XIII
COMMANDO SUFFERINGS
The horsemen rode generally two by two, partly in front of the waggons as advance-guard, and behind as rear-guard, each corporal with his men in his place by his Veld-Kornet. The Krugersdorpers were no longer allowed to leave their places before they had permission from their corporal. Even those burghers who were most disorderly in the beginning now saw the necessity of discipline, and were obedient to the commands of their officers.
It was a mixed crew of old and young. But the majority were still in the prime of life, and proof against the privations of guerilla life. The old men among us were all men whose powerful constitutions were yet unbroken. It was praiseworthy of them that in their old age they were willing to suffer the difficulties and dangers of a wandering life for their country's sake, for although their constitutions were strong, they were susceptible to cold and damp, the effects of which they could not shake off. There were also many brave little boys, who were thus early initiated into the privations of commando life; but they shared all bravely, in a careless spirit of adventure.
Here and there were some Uitlanders who had remained faithful to us. All the others had gradually disappeared, either because they were taken prisoners, or killed through their somewhat foolhardy courage, or because they had left the country in disappointment. The townspeople were by no means superior to the farmers. There were traitors and 'hands-uppers' among them as well. We have been bitterly disappointed in people of all classes, but particularly in the so-called 'gentlemen.'
Our condition and appearance were indeed striking. During the heat of the day, when the dust lay thickly about us, we sat in our ragged clothes, with shaggy, uncombed beards, on our poor, hardly-treated ponies, meekly staring in front of us, seemingly indifferent to the moral hurt that we were suffering and the physical pain that we felt in all our limbs after a long, tiring ride. At the start of one of our journeys an animated conversation sometimes helped to pass the time, but it soon flagged, leaving us staring in front of us in the usual dispirited, dull way. Our talk became daily more prosaic and superficial. We had not the energy to express our deepest sentiments, and things which were formerly pleasant were strange to us now. We had no spur to enliven our thoughts in our monotonous life. To the careless there was nothing startling in this moral numbness, but the more sensitive among us grieved over it, and were humiliated by the shallowness that had come into our lives.
The small necessaries of our material existence had become essential to our happiness. If we lost a knife, or if a pot or kettle broke, or a mug was stolen from us, we were depressed for days, as if a heavy blow had fallen upon us. It was not easy to fight against that bitter feeling of depression. Our only safety lay in the fact that we were conscious of the demoralizing effect of these small disappointments of commando life, for to know one's self is always the first step towards conversion.
Some qualities of our highest nature were systematically suppressed. We prided ourselves on our fierce hatred of the enemy, and considered it a mark of patriotism, and we rejoiced when he fell beneath our bullets or when the plague broke out. We even wished that a great European war might begin, if only we might keep our country, and as a consequence of our righteous patriotism an inclination to cruelty became one of the predominant traits in the character of the burghers.
The commando life tended to make many of us melancholy. Wherever we came the thought was forced upon us that our beloved country was deeply injured, morally and materially. We ourselves saw everywhere homes and fields destroyed, women and children taken away by force, and cattle stolen; and rumours told of the most terrible outrages committed upon helpless women and children. If it were not that one becomes hardened to all outward impressions, our commando life would have been pitiful indeed. So we became hardened to almost all these things, but the thought of the ill-treatment of those dear to us, on whose happiness our own happiness depends, was constantly with us, and to that we did not become hardened.
It is impossible to enter into the sufferings of the married men. Much was suffered in silence. Some men got messages from their wives imprisoned in refugee camps, bidding them surrender for the sake of their wives, since fighting was of no avail and the country was already lost. Who shall blame the man who rides away with an anxious heart to his wife and children, no matter what the consequences may be to himself? Another woman, with a different disposition and a different heart, sends word secretly to her husband that life in the prison camp is endurable, and that he must fight to the end. Then he stays, and proves himself worthy of the courage of his wife.
Some men gave the impression that they were indifferent to the suffering of wife and child. These were the scum of our people, who in time of peace were not of much importance, but were necessary for our fight. But the majority, by far the greater majority, were men who, even in the most troubled times, were faithful to the comrades with whom they began this struggle, the struggle for our independence.
Whenever we came to a 'uitspanplek' (a place where there is water to be found for the horses), some of us had to seek hurriedly for wood to make the fire, others to fetch water, and others to help in various ways. It was a regular struggle for existence. Those who came first got the least disagreeable work. Wood was scarce on the Hoogeveld where we happened to be, and the water was muddied by the first water-carriers. When the sun was very warm we made a shelter with our guns and our blankets. Our meals were simple. They consisted of meat and 'mealie-pap' morning, noon, and night, often for weeks without salt. We made coffee of burnt grain ground in a coffee-mill. During the war we learnt to drink all sorts of coffee—of wheat, oats, barley, sweet potatoes, maize, and even of peaches. We became so accustomed to a simple mode of life that our wants were few indeed. Even sugar we no longer missed. And we remained healthy and strong.
We lay in small groups round the fires, leaning against our saddles. Our moods were brighter after our tired bodies had had the needful refreshment and rest. The groups were often picturesque, some of us lying at our ease with soiled books in hands, others grouped round the fire, every now and again adding wood to the flames, and others, again, picking mites out of the biltong with a pocket-knife.
A shower had not much effect upon us. We were accustomed to letting our clothes dry on our bodies. Nature is very kind to people who are day and night in the open air. If the sun did not shine soon after a shower, we made a very deplorable appearance in our dripping clothes. But we never grumbled. We were generally cheerful, unless we were exhausted from fatigue.
