the days of my life-第33部分

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　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　go。　There　were　rumours　that　Sir　George　Colley；　who　was　then　the　Governor　and　mander…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　confidence　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　mand　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　officers　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：
“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　mince…pies。”
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　up…country　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　first　stage；　Howick；　last　Friday；　which　luckily　for　us　was　a　very　pretty　place　with　a　fortable　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　distance　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　paratively　very　good；　and　we　are　told　that　they　will　be　so　now　for　the　rest　of　the　way；　which　is　a　fort。　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　flying。　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　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　flashes　kept　striking　behind　us；　and　at　last　reached　shelter　just　in　time。　On　another　day　we　ploughed　through　sodden　peat　flats；　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　ing　on　and　the　river　was　in　full　flood。　What　could　we　do？　To　get　back　across　those　flats　was　impossible；　to　sleep　in　the　rain　in　the　open　carriage　was　impossible；　to　attempt　to　cross　the　flooded　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　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　ing　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　float；　but　the　brave　Kaffirs　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　fort　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　mands　a　wide　and　charming　view。　Round　about　it　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　fort。　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　difficulty　which　interfered　with　her　fort。
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　flight　before　the　thunderstorm；　a　terrific　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　r