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CHAPTER 8
OUR LIFE AT NEWCASTLE
My wife and I with two servants, a Norfolk groom of the
name of Stephen – I forget his surname – who, a little touched
up, appears as Job in my book “She,” and a middle-aged woman
named Gibbs who had been my wife’s maid before marriage,
three dogs, two parrots, and a “spider” carriage, which was
built to my special order in Norwich, left England somewhere
towards the end of 1880. I think that we reached Natal before
Christmas, and were greeted with the news of the Bronker’s
Spruit massacre, for I can call it by no other name. In short, we
found that the Transvaal was in open rebellion.
It was indeed a pleasant situation. Newcastle, whither we
desired to proceed, lies very near the Transvaal border, and
the question was, Did I dare to take my wife thither? For some
weeks we remained in Maritzburg, staying part of the time
with Sir Theophilus and Lady Shepstone, and the rest in an
hotel. Literally I was at my wits’ end to know what to do. To
advance seemed too risky; to remain where we were was both
wearisome and, with our servants, ruinously expensive.
At length my wife, who, I think, take her altogether, is
the most courageous woman I ever met, announced that she
would have no more of it: her house was at Newcastle two
hundred miles away, and, Boers or no Boers, thither she would
211
H. RIDER HAGGARD
go. There were rumours that Sir George Colley, who was then
the Governor and Commander-inChief of Natal, intended to
attack the passes of the Drakensberg with the few troops at his
disposal. Nobody believed it, since the thing was so obviously
a madness. But I was not so sure. I went to Colonel (afterwards
Sir Charles) Mitchell, the Colonial Secretary, and asked him
in confi dence if he knew anything. He replied – Nothing, but
that I might be quite certain that so distinguished a soldier
would never act foolishly.
So I bought two good horses – which afterwards died of
the sickness – harnessed them to the “spider,” and we started.
I think it was on the night before Colley left Maritzburg
to take personal command of the troops at Newcastle that my
wife and I dined at Government House. If so, this historical
dinner took place on January 9, 1881. I believe that there were
thirteen of us at table, though on this point I am not absolutely clear, of whom three were ladies – Lady Colley, another
lady whose name I forget, and my wife. The other guests were
offi cers and the members of Colley’s staff. The only name that
I can remember is that of young Elwes, who within a week or
two was to die charging the Boer schanzes and shouting “Floreat Etona!” I sat next to him at table.
My wife reminds me of an absurd little incident that happened at this dinner. Elwes, I think, was A.D.C. to Colley, and
one of his duties – it used to be mine when I was on the Governor’s staff in the same house – was to write the menus in
French. One of the items of fare recorded by him was pates
de mince. In a silence such as happens at dinner-parties, Lady
Colley was heard saying from the end of the table:
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THE DAYS OF MY LIFE
“Mr. Elwes, what are pates de mince? I never heard of a dish
called pates de mince!” whereon everyone turned and looked
at Elwes.
“Pates de mince, Lady Colley,” he stammered presently, his
youthful face covered with blushes, “is the French for mincepies.”
Poor Elwes! He did not hear the last of his pates de
mince during that meal. Thus do farce and tragedy often walk
hand in hand.
In a few months’ time Lady Colley, the other lady, my wife
and I were the sole survivors of that dinner-party. The other
lady died shortly afterwards. About the year 1888 my wife and
I were guests at a dinner given by the late Anthony Froude.
Lady Colley, as she was then, was another of the guests. Thus
we three survivors of that fatal Government House dinner met
again. When Lady Colley recognised us she burst into tears,
and my wife was obliged to stand over her to screen her grief
from observation.
Here are some extracts from a letter written by my wife to
my father from the little town of Estcourt, and dated January
19, 1881 – nearly thirty-one years ago.
We have at last summoned up courage to start upcountry in spite of the Boers, the real fact being that we
were getting dreadfully tired of doing nothing down in
Maritzburg, which was besides most fearfully hot. We got to
our fi rst stage, Howick, last Friday, which luckily for us was
a very pretty place with a comfortable hotel. I say luckily,
because we were detained there by the rain till Monday.
