Somerset intended to enter theAmatolas was Burns Hill, where there was a large mission station, andnear which the great chief Sandilli had his principal kraal.
Shortly before the division was formed up, Captain Jamieson receivedorders to detail an officer and twenty men of his corps to join areconnoitring party, under command of Lieutenant B--of the MountedRifles. The officer who brought the order was a very young andconsequential subaltern of the --th Foot, attached to Colonel Somerset'sstaff as galloper. Said he, when he had delivered his message:
"B--has orders to advance towards Burns Hill, and if he finds Sandilli'skraal deserted, or only held by a small force, he is to occupy it.You'll be good enough to make your fellows hurry themselves; in affairslike this it is important that no time should be lost."
"They shall be in the saddle in ten minutes," the captain replied. "Ihear the mission station has been destroyed," he added. "Is that so?"
"Yes, but the missionaries and their people bolted, and are now atGraham's Town," was the reply.
"Should all go well, we shall encamp at Burns Hill this evening, andthere await the arrival of Major Sutton's `commando' of Hottentots fromthe Kat River. If he joins us to-night, no doubt we shall be at it`hammer and tongs' to-morrow--or next day at the latest."
"I trust we shall soon bring the Caffres to reason," Captain Jamiesonanswered, with something like a sigh. "These oft-recurring little warsmust inevitably ruin the country, for they paralyse every industry andtrade; besides, the destruction of life and property is simplyappalling."
"I'm afraid we military men think more of `medals, rank, ribbons,' etc,than of trade, industry, or even life and property," was the flippantrejoinder. "Of course that is the soldier's point of view; but youamateurs--"
"Amateurs!" exclaimed Tom, boiling over at hearing his "chief" thusdesignated. "_Coxy_ young--"
"I am scarcely an amateur," Captain Jamieson interrupted, frowning atTom to make him hold his tongue. "Allow me to tell you, younggentleman, that I was present at the passage of the Douro, and saw thelast shot of the Peninsular war fired at Toulouse. I presume you haveheard of the Peninsula?"
"Eh! Peninsula! Oh, yes. I--I--beg pardon, I'm sure!--thought you--you were a--a--a civilian, you know. Very sorry--quite a mistake--Good--good morning!" stammered the ensign turning as red as hisshell-jacket. And off he cantered, muttering to himself, "Doosidawkward! Put my foot into it, by George! Hope our fellows won't hearabout it."
But "our fellows" did hear of it, and the bumptious youth gotunmercifully chaffed in consequence; which he most thoroughly deserved,and which, no doubt, did him a vast deal of good.
After a brief consultation with Patrick Keown, Captain Jamieson decidedto send Tom Flinders in command of the detachment; so, twenty minuteslater, our hero found himself cantering over the Flats at the head of ascore of well-armed volunteers. Each man of the detachment was armedwith a double-barrelled rifle, hunting-knife, and horse-pistol, andcarried a "cross-bag" (after the manner of Dutch burghers when on the"war-path") containing a supply of moss-biscuit and biltong, sufficientto last for several days. Moss-biscuit, we may add for the informationof our readers, is a light, dry biscuit made of fine flour mixed with"mosto," the unfermented juice of the grape; it will keep good foralmost any length of time, and is both portable and nutritious.
Lieutenant B--, who commanded the reconnoitring party, was a right goodfellow, and Tom soon became friends with him.
B--had been some years in the Mounted Rifles, and was considered one ofthe smartest officers in that corps; he was also an enthusiasticsportsman--just the man that a lad of Tom's age and disposition couldlook up to, and at the same time be on terms of good fellowship with.
"Were you in the `C.M.R.' with my father?" asked Tom, as they rode sideby side; having slackened pace in order to breathe the horses, for theyhad been "putting on the steam" since they left camp.
"No; but I have often met him. The Major, I think, retired in '29, andI did not get my commission until '35; just about the time Hintza waskilled. You will remember that business, I daresay."
"Can't say I remember it, for I was quite a youngster at the time; onlyjust `breeched' in fact," Tom replied, "but I have heard the patermention it. Hintza was shot when attempting to escape, was he not?"
