered ingroups, not talking much,-just standing as ifthey had heard something, and expected shortlyto hear more.

There were but a few minutes of suspense.On the orderly - room table lay the order forthe regiment to be held in readiness "for immediate embarkation on service in South Africa."For the first time we were going to fight.

My wife met me in the entrance to our hut;it was unusual for me to return so early. Besides that, there must have been something inmy face which had not been there before.

"We're ordered off to the Cape at once,Nelly J" I said. It was no time for beggingone's words.

Nelly gave a slight shiver, and I saw herhand press on the handle of the half-open doorshe was holding, a trifle heavier than it had

PREPARING FOR DEPARTURE. 3

done before I spoke. That was only for asecond,-little more. Then she gave a faintsmile, and laid both hands on my shoulders,saying, as she kissed me, "I'm so glad, Ned,because I know that you are glad." And afterthat she burst out crying.

So the memorable news came to many houseson that memorable day.

Then followed days of hurried preparation;journeys to town by the morning train, to return by the last one laden with parcels. White'sshop in Aldershot became a fashionable resort:hardly was an afternoon passed without payingit a visit-something had been forgotten; andthen you were sure to meet every one there.

The thing that impressed itself most uponmy mind in those last days was the immenseamount of lettering that was done in that shop.Everyone going out ordered some dozen articlesor more, and on each article had to be paintedname, rank, and regiment of the owner. Thepainters sat in corners, opposite to piles ofgoods, working on endlessly, as it seemed.Buckets, pillows, canteens, valises, tubs, bags,caps, filters, tables, chairs, bedsteads,-all had


to be lettered by those patient men. How theykept the things from getting thoroughly mixedwas a puzzle.

Oscillating continually between the shop andbarracks, always in a hurry, and laden withthe smaller purchases, we, the lucky ones goingout, were easily to be distinguished from theunlucky ones left behind, who walked slowlyand carried no parcels. Poor fellows, how wepitied them r

The letter-rack in the ante-room could nolonger hold our correspondence. When therack was full, the circulars, books, letters, andother tradesmen's offers of assistance, overflowedon to the mantelpiece; that full, the writingtable was taken up; that covered, the floorreceived the rest. Chaos reigned supreme inthe mess. Piles of letters addressed to officerswho had long since left were heaped about.The newspapers lay anywhere, tom and mangled,-the mess sergeant was too busy to cut theleaves or sew them together. Parcels which hadbeen opened, left their brown-paper wrappers inthe corners. The fire was neglected, and oftenwent out. In the midst of the confusion the

RIVAL TAILORS. 5

mess property was sold by auction, and therooms were infested by Jew purchasers anxiousfor their bargains. For the rest of our time wesat on three barrack-chairs, over a fire withouta fender, in an empty hut, lighted at nights bya couple of candles.

Amongst other amusing incidents of the timewas the arrival of three tailors, rivals, eachanxious to supply us with uniform and helmetsfitted for the climate of South Africa. Theywere small-s~zed men, unmistakably tailors, andwhen told to come in, did so with a timid air,as if expecting some rough practical joke fromthe officers who had need of them.

They halted inside the door, and drew up ina line. Then, as i~ by signal, each one unrolledhis sample red coat, and held it up to view;flimsy, fluttering things, gaudy with gold lace,and about as unfit for campaigning as could bedesigned.

The things fluttered and glittered; abovethem peered the anxious faces of the threetailors; opposite were the officers looking ratherbored. Eventually the boldest of the tailorsspoke up, shaking his coat in our faces; and his


effrontery gained him the day, and he receivedmany orders.

On his delivering my own garments, I suggested, by way of a joke, that I supposed it woulddo if I paid him on my return.

ee Why, sir, you see," was his reply, "whengentlemen are going out as you are, sir, it isalways a case of ready money,"-a pleasanthint which reminds me of the view of Isandlwana taken by my bootmaker, a well-to-do gentleman in the West End, who shook his headover the news pathetically as he said, "Sadbusiness, sir-very sad; nothing like it in England since I can remember. We lost three customers by it, sir 1"

Another phase of the times was the arrival ofmen's fathers-or other near relatives-fine oldfellows, with their eyes always following theirSODS' movements; trotting down into the townto bring back some small thing that might beuseful; trying to chat unconcernedly with therest as if they were down amongst us on a·pleasure-trip, and as if the queer life they had suddenly tumbled into had been theirs during thelast half-century. It was a hard time of dis-

NEW MEN.

comfort for most of them, and the pangs ofparting were rendered none the less bitter bythe weary mockery of keeping up cheerful appearances when the hearts were full.

Meanwhile in the huts the men were beingfitted with boots and clothes, accounts werebeing signed, sickly men picked out to remainbehind, warnings given, threats or promises heldout, anything to keep the men together undersuch exciting circumstances. Six hundred volunteers arrived,-men whose faces we had notseen before, and who had not seen each other'sfaces till they met on our parade-ground. Acompany, yesterday fifty strong, to-day expanded itself into over a hundred, and you walkeddown a double rank of strange faces peeringcuriously at you, and wondering what sort of a" cove" you were likely to prove by your looks.

Added to all, it was bitterly cold weather-snow one day, and slush the next-thorougW.yinclement, cheerless, and miserable. Then ourboxes had to be returned to store, or packed fortravelling, and we slept in the blankets meantfor future use in Zululand.

There were farewell dinners to be eaten at

8 CAMP.A.IGNING IN SOUTH AFRICA.

neighbouring messes, speeches made and returned, when the champagne made hosts and guestsequally feel heroes, followed by headaches andmore packing in the morning.