We suffered most on those long nights when, for some reason or other, we could not sleep, for many of the burghers were troubled with fears for their dear ones. Often, after a long ride, we were too tired to prepare a meal, but simply flung ourselves against our saddles and slept before we had time to let our thoughts wander. But if the enemy were not at our heels, we often passed the long nights in sleeplessness, gazing up at the stars with the most bitter feelings in our hearts. No wonder that many a burgher grew gray. We were often kept awake by the tethered horses stumbling among the groups. Sometimes a man would jump up and strike at them till all the others awoke, too, and then there was great hilarity in the quiet of the night.
Sometimes a constant rain cast a shadow over the sunny Hoogeveld and made our lives sombre and almost unbearable. Then our tattered garments could not dry on our bodies, and everything about us was wet and dirty. Even in dry weather fuel was almost unattainable, for the treeless Hoogeveld had been almost exhausted by the many large commandos which had visited the 'uitspan' places. In wet weather it was almost an impossibility to make a fire.
Whoever had an ailment passed unpleasant nights then; each night meant a nail in his coffin. Even the constant rain the burghers bore cheerfully, and many a joke was passed along during an interval in the downpour. But in the morning, as we dragged our weary limbs out of our mud-baths, shivering from cold, we did not venture to put the conventional question, 'Did you sleep well?' to each other.
The spirit among the burghers was very different from what it had been. No swearing was heard, and quarrelling was exceptional. Thefts, too, were seldom committed. We called ourselves 'sifted'; traitors and thieves had gone over to the stronger party. I do not believe that any European army would have kept its moral tone so high under such demoralizing circumstances as did that small army of Boers with the help of their religion. Whereas in time of peace there was much difference in churches, especially in the Transvaal (although no difference in belief), now, during the war, the unity of belief in one Bible had become the means of raising the moral tone of the burghers.
During the last few months a plague had come amongst us that we had heard much about, and now caused us much trouble—a plague of lice. It is not an edifying subject, but anyone can understand how the itching caused many a sleepless night. We were not to blame. When we no longer were able to change our clothes, we could not guard against the vermin that had become a plague among the huge wandering armies of the enemy. Although we boiled our clothes, to our horror the nits appeared again.
XIV
BATTLE OF BOESMANSKOP—FLIGHT OF WOMEN
Fortunately, the enemy gave us a week's rest on the farm of Landdrost Schotte. During that time Veld-Kornet Meyer, with his small troop of Germans, blew up the electric factory at Brakpan.
Then we stayed a few days on Mr. Brown's farm, where a great many little commandos congregated that were camped on the banks of the river. Our horses became quite sleek again from the abundance of mealies they got there. On that farm we first used for fuel the poles that fenced in the farm. I distinctly remember how, after we had received the order from Commandant Kemp, we waited until after dark before pulling up the poles, and how grieved we were at the necessity for doing it. Since that time we have got over such scruples. Even if there were wood to be had on an outspan place, there was always a race to procure the best poles. Of course, when there was abundance of wood, the pulling up of poles was strictly prohibited.
At that time I made the acquaintance of a nephew of mine, Paul Maré, a boy of fourteen, with a noble countenance, who, like so many others of the same age, rode about with gun and bandolier, and was full of courage. When the enemy approached his mother's house he prepared for flight, but she took it for a joke. When she noticed that he was in earnest, she forbade him to go, as his father had been killed already, and he would in all probability be killed too. He merely answered, 'Because they have shot my father, I mean to shoot them now,' and rode away.
We did not like remaining long in one place doing nothing. We always became impatient, and wished to know when we could move on. But the Commandant always answered that he could not tell. And the more sensible of us thought, 'It depends on khaki.' This was really the case now. On the evening of January 28 we got the order to be in readiness. While General Beyers, with 400 or 500 men, passed to the rear of the enemy to destroy the Boksburg mines, our commando of horsemen moved rapidly in the direction of Boesmanskop in the Heidelberg district, to cut off the enemy who were pushing on to our part of the Hoogeveld. We arrived at Boesmanskop the following morning.
The parts of the country that we now passed through had not yet been destroyed by the enemy, but everywhere else the houses and farms were burnt and ruined in the most barbarous way. We were very anxious, therefore, to cut off the enemy's advance. They were camped to the north-west of Boesmanskop. A strong Boer guard occupied this kopje—the, only one in the neighbourhood; for the rest, the surroundings were the ordinary Hoogeveld with its mounds. We pushed up in a long line over a 'bult' that ran north-west of Boesmanskop. Our guns—only a few, as most had been sent away to be repaired—stood on top of this mound without any cover. Lieutenant Odendaal, a very brave gunner, did not like kopjes, but always placed his cannon on a mound, as the enemy's guns always fired too short or too long on account of the misleading distances. They did so in this instance, and the bombs flew far beyond us. Corporal Botman ordered me to stay with the horses at the foot of the 'bult,' while the burghers crept on to the top a few hundred paces further, expecting eventually to charge the enemy. Suddenly I heard, twice over, a noise like that of a train in the distance. My brother told me afterwards how he had seen a detachment of the enemy storming Boesmanskop, and how the burghers waited until they were close by, and then beat them back completely with a twice-repeated salvo.
For some time the guns of the enemy ceased firing, because, as I heard later on, Lieutenant Odendaal had shot down the gunners. When they made themselves heard again, they were more accurate in their aim; I most narrowly escaped the bombs. Four or five thundered around me in quick succession, as I fell and stooped and grasped the bridles of the rearing horses. Some of the horses pulled the bridles out of my hands and raced down the valley.
