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THE DAYS OF MY LIFE
sy at Teheran, I fi nd the following estimate of my future wife’s
character, and expression of my feelings towards her.
Next, my dear Will – je vais me marier – to such a
brick of a girl, Louie Margitson. They are certain to have
told you all about her in their letters from home, so I will
only say that I love her sincerely, as I think she does me,
and that, unless something untoward occurs to dash the
cup from my lips, I think we have as good a prospect of
happiness as most people. She is good and sensible and
true-hearted, and every day I see her I love and respect her
more. She is a woman who can be a man’s friend as well as
his lover, and whom I would trust as I would very few. She
is willing to come to Africa, so we propose returning there
shortly, i.e. as soon as we can get satisfactorily married.
There is property concerned, and trustees, who, as I dare
say you know, are gentry diffi cult to deal with. They want
us to postpone the marriage till she comes of age next October, but we don’t see the force of it in any way. I want to
get married next April – whether I shall manage or not is
another matter....
Good-bye, old fellow. God bless you.
Your loving brother,
H. Rider Haggard.
In fact, as I have said, we did not succeed in marrying until
August 11, 1880.
The circumstance of my marriage gave me pause as to my
plan of leading a farmer’s life in South Africa, and as my father
and family were very anxious that I should re-enter the Colo-
201
H. RIDER HAGGARD
nial Service, I made some attempt to do so. It is, however, one
thing to give up a billet and quite another to get it back again.
Had Sir Theophilus Shepstone or even Sir Owen Lanyon still
been in power in the Transvaal, doubtless there would have
been little diffi culty. But a new Pharaoh had arisen in the
shape of Sir Garnet Wolseley who knew not Joseph, and probably wished to keep any available patronage in his own hands.
At any rate, on the matter being referred to him, he replied
“that arrangements are in contemplation which prevent your
reinstatement in the offi ce of Master of the High Court in the
Transvaal.”
Those “arrangements” were indeed a blessing in disguise,
since, had I been reinstated, we should have had the pleasure,
as I have shown, of going through the siege of Pretoria, and on
the Retrocession I should have been dismissed from my offi ce
without compensation, as I believe happened to the gentleman who succeeded me. It was one of the peculiar cruelties
of that act that Englishmen who had taken service under the
British Government in the Transvaal were treated thus, since,
of course, even if the opportunity had been given, they could
scarcely transfer their allegiance from the Queen to a Boer Republic. But, after all, they suffered no worse things than scores
of British subjects whose farms were looted, and who in practice were left to send in their bill to their new Dutch masters – with results that may be imagined.
When I went home in 1879 Mr. (or, as he afterwards became, Sir Melmoth) Obsorn entrusted me with the guardianship of his son Jack, a boy of about sixteen, whom he asked
me to send to whatever school I might select in England. So
it comes about that he wrote me a good many letters, a few of
202
THE DAYS OF MY LIFE
which survive and contain items of interest as to public affairs
in Africa at this period.
Poor Jack Osborn after a course of education in England
returned to South Africa and was appointed to some offi ce in
Zululand. There, a few years later, he died of abscess of the
liver.
In a letter dated Pretoria, October 10, 1879, Osborn says:
I have your letter 23rd August in which you give account of your stewardship regarding Jack. Accept my sincere thanks for all you have done and the care you took
of the boy, who I fear must have been a great bother to
you. Your father’s kind note to me I need not tell you how
greatly I appreciate, and I will write to him by this mail.
Jack wrote me several letters since his arrival in England.
He is loud about all the kindness shown him by you and
your people, your father especially, whom he seems to
swear by.... Sir Garnet Wolseley is here. He would not take
up his abode in Government House, but had a house hired
for his occupation, and is now in Koch’s new residence near
Melville’s, together with his staff. I have a very hard time of
it just now, having to serve two masters who, between us,
do not seem to pull together very well. Sir Garnet seems to
disapprove entirely of Sir Bartle Frere’s policy with Kaffi rs
and Boers....
With regard to your returning to the Colonial Service
your father is quite right, and I think you should return.
