South Africa and the Transvaal War, Vol. 3 (of 8) / From the Battle of Colenso, 15th Dec. 1899, to Lord Roberts's Advance into the Free State, 12th Feb. 1900

Meanwhile the Naval guns were unceasing in their activity, and made an appalling accompaniment to the afternoon siestas in which many, owing to the excessive heat, were inclined to indulge. For strategical reasons it was now found necessary to blow up the road-bridge over the Tugela, and thus prevent the Boers from advancing further to the south or spying upon our positions.

Extra precautions were taken in regard to the white flag. It began to be believed at last that the Boer would take an unfair advantage of the Briton whenever he should get a chance. Strangely enough, our officers seemed to have forgotten or disregarded the object-lesson of the tragic affair of Bronker’s Spruit. Yet Boer “slimness” was then well enough established. The unfortunate Colonel Anstruther caused to be printed in the Transvaal Government Gazette a bi-lingual proclamation, informing the Boers that, in consequence of the many treacherous uses to which the white flag had been put, he would in future recognise the emblem only under the following conditions: two Boers accompanied by an officer, and all unarmed, must approach the lines bearing the white flag aloft. The British soldiers were also advised to keep well under cover whenever the flag was displayed. This showed that reliance on Boer honour would in no case be attempted. At the present date Boer morality had not improved, and it was even declared that the Free Staters had made their women boil down their national flag, so that in its pallid state it might at a little distance be mistaken for the white flag, and come in handy in case of need.

On the 20th of December a picket, consisting of seven men belonging to the 13th Hussars, was surprised some five miles from camp, in the direction of Weenen, by a party of sixty Boers. These cautiously crept round some kopjes to where the outpost was stationed. A smart tussle ensued. Two men were killed and seven horses were lost. No sooner had information of the fight reached camp than some of Bethune’s and Thorneycroft’s Mounted Infantry were despatched to the rescue, but the Boers, on perceiving these reinforcements, quickly fled and thus escaped punishment.

At this time the second advance for the relief of Ladysmith was very secretly being organised, but no one knew exactly when Sir Redvers Buller meant to move, or whether he intended to give up the idea of a frontal attack altogether. Our Generals were criticised for making frontal attacks, but Clausewitz declares that the attempt to turn the flank of the enemy can only be justified by a great superiority; this superiority may be either actual superiority of numbers, or it may follow from the way in which the lines of communication are placed. Unfortunately we had no favouring strength; the Boers outnumbered us everywhere, and not only did they exceed us numerically, but their mobility enabled them so quickly to move from front to flank positions that they were, on desire, facing us at any moment. In fact the Boer army had no flank, and therefore the vast amount of after-the-event wisdom which was gratuitously handed about by “the man in the street” was absolutely wasted.

An unfortunate incident now occurred. Capt. James Rutherford and Mr. Grenfell, S.A.L.H., while visiting the pickets, disappeared. They apparently rode into the midst of the enemy’s scouts, who were everywhere prowling about, and were forced to surrender. The report of the capture was brought to the camp by native runners, who stated that the officers had been removed to Pretoria. However, for two gallant Britons lost there was one gained, for at the very time Mr. Winston Churchill had almost miraculously made himself free of his captors.

The story of his escape reads like a novel; but truth is stranger than fiction. When removed to Pretoria after the disaster to the armoured train at Chieveley, he almost gave up hope of escape; indeed he had every reason so to do, for on the 12th of December he was informed by the Transvaal Government’s Secretary for War that there was little chance of his release. Whereupon, with many doubts and misgivings, he discussed with himself the best means of struggling for freedom. The State Schools Prison was well guarded; it was surrounded by a high wall, and the sentries were vigilant in the extreme. He formed for himself a plan, however, and once when the back of the sentry was momentarily turned he took his courage in both hands as the French say, rushed at the six-foot wall, scaled it, and let himself down into a neighbouring garden before his movement could be detected. The garden was the garden of an inhabited house. There were lights in the windows; more, there were visitors on the verandah, and presently, ramblers among the paths! Moments of horror as the escaped hid in the trees seemed to become years, discovery appeared to be merely a matter of moments. But evidently the Fates decided that so useful a member of creation—warrior, writer, and politician—could not be spared by society or his country, and in a little while Mr. Churchill found himself wandering, undisguised and unrecognised, through the streets of the town. Burghers passed him, passengers brushed his shoulders. Nobody asked his business. It was evident that Fate wanted him. The stars said so, and following their direction he struck out towards the Delagoa Railroad. He knew that he dared ask his way of none; he was aware that he must make the most of the cloak of night; he was intimate enough with Boer customs to be certain that in a few hours his description would be posted throughout the two Republics. The present, and only the present, was his. He walked along the line, evading the watchers on bridges and culverts, and determining to stick to the rails, without which he might find himself lost or wandering back in the teeth of the enemy. Once free of the town, he bided his time cautiously in the neighbourhood of an adjacent station. There he watched the coming of a train, and just as it steamed past him, with an alacrity and agility born of sheer despair, he made a leap towards a truck, grabbed at a hook on the edge, boarded it, and was soon burrowing deep in a cargo of coal-sacks. There he lay, grimy, exhausted, and almost distraught, but happy. He was free. Every minute the anxiety for freedom had grown within him, till now, fighting his way towards it, it had become an almost savage passion. He had decided he would never go back. No one should capture him. But this was easier to swear than to accomplish. To escape detection it was necessary again to risk his life—to leap off the train as he had leapt on it, while the machinery was in full swing and the driver ignorant of the existence of his distinguished passenger. Before dawn, therefore, he emerged from the coal-heap, and with a flying leap landed flat on the railroad. He gathered himself together, and by sunrise was concealed in a wood, his only companion for some time being a vulture. The sojourn in the cool boskage of the Transvaal was fraught with good luck, and at dusk when the fugitive emerged he was another man. At last he was able to gather his forces together for another trip on a passing train. There was always danger though—danger because it was necessary to hug the line, and where the line was, there also were railway guards, or at least humanity—inimical humanity, who most probably were plotting his ruin. Plod, plod, plod; so passed the hours, scrambling along in the dead of night through sluits and dongas in the effort to avoid the direct neighbourhood of huts, bridges, stations, and yet keep in touch with the winding iron track that led to the longed-for sea. For five days and nights he persevered, tramping after dark and sneaking under cover all day, and dimly conscious that the hue and cry had gone forth, and that every man’s hand in the enemy’s country was now turned against him. On the sixth day he managed again with amazing good fortune to safely board a train, and this time it was one going from Middleburg to Delagoa Bay. Again he burrowed among sacks and carefully hid himself, so carefully, indeed, that owing to his extreme precaution discovery was evaded. The train was searched, the sacks were prodded. Deep down, scarcely daring to breathe, lay the man they were seeking—an inch or two off—just an inch or two off. He drew a long breath and praised God for his escape. After that he passed some sixty hours in all the agonies of suspense. Famine and thirst preyed on him, and active horror lest all his exertions should be in vain, lest, at the very last moment, the whole struggle of hope and wretchedness would end in dire and fatal disaster. But he was preserved. He arrived at Lourenço Marques on the 21st of December, and from there proceeded to Natal. “I am very weak, but I am free.” Such were the words of his telegram; no wired words ever meant more. “I have lost many pounds in weight, but I am lighter in heart; and I avail myself of this moment, which is a witness to my earnestness, to urge an unflinching and uncompromising prosecution of the war.” In regard to Mr. Winston Churchill’s arrival among his friends in Natal, an eye-witness wrote:—

