The White Chief of the Caffres. Drayson Alfred Wilks
d W. Alfred Wilks
The White Chief of the Caffres
Chapter One
I was born in the city of Delhi, in Central India, where my father held a command as major in the old East India Company’s service. I was an only son, and my mother died shortly after I was born. I resided at Delhi until I was ten years of age. Having been attended as a child by an ayah, and afterwards taught to ride by one of my father’s syces, I learned to speak Hindostani before I could speak English, and felt quite at home amongst black people.
My father, Major Peterson, had a brother in England who was a bachelor, and an East Indian merchant, and supposed to be very rich. I was named Julius, after this uncle, who was my godfather, and who was much older than was my father, and who, although he had never seen me, yet took great interest in me, and mentioned me in all his letters.
It was just before my tenth birthday that my father received a letter from my uncle, which caused a great change in my life, and led to those adventures which I relate in this tale. In this letter my uncle wrote, that from his experience of India he was certain that I could not be properly educated in that country; that at my age the climate was very trying; and that consequently he wished my father to send me home, in order that I might be placed at a good school in England, and eventually sent either to Addiscombe or Haileybury, according as I chose the military or civil service of India. The expenses of my education, my uncle stated, would be undertaken by him, so that money need not interfere with the question. Young as I was I saw the advantages of this proposition, and being by nature ambitious and fond of adventure, I was pleased at the prospect of seeing England. After a little hesitation my father consented to part with me, and I and my father commenced our long journey from Delhi to Calcutta. In those early days of my youth there were no railways in India; there was no Suez Canal, and there were no steamers in the world. To reach England we embarked at Calcutta in what was termed one of Green’s ships – that is, a fine East Indiaman, a full-rigged ship of about 1,000 tons – and having sailed down the Hoogly river, commenced our four months’ voyage, round the Cape, and from thence by Saint Helena to England.
I can remember Delhi as it was in those days – its fine old fort, the fortifications round the town, its long street, in which were the bazaars and jewellers’ shops. Many of the little native children to whom I used to talk in my childhood were probably among those who, during the Mutiny, were the murderers of my countrymen. Localities on which I have sat with my ayah, and took my first steps, have since then become famous as the places where our soldiers have fought and conquered against overwhelming numbers. Though I have passed through many strange scenes, I still remember Delhi, for it was my birthplace, and it has ever had a charm for me on that account only.
After a journey of nearly a month we reached Calcutta, and were received as guests by a friend who lived in Fort William. I was astonished at the sight of the ships that were anchored close to the fort, for I had no idea that any vessels could be so large. As the Madagascar– the ship in which I was to sail – was ready for sea, we stayed but a few days in Calcutta. I was placed in charge of the captain, bid my father good-bye, promised to be a good boy and to do everything my uncle wished me to do, and commenced my voyage to England.
On the second day after leaving Calcutta we entered the Bay of Bengal, and with a fair wind sailed merrily over the dancing waves. During a few days I was sea-sick; but I soon recovered, and was then much interested in watching the sailors when they went aloft to take reefs in the sails, or to take in a royal or studding-sail. There were several passengers, and of all ages, many of whom, knowing that I was alone, were very kind to me. There was one young lady about eighteen, who was my special favourite, and who used to tell me stories as we sat on deck in the evening. I called her Constance: I did not then know her by any other name. Altogether, there were five ladies on board; for in those days more ladies went to India than ever came back. Then sanitary precautions were not as well-known as they are at present, and fever and cholera claimed their victims in the Land of the Sun. I will refer only to those with whom I was afterwards associated; and these were Mrs Apton, a widow, and her daughter, a girl about twelve years old.
Our voyage continued, without anything remarkable occurring, until three days after we had passed the Mauritius, when it became calm, and for three days we merely drifted helplessly on a calm sea. On the fourth day it became dark and gloomy; there were no actual clouds, but the sky was nearly black, the sun was invisible, and the captain and his officers looked anxious, whilst the passengers gathered together in groups, and talked in low tones.
I had noticed that the captain had gone several times into the cabin and looked at a long wooden instrument that seemed to interest him much, and which I have since learned was a barometer. By means of this instrument and the indications in the sky, he knew that a storm was coming. In the days of sailing-vessels a storm was a more serious matter than it is in the present days of steam. A lee shore is now not a matter of such extreme danger; for a steamer is not at the mercy of the winds, though she cannot escape the fury of the waves.
Darker and darker became the sky, whilst the ship was stripped of all her sails except one on the fore mast and one on the mizen, and every one was watching anxiously for the first burst of the expected storm. It was about the hour of sunset when the gale began, and we ran before it for a few minutes, the sea as yet being calm. Suddenly the wind chopped round, and before the ship could obey her helm she was taken aback, the foresail flattened against the mast, and in another instant the mast snapped like a twig, and fell on deck. The passengers, at the commencement of the storm, had been ordered below so as to be out of the way of the sailors, and it was merely from the reports that the mates occasionally brought us, that we knew what was happening on deck. The sea soon rose, and the ship lifted and fell, just as though she had been a small boat. During two days the gale continued; but no fears were entertained for the vessel’s safety until a tremendous sea, striking her astern, carried away her rudder and left her a helpless log on the water. The sky had been so completely overcast since the commencement of the gale, that neither the sun nor a star had been seen; consequently no observations could be taken to tell where the ship was; but the captain considered that she was west of the Natal bluff, and about fifty miles from the land. The currents in this part are, however, so variable and run sometimes with such force, that it is difficult, without observations, to ascertain a ship’s position.
The night was pitch dark, and every one in a state of great anxiety. No one had undressed, all the passengers being huddled together in the principal saloon. It must have been shortly after midnight when we heard a great noise on deck, shouts and running about, and then came a crash and a shock that made every sailor and passenger aware that a great catastrophe had occurred.
I was lying on one of the fixed sofas, and was sent flying across the cabin, and was considerably bruised; but the pain I experienced I scarcely thought of, as my alarm was so great to hear the terrific rush of water which struck the vessel, poured over her, and deluged the cabin. Two or three times the ship rose, and then, with a crash of smashing timbers, came down again, and was once more deluged with water. “We have struck on a rock!” was the cry (such was the fact), “and shall all be drowned.”
As though satisfied with its victim, the storm ceased as suddenly as it had risen; but the sea continued to break over us all night, and every minute we expected the ship to break up. Had she not been a strong teak-built ship, she would probably have gone to pieces long before morning; but the sea gradually went down as the tide receded, and we at length saw that day was breaking. By this time some of the most daring among the male passengers removed the hatch that had been placed over the gangway to keep the water out, and ventured on deck, when the full extent of our disaster was visible. The ship’s masts had all fallen, and of the captain and crew only five sailors remained; the others had been washed overboard, or had been killed by the falling masts. The ship had struck on a ledge of rocks about half a mile from the shore, and had then been carried over this into a sort of bay inside. As the tide fell, this ledge acted as a sort of breakwater, and fully accounted for the sudden decrease in the force of the sea as the tide went down. Between the ship and the land there was comparatively calm water, spotted here and there with black-looking rocks just showing above water.
Knowing that when the tide again rose we might again be exposed to the heavy seas which were still running, the sailors at once called upon the passengers