The business between you and Cochrane could be easily arranged, although I dare say to you there seems a diffi culty
about it. If you start again fairly in any other colony but
this you are sure to succeed, and I strongly advise you to
203
H. RIDER HAGGARD
do so – it would simply be following a pursuit for which
you are eminently suited and abandoning one for which
you are not. I think I told you that I did the same thing
some years ago: resigned my appointment in the Service
and invested in a sugar estate, but soon found that trying
to do that which I did not understand involved nothing but
loss, and by advice of a friend I re-entered the Service, tho’
in a low grade. Well, by steady perseverance and without
one-half the advantages you have, here I am today. Perhaps you will say it is not much after all; but if you had to
encounter all the uphill work that fell to my lot of which
you have no conception, and when you are a little older,
you will be able to appreciate matters as I do.
I have but little news to send you this time. Two regiments are expected here in a few days I believe, so that we
will have a lot of troops at hand to cope with the Amabull
or any other obstreperous bulls who might trouble us. Last
evening I heard from Middelburg that the Boers there are
very violent and the Landdrost Scoble was anticipating
serious results. All these things happening so continually
worry me a good deal, and I am heartily sick of it all....
Ever your affectionate friend,
M. Osborn.
1
The next letter is headed Zululand, April 14, 1880.
My post runner brought me your very welcome letter of
3 February yesterday. I was very glad to get it and to hear
that all was well with you. Before proceeding to business
1
a slang name for the Boers. – H. R. H.
204
THE DAYS OF MY LIFE
matters I must offer you my sincere and hearty congratulations on the prospect of happiness before you. Depend
upon it you are doing the right thing. A man is nothing in
this life who has no wife to love or be loved by, and I feel
certain that you have not erred in your selection and that
the young lady will prove not only worthy of your affection but a great stay and support through life.
I write this from the heart of Zululand, where I hold
the offi ce of British Resident. My duties are chiefl y to supervise the action of the thirteen chiefs to whom the country
has been given, their government and the way they fulfi l
the treaty obligations. I am entirely on my own responsibility and have to do just as appears right to me. And a
proper responsibility I fi nd it. Indeed it is no joke. I am not
hard worked, but my brain is continually on the stretch to
prevent the wily Zulu getting the better of me. Any mistake might cause endless complications. My pay is 1300
pounds, and a suitable Residency is to be built at once for
me by the Government. I correspond only with the High
Commissioner direct. I had not forgotten you when the appointment was made, but there was nothing at all beyond
an ordinary clerkship which I could offer you, and this was
certainly not in your line. There is however a good prospect
of something worth having turning up in six months from
this, and then you will hear from me again. Between us I
have to report in extenso on the whole question connected
with Zululand and the additional offi cers required to assist
me in managing, for the Secretary of State’s consideration,
but this I will do only after I have been three months in
205
H. RIDER HAGGARD
the country, and tomorrow the fi rst month will expire. I
think however you will not like it here – too lonely, and
you should not come if you could get anything else. You
can form no idea of my grandness here – in the eyes of
the chiefs and people I am a great king. They are submissive and civil to a degree. Almost every day a fi ne fat ox is
presented to me for my dinner that day by some Zulu swell
that comes to pay his respects, and hundreds come up to
my camp daily with “Bayete” salutes thundered forth so
as to make the hills ring again. Most of the chiefs and headmen knew me personally when I was a border magistrate,
and others by repute, so that I am not quite a stranger to
them.
I did not at fi rst feel inclined to take the offi ce when
Sir Garnet offered it to me, but after four weeks’ consider-
ation of the pros and cons I concluded to take it.... Please
convey to your father my hearty thanks for his kindness to
Jack. I appreciate it most sincerely.
With love,
Ever your affectionate friend,
M. Osborn.
The last letter is headed British Residency, Zululand, May
15, 1880. After speaking of an opening in the Colonial Service,
which he thinks I might secure, Osborn says:
I returned to my headquarters here only last night,
having been on a strip to meet the Empress at Landmanns
Drift, Buffalo River. She was very good and kind to me and
I saw a great deal of her; indeed I was the only one not
belonging to her suite who was spoken to at all by her. She
sent for me twice daily and conversed freely on different
206
THE DAYS OF MY LIFE
topics. Brigadier–General Wood, who has charge of her,
received me with open arms, which slightly surprised me
after the paper war I carried on with him in Pretoria. He
seems to be a very good fellow.
The Empress is still in Zululand visiting the various battlefi elds. She intends to visit the spot where the Prince fell
on 1st June the day of his death, and will remain about fi ve
days there to mourn and weep. I feel very sorry for her. She
will be in Durban in time to sail for England on 26th June.
Sir Garnet has left us quite suddenly. He is certainly a very
great soldier.