“The 23rd of December last was a memorable day at Durban, perhaps the most memorable since that on which the Boers’ ultimatum was published. From Lourenço Marques had come the exciting intelligence that young Winston Churchill, a distinguished member of a world-renowned race, had succeeded in evading his jailers at Pretoria, and, after a series of thrilling adventures, had arrived safely at Delagoa Bay. The telegrams had further announced that the hero had immediately shipped on board the Rennie liner Induna and would land at Durban that very afternoon. The fame of Mr. Churchill as a soldier and an author was already established. The history of his gallantry both in India and at Omdurman was already well known to every good Natalian before he first stepped ashore there as one of the war correspondents of the Morning Post. His subsequent courageous conduct at Chieveley at the unfortunate incident of the armoured train and his capture by the Boers, now capped by his marvellous escape from Pretoria, had set Durban agog with excitement, and filled all and sundry with hearty desires to afford him a right royal welcome on his landing again on British soil.

“The brilliant summer sunshine, tempered by a fresh sea-breeze which sent a soft ripple across the deep blue surface of the magnificent harbour; the bold headland of the bluff contrasting vividly against the streets of iron-roofed dwellings in the township; the large numbers of ocean-going steamers and sailing craft, gay with bunting; the eager, expectant crowd of every class of society, from gaily-dressed ladies to wharf labourers, refugees, and Kaffirs in but shirts and trousers, all contributed to the completion of a picturesque panorama never to be forgotten. Long before midday did we assemble in our thousands. When it was whispered about that the Induna would berth alongside the steamer Inchanga, and that Mr. Churchill must cross the decks of the Inchanga before stepping ashore, a rush was made for her, and, in spite of all the efforts of the officers and crew, the crowd swarmed like bees on her. They took possession of every available point of vantage; they invaded the sacred precincts of the captain’s bridge; they braved the perils of the rigging; they huddled together on the ‘fo’cas’le’; they filled every boat; and, heedless of fresh paint, they clung affectionately to the ventilators and the funnel.

“After having been several times reported the Induna rounded the point at half-past two. Amid breathless expectation she steamed slowly across the harbour. Standing beside the captain on the bridge a smallish, clean-shaven man was descried, and the crowd at once recognised him as the hero whom they had assembled to honour. A thousand good British cheers broke the silence, a thousand lusty throats shouted a heartfelt welcome. But this was not all. The sturdy Natalians did not stop at shouting. The moment the Induna was moored Mr. Churchill, smiling, was seized bodily by twenty pairs of brawny arms, was patted and thumped on the back by hundreds of applauding hands, and finally, after being nearly strangled by over-zealous admirers who were waving hats and handkerchiefs and crying ‘Bravo!’ and ‘Well done!’ he was carried shoulder-high across the decks of the Inchanga and deposited in a ricksha, whence a speech was demanded. In a few modest sentences Mr. Churchill good-humouredly narrated some of the more prominent episodes of his exploit, and a start was made for his hotel, the ricksha-boy being assisted more or less by some fifty amateur ricksha-men and escorted by a majority of the crowd. After picking up the editor of the Natal Mercury on the way, and installing him in state by the side of Mr. Churchill, the hotel was at last reached, and the demand for another speech having been acceded to, Mr. Churchill was permitted at four o’clock to retire from the public gaze. The same night he left Durban for the front.”

The following is a copy of the letter written by Mr. Winston Churchill to Mr. de Souza prior to escaping from prison:—

“State Schools Prison, Pretoria.

