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
Though two days before we had waded across the river only knee deep,
it had on the 6th risen nearly fifteen feet; the boiling eddying flood
bearing along in its resistless course masses of grass and broken
branches, with huge trees tumbling over and over in the whirling pools.
Many of the men amused themselves by swimming about in mid-current,
getting astride the floating trunks, and sailing rapidly down the
stream. The quantity of drift-wood greatly interfered with the
operations of the pontoon under the charge of Lieutenant Siborne, R.E.,
in getting over waggons with supplies. The cattle, after being forced
into the water with great trouble, were swept a long way down the
river, many of them sticking for a time in most ridiculous positions in
the trees growing on the bank.
On the morning of the 8th, the Head-Quarters and Second Brigade having
left the camp an hour before, we marched at 6 o'clock, arriving, after
some miles, at the first halting place just as they were quitting it.
We passed two solitary Dutch farms, for which, as usual when such
_raræ aves_ came in sight, five or six officers dashed off across
country at full gallop to forage for their respective messes, provided
with empty bottles for goat's milk, and plenty of small change;
overtaking the column again, with perhaps an enormous cabbage and a
couple of old fowls with bleeding necks hanging from the saddle, or a
bunch of onions, and a handkerchief full of eggs. Late in the day a
good many springbok were seen, which we 'jagged' for some distance,
getting plenty of long shots; but the sight of a large _wildebeest_,
or gnu, cantering leisurely along the plain, drew off all the hunters
in pursuit of the nobler game. Having already done up my horse and
expended all my ammunition, I could only follow him with a wistful
gaze. He was a splendid fellow, as large as an ox, and came so close
past me, as I led my horse back towards the column, that I could have
hit him with a stone. Mortified as I was at my ill luck in having at
such a moment an unloaded rifle and empty pouch, I stood fixed in
admiration as he came wildly bounding along, his massive bristling head
bent down, whisking his white tail, while his fierce eyes and recurved
horns gave him a most formidable appearance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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