On one of these last days the Duke of Cambridge came down from London to inspect theregiments for Africa. From an early hour thecamp was alive with vehicles hired by partiesof tourists and sight-seers. The sides of theparade-ground were lined with patient groupsof that class of nondescripts who never failto attend when anything is going on. Theyappear to belong to no particular set - mereidlers, with more time on their hands than theyknow how to get rid of.

A tall, young-looking man, with curly hair,and a big coat profusely trimmed with Astrakhan wool, gained an entry into our desolateante-room, introducing himself as the representative of the C Daily Telegraph,' sent downspecially to report on the day's doings. Thiswas our first acquaintance with the ubiquitousce correspondent."

On parade we turned out in our white helmets, which gave the men a smart appearance,

THE DUKE OF CAMBRIDGE. 9

but looked sadly wintry against the leaflesstrees and snow-heaps. One desolate sub-lieutenant, destined to be left behind, wanderedround the flanks of the companies, wearing oneof the usual black-felt helmets, and looking asdisconsolate as the Peri at the gate of Paradise.

Mingled with sight-seers were piteous groupsof ladies, intently watching our movements, andappearing to derive what little consolation waspossible from the companionship of one another.Wives, mothers, and sisters gathered in quietgroups, taking a sad interest in those very dearto them, soon to be separated and lost to sight.

After the "march past" the Duke took theofficers on one side, and delivered a short speech,interrupted by an obtrusive H correspondent,"who, note-book in hand, edged in behind us,only to be ignominiously turned away. TheDuke looked older and more bent; his wellknown face is puffier than of old,.,and the purpleand red are creeping over it with unmistakable strides. He rode the handsome old roancharger which has been his favourite for years,and spoke earnestly and kindly, as is his wont.

H A little steadiness wanting, gentlemen; the


march past' not all that can be desired:steadiness and drill are what are required. Youhave a regiment of young soldiers who havemuch to go through, and it is by steadiness anddrill that you will do all you should. That itwill be done so, I have no doubt; that everyofficer and man will do his duty when the timecomes, is only what, as English soldiers, youwill do, as others have done before you." Toall of which we said a silent " Amen;" and thenthe kind-hearted old soldier rode away, and wewere dismissed.

:My own hut 'looked empty and dismalenough without Nelly and the children. Anofficer and his wife had been to look at it,and the time of my departure was evidentlya matter of deep interest to them. In thelittle dining-room - so small that Patrick,our soldier-servant, standing in the doorway,could hand the dishes pretty well all roundthe table-was my camp-bed, a portmanteau,the company's defaulters-book, and a pile ofopened letters-some bills, others parting wordsfrom friends. Patrick, on his knees at thefireplace, was vainly trying to blow some life

LAST DAY AT ALDERSHOT. 11

into the fire. Outside" the snow was fallingand the dead leaves driving. The little gatewe had put up to keep a neighbour's fowls outof the garden hung on one hinge. The gravelwalk was littered with straw from the packages" now carted away. Opposite, the regimental "wash - house" was closed" and theclothes-lines" till yesterday never empty, weregone with the soldiers' wives sent home; rathera mockery on the word for those whose homeswere broken up-the husband to fight in Zululand, the wife to find a scanty welcome withparents or sisters more pinched than herself.

Such was the outlook on our last day atAldershot. On the morning of the next, latein February, we stood on parade for the lasttime, while the General of our Brigade addressedto us a few words of God-speed. The snow laythick on the ground, and the men beat a dismaltattoo with their feet as the words came acrossthe ranks:-

"Let every bullet find its billet in a Zulu'sbreast. You are leaving your sweethearts behind you" men: let each man's rifle be henceforth his sweetheart; let him cherish it as he


would the girl he has left behind him." Thesentiment called forth a good cheer. .Thenthe band struck up, and we marched off tothe station.

The sight-seers were gone; but here and therestood those quiet groups of ladies, two or threetogether, tearless and brave, though their heartswere breaking. And as the "line" passed them,now and then. a handkerchief would be waved,or a hurried embrace snatched as a last goodbye.

At the barracks the men turned out withthree hearty cheers; an ovation continuedthroughout the town, making me feel that, formy own part, I would suffer a great deal ratherthan not deserve the confidence which so manyof our countrymen showed in us.

Just when the cheering was at its height, andthe "line" was surrounded by throngs of peoplecrowding round to shake hands for the last timewith their friends in the ranks, a small shop-boystruggled up to me, presenting a bill for oneand-eightpence, which he demanded of me topay on the spot. Never was a case of disillusion more plainly illustrated-never did a more

EMBARKATION. 13

complete awaking from a dream take place. Amoment before, my heart was beating high withheroism, longing for some forlorn-hope or desperate service with which to prove my devotionto my country; now, my only feeling was oneof disgust, and a longing to kick the wretchtrundling along by my side with his horriblecc little bill."