“Dear Mr. de Souza,—I do not consider that your Government was justified in holding me, a press correspondent and a non-combatant, as a prisoner, and I have consequently resolved to escape. The arrangements I have succeeded in making with my friends outside are such as to give me every confidence. But I wish, in leaving you thus hastily and unceremoniously, to once more place on record my appreciation of the kindness which has been shown me and the other prisoners by you, by the commandant, and by Dr. Gunning, and my admiration of the chivalrous and humane character of the Republican forces. My views on the general question of the war remain unchanged, but I shall always retain a feeling of high respect for the several classes of the Burghers I have met, and on reaching the British lines I will set forth a truthful and impartial account of my experiences in Pretoria. In conclusion, I desire to express my obligations to you, and to hope that when this most grievous and unhappy war shall have come to an end, a state of affairs may be created which shall preserve the national pride of the Boers and the security of the British, and put a final stop to the rivalry and enmity of both races. Regretting that circumstances have not permitted me to bid you a personal farewell, believe me, yours very sincerely,

“Winston Churchill.

“December 11, 1899.”

CHRISTMAS AT THE CAPE AND NATAL

We had arrived at what might be termed a breathing spell. There was no serious movement in the direction of the Modder River, and Lord Methuen was evidently biding his time. General Gatacre felt himself too weak to take up any very active or offensive step, while General French contented himself with such harassing and cleverly annoying operations as kept the enemy, like a man with a mosquito round his nose, from napping. There was great hope of better things, however, for it was known that the Dunottar Castle had left England and was conveying to the Cape—in addition to Lord Roberts—Lord Kitchener and Major-General T. Kelly-Kenny, the Commander of the Sixth Division. Besides these were the following officers of Lord Roberts’s Staff:—Major-General G. T. Pretyman; Colonel Viscount Downe, C.I.E.; Major H. V. Cowan; Captain A. C. M. Waterfield; Major J. F. R. Henderson; Major C. V. Hume; Brevet-Major G. F. Gorringe, D.S.O.; Colonel Lord Erroll; Commander the Hon. S. J. Fortescue (Naval Adviser to Lord Roberts); Captain Lord Herbert Scott; Captain Lord Settrington.

This showed that when at last we set to work we did so with a will. The forces in South Africa before the war had amounted to 25,000, which number was augmented by 55,000 on the arrival of the First Army Corps. Late in December came the Fifth Division of about 11,000, under Sir Charles Warren, followed by the Sixth Division of 10,000 men. The Seventh and Eighth Divisions of 10,000 men respectively were shortly to increase the forces at the disposal of Lord Roberts, together with some 2000 additional Cavalry, 10,000 Yeomanry, 9000 Volunteers, seven battalions of Militia, drafts for regiments at the front amounting to 10,000, and about 20,000 local forces. The first Colonial contingents consisted of about 2500 men, and these were to be followed by second contingents of like strength. The Naval Brigade was composed of about 1000; so that in all, roughly estimated, we were on the eve of putting 184,000 men into the field.

Christmas day at the Cape was solemnised with much speechifying, both from Dutch pulpits and Dutch partisans, and not a few peacefully disposed persons in this time of general goodwill lugged in Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman by the ears and quoted him to suit their purpose. That amiable worthy had said the war could have been avoided, and that cheap and incontrovertible statement the Bond got hold of and chewed and rolled on the tongue as an accompaniment to its plum-pudding and mince-pies. Of course, the war could have been avoided. Of course, it would have been quite possible to voluntarily retire from the Cape and allow South Africa to become entirely Dutch. In the same way we could give up governing India and hand it over to Russia and confine our expenses and our energies to Great Britain, the water supply, the development of national cookery, and the propagation of cabbages. But peace with dishonour was fortunately not to the taste of the British public, and those who spent their Yuletide in active service were far too devoted to the sacred duty of maintaining the prestige of the Empire to sigh for the domestic hearth and regal sirloin that might have been theirs had the Government extended its accommodating apathy a few months longer.

There were no holly decorations and displays of bunting, no rubbings of hands and vigorous snow-balling, because the South African sun blazed with the glare of beaten brass, and the thermometer stood to the height of some 100 degrees at midday. But there was a vast amount of joke-making and hearty goodwill nevertheless, and many prayers for friends and family and Queen.

In Natal there were lively doings in honour of the festal season. At a time when even cracker manufacturers wax poetic, the journalistic poets thought it their duty to burst into rhyme. The Natal papers indulged in some jocose doggerel, which would have been comic had it not been deeply tragic. The lines ran thus: “To Ladysmith”—the only lines, by-the-bye, that did run there—

But Tommy was pleased and thought the stanza a capital joke. He meant to get there directly, and merely quoted the proverb about “slow and shure”—there were so many Irishmen about, fine fellows, who believed in themselves and they were shure about everything. They had nothing to do with doubt, for doubt, after all, is the mother of diffidence!

And some of these rollicking youngsters managed to retain their native good-humour in most distressing circumstances. A good story was told of one gallant private in hospital who had lost his leg but persisted in apostrophising the missing limb whenever it ached. “Be aisy wid ye. Can’t ye be quiet? Ye’ll niver take me into the foight again. Ohovo!”

Other examples of amazing good-temper and pluck on the part of the wounded filled all eye-witnesses with pathetic admiration. One man, a quondam music-hall singer, carried his jocose art into his sick-bed. A Boer prisoner had lost his arms, and the poor fellow helplessly shook his head when offered tobacco. But the music-hall singer saw the shake of the head and tearful eye that accompanied it. In a moment, with gymnastic dexterity, he had placed his arms round the Boer and performed the office of the missing ones, giving the fellow the advantage of a good smoke. Another of our men who had lost his right arm co-operated with a Boer who had lost his left, and between them they rolled cigarettes to the great satisfaction of both. While they were in hospital another sufferer pretended to be in no way depressed by the loss of his arm, and ventured on mild whimsicalities regarding the economy of being able to share a single pair of gloves with any right-handed man who might also have lost a limb!

