Читать книгу The Cape and the Kaffirs: A Diary of Five Years' Residence in Kaffirland - Mrs. Ward - Страница 10

There was nothing very pleasant in the prospect before me of leaving England just as summer was opening her gates, and exhibiting her flower-strewn paths and fragrant hedgerows. My health was not good, and to my mode of travelling I looked forward as anything but agreeable; since a troopship can never be considered as affording even convenient accomodation for a lady, and the miseries of a sea-life must of necessity be enhanced by being shared with a crowd of fellow-sufferers of various classes.

Nevertheless, on reaching Ireland, (land of green spots and generous hearts!) my spirits rallied; my soul could not but respond to kindly sympathies and disinterested hospitality, and by the time the troopship, “Abercrombie Robinson,” arrived in Kingstown Harbour, whence we were to embark (in all upwards of 700 souls) for the Cape of Good Hope, I had shaken off my unavailing regrets in a great degree, and was prepared to meet my destiny with a fortitude worthy of a soldier’s wife—a fortitude, indeed, earned by experience in my encounter with “perils by sea and land.”

But people now don’t care for rhymes romantic,

And I must cease to think of former years.

This, my third trip across the vast Atlantic,

Hath taught me to subdue a world of tears;

For worse than idle, on a joyous track,

Were the vain sorrow earned by looking back! - My Journal.

The inhabitants of Dublin, “in the merry month of May,” 1842, emigrated by instalments to visit the “Abercrombie Robinson,”—a ship of 1400 tons being rarely seen in Kingstown Harbour. A few short months after, she lay a wreck upon the sands of Africa, a true type of the littleness of man’s works, and of the power of Him who “blew with his winds and they were scattered.”

We embarked, and for a day or two enjoyed the balmy breezes of the summer sea as we lay in harbour. His Excellency the Lord Lieutenant came on board in the barge, to see the ship, the barge being steered by the agent, Lieutenant J.R. Black, R.N. The guns saluted, the yards were manned, bands were playing, colours flying, soldiers cheering, etc, etc. The Lord Lieutenant congratulated us on our fine prospects, and drank our healths, wishing us prosperity (and I am sure he was in earnest); and his Aides-de-Camp looked as civil as they could, considering they were very much bored: and, when we had all played at company and propriety for a given time, his Excellency left the ship, steered as before, and there was a repetition of guns firing, soldiers shouting, etc; and the people on the shore, no doubt, thought it very fine indeed.

We were better off with regard to accommodation than we had been as inmates of a transport on a former occasion, when we went to Saint Helena. Our ship was strong, apparently, as a castle, and our accommodation very superior. With the first favourable breeze we spread our canvass, and sailed out of Kingstown Harbour, hundreds cheering us from the shores of green Ireland, while our men responded to their shouts.

The voyage was dull enough, only varied by a due quantity of parades, roll-calls, mustering of watches, with a running accompaniment of bugles, bagpipes, and drums. Our party, in general, was an agreeable one; the average quantity of ill-humour being small in proportion to our number, and therefore falling harmlessly enough on those who were willing to make the best of every thing. We paid by the way a visit to Madeira.