Never was greater enthusiasm shown than onthe occasion of the reinforcements starting forNatal. At Southampton the two trains conveying the regiment passed slowly through longlines of people, all shouting and cheering, thewomen waving handkerchiefs, and urging us onto go out and avenge our fallen soldiers. Thedockyard was crammed; even the vessels lyingalongside the China, on which we were toembark, were filled with spectators. Windowsof the warehouses commanding a view of theship were occupied by parties of ladies, whilethe gates leading to the landing - place werebesieged by anxious crowds, all begging foradmittance. So the afternoon wore away: themen were stowed below like so many sardinesin a box; the officers snatched a minute now

14 OAMPAIGNING IN SOUTH AFRIOA.

and again to consume bottles of champagnewith their friends in the saloon; the old Dukepaid us a flying visit, and at last we cast offfrom the quay, and steamed slowly past thedockhead. The crowds, there as elsewhere unmindful of the bitter wind, cheered and wavedtheir handkerchiefs, while the band on boardplayed " Auld lang syne" and "The girl I leftbehind me," till the men could blow no longer.Then more leave - taking as the steam - tenderalongside blew her whistle; a rush to the gangway; and a few minutes after the order, "Fullspeed ahead," England was once more a thingof the past.

15

CHAPTER II.

THE OHINA-THE PUFF LITERARY-PAOKED TIGHT-BT VIN

OENT-OUR FIRST BOARE-THE TROPIOB-THE QUEER

BIRD-ARRIVED.

THE China, like the Russia, is one of the Cunard Line, and proved an excellent and comfortaple vessel, though now considered behindthe age, and only runs across the Atlantic during the summer when an extra steamer is required. Everything about her denoted strengthand safety. Her plates were a third thickerthan those used in the construction of ordinaryiron ships, while fittings and appointments weresolid and old-fashioned. Anything required forthe ship's fitting is supplied to the order of thechief officer, the Company considering that if aman is fitted for so responsible a post he is thebest judge of the ship's requirements. Another

16 OAMPAIGNING' IN SOUTH AFRIOA.

excellent rule forbids the ship's officers to mixwith the passengers. On a "Cunarder" there isnone of that lounging about in fancy costumeby the side of the young' ladies which is socqpspicuous amongst the officers of many oceanlines. The captain alone dines in the saloon,taking it in turns to preside at the upper andlower tables, thus avoiding jealousies. Thewatch on deck is kept constantly at work nightand day: thus there is none of that haulingmen out of holes and corners on dark nightswhen a sudden call for them arises. This excellent rule had its disadvantages, as the silenthours of the night were continually -disturbedby holy-stoning decks, or tramping after somerope, the hauling of which could well have beenleft till morning.

The table, supplied from the ice - housethroughout the entire passage, furnished a superabundance of solid food. No French cookery o~ "kickshaws" are allowed on so conservative a line: goose, ducks, pork, colossal joints,huge hams, and thick rich soups appeared asregularly as dinner came round, filled in withsmaller dishes in which the same meats, cut up

THE CHINA. 17

and disguised with sauces" did duty as entrees.With these were a sprinkling of Americandishes" with names strange to English ears. Atlunch the invariable dish was stewed prunes"boasted by the Company to have been suppliedat that meal without a day"s interruption sinceits formation.

On the cabin-table lay an album" magnificently got up in crimson cloth and gilt edges"containing the history of the Line-photographsof the steamers, plans of the cabins, rules andregulations" charts of the routes taken, and aseries of amusing papers by popular well-knownauthors, describing their experiences on tours toAmerica and other places to which they hadjourneyed by the assistance of the Company.These papers were not unlike the advertisements which appear in local papers from the"gentleman's tailor" or the "practical hatter,"as the descriptions of scenery or travel invariably led up to the final "puff," cunningly hiddenas the reader read it through, unwitting of thetrap into which he had fallen" untq. the charmsof the Company had been impressed on hismind. In the Cunard Line the "puff" appears

B


in various disguises-all, however, winding upwith the sentence in capital letters announcingit as "The Company which has never lost aman! "

We were, however, terribly cramped for space,officers as well as men. The ventilation foundus out, too, as soon as the weather grew warm,hinting that tbe construction of vessels built forthe Atlantic trade and cold weather was a littleout of place in hot climates when crowded withsoldiers.

'fwo companies were berthed on the "orlopdeck," a subterranean-looking place which couldonly be gained by descending several laddersin a sbaft which, for its black depth, might baveled to a coal-mine. Daylight never reachedthis black-hole. By the dim light of the" bulls'eyes" could be seen the forms of men strippedto the waist, their bodies glistening with moisture, bending over the mess-tables, trying toread, or fingering dirty packs of cards. Thetables were ranged in rows on either side, eachaccommodating twelve men. Against the ship'sstem hung knapsacks, tin pots, straps, and oddsand ends; from the deck protruded the books

PAOKED TIGHT. 19

which supported the hammocks at night. Therifles stood in racks down the centre of the ship,-space already lumbered up with bales of spareblankets and hammocks for which no roomcould be found in the hold. At one end, underthe shaft, was a hatchway, greasy with moistureand many feet. This was continually opened,and casks and other stores hauled into daylightby a gang of men, who still further diminishedthe light and air which struggled into this"infernal region." 'Vhen it was cleared out ondisembarkation, all the property lost during thevoyage was unearthed from its recesses-rifles,bayonets, straps, bags, boots, clothing, all rustyor rotten from the damp and heat.

Thus early in the day our much-vauntedheroism began to receive some rude shocks.

At St Vincent, into which we put for coal,we experienced the first of a series of scareswhich came to us from that time until the closeof the war-scares common to those whose heartsare bent on great things, and fear at everymoment that they will not share in them.

As we rounded the Point, steamer aftersteamer burst into sight. Here laJ all the


transports which had sailed for Africa before us.The Russia, Florence, City of Paris, Olympus,City of Venice, were in that quiet bay, with nota sign of moving on amongst ·them; and theidea quickly gained ground that the war wasover without our assistance, and that telegramsdetaining the troops had arrived.

