Camp Fire Yarns of the Lost LegionHamilton-Browne, G.
History
Camp Fire Yarns of the Lost Legion
Hamilton-Browne, G.
Māori (New Zealand people) -- Warfare; New Zealand -- History -- Anecdotes; Zulu War, 1879
two passengers. The drive was most exhilarating as we rushed through
the glorious air, and there was plenty of excitement in it too for a
man who was not a glutton; for although the road was a first-class
one, and quite flat, yet frequently, when we passed a group of
outspanned waggons, the Dutchmen's dogs would rush out and bark at us,
a proceeding that drove our unbroken and vicious horses nearly mad.
Yet I thoroughly enjoyed the drive, and no doubt should have done so
to the end, as the change from the slogging hard work of the mine,
with its dust and dirt, was delightful, while the slashing pace we
were going and the wild, fresh, veld wind roused my animal spirits
till I felt as exhilarated as a penniless small boy does when he is
presented with an unexpected half-crown. But, alas! we had other
spirits on board, and our two companions, who occupied the back seat
in the cart, partook of them freely, nor did they partake of them in
the orthodox manner, as the motion of the swinging cart made the use
of a glass and a mixing of _aqua fortis_ with _aqua fontis_ a somewhat
difficult matter; so they dispensed with the usual accessories and
swigged the whisky neat out of the bottle. Now this was a very
dangerous proceeding, especially as they had imbibed a fair skinful
previous to starting, and what with the natural high spirits
engendered by the drive, and the other spirits they loaded up in the
aforementioned manner, they became very tight indeed, and decidedly
uproarious. First of all they began to sing a song. That was a
failure. Then they began to chaff old Conway, which was dangerous; and
then they began to rattle and stamp their feet on the floor of the
cart, so as to make the horses more restive, which was both
unnecessary and foolish. Conway, the muscles of whose arms were
swollen to nigh breaking-point, took no notice of their crazy antics,
except to order them to stop monkeying, as it was all he could do to
hold and guide the half-maddened animals, but they paid no heed to his
admonitions. Then he cursed them with unction, but that succeeded no
better, till at last, thoroughly angry, he shouted out: "Oh, you want
a smash, do you? Well! by gad, you shall have one." And without
another word he bundled up the reins, which he threw on to the
leaders' backs, at the same time letting go a letter "S" cut with his
whip which impartially stung up every horse in the team, and then
sitting back he let go one of his well-known wild bursts of laughter.
At the moment this happened we were about five miles from the drift.
The road was perfect, but some two miles or more farther on there was
a sharp bend in it, and the problem to me was, would the maddened
horses keep to the road or take to the veld when they came to it. I
had not to wait long for the solution. The horses, the moment they
felt the whip, and found their heads loose, at once broke into a
tearing gallop. Reaching the bend in next door to no time, they took
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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