On the whole, well or ill, Tommy was temporarily in clover. The fat of the land was being sent out by fervent admirers at home. Indeed he was getting somewhat inundated with worsted goods which the fair hands of his countrywomen had been devotedly manufacturing. Jack Tar, despite his magnificent work, was not so highly distinguished, at least so he thought, and occasionally vented his disgust into private ears. But, as one of them said, they’d had a treat for Christmas—the treat of a wash! It was bathing under difficulties, however, for one half of the men had to keep guard with loaded rifles while the other half wallowed in water that, in harmony with the general scheme of things in camp, was also of kharki hue!

Tommy at the front was externally scarcely the Tommy of our acquaintance. His bright spick and span exterior was gone. Kharki had sobered him and planed down his individuality. His uniform no longer sat without a crease. It was washed and worn and shrunken from hard and honourable usage, and his carriage was no longer the carriage of Tommy on parade. He seemed to have taken a leaf out of Jack’s book, and the slight slouch became him well. It gave him the air of a workman and an individual, and seemed to point to the fact that there was no longer occasion for him to be judged by appearances. We knew the inner man now. He did his duty grandly, and his splendid courage and perseverance had made him independent of the pomp and panoply of war. In the matter of “grit” they were all alike. But in externals they had curious differences, their characteristics varying considerably according to the regiment to which they belonged. Some were dapper still—the newly arrived ones—with hair clipped to an eighth of an inch for head and half an inch for moustache; others had succumbed to circumstances, and had grown beards of odd sizes and shapes and colours (scumbled in all cases with dust), while the youngsters displayed an unhappy medium, styled by an officer “pieces of unexpected wool,” on promiscuous parts of their faces! Still, when all was said, joviality and “grit” put an identical veneer on them all!

The officers too were transmogrified. They were dressed exactly like the men. Tan brown belts, swords, and revolvers were no longer in evidence. When going off to war, or any other duty at all under arms, each officer arrayed himself in his servant’s belt and equipment—stained with clay paste to the prevalent dust or kharki colour—and took with him his servant’s rifle and one hundred rounds of ammunition. There was a difference without a distinction. The officer carried a field-glass, and this when not in use was concealed in a coat-pocket. Every precaution was now adopted to prevent them from inviting an undue share of attention. The mounted officers had carbines—neat, handy weapons, which slipped into a leather carbine bucket in the saddle, on the other side of which went the very necessary wire-cutters. Barbed wire entanglements were so much a part of the Boer programme—“to cheer you up in crossing the drifts,” some one said—that the cutters became an essential part of warlike gear. A strange innovation this; very small but very full of meaning. The Boers were teaching us a great deal. We were beginning to understand, almost to admire, their curious modes of warfare—their strange ability to “sit tight,” wire themselves in, and yet to fly away! Years ago, when some tactician ventured to say that the war of the future embraced only the question of long-range rifles and wire-entangled trenches, we were inclined to pooh-pooh! Now we were beginning to see wisdom in this stubborn and persistent, and yet skittishly mobile foe! When we looked at our wire nippers and their strong entrenchments we began to formulate the war motto of the future, which resolves itself into five words: “Six legs and a spade!” The sword, the bayonet, the cavalry charge were passing away for ever. Here the dignified charger was ill-matched with the nimble steed of the country, and many officers were only too glad to supplement their English horses with Basuto ponies—to secure four serviceable and sure legs, as the climate and other circumstances contrived to wear out those of their British beasts. Fortunately there was still a plentiful choice in horse-flesh, what with British and Australian and Argentine specimens, but the Basuto ponies were the most knowing and handy for the purposes required. The imported horse, it was discovered, needed a long and probationary period to make him at home on the South African veldt. Like other aristocratical creatures, he was unequal to the hand-to-mouth existence of the African-born animal, who, by habit and instinct, could shift for himself. He was neither knowing nor cautious, having been unaccustomed to ground honeycombed with mole-holes, sluits, and other obstacles, or to the trick of rolling on the veldt and picking up his meals haphazard from the first bush he came across. Hence it became evident that horses in plenty must be forthcoming if we were ever to remedy our deficiencies and make our progress something other than the steam-roller style of progress to which we had been accustomed.

CHAPTER II

MAFEKING

Among the marvellous escapes recorded, and these were not a few, was one of a negro who was shot through the brain by a bullet. The projectile passed through one temple and lodged in the other, yet the man still survived, and showed a decided intention to recover. There is an old story of a Jamaica negro who fell from a tree without injury, and when asked how he escaped, he explained his good fortune by saying, “Tank God, me fall on me head!” The invulnerability of the nigger cranium in that case, as in this, had its advantages, and it would be interesting if some of our specialists—say Dr. Horsley—would account for the rough-and-tumble superiority of blacks over whites.