The scare spread to the men; and it wascurious to watch the crowd of faces peeri;ngtowards the harbour, anxiously awaiting thepilot-boat which should put us out of our suspense. But no pilot came off; and it was nottill we had steamed past the isolated rock whichstands sentry over the entrance of the harbour,and had dropped anchor among the rest, thatwe learnt that the detention of the fleet wasfrom want of coaling accommodation, and notfrom any bad news from England.

St Vincent, hitherto one of the quietest ofthe world's out-of-the-way nooks, enlivened onlyby a passing ship, woke up one fine morning tofind herself the centre of the most extraordinaryexcitement. The water in the harbour wasdotted thickly with the huge iron ~ulls of transports, while fresh arrivals almost hourly kept

ST VINCENT. 21

sending up the flags at the tiny signal-stationin a continued Hutter. Fleets of boats filled·with officers or men, all in uniform, were Hyingto and fro between the shipping and the longwooden pier, now crowded with people; thewire railway which conveyed sacks of coal fromthe depot to the lighters was everlastingly atwork; the washerwomen in a crowd were pounding away at our linen at the stream outsidethe town; bugles were sounding, revolvers werecracking in continual practice, signal-flags werewaving,-everywhere was life, bustle, and -excitement.

The Praga da D. Luiz, a small squarein the centre of the town by the sea, wasthronged with visitors listening to a militaryband, sent ashore by one of the regiments,which discoursed waltzes and polkas, to the delight of the entire population, who gatheredround twenty deep, dressed in gay-colouredclothes, many of the women executing dancesof a somewhat florid character round the outercircle. The Hotel Luso-Brazileiro hard by wasdoing a roaring trade. Portuguese waiterswere everywhere, flying with many gesticula-


tions after liquids of sorts. The popping ofcorks was interminable, the Babel of languagesquite indescribable.

" Waiter, beer J " " Yes, my dear! ""Waiter, brandy and soda!" "At your

service, my dear! "Such were order and reply within that low,

green-shuttered building.The roofs of most of the houses are provided

with a sliding opening, out of which the entirehousehold can protrude their figures and lookdown upon the scene below,-a marvellouslycheap way of getting a panorama of the surrounding world when required.

Above all shone a glorious SUD, warming upthe soldiers wistfully gazing at the shore theycould not visit, with its delights of foreigndamsels and cheap brandy. Poor fellows 1 theybasked in the light and heat, forgetting thebiting cold just parted from, and the close confinement down below.

But a Government comfortably at home, andever mindful of all things, had, as usual, forgotten one thing-the fact that a port adapted forthe coaling of one steamer per week can hardly

DELAY. 23

stand the strain put upon its resources whensteamers requiring the same arrive by the dozenalmost daily. Coals there were plenty, but boatswere few, and men to work them fewer still; thesoldiers worked well on board when the coalsdid come, but were unable to do more: so delayensued, and nearly a week was lost, ·when telegrams urging our despatch with the utmostspeed had been the motive power of the wholeforce.

Did the captain return on board, he was instantly pounced upon by a dozen anxious ones,with inquiries as to the number of lighters coming, and the probable time of departure. Theofficers of a battery of artillery on one of thetransports, anxious to show an example to themen, lowered themselves into the coal-bunkerswith the rest, and shovelled away at the descending coals with an utter disregard to freshair or personal cleanlinesse

Outside the harbour, as if infected with thegeneral confusion, a whale spent an hour ormore in jumping clean out of the water, anddisplaying his body and tail alternately for ourgratification.


St Vincent left at last, the days passed in theusual routine-life common to troops on boardship. Of grumbling there was very little, ofquarrels there were none-as one saturnine manobserved, "Thank goodness, there are no women,so we have peace I" Courts-martial were frequent: the monotony told upon the men, andsome of the higher spirits broke out and had tobe suppressed. Pilfering small articles crept in,becoming a real nuisance, and had to be putdown. Did a man clean his belts for parade,and lay them in the sun to dry, if he tookhis eyes off them for a moment, the chanceswere, his waist-belt or knapsack-straps had disappeared. A rifle, put away carefully cleanedin the rack, was gone the next morning, andthe unarmed wretch appeared with fear andterror. Everything that a soldier has is markedwith a number corre~ponding with that he himself is known by, so in theory it is easy to detect a man wearing another man's things; butpractically, in a ship crowded with many morethan a thousand souls, space is contracted, andto find out numbers on articles, all black andgrimy more or less, is no easy matter. So many

WARM: WEATHER. 25

a pleasant morning was spent among the troops,fallen-in in long lines, swaying to and fro as theship rolled, trying this somewhat unexcitinggame of finding out who was who by numbers.

The weather, too, on the "line," grew warmerthan was pleasant, and the heat below was stifling. A stout captain found it especially so, andblew and puffed most vigorously-meals becamedistasteful to him, and night - time insupportable. Little Brown, who sat next to him atdinner, found his gigantic elbows somewhat inthe way, and meekly gave in to superior rankby screwing his body into the smallest spacepossible. But heat, and the sufferings it entailedon our stout warrior, prevailed.

" Mr Brown," said a voice hoarse with anguishand much stretching, " I wish you would be goodenough not to take up so much room."

Poor Brown, occupying inches to the otherone's yards, retreated at the sound, till it lookedas if he would vanish altogether; and for thatday at least the gingerbread-nuts, and otherdelicacies beloved by boys, were untouched.