The view of this beautiful island (or rather of Funchal, the principal town) in some magazine, is the best representation of it I have seen. The town is prettily situated, but deplorably spoiled by the narrowness of its streets. (Note 1.) I was, unfortunately, too much indisposed—suffering as I was from the effects of a species of scarlet fever—to visit the interior of the island; but even the outskirts of the town were most refreshing. There was a sound of running waters, a waving of green boughs, scenting the air with their fragrance, and making me imagine myself, in my weak state, fanned by the kindly wings of unseen angels. The last fortnight on shipboard had been passed in great discomfort: heavy sickness at all times is a severe tax on our patience, but at sea, in a narrow cabin, where one’s weak voice is often drowned by the creaking of masts, the dashing of the waves, and the hoarse calls of the seamen, it is beyond all conception to those who have not similarly suffered. My little tour in my tiny palanquin at Madeira was, therefore, most delicious. First I lingered in the square, under the trees, looking at the 11th regiment of Portuguese troops on parade. Well-dressed, well drilled, well appointed, and withal well looking, they had every appearance of being an efficient body of men. Then their harmonious band (no one instrument being heard distinctly above another) exceeded in sweetness any regimental band I ever heard in our service. The big drum, instead of being struck with violence, merely swelled in accompaniment; and, when the fifes took up the strain, the brazen instruments lowered their tone in perfect unison with the powers of the lesser ones. This over, I was carried onwards through alleys green with the foliage of the graceful vine; the distant hills made me long for refreshing landscapes and “spicy gales,” but these were denied me, and my bearers carried me into a garden adjoining a house which we understood belonged to the English Consul, but which we found was tenanted by Lady Harriet D—, who was residing at Madeira for the benefit of her children’s health. On learning this, as we were about to retire, a man-servant followed, begging us, in his lady’s name, to proceed. We did so, and under a group of trees we discovered Lady Harriet, surrounded by books and work, and apparently intent on the instruction of two sable pupils. The sound of her voice as she rose to meet me, bespoke her pity for my pale looks and exhausted frame, and the refreshment we accepted at her ladyship’s hospitable hands enabled me to endure the fatigue of returning to the town better than I should otherwise have done.

The gun from the “Abercrombie” announced her being under weigh, and we were obliged to depart in haste, the heavy surf and constant swell of the sea at Madeira rendering the passage from the shore to the ship always tedious and more or less difficult.

Almost every one has heard of Clementina, the beautiful nun, at the Convent at Madeira. Her name has been so often before the public that there can be no possible harm in relating a singular incident of which she was the heroine, and which occurred while we were there. A large party (from the English frigate lying like ourselves at anchor) landed and paid a visit to the convent. Among the group assembled in front of the grafting, behind which the nuns appear to receive visitors, was a Mr. H. As Clementina advanced she caught sight of this gentleman, and had no sooner done so than with a sudden scream she fainted. Every one was amazed, Mr. H as much so as any. On recovering her senses, the fair nun inquired if the gentleman who had caused her emotion bore the name of H? On being answered in the affirmative, she almost relapsed into a state of insensibility; but on recovering herself, she begged further to know if he was the Mr. H with whom she had formerly eloped from the convent? It was explained that the Mr. H she now saw was the cousin of her lover, to whom he bore an extraordinary resemblance. On learning this, she requested him to be the bearer of a letter from her to his cousin, which she afterwards forwarded to him, and then the curtain dropping between the nuns and the visitors closed this singular and romantic interview.

Again we set sail, and the same monotonous routine continued with little variation. Occasionally, we fell in with a passing ship looking like a thing of life upon the solitary world of waters, which brought us the consolation of being able to write homewards. Homeward letters! Ah! what eager hearts at home were wishing for those letters! How much of affection, and sorrow, and anxiety, and prayerful love was in them I thought, as the bag, ere the boat departed for the “Homeward bound” lay at my feet upon the senseless deck! It is the habit of tracing the common things of life back to their sources, be they sad or sweet, which has sometimes given me pleasure, oftener pain. There moved off the gallant ship, there rang the cheers of our soldiers, there sounded the reckless voices of the young, the gay, the heartless, and the high-spirited, and while they perhaps were little thinking of the parents, the friends, the sisters, to whom they had sent home letters, my eyes were filling as:

“Eager memories rushed upon the heart

And burst oblivion’s cloud.”