On the 1st of November a lamentable incident occurred. Parslow, the correspondent of the Daily Chronicle, was shot by a member of the garrison. The following is an extract from a letter relating to the sad affair, which was in the possession of the Editor of the Daily Chronicle:—

“Mafeking, November 19.—One item, the most unpleasant of the whole beleaguerment, occupied attention during last week—that is, the court-martial of Lieutenant Murchison for the murder of Mr. Parslow, special war correspondent of the London Daily Chronicle. He was a genial, good-humoured young fellow, and asked Murchison, an artilleryman of ability and undoubted courage, to dine with him. After dinner Mr. Parslow strolled with Murchison across the Market Square towards Dixon’s Hotel, the headquarters of the Staff, the ostensible purpose being for both of them to obtain a copy of the orders for the day, usually issued about that time—half-past nine or ten o’clock P.M. Some words ensued apparently during the few minutes occupied in reaching Dixon’s. Parslow left his companion in the passage of the hotel, and was passing out, when it is alleged that Murchison drew his revolver and shot him dead, the bullet entering his head on the occipital protuberance an inch or an inch and a half behind the left ear, and lodging against the base of the skull. The case is completed, and the court closed to consider the verdict.”

The young journalist was exceedingly popular and deeply regretted. He was buried with military honours on the evening of the 2nd. His coffin was covered with the Union Jack, and carried to the grave by Major Baillie of the Morning Post, Mr. Angus Hamilton of the Times, Mr. Hellawell of the Daily Mail, Mr. Reilly of the Pall Mall Gazette, and the correspondent of the Press Association. The funeral was attended by many members of the Staff, who were desirous of showing their esteem for the promising and gallant writer.

“We have borne the much-feared bombardment for a fortnight, and still Mafeking stands. From what we have experienced we do not consider ourselves too optimistic in anticipating a successful ending to the contest. For the first time in the history of Boer warfare have the Boers been defeated at every turn by a force far inferior in point of numbers. Since the first attack on Saturday, October 14th, they fly directly our guns are heard. Safely out of range they fire into the town, but they do not appear to be pining for another attempt at storming Mafeking. In the ‘general orders’ issued last Sunday the following occurs:—‘The Colonel Commanding having made a careful inspection of the defences of the town and the native stadt, is now of opinion that no force that the Boers are likely to bring against us could possibly effect an entrance at any point.’ Now, this is like the advertisements say a certain cocoa is—grateful and comforting, and we feel that having got so far through the ordeal, we have only to remain steadfast, as the matter of a little time will see decided the first great step towards the settlement of the future of South Africa. There is no doubt that the attention of Great Britain, the Colonies, in fact, the whole world, is now riveted upon this little spot, which is now playing a prominent part in the most important epoch in the history of this wonderful continent. We know there is no need to urge the claims of our country and kindred upon our gallant garrison. Being in such close touch with each other that nothing but the exceptional circumstances thrust upon us could have made possible, we are in a position to judge and recognise the steady determination that British blood and British pluck exhibit when such a crisis as the present arises, and we know that the memory of Bronkhurst Spruit, Majuba, and Potchefstrom will make that determination, supported by the knowledge of our grand successes of the past fortnight, more firm, more strong, and more united than has been before, and this, with the grand soldier who is in command here, will render certain the first stages towards the complete crushing of the enemy.

“There is no doubt that there was landed in South Africa by Sunday last a body of 57,000 men, including probably twelve or fourteen regiments of cavalry, twenty or twenty-two batteries of artillery, and forty regiments of infantry, besides, most likely, a body of mounted infantry. Of this force there will be not less than 15,000 disembarked at Cape Town and despatched on the road here. They may now be settling accounts with the Boers outside Kimberley, in which case Vryburg might be reached by Sunday, allowing for some delay at Fourteen Streams. When our troops reach Vryburg the air of Mafeking will not suit Cronje sprinters, so by this day week we may begin to wish them a pleasant journey back to the Transvaal. It will then be merely an interchange of courtesy if we return the visit.

“When the big gun with which the enemy hoped to pulverise us, and which has sent more shells in the neighbourhood of the hospital and women’s laager than in any other parts of the town, is taken by our troops, we think it only fair to Mafeking that it should be brought here. It will make a good memorial and be an object lesson to succeeding generations, who, reading the history of our bombardment, and seeing the weapon employed against our women and children, will be able to judge of the nineteenth-century Boer’s fitness to dominate such a territory as the Transvaal. Let it be placed, say, in the space opposite the entrance to the railway station, raised on end, with the unexploded shells piled at its base, with a description of Colonel Baden-Powell’s clever defence of the place. We hope the Colonel will bear the town in mind when the disposal of the gun is under discussion.

“Major Lord E. Cecil, C.S.O., last evening issued the following under the heading of ‘General Orders’:”—

[Here was recorded Colonel Baden-Powell’s appreciation of the action of Colonel Walford and his gallant men, which has been previously quoted.]

The perusal of the opening paragraphs of the Mafeking Mail serves to enlighten us as to the degrees of hope deferred through which the plucky inhabitants had to pass. The pathos of the expression, “So by this day week we may begin to wish them a pleasant journey back to the Transvaal,” can only be understood by comparing the date to which it referred with that of the relief of the noble garrison—the 17th of May 1900!

On the 7th of November, the force under Major Godley and Captain Vernon made a successful sortie, the excellent management of which was recognised in an order issued by Colonel Baden-Powell:—

“The surprise against the enemy to the westward of the town was smartly and successfully executed at dawn this morning by a force under the direction of Major Godley. Captain Vernon’s squadron of the Protectorate Regiment carried this operation out with conspicuous coolness and steadiness. The gunners, under Major Panzera, fought and worked their guns well under a very trying fire from the enemy. The Bechuanaland Rifles are to be congratulated on the efficient services rendered by them under Captain Cowan in this their first engagement in the field. The enemy appeared to have suffered severely, while our casualties were luckily very light. This is largely due to the fact that Major Godley delivered his blow suddenly and quickly, and withdrew his force again in good time and order. The Colonel Commanding has much pleasure in placing on record a plucky piece of work by Gunners R. Cowan and F. H. Godson. The Hotchkiss gun, of which they had charge, was overturned and its trail-hook broken in course of action. In spite of a very heavy fire from the enemy’s one-pound Maxim and seven-pound Krupp, these men attached the trail to the limber by ropes, and brought the gun safely away.”