Another young officer had been provided byhis anxious parents with a diary, magnificently


got Up in green leather and gold, in which hewas to record his daily doings. For days he satwith the book before him, intent on the incidents of each hour, but finding none worthy ofrecord. His devotion to the wishes of his parents, and to the diary, became a marked feature on board, and he was watched with muchinterest by the younger officers. At length hewas seen to open the long-gazed-at volume, andseizing the pencil, make an entry. A rush wasmade at him instantly, and the book capturedafter a faint resistance; for the exertion of somuch literary work had proved exhausting. Sothe book was taken from him, and the contentsgiven out to the world at large: "March 20th-Saw a queer bird; query, condor ~" For therest of the campaign the youth was known as"The Queer Bird;" and little wonder I Onanother day we passed the homeward-boundCape mail, but got no news from her of importance. Yet. some bright spirits on board managed to extort a telegram from her as shesteamed past us, which was carefully writtenout and put up in the place of honour in thesaloon, amid some excitement among the juni-

A QUEER BIRD. 27

ors, who, pencil in hand, took it down, one afteranother, with touching faith and simplicity.The document thus inserted in many a diaryand home -letter ran as follows: "Nyanza toChina,-Kafir king prisoner, with first wife andson. Peace; but Boers continue troublesome.Reinforcements unnecessary. You will probablybe sent to Fiji Islands."

These and other small amusements passed thedays, weary enough as they were, till all ourheads were turned towards the bows, where wewere told the land was to be seen-a dim darkcloud over the eternal sea-line, growing darkerevery minute, till those who from the first saidthey saw it did see it with the rest of us, plainlynow,-the great cliffs, frowning cold and grey,we were bound to-the mountains of SouthAfrica-or, as we soon got to call it, the" GreatFunkland I "

28

CHAPTER III.

OAPE TOWN-THE GREAT FUNKLAND-MIDSHIPMAN'S

POETRY.

SIMON'S TOWN, where we put into for coal andother business, had set aside ita usual sleepiness,and was all life and bustle.

At the anchorage lay the City of Paris, havingjust knocked a big hole in her bows, and therefore busy transferring the 21st, which she hadbrought out, to the square-built Tamar, with herheavy spars and cream-coloured hull-a goodold troopship, known to most of us at one timeor another.

Inside, again, were the Olympus and Florence, a fleet soon added to by the arrival ofthe Russia, thus transferring the excitementof St Vincent to this far-away spot. In theman-of-war anchorage lay the Tenedos, ordered

CAPE TOWN. 29

home with a hole in her bottom, and the Active,flying the Commodore's pennant. Ashore weregroups of officers intent on the latest news;squads of invalided soldiers, not consideredstrong enough for the front, and left behindin the Naval Hospital; naval officers cheeryand full of spirits, all moving to and fro bet\veen the little club and the wharf over whichthe big South Atlantic waves kept dashing in amost uncomfortable way. Cape Town, twentyfour miles away, was equally excited by thelanding of the Prince Imperial and the presence of more transports. Every one was abroadto see the Prince; ladies found shopping to dofrom morning till evening in the hopes of meeting him, and the theatre was decorated withtricolor flags, and a box retained for him underpromise-so said the manager-of his presence:all to no purpose; the Prince stayed with theGovernor, and did not move out at all.

The same afternoon some officers drove overto Cape Town to enjoy a few hours' relief fromthe constant companionship of the British soldier, Boon to become apparently ete~al, returning next day with the first instalment of the


Great Funkland news. Men lately returnedfrom Zululand had talked to them freely of theterrors of the place: defeat was a certaintydeath indeed a mercy; tortures of the mostappalling nature, described with a realistic forcequite convincing, were the certain lot of thoseunfortunate enough to escape death. Isandlwana was an everyday occurrence in wars ofthis kind: the names of officers who had fallenthere were quoted as instances of fresh horrors;their bodies had been recovered all but unrecognisable, owing to their treatment-or Zuluprisoners, previous to execution, had boastedof the tortures inflicted on Englishmen. Thelisteners were young and ready of belief, andthe accounts of what they had heard costnothing in the telling, and were detailed onboard as the most cheerful news to be had.

The shadow of the Great Funkland was darkening over us already.

Indeed our stay at Simon's Bay was not thebrightest part of our campaign. Our anxiety toget on, and to be in the middle of the war beforetoo late, was a serious trouble. Our faith in ourgenerals had not yet been shaken, and our great

GREAT FUNKLAND. 31

fear ever was lest the troops already in Natalshould do the work without us. Anything wasbetter than delay. Only let us be moving on,and we should be happy.

The news sent home of the peril imminent tothe colony was still fresh in our minds. Hurriedaway at the shortest notice, we certainly feltthat every delay was fraught with danger.What might not an hour bring out 1 Our advent in the threatened colony must be anxiouslyexpected. Our landing would be the signal forthe war to be brought to a conclusion one wayor another. But delay followed delay; routinewas everywhere-red-tape as rampant as athome. Cape Town, excited about the Princeand the tales of torture, found a far more burning question in the consideration whether itmight not be called upon to contribute a shareof the expenses. So to pass the time, and getaway from our own thoughts, some of us droveover to Cape Town.

