CHAPTER XXV.

THE CAMP AT KAMBULA-A SKIRMISH WITH THE

ZULUS.

'More that pertains to feats of broil and battle.'

Othello.

WO days after my appointment was notified in orders, we marched from Utrecht to join General Wood's command at Kambula, where we arrived on the afternoon of the 16th April. Wood had just shifted his camp, for sanitary reasons, to another site, about a mile and half distant.

Here a new fort had been thrown up on a plateau of Kambula Hill, completely commanding the river, a branch of the White Umvolosi.

The fort was hexangular in form, with a broad and deep fosse, crossed by a drawbridge; and two long curtain walls, projecting from its eastern angles, enclosed a spacious kraal for horses and cattle.

At one end this kraal was protected by a redoubt.
The view from the fort was magnificent!

To the front, across the river, lay a grassy plain,

bounded by the Zlobani Mountains.

To the north was

the Elands Berg range, stretching far away towards the Pongolo River.

The benefit of this change of position was apparent, for the health of the troops visibly improved.

I was not long settling myself in the saddle, and soon found out that both the officers and men under my command were anxious to render themselves as efficient as possible, and their conduct both on and off duty was all that could be desired.

I confined the actual drill to a few simple movements, in which, with the aid of my sergeant-major, I soon perfected the corps, and before a fortnight had gone over our heads, I had them well in hand.

With the exception of Barry and Fraser, the officers were all Dutch-Africanders, born and bred in the Cape Colony. The majority of the men had never before been a hundred miles from Cape Town, but they were all active and intelligent fellows, and could ride and shoot almost. as well as a Free State Boer.

The quartermaster, Peter Van Breda, was the right man in the right place, for he knew the country we were in well, was a capital forager, and one of the best shots I have ever met with. Peter had been educated in England, and was free from those prejudices which often characterize the Cape Dutchman, and render him opinionated and techy; so he was not only a useful officer, but a pleasant companion.

About ten days after our arrival at Kambula Fort, a small force of volunteer horse and mounted infantry, with two companies of the Natal Native Contingent, paraded an hour before daybreak, for the purpose of making a reconnaissance in the direction of the Umyanyana River.

I accompanied this party with Lieutenant Barry and twenty of the Rondebosch Cavalry, and we were temporarily attached to the Frontier Light Horse.

By sunrise we had ridden half-a-dozen miles across the plain, and, as soon as the heavy mist had cleared away, we pushed forward at a smart canter, and entered the road leading between the Nkandi and Mhundla Hills. At ten o'clock we reached a small ravine, closed in by rocky hills, whose slopes were covered with 'spek-boem' or elephant bush.

Sending forward Barry and his troopers, we found this ravine gradually opened out on to a plain dotted with mimosa and camel-thorn, and bounded on one side by dense bush, and on the other by a broad stream, which we concluded ran into the Umyanyana.

A tiny rivulet of beautiful, clear, cool water rippled. through the ravine. Here Colonel My, the officer in command of the patrol, ordered a halt, and we off-saddled and made preparations for breakfast. Hunger is a wonderful condiment, and renders even hard biscuit and 'beltong'1 not only palatable, but absolutely enjoyable, especially after a long morning ride.

1 Dried beef.

'Better to roam in fields for health unbought,
Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught,'

said Marsden, a young guardsman attached to the staff. 'By George, Warrington, there's nothing like exercise to give an appetite! In town I always wanted a sherry and bitters to bring me to the scratch, but here I can tackle anything, from weevilly biscuit to tough guinea-hen !'

'How does St. Gorman of yours get on out here?' asked Franklin of the Rifles; he was always so deuced particular about his eating, that I am afraid South African fare will scarcely come up to his ideas of good living.'

'Unfortunately for himself, he will not have the chance. of trying it at present,' I rejoined, 'for he was left at home with the depôt.'

'Who is that you are speaking of?' asked Colonel M-y.

'St. Gorman of the 120th,' replied Franklin; 'he's a great epicure, and I was wondering how he managed to exist on biscuit and commissariat beef.'

'We never know what we can put up with until we try,' observed the Colonel. 'I recollect in India going on a shooting expedition with Trent of my old regiment. Trent was rather like the man you are talking about, for he loved good living wherever he went; his servants carried a small portable cooking-stove, a batterie de cuisine, and sundry bottles of sauces and condiments in which my friend delighted. Trent was a capital cook, and could beat the natives even on their own ground; he always superintended the preparing of our meals, and I can tell

you we lived like fighting-cocks. One day Trent's kitmutghar came across the materials for a salad,—a rare thing in those parts, and a luxury which my companion absolutely revelled in. The salad was scientifically washed and prepared, and the kitmutghar set to work at the dressing, for his master had thoroughly instructed him in the mysteries of that art.

'Dinner was ready, the creamy mayonnaise sauce poured over the salad, and we sat down with good appetites.'

""Confound it, boy!" I ejaculated, hastily getting rid of a mouthful of salad, "what have you been putting in the dressing? Just taste it, Joe; it's simply uneatable."

""Pooh!" retorted Trent, helping himself liberally, "you're no judge! your mouth is out of taste! It's the best salad I ever-halloa! why, what the deuce has the scoundrel been doing ?-Hi! boy!! boy!!"

'The man turned green with fear, and approached his master, trembling.

""How dare you try to poison us?" thundered Trent. "You miserable villain, you have spoilt my dinner! I'll "

"Mercy, sahib!" shrieked the fellow, falling on his "I very sorry, sahib !"

knees.

"What did you do to it?" I asked, half fearing that the Madrassee must really have attempted to poison us, so guilty and terrified did he look.

"Sahib not kill or beat me, if I tell?" whimpered the kitmutghar.

""Go on," shouted Trent, giving him a shake.