At this time the town was surrounded by some 2000 Boers, and a heavy shell-fire was daily exchanged. The damage done, however, was slight, except in the case of the Convent, which seemed to be a favourite mark for the Boer gunners. The trenches of the besiegers had been moved to about 2000 yards of the town, and from here the enemy fired with rifles, but with indifferent success. The Boers, in fact, were getting disheartened. Colonel Baden-Powell was proving himself prepared to enter into a competitive examination on the subject of “slimness” with them, and they were somewhat disturbed at the intellectual strain demanded for rivalry against so smart a pupil. All manner of efforts were made, and there was even a Dutch council of war as to the propriety of making a midnight attack upon the place. But the wily Colonel was ready for them. He took care that lanterns should be placed in suitable positions to illumine the paths of the would-be assailants, and when they turned on these lanterns the attention of their guns and broke them, more were immediately found to take their place. There was also the British bayonet in reserve, and a hint which they did not care to prove as a certainty—that dynamite was somewhere or other arranged in a ring round the place, so that at a given sign the too pressing attentions of intruders might be disposed of. These some one called “the B. P. Surprise Packets,” which were arranged on the lucky-tub principle, ready for those who might venture on an experimental dive. The exact locality was not disclosed, in order that their whereabouts might prove a never-ending source of wonder and interest to the besiegers.

As before said, continual sorties took place, and Colonel Baden-Powell succeeded in capturing mules and horses from the enemy and generally harassing him. Great expectations sustained the gallant little party that Colonel Plumer’s force would shortly make its way from the north and join hands with Colonel Baden-Powell. Early in November the opposing forces stood thus:—

But later, some of the Boers were drawn off for service in the south.

KURUMAN AND ELSEWHERE

To look back on the amazing valour of the tiny garrison, unsuccessful though it was, makes every British heart swell with pride. On the outbreak of hostilities, Mr. Hilliard, the Resident Magistrate, called a meeting of the inhabitants, and eloquently urged them to remain loyal. This, as we know, they did, with the result that the place resisted the Boers and routed them, and, moreover, set a most salutary example of loyalty to the surrounding districts of Cape Colony. The following extracts from five short letters (all dated November 24), written by Mr. and Mrs. Hilliard to relatives, will be of interest, as showing the gallant spirit that sustained these brave people, and the love for Queen and country that was so practically displayed by them. Mr. Hilliard said:—“Just a short letter to say we have been fighting the Boers here from the 13th to the 18th, and have driven them back with heavy loss. I received a letter from their ‘Fighting General,’ Visser, on Sunday the 12th, saying that if I did not surrender the town voluntarily, he would take it by main force. I replied that if he did he would have to take the consequences of his illegal act, as my Government had not instructed me to evacuate the town. The enemy has drawn off towards Vryburg.” In another letter he said:—“We are going strong; the brave little garrison is so good and cheerful. The army has gone, but may return, so we are prepared.” In yet another he wrote:—“We are all right up to now, and shall stick to our dear old flag till the last, whatever happens. May God defend the right and our dear Queen. Three cheers for all.” Mrs. Hilliard wrote:—“On Monday, November 13, the Boers attacked Kuruman. Our men fought bravely for six days, after which the Boers departed, and we don’t know if they intend returning or not. Charlie is at the Police Camp, and looks well and happy. He is very proud of our men. Our men are still on the alert, and are strengthening their forts, as the Boers will not return without a cannon. They quite expected this place to be handed over to them at once, as Vryburg was.”

This state of affairs continued till the end of the year. On the 1st of January the plucky little garrison was at last forced to surrender. This, they said, they would never have done had they possessed a single cannon. The Boer artillery knocked to pieces the improvised fort before the white flag was hoisted over the ruins. Four men were killed and eighteen wounded in the splendid but hopeless effort to hold the open village against a foe provided with artillery and superior in numbers. The Boers numbered twelve hundred against some seventy-five practically helpless men! So the unequal tug-of-war came to an end—we may say, an honourable end.

In Northern Rhodesia, British subjects were practically isolated. The telegraph to the south was cut, and the railway—some four hundred miles of it—was damaged in various places. To show the state of remoteness in which the unfortunate inhabitants found themselves, it is sufficient to say that a telegram from London to Buluwayo took sixteen days in transit. Letters from Port Elizabeth were received about three weeks after being posted. It may easily be imagined what dearth of news prevailed, and how even such news as it was, was falsified by rumour. But the excellent fellows kept heart, although they were, as one of them said, “absolutely ignored by the British Government, and had not a red coat in the country.” He went on to say, “We have any quantity of men of grit, and about a thousand fellows have volunteered to fight out of a total population of men, women, and children of six thousand at most.”

So little could reach us as to the doings of Colonel Plumer’s splendid little force, that the following letter from Trooper Young, a barrister, who joined at the outbreak of the war, may be quoted. It supplies some early links in the chain of the brave history:—

“Fort Tuli, South Africa, November 9, 1899.

“I’ve had a bit of an exciting time since I last wrote—almost too exciting at one time. Last time I wrote was when we were leaving Tuli for Rhodes Drift. We arrived there all right after much marching and counter-marching, mostly by night. The second night of it, for the small portion we had for sleep I struck a guard; so by the third night I was in a wretched state from want of sleep. I was always dropping off to sleep on my horse and suddenly waking up. Moreover, I began to see all sorts of strange things. Brooks and trees were transformed into houses and gardens, and then I would come-to with a start and pinch myself and try to keep awake—a very unpleasant experience. When we reached Rhodes Drift, our squadron was quartered there alone, and we had a couple of brushes with the enemy to start with.