We then started at about 9:30 A.M. for Mooi River (a dis-
213
H. RIDER HAGGARD
tance of thirty miles), which we did not reach until about
8 o’clock in the evening. The roads were in a positively
fearful state: we could only go very carefully at a foot’s
pace the whole way, and even then we got into some very
nasty places. I walked a good part of the way, in fact we
all did, as it was quite as hard work hanging on driving as
walking. Yesterday we came on here, which was not half
such a tiring day, as the roads were comparatively very
good, and we are told that they will be so now for the rest
of the way, which is a comfort. If we are not detained by
rain or other mishaps we expect to get to Newcastle next
Saturday. I quite forgot to tell you that the unhappy Gibbs
came to sad grief on the way from Maritzburg to Howick,
and all on account of her devotion to Bob. She was nursing the said spoilt animal on her knee when suddenly the
carriage went into a hole, gave a lurch and nearly sent Bob
fl ying. In her efforts to save him out fell Gibbs right between
the wheels, but marvellous to relate she was not a bit hurt,
only bruised her arm a little and got a good shaking.... At
almost every stage we meet fugitives from the Transvaal,
but they all seem to look upon Newcastle as safe.... With
much love from us both to you all,
Your affectionate daughter-inlaw,
M. L. Haggard.
Truly this was an awful journey, especially as my wife was
in a state in which great exertion was undesirable. The roads,
as she says, were terrible, being cut up by the passage of guns
and troops. Indeed, there were no roads – simply, in that wet
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THE DAYS OF MY LIFE
season, breadths of mud-holes sometimes a hundred yards
wide, of which holes you might take your choice. It was into
one of these that poor Gibbs fell with the beloved terrier, Bob.
Never shall I forget the splash she caused. The spectacle of an
elderly British lady’s-maid in that hole still clasping Bob to her
bosom was almost weird. The hind wheels of the “spider” went
over her, grinding her deeper into the mire.
“Good God!” I said to Stephen, “she is done for.”
My further remarks were interrupted by a series of piercing yells.
“Lord bless you, sir,” answered Stephen, “if she can screech
like that there ain’t much the matter.”
Nor was there, except mud and Gibbs’ voluble views upon
South African roads.
A day or two after this we galloped in front of a fearful
thunderstorm, of which the fl ashes kept striking behind us,
and at last reached shelter just in time. On another day we
ploughed through sodden peat fl ats, in which our wheels sank
to the axles, to the edge of a river – I forget which river. On the
farther bank was the inn. The night was coming on and the
river was in full fl ood. What could we do? To get back across
those fl ats was impossible; to sleep in the rain in the open carriage was impossible; to attempt to cross the fl ooded river was
very dangerous. My wife, as usual, made up her mind at once.
“Let’s try it,” she said.
I felt bound to give Gibbs her choice.
“Don’t you go a-asking of her, sir,” said Stephen, “or we
shan’t never do nauthing. If we’ve got to drown, she may as
215
H. RIDER HAGGARD
well drown too.” Stephen, I may observe, lacked affection for
Gibbs.
So we “tried it,” two brave and brawny Zulus wading into
the water with us, and hanging on to the sides of the “spider”
in order to prevent it from overturning. A transport rider on
the bank, who had warned us against the attempt, shouted
valedictory messages: “When you are all drowned, don’t blame
me. Remember that I told you so!”
I answered something appropriate to the occasion and my
feelings, and in we went.
The stream was coming down like a mill-race and rising
every minute. Soon the horses were off their legs, but they
were plucky beasts and struck out for the farther shore of
the drift. The water ran through the bottom of the carriage,
which began to fl oat, but the brave Kaffi rs hung on, although
they were up to their arm-pits and could scarcely stand. Gibbs
wailed softly in the background and clasped Bob to her breast.
There were a few fearful moments of doubt, then, thank God!
the horses got their feet again, and we dragged through, damp
but safe, and slept that night in comfort in the inn.
Such were some of the incidents of that extremely arduous journey. At length we reached Newcastle safe and sound,
and drove out to our house on the farm Rooipoint, about a
mile and a half from the town. This house, which was named
Hilldrop (the Mooifontein of “Jess,” where it is actually described), was and no doubt still is a very pretty place, built
by Osborn for himself when he was Resident Magistrate at
Newcastle. It is backed by a rocky hill, and its broad verandah commands a wide and charming view. Round about it
216
THE DAYS OF MY LIFE
stood orange trees – I believe these died after we left – and
to the right was a plantation of black wattles. For a colonial
dwelling it was spacious, having a good drawing-room, and
altogether the home was one where English folk could live
in decency and comfort. Moreover our furniture had arrived,
and for the most part had been arranged by the indefatigable
Cochrane – “that man who calls himself Mr. Cochrane,” as
Gibbs once described him after some diffi culty which interfered with her comfort.
I wish I could remember more of the sayings of Gibbs, for
they were worthy of preservation. Only one returns to my
mind, however. It was after our fl ight before the thunderstorm,
a terrifi c thunderstorm, I admit, which had reduced Gibbs to a
perfect jelly of terror.
“Don’t be so foolish, Gibbs,” said my wife, “and make an
exhibition of yourself. Look at me, I’m not frightened.”
“No, ma’am, I see you ain’t,” answered the gasping Gibbs,
“and I tell you straight I don’t call it ladylike!”