The road, such as it is, follows a portion ofthe shore of False Bay, in which again, in anindentation, lies Simon's Bay. It is a wilddrive round the Bay, the road oftener than


not following the sands, or mounting the cliffside in an artificial cutting. Villages devotedto fishing are passed; a larger one, Kalk Bay,with some summer villas of the Cape peoplefacing the sea - their bathing - machines therocks, covered with seaweed, in front, as indeed we saw, without any attempt being madeby the bathers to conceal the fact. At thehead of the Bay stands a public-house, rejoicingin the name of "Farmer Peck's," a picture ofthe "Gentle Shepherd of Salisbury Plain," anda wonderful signboard with sentences on it inseveral languages, popularly said to be the workof a midshipman. It runs thus :-

" Multum in parvo, pro bono publico.Entertainment for man and beast all of a row.Lekker kost as much as you please.Excellent beds without any fleas.Nos patriam fugimus I now we are here.Vivamus, let us live by selling Beer.On donne a boire et a manger ici ;Come in and try it, whoever you be."

The inside, however, was as little tempting asthe sign, two huge Dutch women presiding overa sloppy counter, across which we got some badliquor at good prices.

PEAOE. 33

After this, you leave the seashore and drivethrough a narrow and somewhat picturesquelane, with the mountains of the Cape on yourleft, until you arrive amidst the trees and dustwhich make up the greater part of ""Vyneberg, apleasant suburb of the town.

To us the change of scene and life was enchantment. We lunched at a comfortable tableladen with fresh fruit; we talked to young ladiesand their mammas; less often with men in mufti,-just as we had done in England, as it seemedto us, weary months ago. Not a red-coat was to

be seen; not a military phrase escaped any lips;even bad language, which had become secondnature to our ears from the depths under ourfeet, was unheard. As for war, it was unknown,or ignored so totally that it would appear wehad arrived as heralds of the millennium. Itwas indeed a new life to us. But a few hoursbefore, we were surrounded by soldiers; armsand other deadly machines were our onlyornaments; our books, pamphlets on the method ofmeeting an enemy in the field, and disposingof the slain after the encounter was over; ourvery thoughts centred in the work cut out for

c


us. Ladies-their very name a thing of thepast; homes all but forgotten in stern realityso imminent

I t was truly a case when those who hadshouted, "Morituri te salutant," had come backalive once more out of the arena.

Cape Town itself, on the surface, appearedbut little different from what it is in ordinarytimes. There were offices open, and placardedas places where volunteers for the war in Zululand could enrol themselves, and some of theenrolled ones about the streets, carbines in hand,going off to drill~ The photograph-shops hadsome strange pictures of almost naked and quitehideous savages, labelled Zulus; but beyondthis there was little else. As to Natal, it wasa foreign country beyond the seas to the CapeTown people. Even its climate was unknown,and opinions were much divided between thewish, common to all colonists, to know all abouteverything, and the desire to ignore the placealtogether. The only topic on which all wereunanimous was the final cost of the war, andthe shoulders of whom it would fall on. Noton those of Cape Town. Natal was a Crown

WHO PAYS 1 35

colony-the Crown held it as its very ownand the Crown, of course, would pay the piperto the uttermost farthing. This, repeated onevery occasion, with not the most pleasanthints thrown in that we and all other soldiersfound the war greatly to our profit, grew quitemonotonous, and sent us away from Cape Townbut little impressed with the loyalty of itsinhabitants.

36

CHAPTER IV.

ARRIVAL AT DURBAN-THE "BAR"-WELCOME-THE OOLONY

ON ITS DEFENOE - PREPARATIONS FOB THE WORST

BULES FOB THE OAMPAIGN-OUB KITS-DELA.Y.

AFTER that, our last holiday, followed two days'buffeting with the waves of the Southern Ocean,and we cast anchor outside the "bar" at Durban. The town itself lies two miles inland,and is not visible from the anchorage, which isan open roadstead, much exposed to the southand east, whence come many of the gales prevalent in these latitudes. Across the whole bay,some two miles in length, stretches the bar, onwhich are only some five feet of water, compelling all except small vessels to lie outside.Inside is a magnificent bay, fringed with foliage, and bright and sparkling in the sunlight.Across the bar itself, and on the white sand of

A ZULU SPY. 3'1

the beach beyond, the swells roll and break witha roar eternally. Opposite the beach the landstretches out into the sea in a high promontorycalled the" Bluff," steep and wooded, supportinga lighthouse on its extremity. General Funk,rampant in these days in the colony, had theassurance to tell us, with every appearance ofsincerity, that a few days previously a Zuluwas caught lurking near the lighthouse, and onbeing brought up and questioned, admitted thathe was there by Cetewayo's orders, for the purpose of extinguishing the light, and thus makethe English ships with the soldiers on boardrun ashore.

It was eight o'clock on the morning of the2d April when the ship anchored, and everyone was eager to hear the news. Large clumsytugs were plying about the shipping, H.M.S:Shah amongst the rest; and one of the former,with a post - captain standing on the paddlebox, was soon alongside. The news he broughtwas not comforting. Moriarty's death and theloss of his detachment on the Intombie riverfar in the north; the departure of the reliefcolumn for Etshowe, about which nameless


difficulties were predicted, - these were theprincipal items of news.

A more welcome sound came in the order todisembark at once, and soon the men began tofall in for the last time on the quarter-deck ofthe China. Captain and officers had done allin their power to lighten the monotony of thevoyage; and on the previous day, the purser, ina set speech, had announced that the owners ofthe Cunard Company, Messrs Burns and M'Ivor,wished to present the officers with the winewhich they had drunk in no half-hearted waythroughout the voyage. No one was sorry toleave the cramped confusion of the ship notwithstanding; and as soon as the accommodationladders were slung over the side, the men beganswinging down them, passing their rifles first,and following themselves into the arms of acouple of sailors placed to catch them in themuch-heaving tug.