But the left wing of the enemy was surrounding us, and, like a swarm of birds that rise on the wing, the burghers fled back in among the tethered and the straying horses, and retreated as fast as they could. The enemy now bombarded Boesmanskop, so that the retreating burghers in the valley had a bad time of it with the bombs flying over their heads.
Many waggons of Boer families, fleeing for their lives, were pushing along the sides of the long mounds, and the enemy's bombs burst in their midst more than once—perhaps accidentally, perhaps because they knew that 'the Boer nation must be swept off the face of the earth.'
The women seemed to be in a panic. From all sides families came in carts and waggons—long rows of vehicles filled with poor, terror-stricken women and children; large herds of cattle were driven along by the Kaffir servants, but many of them fell into the enemy's hands. The burghers did their best to make a stand in order to give the waggons a good start, but retreated in good order when they saw no chance of checking the enemy's forward movement. Fortunately, a heavy shower fell in the afternoon and hindered the enemy in their advance, else many a waggon would have fallen into their hands.
It was no longer necessary for the burghers to resist for the sake of the waggons. The enemy had camped and left us, with the exception of the guard, to plod our way shamefacedly through the mud. Our ponies, with their quick, peculiar gait, soon caught up the heavily-laden waggons, and we supplied ourselves with mealies, flour, fowls, etc., that had been thrown overboard or left behind on a broken-down waggon. Such is the fortune of war, and the things were better in our hands than in those of the khakies.
When we rode up alongside the waggons, many a meeting took place between relatives and friends who had been parted for months. The women and girls drove the horses, and many of them walked with the Kaffirs in the mud next to the oxen. They did the work of the men in time of peace. Many of them had been delicately nurtured, in spite of the simplicity of their lives, and were not accustomed to the hard work. They were all Transvaal women, and wives and daughters of the burghers who had to look on helplessly at their sad flight. And, oh! the dear little heads of the children that peeped at us from out of the waggons! It was a cruel sight, and it moved us strangely.
Although most of the women were drenched, they were all cheerful, and seemed proud of taking an active part in the great struggle. And if a young man asked a girl whether he should ride next to her to help her, the answer was: 'No, thank you, we can manage; the men must fight now.' There were many old men and boys who preferred the society of the women to the danger of the bombs. Some of the women were not kind, and reproached us for being the cause of all this misery, as our appearance in the Hoogeveld had brought the enemy in its train.
The waggons were heavily laden with furniture and grain, some even with stoves, and they sank deep into the mud, as the roads were one mass of mud after the numerous waggons and thousands of cattle that had already passed along them. Long rows of vehicles were continually approaching from all sides, all going in the same direction, and when we came to Waterval River a sad but grand sight met our eyes. The river was full. Hundreds of waggons had been outspanned on the banks on either side. The women and children were doing their best to light the fires with the wet wood, and to cook some food. It was just before sunset, but there was no sun to cheer them on their way.
Against the sides of the mounds (bulten) the cattle were moving in black dense masses, making an almost deafening noise with their bleating and lowing. As we rode through the full river, we saw in mid-stream a cart that had stuck fast. A woman was standing in the water pushing at the back, while a girl held the reins. A few of our men jumped down from their horses and soon succeeded in getting the cart to the other side. But we could not stay to help the poor women and children. We rode on, inquiring everywhere after the trolleys and the commissariat. These were higher up on the other side of the river, so we had to cross once more, this time in the dark, at the risk of our lives.
Two little girls were drowned that evening, and the wheel of a waggon had passed over a girl's body. It had been better if the women had stayed at home and depended on the mercy of the enemy. They should not have undertaken this terrible journey. A woman cannot flee from place to place like a man, and life in a 'refugee'(?) camp would have been better; she should bear her sorrow bravely at home. And this was only the beginning of the misery. If they had remained at home, they might have saved their homes, but now the enemy was sure to destroy and burn the deserted farms.
During the day, when the flight was still a novelty, the women and girls were cheerful enough, but who can describe their heartache and misery during their enforced journey on the rainy nights? I do not know how all those waggons and cattle got through the swollen river that night. Twenty paces from where I lay a waggon was being inspanned; I heard the voices of men and women. An old man was talking. He threatened to off-load all the women on the first available place, as he had never in his life had so much trouble. A small boy and a Kaffir had their turn also; the boy was on horseback and led, or rather dragged, another horse that refused to move. He had to collect the cattle, which seemed to me almost an impossible task in the dark, among the many horses of the burghers. When he had found Kindermeid, Witlies had disappeared, and when Witlies was found, then Vaalpens was missing again. Kindermeid, a gray ox, was the most troublesome. Repeatedly it passed by me, followed by the boy dragging the unwilling horse. Then the boy exclaimed in sad, shrill tones, 'See how the mare jibs!' When his father angrily asked, 'Have you found Kindermeid now?' he answered, 'Yes, father, but now Vaalpens is missing; the mare jibs so, I can't get the cattle together!' When he had found them all and the rumbling of their waggon was dying away in the distance, I still heard him complain of the unwilling mare, in his sad, shrill little voice. It was a small episode in my life that I shall not easily forget. This was the last I saw of the flight of the women, for we had to stay behind to fight as we were retreating. Later on I heard many sad tales about it, which I cannot repeat in this little book of mine.