“I missed the first, in which we had much the best of it. We only had one man hit, and that only slightly, and in return we bowled over a couple of Dutchmen (others may have been wounded), stampeded their horses, over a hundred in number (we surprised their grazing guard), killed or wounded twenty of the horses, and jumped seven. The next fight was warm for a bit. We had only half the squadron—about forty-five men—who were reconnoitring round the enemy’s fort dismounted. This was only three miles from our camp and in British territory. We had four men wounded, and did an equal amount of damage to them, if not more. We got off very cheap, for their fire was very hot, and very close too. The third fight came off on November 2, and that was a scorcher. On the night before it I was on guard. It was a beastly night, raining and blowing hard, so I got very little sleep when it was my turn off. In the day I was in charge of the grazing guard with three other men.

“About one o’clock I got orders to bring in the horses, which I did, and had just got all the horses tied up when the Dutch started firing on us. I’d just got into a nice position behind a good big rock when I was ordered to ride out to warn our outlying pickets. There were three of them, four men in each, about a mile or a mile and a half away. A risky job it was too. Two of us were sent. I asked the other man which he would go to. He chose the one I had wanted, so I had the worst job—two pickets to warn, and had to ride right through the line of fire. As I started, one of our officers shouted, ‘Don’t spare your horse; ride like h—ll;’ and I did too. Directly I got out, ping-ping came two bullets, a bit high, but others soon followed much closer. I got out, though, all right, warned the two pickets, and came in with them. We got a bit of a fusillade on us when we got near the fort, but had no casualties. The man who rode to the other picket had his horse shot under him; so I scored—not for long, though, for my own horse was shot soon after.

“When I got back, I found we were having a very hot time. Our position was a couple of small kopjes close together. On two sides there was an open space for about 600 or 700 yards. On the other two sides there was a lot of bush and a ridge running round us, which we were not strong enough to occupy. The Boers had in the field between 300 and 400 men, so we thought; we afterwards found that that was not overstating their number. Moreover, they had 250 men and one gun at Brice’s Store, about six miles away on the Tuli road, and strong reinforcements at their camp. They gave us the devil of a time. At first they fired mostly at the horses. They, poor beasts, had no cover, and nearly every one was hit. A few broke loose and bolted. Later, they turned their attention to us. Luckily, their shell-fire was very wild, or we should have suffered heavily. As it was, we had not a man even wounded; but it was a miracle we did not, for at times their rifle-fire was very heavy, and now and then they got a good shell in. I had a narrow shave. A shell burst just near me, and one of the splinters struck a stone and sent a piece of it bang against my leg. It cut right through my putties, three folds of them. I made certain I was wounded, and was much relieved to find there was no damage done.

“When the evening came, we had two alternatives—to stay where we were and wait to be cut up, or try to go through to Tuli. It was finally decided to do the latter, and it was undoubtedly the right thing to do. If we had remained, we should have been surrounded the next day, and every one slaughtered. With ninety men against a thousand we should have had no show; still, it was a very bitter pill having to sneak off at night, leaving everything behind (including the few horses left alive), our kit and waggons, even the ambulance waggon. It was horrible saying good-bye to our horses. My poor little Whiskey was wounded and very unhappy; we were not allowed to shoot the wounded ones, as we had to sneak off as quietly as possible. It was very sad work. Luckily we had no man hit. I don’t know what we should have done if we had. I suppose we should have remained there and taken the inevitable consequences, as we would not have left them. We left at 8 P.M., and arrived at Tuli at 1 P.M. next day, only two halts, one and a half in the night for sleep, and another of half-an-hour for breakfast, which for me and most of us consisted of water. I had nothing to eat except one small cookie from 8 A.M. the morning of the fight to 2 P.M. the next day.

“Altogether, we marched forty miles through awful country, for a long way through brushwood called the ‘wait-a-bit’ thorn, and in the night, too; it tore our clothes, hands, arms, and faces to bits; then through sand, over kopjes covered with thick brush. Altogether it was equal to sixty miles of English roads, and we went pretty fast when the way allowed. We had one pleasant surprise; one of our officers left us and rode on to Tuli when we were about ten miles off, and reported that we were only a few miles out, pretty dead-beat, as we were. Until Captain Glynne arrived, they believed we were all cut up, and one of the squadrons rode out to us and lent us their horses, for which we were very grateful. They met us about three miles out, and I’m blowed if I know how we could have crawled in without them; we were absolutely dead-beat. I was never so glad of a ride in my life. When we got into camp, we found that three or four of the men of E squadron, who had been left behind at Tuli sick, or had come in riding with dispatches, had prepared food for us, which was also very grateful, for we wanted it. We had left most of our kit behind at Tuli, so we were able to have a change of clothes and a wash, both very much needed, and then I must say I did enjoy myself. It was simply delightful to lie down and loaf about and do nothing but smoke cigarettes. All the bitterness of the defeat and the loss of our horses seemed to disappear, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself that afternoon.