I am still getting on well with my Zulus, who will persist
in according royal honours to me. About a fortnight ago
one single deputation waited on me numbering over four
thousand men! Their shout of “Bayete” (the royal salute)
made the hills ring again. Every day hundreds come up to
salute and to state their grievances tribe against tribe. Everywhere quiet and good order prevails, which is satisfactory. With kind regards,
Your affectionate friend,
M. Osborn.
After a stormy time in Zululand, Osborn retired from
the public service on a pension. At fi rst his idea was to settle
in England, but ultimately our climate proved too much for
him, and he drifted back to South Africa, where not long afterwards he died. I do not think that his departure from the
world grieved him very much, for in addition to the loss of his
son Jack, my ward, he was called upon to endure other heavy
207
H. RIDER HAGGARD
sorrows. I never quite fathomed his religious views, but I remember that one night, when I was talking to him on such
matters, he stretched out his arm and clasped a handful from
the swarm of white ants that were fl ying past us. “What is the
difference between us and these?” he asked with a little laugh,
and let them go again. By the way, I may mention he was the
origin of my character Alston in “The Witch’s Head.” Dear old
“Mali-mat” – that was his Kaffi r name, which means, I believe,
“so much money” – shrewd, kindly, honourable, the truest of
friends, the bravest of men, surely you, if any do, belong to that
class which Pope defi ned as the noblest work of God.
Osborn was a great believer in the virtue of the raw Kaffi r.
Thus, when he was magistrate of Newcastle, he did not hesitate to send down from Newcastle to Maritzburg, two hundred
miles away, the total sum of the hut tax collected in his district – which, if I remember rightly, amounted to one or two
thousand pounds – tied in gold-fi lled belts about the middle
of some of his native policemen. The fact about the Kaffi rs, and
especially the Zulu Kaffi rs, is, or was, that those whom they
love and respect may trust them to the death, whereas those
whom they despise or hate cannot lend them sixpence with
safety or believe their word about the smallest matter. Their
absolute fi delity to duty is well exemplifi ed in the following
story which Sir Theophilus Shepstone told me when we were
travelling together over the Biggarsberg.
Once he had occasion in winter-time to send two Zulu messengers over these mountains with despatches for Maritzburg.
They were caught in a snowstorm without coats, whereon the
man who carried the despatch-bag, feeling the approach of
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THE DAYS OF MY LIFE
death, handed it to his comrade and bade him proceed. He himself crept into an ant-bear hole to die. As it happened, however,
the warmth of his body in the hole kept him alive, and when he
woke up in the morning the sun was shining. He emerged and,
following on the road, presently found his companion dead and
stiff. Taking the despatch-bag from the body he proceeded on
his journey, and in due course delivered it in Maritzburg.
Among my letters of this period are two from Judge Kotze. In one of these, which is dated June 17, 1880, the Judge
complains bitterly of the placing of De Wet, the Recorder of
Kimberley, over his head as Chief Justice, a very harsh step,
the reason of which I never quite understood, as Kotze was
undoubtedly an excellent lawyer and an upright Judge. After
some political remarks he says:
By the by, you speak of seeking employment in the Civil Service out here. Abandon the idea and take the following suggestion into careful consideration. Why not read for the Bar? You
have a splendid opening in the Cape Colony or at the Diamond
Fields. It will take you not more than three years, and by working honestly from six to eight hours per day you will have no
diffi culty in turning out a fi rst-rate man in three years. Give it
your serious attention. You have a certain prospect of a judgeship, and will without much diffi culty get into the Cape Parliament. Mrs. Haggard will be pleased with Grahamstown (which
I would recommend in preference to Cape Town), and you will
have a fi n e and thoroughly independent career before you.... Pre-
toria is no longer what it was. The place is unbearable. Everybody at loggerheads with Government and his neighbours, and
the contractors in the meantime making fortunes.
209
H. RIDER HAGGARD
Kotze’s advice was sound, and today I wish that I had taken
it, or rather sometimes I think I do. What chiefl y stood in my
way, however, was my agreement with Cochrane, whom I did
not like to desert, although he generously offered to release
me. Also I wished to be up and doing, and did not like the idea
of those three years of comparative inaction which would have
prevented me from earning anything more till I was twentyseven. Still I was destined to be called to the English Bar after
all, as I hope to tell in due course.
Here I will end my story during the year and a half or so
that I was absent from South Africa, and pass on to the sad tale
of the Retrocession of the Transvaal.
210
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