The poor women and children were indeed to be pitied, but we had no sympathy with the men who fled in the winter with their cattle to the Boschveld, and now sought our protection, though they had never fought themselves. The flight with the cattle was necessary, as the enemy would otherwise have exterminated them, but many of the men took advantage of the necessity, and sometimes three or four strong, sturdy men went with one waggon, where one man would have been ample.
XV
BATTLE OF CHRISSIESMEER—REUNION WITH GENERAL BEYERS
I will not describe our retreat, as nothing of importance occurred. We were constantly on the alert to move before the cunning French entrapped us within the circle that he was trying to draw around us.
At Trichardsfontein Malherbe and I had to go in search of our horses, which had strayed, so we were separated from our commando for some days. When we found our horses we went to Ermelo, and stayed there until the enemy were so close upon us that General Louis Botha, who happened to be at Ermelo, and knew of our arrival, sent to say that we must leave the town. We then joined his force and rode to Spion Kop.
'In the land of the blind the one-eyed is king!' Even so it was with Spion Kop of the Hoogeveld Ermelo. During the three years of my University life in that distant little country that stands by us now so well in our need, I often climbed a hill about the size of Spion Kop. That hill is famed for its height throughout the whole country, and bears the formidable name of 'the Amersfoort Mountain.'
While the officers were holding a council of war, Malherbe and I rode off to our commando. At Klipstapel we were allowed a few days' breathing time, and there we prepared for the night attack on Smith-Dorrien's camp, to the north of us. But our guide lost his way in the dark, and we had to return. It was decided, nevertheless, to attempt the attack the following night at Chrissiesmeer, where the camp was then. We had everything in our favour. We were a strong force of many commandos, and the enemy's force was not much larger.
That evening we were placed in quite a different order from the usual one. The men of each corporal's division rode next to each other. The Commandant or Veld-Kornet at the head, followed by the corporal with his ten or fifteen men riding abreast, was followed by the next corporal riding abreast with his men, etc. On looking back from the top of the hill in the moonlight, one saw a broad dark mass of fierce, determined men. Nearly every burgher had one or two extra horses, mostly mares with foals, that we had commandeered and trained during our retreat on the Hoogeveld. At that time every horse, trained or untrained, was put to use. It was a pity that the mares with their foals were not left behind, as they made a terrible noise with their whinnying. We walked our horses; we were not allowed to utter a word or to light our pipes—that was reasonable; but the neighing of the horses was not exactly in accordance with our silence. Every now and again, when the whinnying of the mares was at its worst, some burgher or other would give vent to an exclamation of impatience. Every now and again someone or other would light his pipe, taking care that neither the Veld-Kornet nor the enemy should see it. A dead silence reigned everywhere, broken only by the mares and their foals. These beasts caused us great uneasiness, but so did the order we received that we had to shoot sharp at the beginning of the attack, but then slowly, until it became light, so as to save some of our ammunition in case of need. We had to attack in the dark then. But what if the enemy, prepared for our arrival, were to pepper at us unexpectedly from a different direction, or to point their Maxims at us?
The greatest mistake of all was that we took our horses right up to the hill on the other side of which the khakies were. The horses were tired and had ceased neighing, but we should have left them some miles behind and walked on to make the attack as soon as it was light. An uncle of mine told me that he saw some men on horseback riding over the bull, whom he took to be our spies, but they were of course the enemy's guard.
When we had tethered our horses at the foot of the bult, we climbed up slowly, but before we could fall into position the enemy opened a sharp fire at us. We charged shouting 'Hurrah!' in wild enthusiasm, and fired as fast as we could straight ahead. The sparks flew up some twenty paces in front of us, and even after the fight we could not tell whether they came from our own guns or from those of the enemy. At intervals we heard the tick-tick-tick of a small Maxim, but owing to the dark we were not mown down. Some of the burghers threw themselves down behind us, and involuntarily one thought of the proverb, 'to hide in another's blood.' Whenever the firing slackened a few of our brave men charged, shouting out encouraging words, and again raised our enthusiasm. Both burghers on my right and on my left were wounded. The latter had a most demoralizing influence on the rest of the men, as he lay groaning and moaning in a heart-rending way. He was only slightly wounded, and eventually escaped on horseback. Our brave Commandant Botman went forward ten paces beyond the rest in his enthusiasm, and served as a target for the enemy. He was severely wounded, but walked back without a moan and fell down close behind me. I did not even know that he was wounded. I turned round to see if the burghers behind me would not take the initiative in the inevitable flight, as I was ashamed to take it upon myself. I did not take it at all amiss, therefore, when I saw several men looking round to see if the way were clear, and darting like an arrow back to their horses, for all round us our men were being shot down, and we did not know where the enemy's camp was, nor could we tell the effect of our shooting in the dark. A slight fog had arisen, through which the moon occasionally succeeded in dimly appearing. The day had dawned; we reached our horses in the greatest disorder, and heightened the confusion by shouting inquiries to each other after friends and relatives. Some did not wait to find their horses, but fled on foot; others jumped on strange horses. Some even escaped on khaki horses that had strayed from the camp.
As my brother and I galloped off, a man fell wounded close behind us, and the bullet struck the ground between us. The burghers rallied at a farm in the neighbourhood of the enemy's camp. Some of our men fled on, but most of them retreated with the guns to the commissariat trolleys, many without saddle, mackintosh or blanket, more hopelessly impoverished than ever, but not discouraged, for although the attack had been repulsed we were not defeated.