“At Tuli every one believed we were cut up. A party from there, twenty-five in number, when escorting some waggons to us, were attacked by a much superior force at Brice’s Store and badly defeated. They had to take to the bush and abandon the waggons. They brought four men wounded back, while seven were missing, including the parson, who was coming to see us—he was wounded in the leg. According to the men who were there, he was taking a distinctly active part in the fight. A squadron of some of the police, about 120 in all, were sent out to try and relieve us, but near the store were met by some of the boys who had bolted from us, and who reported that we were already wiped out, every man killed; so they returned without trying to force their way through to us. In Tuli they were much relieved to hear of our safe arrival. It was certainly a very narrow squeak for us; it is still a wonder to me how we managed to escape without losing a man. Certainly we had very good cover, and took advantage of it; it was the only thing we could do. We managed to silence their rifle-fire once or twice, but could do nothing against their long-range shell-fire. Since then we have had very little to do, but expect to have some more fighting before long, when we hope to get a bit of our own back. One thing I think I may say without boasting—we all behaved very well. There was not a sign of funk, and every one took it coolly. As a matter of fact, more than half of E squadron had been under fire before, either in Rhodesia or elsewhere.”

To understand the effect of war upon Rhodesia at this time, we must read the following extracts from a letter written by a “Son of the Manse” in business near Buluwayo, dated 11th November 1899:—“We have been cut off from the south for more than five weeks, and are very badly off for news. Such news as we get comes by Beira, and as there is no cable between Delagoa Bay and Beira, this makes things worse. We have heard nothing from Mafeking since its investment by the Boers except a couple of messages sent out by a native runner to the nearest telegraph office still in touch with Buluwayo. A number of men from here are on the southern frontier keeping the Boers in check, so as to prevent them making a raid in this direction. They have had several skirmishes, but the Boers are not in any great force, as they appear to have concentrated their men on the Natal border, where most of the fighting will probably take place. Business is so slow here that numbers can get leave from their offices for the asking, and there were lots of fellows in town doing nothing who were only too glad of the chance of earning 10s. a day, which the Government are paying the Volunteers. The local newspaper here is of little use at present, as it has not funds to get direct news from Natal, and the only reliable information we get is published by the authorities. The Chronicle here came out with a special edition yesterday, describing a serious reverse to the British (two thousand men and forty-six officers captured), but it turned out to be taken from a German paper published in Zanzibar and sent to Beira, and I trust it may prove false. We won’t get any newspapers, I fear, as long as the mails come viâ Beira, owing to the cost of bringing them from Salisbury by coach, but we hope there will be a change for the better soon. When the newspapers come they will be interesting reading.... The stoppage of the railway has had a serious effect in Buluwayo, as it has caused a tremendous rise in the prices of everything, and if most of the merchants had not laid in immense stocks in anticipation of what was coming, things would be very much worse. Some articles are very scarce. Potatoes are about £5 a sack, and of very inferior quality. Sugar is 9d. to 1s. per lb.; and a 200-lb. sack of flour costs 50s. to 60s., cheaper than most things, as there was an enormous stock stored. Everything is likely to go up still higher before supplies can reach the town, and fresh meal will soon be practically unattainable, and every one will have to depend on tinned meat. There are no colonial eggs coming up, so we are getting about 5s. a dozen for ours, and the price will probably rise, as with everything else. Some of the restaurants and hotels have had to close their dining-room, as so many men have gone to the front. The demand for eggs and fuel (wood) is, therefore, somewhat decreased. Several storekeepers talk of getting things from Salisbury, and if prices rise very much perhaps it would pay. The average rate per waggon to Salisbury lately was nearly 25s. per 100 lbs. weight. The mines are still working fairly, and may be kept on. The Kaffirs round here seem to take little interest in the war, and the most of them have not the remotest idea where Natal is, although the Matabele came from there less than seventy years ago. Of course they all know the Boers, and thoroughly detest them, as they have very good reason to do. We have only had a few showers of rain here so far, and the grass is very poor. We can work our donkeys much at present on that account, as I want to have them in good order, as transport will be very high when communications are again established.”

In Southern Rhodesia the Boers were kept in check by the activities of Colonel Holdsworth. In order to reconnoitre, and, if possible, attack the Boer laager at Sekwani, he started on the 23rd of November with seventy-five mounted men and ten cyclists on a night march over sandy roads in a region where water was extremely scarce. At daybreak they reached the Dutch laager and caught the Boers napping. Lieutenant Llewellyn wished them an energetic “Good morning” by means of a Maxim gun at 1000 to 1200 yards range, with the result that the enemy, about eighty strong, were routed from their position among the kopjes. The Boers retired to other kopjes, and from thence offered resistance, but as storming them would have entailed considerable loss, the British force returned to camp. They, however, burned a large store of ammunition and captured some rifles. Therefore their hundred-mile march, accomplished in twenty-three hours, was not profitless.

MAFEKING, November

Still the word surrender was unspelt. None dared breathe it aloud. A battery of seven field-guns blazing their hot fire and doing their fell work made no effect—the besieged remained firm. Mauser bullets whizzed past their ears; shells long as coal-scuttles and nearly as thick crashed into buildings, now into the hospital, now the convent, or sometimes into the women’s laager, leaving not seldom a track of mourning and blood; but the Boer could not plume himself on victory. Not so far off his white tents reflected the sunlight, and closer still the grim music of his rifles was eternally to be heard; but inside the little town were men who were developing from mere men of commerce into toughened warriors, and assisting Colonel Baden-Powell and his diminutive force to maintain the majesty of Great Britain, with a chivalry that might have done honour to the knights of old.

Towards the middle of the month the garrison was much cheered by the arrival on the scene of a plucky American journalist, who had ridden from the Cape straight through the Boer lines, and who came with all the buoyancy of the outer world to delight the ears of the British with tales of Lord Methuen’s advance. Other news now and then filtered in, and this the Colonel, either viva voce or by means of his typewriter, promptly shared with the whole interested community.