In short, by contrast with all we had undergone, the place
seemed a perfect haven of rest. This, however, it was not destined to remain for long. First there were the refugees, some
of them people I had known in the Transvaal, who came with
their tales of woe and ruin, asking for shelter which we were
unable to give. Then, to our dismay, we learned that on the very
day of our arrival Colley had moved out to attack the Nek.
Two days later we heard the sound of fi ring, and getting
back to Hilldrop I received the following note from Beaumont,
the Resident Magistrate of Newcastle, who was an old friend
of mine, now one of the Natal judges.
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H. RIDER HAGGARD
28_1_81.
I am sorry to say the troops failed this morning in their
attack on the “Nek” and had to retire to their waggon
laager, after heavy loss. We have no further particulars.
I do not think that Newcastle is in any danger. The signal
for alarm in town is a bell; but should I think there is any
occasion for it I will send out a runner to warn you. I wish
I could give you a welcome under better circumstances, but
we must make the best of things. With my kindest regards
to Mrs. Haggard, upon whom I hope Mrs. Beaumont will
soon be able to call....
W. H. Beaumont.
On the following day, January 30, I wrote a letter to my
father, which I have just recovered with the others.
You will see from the address that we have reached
this in safety after a rather diffi cult journey owing to the
villainous state of the roads. Old Gibbs shot straight out of
the carriage twice but came to no harm. Louie is well and
expressed herself very pleased with the place.... We have
come out in very troublous times. When for various reasons
we made up our minds to come up-country, Newcastle was
looked upon as one of the safest places in the Colony, owing to the large body of troops concentrated there. Nobody
dreamed that Sir George Colley could be mad enough to
try and force the passes with such a handful of men, and
I believe he was again and again warned of its impossibility. However, the day we got here he started, and a few
evenings afterwards we heard the guns going on the moun-
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THE DAYS OF MY LIFE
tains. Next came the intelligence that we had met with a
crushing repulse. It appears that the Boers beat the troops
back without diffi culty, and from what I can judge it will
take 5000 men and a great expenditure of life to force
their position. Nearly all the offi cers actually engaged were
killed, including poor young Elwes (Norfolk) whom I sat
next to at dinner the other night. He was talking to me
about you, and said that he saw you the other day at Lynn
station talking to the barmaid. It is all very sad. I do not
think that this place is in danger, but still these are anxious
times for us all. Our men have retreated into laager near
the top of the mountain, and the Boers are in laager on the
top. When the reinforcements come there will be a fearful
engagement and many offi cers will be picked off. All the
Boers are in rifl e pits behind stone walls. I think they will
have to send more troops.
We have got all our things up here safely and have
made the place quite pretty, but somehow one can take
no pleasure in anything just now with blood being shed
like water all round. Every time one sees a Kaffi r runner
coming to the house one feels anxious lest he should be the
announcer of some fresh evil.... We will send you a longer
letter in a mail or two, but just now we are head over ears
in work arranging the house, etc. And now good-bye. With
best love from us both to all at home,
Believe me ever
Your most affectionate and dutiful son,
H. Rider Haggard.
Such was our house-warming at Hilldrop.
219
H. RIDER HAGGARD
On February 8th about midday once more we heard the
guns at work in the neighbourhood of the hill Scheins Hoogte,
about eleven miles from our farm. The fi ring was very heavy,
that of the fi eld-pieces being almost unceasing, as was the crash
and roll of the rifl es. At dusk it died away. Some Kaffi rs came to
Hilldrop and told us that a force of British soldiers were surrounded on a hill in the Ingogo River; that they were fi ghting
well, but that “their arms were tired.” The Kaffi rs added that
they would all be killed during the night.
I have told the story of Ingogo in “Cetewayo and his White
Neighbours,” and I cannot tell it again; indeed, I have no heart
to do so. It was a miserable and an aimless business, as we heard
of it from the lips of the survivors.
After the Ingogo defeat, when the wounded were left lying
on the ground through the raging African night, the Boers invaded Natal. One night, in the stillness, I heard the galloping
of a vast number of horses. Some fi ve hundred of the enemy
had taken possession of the next farm to our own, which they
looted. The Boers had descended into Natal, in order to attack
the reinforcements. We colonists saw a chance, a desperate
chance it is true, of cutting them off, or at any rate of infl icting great damager upon them. A number of us congregated at
Newcastle with the idea of forming a volunteer corps. I was
very doubtful whether I ought to join, seeing what were my
family responsibilities. I remember my young wife coming out
of the house into the garden, where some of us were talking
over the matter, and saying, “Don’t consider me. Do what you
think your duty. I’ll take my chance.”
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