In this lay our strength, that we were not disheartened by our defeats, but were able constantly to rally and to renew the attack. We kept on exhausting the enemy by slight skirmishes that are not worth relating, but their effect on the whole weakened him and strengthened us.
On our side that day there were forty wounded, but only a few killed. It grieved us all that Commandant Botman had remained behind on the battle-field. He was universally liked for his bravery and for his simple Christianity. To our great joy, we heard later on that he had recovered, and had somehow succeeded in reaching Krugersdorp. Fortunately, the fog prevented the enemy from doing us much harm, and towards afternoon our cannon put a stop to their advance.
The attack on Smith-Dorrien's camp was worthy of a better result. In this, as well as in the Hekpoort and Boesmanskop battles, where also we had no position, the burghers showed great courage and goodwill. In my opinion, the officers should have given up the plan of attack after we had missed our way the night before and been obliged to return. The Kaffirs and traitors must have warned the enemy of our intention to attack, so that they could be in readiness for us.
The enemy were now all round us. We heard the firing of cannon on all sides, but that same night we undertook a cunning backward movement, and when the enemy closed their cordon an hour later the bird had flown. We were careful to avoid a repetition of Cronje's experience.
The burghers were very anxious about our lager. We had left it on Brown's farm on the Wilgeriver, when our commando advanced towards Boesmanskop. How the lager escaped I do not know, for we heard that the enemy were advancing from all sides—Standerton, Middelburg, etc. But we reached it in safety the very night that we slipped through the enemy's cordon.
We were now safely on our way back to Rustenburg, and had to leave General French with his 30,000 or 40,000 men to drive along helpless women and children, and all the cattle he could lay hands on. Commandant-General Louis Botha had strictly forbidden the women to leave their farms after the Battle of Boesmanskop, so that the enormous woman lager received no new additions.
Many of the farms were burned down, but some families had been left unmolested, because they said the enemy were ill at ease, owing to a rumour that General Beyers was going to attack them in the rear. The partly-burned granaries bore evidence to the great hurry the enemy were in. On some farms the very rooms that contained grain were set on fire.
Our constant retreat had a most demoralizing influence. This was felt even in our conversation and our expressions. We called this retreating 'kamping,'[A] and it became one of our most common expressions in our daily life. For 'Let us go!' we said 'Let us kamp!' or for 'This evening we start!' we said 'This evening we go on the kamp!' A typical expression was 'kamping' for our independence, when we could no longer withstand the enemy. If anyone boasted of his loyalty to his country and people, he merely said that he had 'kamped' along with the burghers wherever they had 'kamped.' We used in our conversation many military terms; for instance, 'to change one's position' was 'to go and lie with your saddle on another place.' 'I shall mauser you' meant 'I shall strike you.'
At Grootpan General Beyers again joined us, after having done the enemy some harm at Boksburg. He addressed us and explained his reason for countermanding the attack on Krugersdorp. He had told the secret to a few of his officers, who made it public property, so that the enemy had heard of it and were prepared for the attack.
Moreover, a great fault of the burghers had come to light at Nooitgedacht—namely, that they shirked their duty in their eagerness for plunder. He was afraid that if they took the town their plundering spirit would get the better of them and so give the enemy a chance of catching them or putting them to flight. Lastly he said that he was going to act in opposition to the orders received from the Commandant-General, and would send the Zoutpansbergers and Waterbergers home that evening, as it was impossible for them in their condition to undertake any military operations. He himself also was going home, but would return after a few weeks, as a large commando, led if possible by himself, was to invade Cape Colony.
Kemp was made fighting General; the Rev. Mr. Kriel left with General Beyers; Klaassen took the place of Kemp, and Liebenberg was appointed Field-Cornet of our commando.
The return to their homes of the Waterbergers and Zoutpansbergers roused a feeling of dissatisfaction in us. Owing to the horse-sickness in those regions, and the home-sickness of the men themselves, we concluded that we were not likely to see them again. We also thought it would have been better to have invaded the Colony long ago, instead of aimlessly wandering about the Hoogeveld as we had been doing. In all probability our Generals put off the invasion as long as possible because many of the men—nearly all the Waterbergers and Zoutpansbergers—were against it. Such were the difficulties against which our Generals had to fight.
In private, both Kemp and Beyers acknowledged to me that a march into the Colony was strictly necessary. I do not mean to criticise, but only to give an idea of the spirit reigning among the burghers at that time.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] 'Trappers.'
XVI
CAMPED NEAR TAFELKOP
General Beyers' force was again split into small commandos, which it was the intention of our officers to join into one large force, and so make their way through the ranks of the enemy. But this plan was not a success, for the enemy were too strong for us.
The Krugersdorp and Pretoriadorp commandos one night crossed the railway within sight of the khaki camp-lights at Irene Station—quite close to our capital, in full view of khaki's warning, 'No admittance!' We passed Zwartkop, crossed Dwarsvlei, and had to turn back to the right through Hartleyskloof, as we came across a camp of the enemy. We then entered the Moot district, dreaded for its terrible horse-sickness, and in the beginning of March we arrived at Tafelkop, to the north-east of Lichtenburg, near Mabaalstad.
