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In　the　autumn　of　1878　Sir　Bartle　Frere；　the　High　missioner　for　South　Africa；　had　arrived　in　Natal；　and　towards　the　end　of　the　year　—　I　think　it　was　in　November　—　he　issued　his　famous　ultimatum　to　the　Zulus。

Respecting　Sir　Bartle　as　I　do；　and　agreeing　with　him　generally　as　I　do；　and　sympathising　with　him　from　the　bottom　of　my　heart　as　to　the　shameless　treatment　which　he　received　from　the　British　party　politicians　after　his　policy　seemed　to　have　failed　and　the　British　arms　had　suffered　defeat；　I　still　think；　perhaps　erroneously；　that　this　ultimatum　was　a　mistake。　Although　the　argument　is　all　on　his　side；　I　incline　to　the　view　that　it　would　have　been　wiser　to　remonstrate　with　the　Zulus　and　trust　to　the　doctrine　of　chances　—　for　this　reason：　neither　Cetewayo　nor　his　people　wished　to　fight　the　English；　had　Cetewayo　wished　it　he　would　have　swept　Natal　from　end　to　end　after　our　defeat　at　Isandhlwana。　But　what　I　heard　he　said　at　the　time　was　to　this　effect：　“The　English　are　attacking　me　in　my　country；　and　I　will　defend　myself　in　my　country。　I　will　not　send　my　impis　to　kill　them　in　Natal；　because　I　and　those　who　went　before　me　have　always　been　good　friends　with　the　English。”　So　it　came　about　that　he　forbade　his　generals　to　cross　the　boundary　of　Natal。

Whichever　view　may　be　right；　the　fact　remains　that　the　ultimatum　was　issued　and　from　that　moment　war　became　inevitable。　Our　generals　and　soldiers　entered　on　it　with　the　lightest　hearts；　notwithstanding　the　difficulties　and　scarcity　of　transport　they　even　took　with　them　their　cricketing　outfit　into　Zululand。　This　I　know；　since　I　was　missioned　to　bring　home　a　wicket　that　was　found　on　the　field　of　Isandhlwana；　and　return　it　to　the　headquarters　of　the　regiment　to　which　it　belonged；　to　be　kept　as　a　relic。　The　disaster　at　Isandhlwana　I　for　one　expected。　Indeed　I　remember　writing　to　friends　prophesying　that　it　would　occur；　and　their　great　astonishment　when　on　the　same　day　that　they　received　the　letter　the　telegraph　brought　the　news　of　that　great　destruction。　This　far…sightedness；　however；　was　not　due　to　my　own　perspicacity；　but　to　the　training　that　I　had　received　under　those　who　knew　the　Zulus　better　than　any　other　men　in　the　world。

One　of　these；　Mr。　Osborn；　who　afterwards　was　appointed　Resident　in　Zululand；　was　so　disturbed　by　what　he　knew　was　ing　that；　after　a　good　deal　of　reflection　he　wrote　a　solemn　warning　of　what　would　occur　to　the　troops　if　their　plan　of　advance　was　persisted　in；　which　warning　he　sent　to　Lord　Chelmsford　through　the　officer　manding　at　Pretoria。　It　was　never　even　acknowledged。　I　think　that　I　saw　this　letter；　or；　if　I　did　not　not；　Osborn　told　me　all　about　it。

The　disaster　at　Isandhlwana　occurred　on　January　22；　1879。　A　night　or　two　before　it　happened　a　lady　whom　I　knew　in　Pretoria　dreamed　a　dream　which　she　detailed　to　me　on　the　following　day。　I　am　sorry　to　say　that　I　cannot　remember　all　this　dream。　What　I　recall　of　it　is　to　the　effect　that　she　saw　a　great　plain　in　Zululand　on　which　English　troops　were　camped。　Snow　began　to　fall　on　the　plain；　snow　that　was　blood…red；　till　it　buried　it　and　the　troops。　Then　the　snow　melted　into　rivers　of　blood。

The　lady　whom　it　visited　was　convinced　that　this　dream　portended　some　frightful　massacre；　but　of　course　it　may　have　sprung　from　the　excited　and　fearful　feeling　in　the　air　which　naturally　affected　all　who　had　relatives　or　friends　at　the　front。

A　stranger　and　more　inexplicable　occurrence　happened　to　myself。　On　the　morning　of　the　23rd　of　January；　which　was　the　day　after　the　slaughter；　I　saw　the　Hottentot　vrouw　who　washed　our　clothes　in　the　garden　of　“The　Palatial”　and　went　out　to　speak　to　her。　The　fat　old　woman　was　in　a　great　state　of　perturbation；　and　when　I　asked　her　what　was　the　matter；　she　told　me　that　terrible　things　had　happened　in　Zululand；　that　the　“rooibatjes；”　that　is；　redcoats；　lay　upon　the　plain　“like　leaves　under　the　trees　in　winter；”　killed　by　Cetewayo。　I　inquired　when　the　event　had　occurred；　and　she　replied；　on　the　previous　day。　I　told　her　that　she　was　speaking　falsehoods；　since　even　if　it　were　so　no　horse　could　have　brought　the　news　over　two　hundred　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　acknowl