On the 22nd of August there was a cry of “land!” and, on the following morning, the vast mountains forming the boundary of part of the south-western coast of Africa, lay stretched before us. Then Table Mountain and its smaller companions reared their cloud-capped crests; and the white villas at Green Point tantalised us with their proximity, from which, owing to the wind, we were obliged to bear away constantly. For two days we hovered in the offing, but on the evening of the 25th, we hailed the sound of our anchor-chains. It was a most lovely night, the unclouded moon illuminating the white houses in Cape Town, and the lofty mountains standing out in strong relief against the clear sky; while our bugles, drums, and fifes, made merry music on the poop of our gallant ship. How we lingered about, unwilling to retire to rest, so anxious were we for the morning! It came at last, and the commanding officer went ashore to report in due form our arrival to the Governor. On his return in a few hours, we learned that all of us, except the Colonel and the Major, were to proceed, by way of Algoa Bay, to the frontier. The flank companies and the band were to be brought from thence to Cape Town, and the three companies expected from Saint Helena were to be detained there on their arrival. Many of our party, especially the gentlemen, rejoiced at this; liking the prospect of an active and sporting life infinitely better than that which would be merely varied by lounging about Cape Town, attempting races, or philandering at the balls. We were to remain in harbour about five days for water and provisions, (our stock being quite exhausted) then to proceed on our voyage.

On Saturday morning, the 27th of August, all the officers not for duty obtained permission to go on shore; the command of the troops on board devolving on Captain Gordon, 91st regiment. All landed but six; my husband was one of those to remain, consequently I did not accept the kind invitation of a friend to accompany him with my little girl to his house near Cape Town. Afterwards, in the hour of danger, and in the time of extreme terror, I had a strange undefinable satisfaction in having remained, though the sight of my child made me wish I had sent her on shore in the morning. Towards evening, the wind increased considerably; but, though there was a heavy sea and every prospect of a gale, our captain depended on his anchors. The Agent, Lieutenant Black, R.N., had gone on shore on duty at four o’clock in the evening, and being invited to dine with the Governor at seven o’clock, was in consequence prevented, by the impossibility of boats getting off, from returning on board, The whole responsibility, therefore, devolved on the Master, Mr. John Young. The wind and sea rising caused at first but little alarm; at twelve o’clock, however, the ship shivered; apparently from being struck by a heavy sea. She trembled in every joint, and the same sensation being almost immediately after felt again, it was evident the vessel touched the bottom and with some violence. I rose from my bed, and dressing my child and myself, we proceeded with my husband to the cuddy, where some of the officers were assembled round the stove, the night being bitterly cold. The captain, still depending on the strength of his anchor-chains, saw no great cause of alarm, and having put my child to sleep on a chair, which Captain Gordon kindly prepared for her, I retired again to my berth, and being quite worn out, soon fell fast asleep. I was awoke by my husband bidding me rise and come on deck immediately, the anchor-chains having both snapped one after the other. My little Isabel stood beside her father partly dressed, and pale and silent. I have no distinct recollection of what happened for the first half hour after this awful intelligence. I remember hearing the water splashing about my cabin, and seeing our little lamp swinging violently backwards and forwards. I remember being dragged in unshod feet along the wet deck, up the steerage hatchway, while my husband carried my child. I can remember, too, her little voice issuing from my bed, into which she had crept to fasten on her warm boots, and begging me not to be frightened.

“How calm she is!” said I, to my husband.

“Poor thing!” he whispered, “she does not know her danger.”

“Yes, I do,” she answered, overhearing us; “but mamma has often told me that God Almighty can take care of us if He pleases; and I keep saying that to myself, and then I am not half so frightened.”

I remember the very height of the storm, when the noise of the thunder could scarcely be distinguished from the roar of the waters, and the torrents of rain—when the elements in fact howled wildly and angrily at one another—when the lightning pouring, as one may call it, on our decks, blazed in at the fore windows of the cuddy, being horror-stricken at the ghastly faces assembled under the uncertain and flickering light of a broken lamp. I can remember when the water rose up to my knees, being carried between decks with my child, through rows of shrieking women and silent soldiers. The conduct of our men was beyond all praise.