"Catch a hoult of me legs, Barney darlint I "and appeals to tc Holy Mother," or half thesaints in the calendar, were frequent, andelicited shouts of laughter from those alreadydown. It seemed as if the stream of struggling

DURBAN BAR. 39

red-coated bodies would never cease. In vamthe captain held up his hands and shouted thatthe boat was full-still down they came, tumbling and sprawling, till there was really nomore squeezing room; and then it was only onecompany and the moiety of another that wereout of the ship, and there were ten in all. Thecrew gave three cheers, and we pushed off,tossing and rolling quite as deep in the bigswells as was pleasant.

We passed some small vessels hard and faston the bar, the water sucking in and out ofthe hatchways with a dismal sound. " Swish"came a spray, like a whip, right across our faces,and those who had waterproofs put them on ;the men, crouching under the low bulwarks,grinned, and let off more jokes. Then camea huge roller, sending our boat down into thedepths of the green water, and we were introduced to Durban bar. Another and anotherfollowed, broad, greasy swells, and with manylurches and splashing of salt spray, we gotthrough into the quiet water inside.

Three ladies who had walked down to a sandyspit to watch our arrival, came in for a hearty


British cheer, which they returned with muchwaving of parasols; and then we edged alongside the jetty, and were shunted ashore to makeconfusion more confused.

Here we first made acquaintance with thecorduroy trousers worn as uniform under a regulation coat, common in the colony, not indeedfrom choice, but from necessity-a necessity,alas, we ourselves had to meet ere long I ~he

landing officer-one great in his own way, thoughunknown to us-had a pair of these garments onunderneath his befrogged and bemedalled coat,and came in for much curiosity in consequence.

The" Point," as our landing-place is named,was crowded with stores. Commissariat officerswere hurrying about; streams of newly-arrivedtroops in bright clothes, and belts snow-whitewith pipeclay, met other streams of "fatigueparties" in damaged clothes and sproutingbeards. The shore was piled high with cases onwhich the broad arrow sprawled, and the continually departing trains made but little diminution among them. Once, however, outside thePoint and its confusion, and we were againmarching along between rows of trees, with

WELCOME. 41

patches of grass and wild-flowers thickly strewn.Tiny wooden houses peeped out of the hedgerows; the greenest of turf stretched in front ofthem; wild-flowers were everywhere, and butterflies perched on the little mud-heaps whichadorned the road here as in England.

Flag-staffs were abundant; every house hadone, the object most noticeable to a stranger'seyes in their construction being that each onehad been erected with a view to being higherthan its neighbours. To an observant mindthey suggest that the settlers in this part ofthe colony have passed a considerable portionof their lives at sea. Miniature flags flutteredfrom the tops of many of them, denoting thenumber of the transport just arrived.

Further on a school of small white childrenturned out and greeted us with a hearty cheer,as heartily responded to by the men. .And itis worth recording that it was the only cheerwhich our countrymen gave us in the colony;they turned out to stare curiously at us, orrode alongside our column to cover us withdust, but welcome us with a cheer they did not.The colonists view the war in a light which


appears strange to those in England, avowingthat England got them into the mess, andthat they look to her to get them out of itagain. Hence they gave our troops no welcome after their long journey out to help them.The local papers teemed with letters and articlesventilating this side of the question, and mighthave gained a part of what they wished hadnot the colonists been so eager about the apportioning of Zululand after the war.

"My brave young man," said a fellow-passenger in the train to me at that time, "you'llget 20,000 acres of it, of course, as soon as everthat old cuss Cetewayo is kicked out."

This was the ruling sentiment; and muchanger and disappointment were caused by thetelegram which stated that England would makeher own terms with the Zulus, which wouldbe especially directed against annexation, whilethe question of the share in the expenses of thewar would be settled hereafter.

Covered vans full of people passed each otherand us on the road, and were labelled" omnibus ;" past some stores, where Huntley & Palmerand Morton were well represented, by the side

OUR FIRST CAMP. 43

of the inevitable russet-brown corduroy trousersand flapping wideawakes, and we turned outof West Street, the principal thoroughfare ofDurban, crossed the railway, and reached ourcamping - ground quite ready for dinner-ofwhich, however, there was little chance.

We were on a low-lying strip of grass, sometwo miles in length, and half that width, popularly supposed to swarm with ticks, and soto be unfit for cattle, though good enough forsoldiers. One side is enclosed by a high bank,sandy and tree-grown, beyond which is the sea;on the other lies "the Berea," a hog-backedridge, prettily covered with trees, from out ofwhich peep the picturesque country villas ofthe better class in Durban.

The ground we were on, besides the ticks,which were a real and feeling annoyance, hasits own history. Here, in 1841, lay the English, beleaguered by the Boers, whom we hadfollowed into this country,then their own. Fighting ensued, as a matter of course; Durban wasretaken by the Dutch; its garrison reduced toeating their own boots in a "laager" outsidethe town, built on the site of our present camp;


and total extinction imminent, till one DickKing swam with two horses across the bay atnight, passing the sleepy Dutch sentries insafety, and riding into King William's Town,many miles distant, for succour.

