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
The shade of the large olive trees and willows, was hardly less
grateful than the deliciously cooling stream. The sultry tents were
deserted, except by those on duty, and all flocked to the green shady
banks of the river, where we remained till sunset. The shrill ringing
of the cicada resounded in every branch all day long. Many of the men
turned out unsuspected fishing-tackle, and having cut rods from the
trees, very soon caught abundance of fine fish. They were of two kinds;
a sort of coarse mullet, and a long ugly fish, with a blue skin and a
number of fleshy filaments hanging from his under jaw. The Dutchmen
called them _barga_; they were excellent eating, and ran from one to
four pounds weight. Near the drift and on the opposite side of the
river, was a small house and garden, to which Bruce and I, with our
trews and boots round our necks, waded across, partly to explore, and
partly to see if there were any vegetables to be had; the stones were
so dreadfully sharp to our feet that before we were half way over
we repented; but as a hundred eyes were upon us, we kept manfully
on, though with many _ohs!_ and _ahs!_ The people were very kind and
obliging, but there was little to be got for our trouble. Along the
edge of the river are found numbers of agates, and cornelians, with
green serpentine, and we picked up a great many of them; mine were
subsequently cut and polished by Sanderson of Edinburgh, and turned out
very good specimens.
This magnificent river is more than eleven hundred miles in length,
rising in the Blue Mountains, and flowing right across the continent
into the South Atlantic. With great regret, we left this Elysium of the
desert next morning at daylight, and were again trekking across the
arid plain northwards. Our halt was at a place called Ranakin, though
why it should be called anything at all, more than the rest of the
desert, from which it in no way differed, we could not imagine.
The mail from the Colony came in soon after we had pitched our Camp,
bringing English letters and news, in which I found myself gazetted to
a Company. The heat had all day been excessive, and was succeeded at
nightfall by a storm of _dry_ thunder and lightning, as L---- called
it. The flashes, of a blue and rose-colour, were very vivid; the camp
one moment as light as day--showing the long line of white tents, the
distant sentries, and every moving figure--and the next as dark as
pitch.
We inspanned at the usual hour the day following, and trekked through a
dreary stony country; a solitary Dutch farm-house, about eleven miles
distant, was the only sign of life visible far or near.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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