The Cape and the Kaffirs: A Diary of Five Years' Residence in KaffirlandWard, Mrs.
History
The Cape and the Kaffirs: A Diary of Five Years' Residence in Kaffirland
Ward, Mrs.
South Africa -- History -- Frontier Wars, 1811-1878
At length, as we neared the coast, which for some time had been crowded
with spectators, we were enabled, through God's mercy, to get a boat on
shore with a rope attached to the ship, and afterwards fastened to an
anchor driven in the sand. As the surf-boats put off, the first of
which brought Lieutenant Black, the Agent, on board, our men gave nine
hearty cheers, and in a few minutes we commenced our disembarkation; the
women and children being lowered into the boats first: I waited for the
third boat. Such a noble example had been shown by the officers to
their men, and its effects on the latter had been so important, that, in
spite of my anxiety to land, I felt unwilling to exhibit it by hurrying
from the ship to the shore, and thus creating unnecessary fears among
the poor uneducated women, whose terrors I had witnessed during the
awful hours of the night. As I was carried between decks, I had been
struck, in spite of my fears, with the scene that met my view there.
Pale women, with dishevelled hair, stretched themselves from their beds,
wringing their hands, and imploring me to comfort them. Some prayed
aloud; others, Roman Catholics, called on the Virgin and their favourite
saints to help them in their peril; and many bent in silent but eloquent
agony over their unconscious infants. One woman who had, during the
whole voyage, been considered as dying of deep decline, sat up in the
hammock which had been carefully slung for her, and with a calm voice,
which was yet distinguishable from the noise around her, imparted a
certain confidence in the power of the Almighty to all who were willing
to listen to her, or at least prepared them to view their possibly
approaching fate with more resignation. That calm, steady voice sounded
strangely amid the cries of fearful women, the hoarse voices of reckless
sailors, and the crashing of timbers; while, above all, still rolled on
the sound of musketry from the convict ship, "Waterloo," now beating
violently against the rocks, and beyond immediate help; while the
appearance of hundreds on the beach striving, some to get their boats
off, and others with daring spirit urging their horses through the surf,
formed a scene difficult to describe, even by the pen of a mere
looker-on.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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