Opposite our camp four Gatling guns wereposted, with their artillerymen about them, allwaiting for horses to take them to the front.Through the centre of the tents passed a road,then a moving scene of men and carts. Onewaggon in particular passed a hundred timesa-day. It was painted in bright colours, andwas drawn by a team of sixteen mules, whichambled along nimbly to the persuasions of along whip, which a burly Kafir, standing infront on the load, handled like a fishing-rod. Itwas our introduction to mule-waggons; fromhenceforth our lives were to be passed in theircontinual company.

Queerly - dressed volunteers swaggered past,distinguished by a bit of red rag wound roundtheir hats, or even round their heads, if theywere "off-coloured" and dispensed with suchluxuries. Their particular swagger was to sticka riding-whip in their boots. As a rule, they

THE COLONY DEFENDED. 45

had at least a pint of bloodshed in each eye,with an unmistakable preference for drink, whichhad in many cases militated against their success in other walks of life.

Everywhere was bustle, noise, and confusion.The sleepy little town had woke up to find itselffamous. Until the war developed, its inhabitants divided their time between selling Hollands gin and slop-cl?thes, dining at one of thetwo clubs which they have established, and doing an occasional deal in ponies. Then came Isandlwana and panic. A defence committee wasformed, barricades erected, the post-office andmarket-house pierced with loop-holes and surrounded with sandbags, the Point cut off bya stout palisade of huge timbers and sheet-iron.Country people Hocked into the" laager," as anytemporary enclosed spot was called, and everyone looked for the worst, and hoped for the aidwhich had been asked for with such urgencyfrom England. Nor was the panic to be laughedat. The Zulus had proved themselves a terriblefoe; murder and fire were their only arguments;in a few hours they could overrun the colony,and that was defenceless.


Two months thus passed-months to be remembered with sorrow and bitterness; and on agiven day the Pretoria steamed into the harbourwith the 91st, the first of the long-expectedreinforcements, followed quickly by the 60thRifles. The fine old soldiers of the 57th hadalready arrived from Ceylon; Mauritius and StHelena had both sent their all. A few dayslater the Tamar put ashore the 21st; the Chinabrought the 94th; the Russia the 58th. Artillery and Engineers filled up the intervals. Thegreat horses which the Army Service Corpslanded were special objects of admiration amongpeople who looked to purchasing bargains whenthe war was over. Lastly came in the greatfour-masted steamers of the National Line, withthe much - believed - in cavalry. The King'sDragoon Guards and 17th Lancers landed theirhorses as bright and well as if they had not beena day from Aldershot, and the people for oncecheered them,-the horses, not the men-so itwas said at the time.

So Durban cheered and woke up. The" scare" was over; merchants made moneyfaster than their best dreams ever hoped

SOOIETY AT DURBAN. 47

for; the clubs made all military men members, to the discomfort of their own, who wereelbowed out of doors, and from their own particular places, by the eager, hungry new-comers;ponies went up to fabulous prices; every one hada wonder in horse-Hesh to Bell; in the rare eventof one not being a seller, he had a friend, ormore, ready to oblige. Things went on swimmingly, and telegrams from the front withaccounts of further fighting only served tostrengthen the hope that the war might lastfor ever.

At the club "shandy-gaff" is a popular drink.If you wish for champagne, "dry Monopole" isthe only brand admitted into society in Natal.After a meal, small bits of paper are handedround, on which you write what you have had;and the custom obtains all over the colony.The members appeared to have tried othermodes of life previous to their present occupations: most of them are retired something orother; nearly all have been in fights somewhere with natives, so the conversation roundthe table is warlike. Lord Chelmsford came infor praise and blame pretty equally. The vol-


unteers, as was only natural, had done greatthings. About the future of the war, opinionswere mixed. We should walk through Zululand like a hot knife through butter; nothingis easier if we make our waggons into a laagerevery night, and drive right through. As a matter of fact, the warrior who made so light of theZulus was suspected of having sold them manyguns; he was, besides, much too fat to movefar from the club, so his assertions were notlikely to be tested personally. Another shookhis head, and prophesied that Cetewayo wouldlet us into the country, and then burn the grass.On our still looking for further details, it wasexplained that when the grass is burnt we mightconsider ourselves as dead men, the oxen woulddie, and-there you are.

But whatever the hopes or fears of our friends,all were unanimous in the wish that we shouldexterminate the Zulu nation. Nothing else buttotal annihilation would satisfy their thirst forvengeance, and enable them to annex the country. The conversation was thus rather bloodthirsty, and it was a relief to turn to sixpennywhist and another glass of shandy-gaff.

DOUBTS AND FEARS. 49

But though panic had subsided" General Funkwas abroad" and knocking at many hearts" evenin so distant a spot as Durban.

The defences at the Point and post-officewere kept in a state of readiness; arms were inevery house; drunken natives caught about thecamp were invariably accused of being Zuluspies" and collected large crowds interested inglimpses of the enemy, even when in liquor.

"And do you say that you do not postpickets at night round your camp ~ '" said onecolonist. "Why" the Zulus can be here in sixteen hours" and that wood over there can hold20,,000 men and you not see one of them."

Nor were our own people a bit better. Oneof the first orders we received was to dye ourwhite helmets the colour of the ground" so asto afford no marks to the Zulu sharpshooters.Elephant-hunters" we heard from another source"were to be particularly shunned on account oftheir deadly aim; while from a semi - officialintimation we were advised to assimilate ourdress as much as possible with that of themen, the Zulus knowing accurately the numberof officers in each corps, and having ten Indunas

D

CAMPAIGNING IN SOUTH AFRICA. 1879.

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Transcript of CAMPAIGNING IN SOUTH AFRICA. 1879.