Once, as I lay resting against my saddle, I heard an old Boer telling of the courage and hopefulness among the burghers from whom he came. They talked of nothing but peace. It was their belief that a European Sovereign on marriage may make a request which must be granted. He may even ask a million pounds or somebody's head, and cannot be refused. So, they said, Queen Wilhelmina had risen to make her speech at her wedding, and had requested absolute independence for the Republics. The Kings and Princes were against it, but could not break the old custom, and therefore peace would soon reign over our country. But such talk of 'peace' was an exception, not the rule. After the terrible experience of the last months, we had become resigned to our fate, and did not try to anticipate the future. We knew that we must fight with courage and energy, and the rest we left in God's hands. We had ceased to be curious about the plans of our Generals, which were never made known to us. Exhausted in body and spirit, we took no account of time. It was all one to us whether it were morning, noon or night; whether we had to march one, two, or three hours longer; whether we had to march at all, or to remain where we were. But we were not demoralized, not unnerved. An overworked horse allows himself to be caught and ill-treated afresh. The enemy, had only to fire at us to rouse our slumbering energy, for we suffered voluntarily, and were a support to each other, because of our firm conviction that we were giving our lives for the sake of our independence.
It rained when we arrived at Tafelkop, and when we had been there a week it still rained. The only clothes we possessed were beginning to rot on our bodies. Some of the burghers had a change of clothes on the trolleys; others made themselves trousers of their many-coloured blankets, in which they cut a remarkable figure. Others, again, were in tatters, and had to disappear on the few occasions that any lady visited us. Most of the men had no mackintoshes, but always looked forward to the sunshine that was sure to follow a heavy shower. But if the rain continued, we made huts of grass, or clubbed together in the few remaining tents, or if there happened to be an unburned farmhouse, we made for that.
When the rain continued at Tafelkop, and our limbs became stiffened with the cold, some of us went to an outhouse belonging to a neighbouring farm to seek shelter. During the day we sat there in our wet clothes staring dismally out into the rain. At night we tried to warm our naked bodies by covering ourselves with the dirty wool that happened to be lying there. All the outhouses in the neighbourhood were crowded with armed burghers in tatters. On the eighth day, when the welcome sun made its appearance once more, our clothes were still dripping.
Lately we had had fruit as a substitute for sugar; but the fruit season was over now, and we had to go back to meat and mealie-porridge, or mealie-porridge and meat.
In the Moot our horses died in such numbers—particularly the 'unsalted' mares—that many of our men had to walk. On March 10 my faithful brown pony Steenbok died of horse-sickness. For over a year he had carried me through thick and thin, and I could not bear to see his suffering. A few weeks later we got another lot of horses; I will not mention how, as the information might fall into the hands of the enemy. The people who still lived on their farms often told us that the few remaining fowls instinctively recognised khaki as an enemy, and made for the hedges and shrubs whenever they caught sight of him. So here, also, Nature looked after the survival of the species. The cows taken by the enemy also made their way back to their calves that khaki stupidly left behind, and so the little children could again have milk. Even the bees were not left undisturbed; but the bee is an enemy of any nasty-smelling thing, and therefore the dirty, perspiring khakies got many a sting, and the honey usually remained in the hives.
The enemy probably thought that we were helpless in our poverty. But a Boer is not easily made helpless. We patched our own shoes and carried the lasts about with us. Horseshoes and nails we made from the tires of wheels and telegraph-wires. Instead of matches we used two stones. When the enemy have burned and destroyed all our corn-mills, we will still have coffee-mills, and when those are gone we will do as the Kaffirs do, and grind our corn between two stones—and crushed and roasted maize is very good to eat.
The old Voortrekkers wore trousers made of untanned hide. We can do the same if khaki does not supply us with sufficient clothes. Our wives and children and our exiled men we cannot get out of khaki's hands, and that is the greatest difficulty in our way.
One of the greatest advantages we have over the enemy is that we are among friends, and can move about in small troops without having to depend on a base of operations, whereas they do well not to divide themselves in too small groups, or to venture too far from their base—even in large numbers.
The services in our camp were held by the Rev. Mr. Naudé—a man who kept the courage and the moral sense of the burghers up to the mark with his meek Christian spirit. He also formed the debating club that was such a welcome recreation to us. We often thought that the enemy would be surprised if they could know of the debates we had—for instance, 'Must the "hands-uppers" be allowed to vote after the war is over?' 'Must the Kaffirs or natives have more rights?' 'Is intervention advisable under the circumstances? etc. The men in the neighbourhood of Tafelkop were mostly 'hands-uppers,' so we confiscated their property, and their grain and cattle we took for the use of the lager, but we always left sufficient for the use of the women and children. The future of a farm on which a lager had camped for some time was dark indeed, for even the grain in the fields was destroyed by the demon of war. If the owner of the farm were not a 'hands-upper,' our officers usually succeeded in preventing the destruction. Sometimes the pulling up of the fencing was inevitable, as we were so short of fuel. The Boer women were sometimes forced to accept the protection of the enemy, after their farms and property had been destroyed by friend and enemy alike.
The negotiation of February 7, between Kitchener and Louis Botha, was read out to us at Tafelkop. The burghers were unanimous in condemnation of Kitchener's conditions, and were fully satisfied with Botha's short, vigorous answer. Had we indeed fought so long and so fiercely only to become an English colony, and not to be allowed to carry arms unless we had a license? And for the Kaffirs to be eventually allowed to vote? The men who were attached to their families and farms, but preferred losing all to becoming 'hands-uppers,' were unanimous in declaring Kitchener's conditions unacceptable, and all were ready to fight to the bitter end. We often spoke of the terrible suffering of our women and children in the refugee camps, and sometimes doubted whether it were not better for their sakes to give in. We did not know whether patriotism were worth the shedding of so much innocent blood. It cost us more than we can tell to remain firm and brave in our undertaking.
