the days of my life-第29章
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d miles of veld in the course of a single night。 She stuck to her story but refused to tell me how it had been learned by her； and we parted。
The old woman’s manner impressed me so much that I ordered a horse to be saddled and； riding down to the Government offices； repeated what I had heard to Mr。 Osborn and others。 They too said that it was not possible for the tidings to have e to Pretoria in the time。 Still they were uneasy； thinking that something might have happened at an earlier date； and made inquiries without results。 I believe it was twenty hours later that a man on an exhausted horse galloped into Pretoria with the evil news。
How did the old Hottentot woman learn the truth？ It could not have been called from mountain…top to mountain…top after the Kaffir fashion； since the intervening country was high veld where there are no mountains。 I have no explanation to offer； except that the natives have； or had； some almost telegraphic method of conveying news of important events of which the nature is quite unknown to us white men。
The consternation at Pretoria was very great； especially as the news reached us in a much…exaggerated form。 No wonder that we were perturbed； since there were few who had not lost some that were dear to them。 Thus one of Sir Theophilus’s sons was killed； and for a while he thought that three had gone。 Afterwards his skeleton was recognised by some peculiarity connected with his teeth。 Osborn had lost a son…inlaw； and so on。 Personally I knew many of the officers of the 24th who fell； but the one I mourned most was the gallant Coghill； with whom I had bee very friendly when he was at Pretoria as aide…decamp to Sir Arthur Cunynghame。 He was a peculiarly light…hearted young man full of good stories； some of which I remember to this day。
As the reader will remember； he and Melville died back to back in a vain attempt to save the colours of the regiment； which colours were afterwards recovered from the bed of the river。 I would refer any who are interested in this sad history to “The True Story Book；” published by Messrs。 Longmans in 1893； where I have told the tale of Isandhlwana and Rorke’s Drift。 That account may be taken as accurate； for two reasons： first； I was well acquainted with the circumstances at the time and saw many of those concerned in the matter； and； secondly； I sent the proofs to be checked by my friend Colonel Essex； who was one of the three or four officers in the camp who survived the disaster； as subsequently he did those of Laing’s Nek and Ingogo。
I remember that I asked Essex； a man with a charmed life if ever such a gift was granted； what he thought of during that terrible ride from the Place of the Little Hand to the Buffalo River。 He told me that all he could remember was a kind of refrain which came into his mind。 It ran； “Essex； you —— fool； you had a chance of a good billet at home； and now； Essex； you are going to be killed！” The story has a certain grim humour； also it shows how on desperate occasions； as I have noted more than once in life； the stunned intelligence takes refuge in little things。 Everything else is beaten flat； like the sea beneath a tornado； leaving only such bubbles floating in the unnatural calm。
Not very long after this terrible event Sir Theophilus Shepstone was summoned home to confer with the Colonial Office respecting the affairs of the Transvaal； and well do I remember the sorrow with which we parted from him。 I remember also that before this time； when all was going well； in the course of one of those intimate conversations to which he admitted me I congratulated him upon what then appeared to be his great success； and said that he seemed to have everything before him。
“No； my boy；” he answered； shaking his head sadly； “it has e to me too late in life；” and he turned away with a sigh。
As a matter of fact his success proved to be none at all； for he lived to see all his work undone within a year or two and to find himself thrown an offering to the Moloch of our party system； as did his contemporary； Sir Bartle Frere。 And yet after all was it so？ He did what was right； and he did it well。 The exigencies of our home politics； stirred into action by the rebellion of the Boers； appeared to wreck his policy。 At the cost of I know not how many English lives and of how much treasure； that policy was reversed： the country was given back。 What ensued？ A long period of turmoil and difficulties； and then a war which cost us twenty thousand more lives and two hundred and fifty millions more of treasure to bring about what was in practice the same state of affairs that Sir Theophilus Shepstone had established over twenty years before without the firing of a single shot。 A little more wisdom； a little more firmness or foresight； and these events need never have occurred。 They were one of Mr。 Gladstone’s gifts to his country。
But the very fact of their occurrence shows that Shepstone； on whose shoulders everything rested at the time； was right in his premises。 He said in effect that the incorporation of the Transvaal in the Empire was an imperial necessity； and the issue has proved that he did not err。 I say that the course of history has justified Sir Theophilus Shepstone and shown his opponents and detractors to be wrong； as in another case it has justified Charles Gordon and again proved those same opponents and detractors to be wrong。 On their heads be all the wasted lives and wealth。 I am sure that the future will declare that he was right in everything that he did； for if it was not so why is the Transvaal now a Province of the British Empire？ Nothing can explain away the facts； they speak for themselves。
How shocking； how shameless was the treatment meted out to Shepstone personally — I presume for purely political reasons； since I cannot conceive that he had any individual enemies — is well shown by the following letter from him to me which through a pure accident chances to have been discovered by my brother； Sir William Haggard； amongst his own papers。
Pietermaritzburg； Natal：
July 6； 1884。
My dear Haggard； — I am afraid that I cannot take much credit to myself this time for giving you practical proof that I think of you by writing you a letter； for although I do as a matter of fact think of you both； almost as often as old Polly the parrot calls me a “very domde Boer；” an expression which you taught the bird and which it has not forgotten； yet this is essentially a selfish letter written with selfish ends； but let me assure you that it is nevertheless leavened； as strongly as ever； with the same old love。
The fact is that the Treasury at Home have made a fierce and ungenerous attack on my Transvaal accounts； and threaten to surcharge me with all items to the extent of several thousand pounds for which receipts or vouchers of some sort are not forthing。 Among these are two small payments to you： one they call a gratuity of 25 pounds； an acknowledgment of your services to the mission for which you received no pay； and the other 20 pounds as pensation for a horse that died on your journey as missioner to Sikukuni； and I want you to be good enough to send a certificate acknowledging the payment of each of these items and stating that you signed a receipt for each when it was paid。 They are under the impression that Colonel Brooke； who kept the accounts； never took care to get receipts： the fact being that he was most careful on this point； but that the vouchers and some of the accounts also were； most of them； lost during the siege of Pretoria。
The officers of the Treasury have reflected upon my personal honesty； and Mr。 Courtney has amused himself by writing some facetious paragraphs； this has of course furnished more or less amusing reading for the society journals。 The Colonial Office defended me very vigorously； but I have strongly resented such treatment and shown the injustice and untruthfulness of it； or any foundation for it； in a memo。 to the Secretary of State。 Meanwhile the Treasury withhold my pension。
This letter is horribly egotistical so far； but I could not help it； as I explained on the first page。
As things have turned out； it was a fortunate thing that you left this country when you did。 Our condition as