"Yes; when a prisoner on parole."
"I should like to hear about it," said Tom, who dearly loved a yarn.
"Well," replied his companion; "it is rather a long story, but I cantell you the main facts, for I was one of those who pursued him. InMay, 1835, Hintza, the paramount Chief of Caffreland, was a prisoner inthe British camp, and, for his sins, had been sentenced to pay a fine of50,000 head of cattle. This fine he expressed himself willing to pay,if he were allowed to return to his own country to superintend thecollection of the cattle. At first the governor would not listen tothis, but after a lot of palaver and negotiation, it was arranged thatHintza should be permitted to go, under a strong escort; his son Kreilliand his uncle Bookoo being retained as hostages in the British camp.
"An old Rifle Brigadesman, General Sir Harry Smith, was selected tocommand the escort; which consisted of both horse and foot, regulars andirregulars, but no artillery. I was then serving in the `Guides' corpsas a volunteer, and was one of those appointed to the general'sbody-guard.
"Well, the column left the head-quarter camp on the banks of the Kei,and advanced into Caffreland by forced marches. Hintza was treated as asort of a prisoner at large, and usually rode with the general; he wassplendidly mounted, and had been permitted to retain his arms--the usualbundle of seven assegais.
"On the fourth morning after leaving the camp, the column reached thesummit of a table-topped mountain. We now had a splendid view of thecountry beyond the Bashee River, and to our surprise, saw thousands andthousands of cattle being driven _away_ from us.
"This circumstance somewhat staggered us, and Sir Harry was examiningthe retreating masses through his field-glass, when suddenly somebodyshouted, `Hintza has bolted!'
"On hearing the cry, Sir Harry dropped his glasses and, putting spurs tohis charger, raced after the fugitive, who had got a start of fifty orsixty yards. We, of course, joined in the chase, but the general soondistanced us, and, overtaking the chief, ordered him to pull up;whereupon Hintza made a stab at him with his bundle of assegais.
"Sir Harry parried the thrust, and drawing a pistol threatened to shootthe chief, if he did not immediately surrender. Hintza replied bymaking another attempt to stab him, so Sir Harry fired, but withouteffect.
"Thousands of Caffres were now to be seen crowning the hills in alldirections, and towards them Hintza rode for dear life. Once more SirHarry dashed up to him, and, seizing him by his tiger-skin kaross,hurled him to the ground; but the impetus of his gallop carried him pastthe fallen chief, who was on his legs in an instant, and off down theprecipitous side of the mountain.
"By this time four of the Guides, who had joined in the chase, came up,and jumping from their horses, followed the fugitive on foot; these fourwere S--y, D--r, B--r and myself. I sent two shots after the flyingchief, both of which went wide of their mark; he then gained the bush atthe foot of the hill, and disappeared from sight.
"S--y and B--r now entered the bush from above, and D--r and I (who werefurther down the hill) from below; and, working towards one another, wepresently closed in upon our human quarry, S--y being the first to comeupon him.
"Hintza was then standing up to his middle in a narrow stream, which ranthrough the bush, beneath a shelving rock; and when he caught sight ofS--y he drew an assegai, and poised it. Nothing daunted S--y approachedand called upon him to surrender, whereupon the Caffre threw back hisright arm and was in the act of hurling the assegai at his pursuer, whenthe latter, seeing that he must either kill or be killed, levelled hisrifle and fired. His ball struck the fugitive right in the centre ofthe forehead, and throwing up his hands, he fell backwards against arock. We rushed in and lifted him up, but the rifle-ball had done its
work, and Hintza, the powerful Chief of Caffraria, had gone to his lastaccount."
"Serve the treacherous scoundrel right!" exclaimed Tom, when thelieutenant came to the end--the tragical end--of his narrative. "Had hegot the escort into his power not one of you would have lived to tellthe tale. I suppose that was what he was aiming at?"
"No doubt of it; his purpose was to entice us into the heart of hiscountry, and then surround us with an overwhelming force," rejoined MrB--. "He played a bold game, and lost it! Still we were, one and all,from the general downwards, sorry for his untimely death; and nobodymore so than the man who shot him. And now,