At that time we also heard of De Wet's retreat from Cape Colony, but not officially. It was broken to us gently, and at first as if he had been successful, so that we all thought peace was to follow soon.
How we rejoiced!
But a few days later De Wet's official report was read out to us, and then our courage sank indeed. What was the good of our fighting if the Colony would not help us?
The disappointment was not great enough to make us lay down our arms, but we knew it would be many a long day before peace was in the land. How long should we still be chased from place to place? When would there be rest for our exhausted bodies? And how we longed for our dear ones, if only we should find them alive!
CONCLUSION
BATTLE OF STOMPIES—IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY
We stayed fully three weeks at Tafelkop. I was appointed commissary of the Krugersdorp commando, and rode round to all the farms to procure the needful for our commando. As General De la Rey had been camping close by at Rietfontein for some time, there was not much left to commandeer, unless we deprived the women whose husbands were in the veld of the necessaries of life.
Our lager was moved from Tafelkop to Rietpan, from whence a few hundred of our horsemen started with some guns and a few trolleys for Groot Kafferkraal, in Hartbeestfontein district. General De la Rey had come over to organize the expedition in person, and accompanied General Kemp. I went with a man called Jooste to the neighbourhood of Lichtenberg and Klein Kafferkraal to commandeer cattle. There I heard many tales of the enemy's behaviour as they passed through a week before.
For some reason or other the houses there had not been burnt, perhaps owing to the verbal negotiation between Botha and Kitchener. I know of only one house that was burned down there. That was the finest house in the neighbourhood and belonged to Willem Basson. Mrs. Basson herself told me how it happened. Her husband had fled with the cattle when the enemy came along. The soldiers asked her for money. They said such a fine house must contain a great deal of money, and when she refused they became most impertinent. The finding of a packet of dynamite in the coach-house afforded a fine excuse. The dynamite was used by Basson for the making of wells. On finding the packet they shouted 'Hurrah!' and rushed off with it to the camp close to the house. They came back after a while and stormed the house, smashing the windows with stones. Truly a heroic storming of a fortress held by women! They destroyed everything in the house, and the women and children were obliged to flee to Mrs. Scheffers at Klein Kafferkraal, where I met them.
We know of many cases of cruelty and violence, cases that have roused us to a passion of hatred.
I do not believe that the cases of violence, which are not spoken of because of the horror, are tolerated by the military authorities, who are probably ignorant of them. One can understand that the worst were committed by isolated patrols who could give free vent to their evil passions. We cannot always hold the chief officers responsible for acts committed by individual soldiers, neither are our officers responsible for the unlawful acts of individuals on our side. But if the English, with their national pride and obstinacy, deny these acts of violence, we can give them sufficient proof of more cases than one.
I was not present when the Krugersdorpers attacked Babington's force near Lensdenplaats, in the neighbourhood of Groot Kafferkraal. But the following morning, when they were retreating, I joined them with some cattle, and was present at the Battle of Stompies. The night before the battle I heard De la Rey's order given to Kemp to march his men at four o'clock the following morning in the direction of the enemy. He was told to retreat fighting, in case the enemy attacked, so as to give our reinforcements an opportunity of attacking in the rear. Kemp ordered the lager, or, rather, the few waggons, to retire to Bodenstein's farm the following morning.
While we were busy inspanning we heard the enemy's bomb-Maxim, and before the waggons had forded the dangerous drift of the donga near Bodenstein's farm the bullets flew over our heads from the bult behind us. The women fled into the house and the burghers retreated as fast as they could. The enemy had surrounded us in the night, and each burgher had to do his utmost to escape from out of the half-circle. The few who stayed behind to defend the guns were soon obliged to fly after the rest, and to abandon one gun still on the other side of the drift. The others might have been saved if the women's lager had not impeded their flight by obstructing the way.
We retreated to Vetpan. Those of the burghers who retreated more to the right in the direction of Stompies were the best off, as the right wing of the enemy had to be on its guard not to enter the wood there. The enemy fired at us from horseback to enhance our panic, which was clever of them, as it was impossible for us to turn in any direction. My horse was overworked, and had changed its pace into a heavy gallop, a sure sign that it would not last much longer. When I looked round, I saw a few khakies riding on ahead, making our burghers 'hands-up.' Fortunately, someone released a spare horse; I mounted it without a saddle and made good my escape, but was incapable of riding for several days after.
Our men made no attempt to check the enemy's progress. They all fled, each one bent on saving himself. A Boer, if once he flies, is not easily turned aside. But it must be remembered that our horses were terribly overworked. They had to live on nothing but grass, and very little of that. We all also recognised the impossibility of checking the enemy, as we ran the risk of shooting our own men and women; so our only chance lay in flight.
The horses of the enemy were soon 'done up,' and they had to satisfy themselves with our guns—two large ones that we had taken from them at Colenso, a damaged bomb-Maxim and several smaller ones. They took 136 prisoners, among whom were Lieutenant Odendaal, 32 artillerists, 13 burghers, and for the rest women and children and some big, full-grown cowardly men who were in the habit of fleeing with the women and children. The greater part of the women's lager fell into their hands. The few waggons of Generals Smuts and Kemp that they captured were of no importance. Jooste and Malherbe were also taken prisoners.