For some time, I sat on a chest with my child, near the fore-hatch, the ship continuing to drive, every moment striking against the sand, and our only hopes resting on the coming of the dawn, which would show us where we were, the floods of rain preventing the lightning—vivid as it was—from doing this distinctly. About six in the morning, the master came down among us with some comfort, saying he hoped the ship was making a bed for herself in the sand. In truth, she had been all night like some great creature scratching her way through it with restless impatience. The rudder had been carried away from the first, the stern cabins knocked into one, and the sea bubbling up like a fountain in the after part of the ship. We were yet uncertain of our safety, for there were rocks not many hundred yards from us on which the “Waterloo” convict ship had already struck; but of her anon. Meanwhile, our people attaching a rope to a shot, fired it on shore, but in vain. All night the guns from the fort and other vessels had been giving awful warnings to the town, while the constant roll of musketry onboard the convict ship, led us to imagine that the convicts were mutinous. This was, however, discovered afterwards not to be the case; they had been loosened from their bonds on the first alarm, and desired to make use of the first possible means of escape.

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.

Our ship was a stout vessel, and held well together. I embarked at last in a surf-boat with my child (my husband of course waited for his company), and with a heart full of earnest gratitude to the Almighty, I approached the land. Had I dreamt of the awful calamity which afterwards befell our unfortunate neighbour, the “Waterloo,” I should not have felt the exhilaration of spirit I did as the Lascars bore me from the boat to the shore through the surf, while Mr. Dalzell, of the 27th, carried my child gallantly through it before him on his saddle. Mr. Jenkins’ carriage stood waiting for us on the beach; and having had the satisfaction of witnessing my husband’s disembarkation with his men, we started for our kind friend’s charming villa, in the neighbourhood of Cape Town. As we drove on, the sight of the “Waterloo’s” inverted flag, half-mast high, made me shudder; but, as the tide was falling (which, by-the-by, increased the danger of her position, but of this I was unaware), I trusted the boats might be enabled to reach her, and thus hoped for the best. In half an hour afterwards, her mainmast fell over her side, the ship parted in four different places, and in less than ten minutes upwards of 200 unfortunate beings were precipitated into the raging surf. About 70 escaped by swimming on shore; among them Mr. Leigh, of the 99th regiment; many were crushed beneath the falling spars; ghastly faces gleamed up from the boiling waters, and with outstretched arms implored help from the shore. Eyes, glazed with agony and despair, burst from their sockets as the rising heads of the sufferers got jammed between floating timbers; and mothers, with infants clinging to their bosoms, were washed off the rafts to which they vainly strove to cling, whilst:

”—The bubbling cry

Of some strong swimmer in his agony,”

rose above the roar of the elements, and in a moment was smothered by the dash of the raging waters over his helpless limbs. Only one woman was saved: she, poor creature, had seen her husband and child swept away before her; On being brought into the barrack square at Cape Town, where the Governor and his Staff were assembled, the unfortunate woman flung herself at the feet of the former, and embracing his knees exclaimed, “Can you not help me? you have power here; can you not give me back my husband and my child? you look a good man; can you do nothing for me? Ah! I know you will help me. Sir, I beseech you to give me back my husband and my child!” And this was only one of many scenes of distress.

Great praise was afterwards deservedly bestowed on our men for their steady conduct and ready obedience to their officers. The detachments of the 27th and Cape Mounted Riflemen deserved equal praise. Young men, too, they were—the average age of the battalion being scarcely more than twenty-one years. Many of them had never been drilled—never even had arms in their hands;—almost all the rest were volunteers from different regiments, and consequently little known to their superiors. The real cause, however, may be traced in the example shown them by their officers; and too much praise cannot be bestowed on Captain Bertie Gordon, to whose charge they fell on the senior officer’s leaving the ship. Young in years, and comparatively so in experience, he acted with a calmness, decision, and judgment, that give high promise of future good. Much more could I say on this subject, but that (as is the case with all high and generous spirits) he who most deserves praise is always the most unwilling to have it blazed abroad. All, however, must have esteemed themselves fortunate in falling under the command of one so able to do his duty under such trying circumstances.

