Dick King became a hero because he rode about a thousand kilometers in ten days. Perhaps that doesn't sound much today. These days you can drive a thousand kilometers in a day in a fast car. Or in an hour or two if you go by plane. Or in just over three minutes if you're in a space craft orbiting the earth!
But in those days, more than a hundred years ago, there were no cars, no airplanes and no space craft. There were no tarred roads and, over vast stretches of the country, not even dirt roads. South Africa was still wilderness where the great animals roamed, where the lion stalked and elephant browsed and where scattered tribes grazed their herds or made war.
To understand Dick King's ride, you must remember that few white men had penetrated the Orange Free State and the Transvaal, and the Voortrekkers had only recently crossed the great Drakensberg Mountains with their wagons. It was here in the green hills of Natal that Dick King's story began.
The Voortrekkers had settled in this beautiful province, but the English said: "Wait a minute, Natal belongs to us!" Soon they were at war about it and before long Pretorius's Voortrekkers had surrounded the English forces under Captain Smith. It looked as if the Voortrekkers would win.
It was then that Dick King, a hunter and transport-rider from Natal, decided to go and bring help to the English troops. Dick had previously been a good friend of the Boers, but this changed when his people, the English, went to war with them.
Help was very far away, for the nearest English garrison was in Grahamstown in the Eastern Cape, a thousand kilometers from port Natal. And the thousand kilometers was not on a tarred road. There was no road at all. The country was wild and dangerous and Dick King had two hundred rivers to cross!
But King was no coward. In the dead of night he and Ndongeni, his Zulu companion, slipped into two small boats and rowed away from Port Natal, with their horses swimming beside them. And for those horses there lay ahead a journey undreamed of.
The first day's ride must have been an adventure - the drumming of hooves, the creak of saddles, trees and bushes flashing past as they chased southwards. Then the shock of cold water when they crossed the rivers and the smell of saddle leather drying out in the sun as they journeyed on. Even the knowledge that the rivers might be full of lurking crocodiles was part of the adventure.
By the third day they were tired, the horses lathered in sweat and saltpeter. But they kept on, They had no idea how far they still had to go and they probably didn't care to think too much about it for fear of losing heart. But by the fourth day Ndongeni could hardly sit in the saddle. Even Dick King, a seasoned rider, began to feel his strength waning, but he'd go on a while yet, he told himself.
On the fifth day Ndongeni could go no further. Dick King had to leave him at a mission station and go on. Alone and exhausted he had to push through without the comfort of a companion to share the dangers.
By the seventh day he no longer saw the flocks of birds or the herds of grazing buck or the aloes on the kranses. His eyes were fixed on the narrow world rushing past under his horse's hooves, a blur to his tired eyes. All he felt was the ache in every muscle of his body. All that he thought was that he must keep on, and on and on.....
On the ninth day he had given up hope. He felt sure he would never reach the garrison of Grahamstown. Too tired to hold the reigns he gave his stumbling horse its head. And the next day he was still in the saddle, his eyes half closed and his mind clouded and confused. Then suddenly he started up with joy. There ahead of him lay a valley with houses and people, with life in its streets. It was Grahamstown!
At last! Or was it a dream? He was too tired even to pinch himself as he clattered into the street and headed for the garrison.
With trembling hands he pulled out the dispatch he had brought with him all the way from Natal and gave it to the commander. At that moment he gave no thought to his feat of endurance, or to the idea that the story of his amazing ride would still be told a hundred years hence. All he knew was that he had done his duty, that the British soldiers in Natal would be helped and that he did not have to sit in the saddle for another day.
Story Time � 1984-1989 by Rubicon Press CC