I rode with General De la Rey to Tafelkop, where our lager was stationed. In a week's time I was back again at Stompies. I had been there scarcely an hour, when the tidings came that the enemy were camped on Willem Basson's farm. The following morning before daybreak I was on my way to Rietfontein. There, too, I had been only about an hour, when another column came down upon me from the direction of Ventersdorp. I fled to Tivee Buffelgeschiet with two boiled mealies and a piece of meat in my hands. Before I reached that farm, half an hour's ride, my horse was done up. I crept behind an ant-hill and prepared to defend myself against four scouts who seemed to be coming straight towards me. Suddenly, however, they turned off in the direction of their main-guard, because, as I afterwards heard, they were threatened by eight of our scouts.
But the khakies were nearing me, and I was obliged to lead my horse into a mealie-veld and to lie down full length in the rain. They did not appear, however, and I concluded that they had camped at Rietfontein, so I walked my horse to the farm of Mrs. Jansen, one of the few hospitable women in that sparsely inhabited country. She hastily informed me that the khakies had been there.
The eight burghers soon returned, among them a young man who was nursing a wounded man on the farm. In the night we went into the veld with a small brother of his, who rode a mule, and returned in the morning to watch the enemy's movements from the roof of the house. My horse was so ill with horse-sickness that it shook under me. The enemy suddenly appeared on the long bult (hill) along which I had come the day before. I carried my saddle into the house and fled into the veld. From behind an ant-hill I watched the enemy shooting my poor sick horse. They passed by me several times, but at last I was discovered, and had to give up my beloved Mauser without a chance of defending myself. My two companions escaped. This happened on April 3, 1901.
Fortunately, I fell into the hands of decent khakies who did not insist on examining my old veld-shoes that I was using as a money-box, so I was able to keep my precious four pounds. They took from me only a few trifles by way of curiosities, and said I was sure to be robbed of them sooner or later by the soldiers in the camp. I was told that I could congratulate myself that I was made prisoner, as many columns were coming down upon us from all directions, so that we would be obliged to surrender that very day. I answered that the war had given sufficient proof that their expectations were not always realized.
When the officers of the guard were told that I was taken under arms, a curt order was given to 'Let him walk.' When I protested and pointed out that I was a prisoner of war and not a criminal, I was treated with consideration as an ordinary soldier. I was taken by Babington's force.
The following day the waggon lager arrived at Tafelkop, and the cavalry that had been sent on to capture our lager joined the camp minus any prisoners. When the enemy's lager arrived at Potchefstroom a week later, it brought along seventeen or eighteen 'hands-uppers,' one ambulance doctor, several families, and one prisoner of war. Six of the 'hands-uppers' told me that the whole month we were camped at Tafelkop they had hidden from us in their bedrooms so as not to be obliged to break their oath of neutrality.
I came across an old acquaintance of mine in the lager—Phister, who had served under Commandant Boshoff. I knew that he had been wounded in the leg at the Battle of Stompies and taken by our men to Rietpan. On the trek from Ventersdorp to Potchefstroom I discovered him lying on his back in the blazing sun on an open trolley, near to Potchefstroom; he shouted to me that he had had nothing to eat during the whole of the eighteen hours' trek.
In Potchefstroom our trolley, with the twelve 'hands-uppers,' the ambulance doctor, and myself, was sent in the direction of the prison. People came towards us from all directions. Some women called out to us: 'Why were you so stupid as to let yourselves be caught?' Others inquired, weeping, after husbands and sons.
When we got to the prison I alone was detained, and had the disagreeable experience of being locked up. The ambulance doctor was dismissed, as he was 'Not guilty'; and the 'hands-uppers' were taken to the refugee camp.
The treatment that the prisoners of war receive varies, and depends very much on the prisoners themselves and on the men into whose hands they fall. I was allowed to see my mother and sister, who obtained a pass to come from Pretoria to see me. But I have seen the guards roughly send away weeping women who were begging to be allowed a few words only with their dear ones.
At Elandsfontein Station the Transvaal colours worn by some of the prisoners of war were taken away by force. On the long journey to Ladysmith we were packed like herrings in open trucks, with insufficient covering for the cold nights.
The Ladysmith camp contained chiefly burghers who had been 'tamed' by the enemy, and were ready to take the oath of allegiance. They were well treated.
On April 3 I was taken prisoner, and on May 6 I was on board the Manila, together with 490 other prisoners of war, on our way to India.
The burghers, accustomed to a free, independent life, suffered horribly from want of space and insufficient and bad food. They could not get over the idea of having to appear twice daily for the roll-call, although there was no escape possible. But their sense of humour did not suffer.
Our burghers acknowledge that travelling is an education in itself, but they one and all prefer travelling as free men—first or second class—and they even prefer the high walls and limited space of the fortress to being a prisoner-of-war passenger on board the steamer.
The long, galvanized-iron bungalows in which we live here have zinc roofs to guard against the heat of the tropical sun, but at any rate the wind can blow through the openings on either side. The burghers are kept alive and in pretty good health by an extremely temperate manner of life. Once a week they are taken by a strong guard for a walk an hour beyond the fort. They never get out on parole. As far as we are concerned, they might even take cannon along with them to guard us, if only they would take us out oftener.
Here, too, the moral tone of the burghers is kept up by religious services, and by the great devotion of the Rev. Mr. Viljoen, clergyman of Reitz, in the Orange Free State, who is a fellow-prisoner of ours. The gaiety is kept up by sports and by the companionship of many children. The sorrow is enhanced by the presence of many gray-headed old men and by sad and heart-breaking tidings. 'Guard, is there any news this morning?'
We are grieving with the grief of the exile, but we are waiting patiently, and hoping still that a dove will bring us a branch with our colours—Orange, green, red, white and blue: peace and independence.