It may not be irrelevant to say a word or two here on the subject of the frequent wrecks in Table Bay during the winter months, viz, in May, June, July, and August. Ships during these months are ordered to go round to Simon’s Bay, but this cannot always be done, as in our case. There had been a great deal of sickness on board during the whole of our voyage; three days before we made the land, three men belonging to the 91st regiment had died of typhus fever in the short space of thirty-one hours and a half, their bodies and their bedding being committed to the deep without one moment’s unnecessary delay. Fresh provisions and vegetables were thus most desirable, especially for the invalids. Simon’s Bay being between forty and fifty miles by sea, and twenty-three by land, from Cape Town, it was a point of great importance to disembark the troops if possible at the latter place. It must be remembered that it was only on arriving in Table Bay, when the commanding officer communicated with the Governor, that we learned we were to proceed to the frontier. It was also necessary to take in fresh stock. Furthermore, the wind (after we had been beating about the offing for three days in a calm) became favourable for entering Table Bay, the weather was remarkably fine, and the winter season at its close.

Our vessel was one of Soames’ finest ships, and for nearly a month after the wreck lay firmly imbedded in the sand; but the pieces of the hull of the “Waterloo” which were picked up on the beach, crumbled to dust in the hands of those who tried their strength. I have said thus much of ourselves, and I have said it impartially, because, in cases of shipwreck, the captain is frequently blamed for what he cannot help—for what, in fact, is a visitation of the Almighty. To the master of the troopship, as well as to Lieutenant Black, R.N., we were indebted, during the whole of the voyage, for the utmost attention and kindness; the more so as, from the unanimity subsisting between them, they were enabled to act together for the benefit of us all; and I think I cannot close this part of my narrative better than by publishing a letter written to Captain Young a few days after the wreck by Captain Bertie Gordon. (One equally complimentary was written to our esteemed friend Lieutenant Black.)

“Main Barracks, Cape Town, August 31, 1842.

“My dear Sir,

“As commanding the reserve battalion of the 91st Regiment at the time of the wreck of the transport ‘Abercrombie Robinson’ in Table Bay, I feel myself authorised to express my sense of your coolness, intrepidity, and readiness of resource, during those anxious hours of responsibility, when, from eleven o’clock on the night of the 27th of August, to daylight on the morning of the 28th, the lives of seven hundred souls depended, under God, on your firmness and seamanship. They are qualities essential in the commander of a ship at all times, and must be more than ever necessary when several hundred soldiers, women, and children, crowd his decks.

“They conspicuously distinguished your conduct throughout that night, whose scenes were too full of danger not to have impressed every one with the near possibility of destruction.

“The question of life or death seemed often to hang on each minute’s duration; but, through God’s mercy, your able conduct brought us safely through a host of perils.

“On the part of the officers, non-commissioned officers, and soldiers of the reserve battalion 91st Regiment, and of the detachments of the 27th Regiment and Cape Mounted Riflemen, then on board, I beg to offer our united acknowledgments of the praise and gratitude which your exertions so highly merited.

“I remain, my dear Sir,

“Very truly yours,

“Bertie E.M. Gordon, Capt. 91st Regt.

“The undersigned officers of the 91st Regiment, on board the ‘Abercrombie’ at the time of her being driven ashore on the morning of the 29th of August, beg to subscribe their names to the above letter of thanks.

“J. Ward, Captain 91st Regt.

“J.C. Cahill, Paym. Res. Batt. 91st Regt.

“J.H.E. Stubbs, M.D., Asst.-Surg. 91st Regt.

“J. McInroy, Ensign 91st Regt.

“Robt. Lavers, Ensign 91st Regt.”

Note 1. An inhabitant of Madeira gave an excellent reason for this apparent fault, viz, that the houses being built closely together afforded a shade from the sun that wide streets would not have have done.