Campaigning in Kaffirland; Or, Scenes and Adventures in the Kaffir War of 1851-52King, William Ross
History
Campaigning in Kaffirland; Or, Scenes and Adventures in the Kaffir War of 1851-52
King, William Ross
South Africa -- History -- Frontier Wars, 1811-1878
A body of Kaffirs, who must have descended from the mountains
before daylight, had concealed themselves in a deep sluit, or empty
watercourse, running through the best pasturage, and waiting until
the cattle had got between them and the hills, rushed out, and, after
an ineffectual resistance from the outlying picquet of Levies, two of
whom were wounded, had gone off at full gallop with the whole, which
we now saw them driving in three separate herds up the grassy sides
of the mountain; the ascent, however, was fortunately so steep that
our horsemen had reached its foot before the Kaffirs were half way up;
a very pretty skirmish took place through the bushes, and the slope
was soon thickly dotted with puffs of blue smoke. The cattle were
recaptured and brought in, with the exception of some dozen which had
escaped into the bush. The trembling herdsmen got a reprimand, and a
warning to keep nearer home in future. Many of the Hottentot women in
camp seemed by no means pleased at the issue of the chase, and in fact,
whenever they dared express it, their sympathies were evidently on the
side of the enemy.
The merry Fingoes who had borne the most conspicuous part in this
little affair, as a matter of course, made it an excuse for a
jollification, and after sunset their camp, some few hundred yards from
ours, resounded with loud shrieks and laughter, and their quaint and
striking choruses, with the thumping obligato accompaniment, rose above
every other sound in the evening air. It was a constant amusement to
us to visit these happy good-natured fellows when in standing camp,
and see their mode of life, which is exactly like that of the Kaffir
in times of peace; their extraordinary habits and customs are most
interesting. On this occasion, finding a blanketed group sitting apart
in a circle smoking the _dagha_ before described, I squatted down at
their invitation, cross-legged, in the ring, and receiving the rude
cow-horn pipe in my turn, took a pull at its capacious mouth, coughing
violently at the suffocating fumes, as indeed they all did more or
less, and after tasting the nasty decoction of bark which followed
round in a calabash, took the politely-proffered spitting-tube of my
next neighbour, signally failing, however, in the orthodox whistle, to
the unbounded delight of the Fingoes, whose hearty ringing laughter was
most contagious.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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