Perhaps the march past of the united relief columns was the most unique and imposing ceremony ever performed within the confines of such a “chicken-run.” Here, in this tiny compass, the whole empire veritably met together—South Africans, Australians, Canadians, English, Scots, and Irishmen, Indians, Cape Boys—all following one another, unit after unit, like some quaint scenic procession of the nations. There were the bronzed colonels—Baden-Powell, and Mahon, and Plumer, now household names throughout the world—accompanied by their staffs, the élite of the embattled array. There were the glorious 12-pounders—M Battery of the Royal Horse Artillery, whose every limber looked dear to the eyes that long had been strained in eagerness for their coming—and their guardians, the helmeted band of staunch and sturdy gunners, who carried the voice of Empire far and wide—there were the plumed and mettlesome Colonials, very fighting-cocks at the sniff of war—there was the lion rampant in the form of the Union Brigade (the picked portions of it from the Royal Fusiliers, Royal Scots, Royal Welsh Fusiliers, and Royal Irish Fusiliers), a right regal company, the very sight of which in common times would have caused the heart of Britons to throb, and which now sent the cup of patriotic rapture brimming over. Cheers or tears? Shouts or sobs? It was a “toss”-up which would supersede the other, and amid the stupendous fracas even the dauntless hero of this unparalleled, soul-stirring outburst turned aside that none should view the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.

The painter, when he depicted Agamemnon in the hour of sublime sacrifice, drew a veil over the features of the chief. He judged the supreme moment of human exultation too sanctified for common gaze. Even so must we draw the veil of silence over this supreme moment in the life of the saviour of Mafeking ... the soundless epic is the more sonorous.

The parade over, addresses were presented and the usual formalities gone through. The gratitude of the town for the relief—the appreciation of the magnificent work done by Colonel Baden-Powell, and the stupendous energy of the succouring forces, were all dilated on and thanks returned. A hailstorm of cheers then broke out—cheers for Queen and country, for Baden-Powell, Mahon, Plumer, Colonel Rhodes, Major Karri Davies; in fact, every one cheered every one else, for all were too deserving, too heroic, to overlook the deserts and heroism of those who had imperilled their lives over and over again to maintain the prestige of their native land. So passed the day, and at night chums and comrades gathered together and jested and laughed, and told yarns of skirmish and sortie and surprise, till they sank to sleep in their greatcoats and blankets, fairly worn out with their eleven days and nights of boot and saddle.

On the 19th, the garrison assembled for a last, a solemn function. A great thanksgiving and memorial service was held at the cemetery, and all bade a last farewell to those who had shared with them the tribulations of the siege without reaping the harvest of honour their hands had sown.

At the close of the impressive ceremony three volleys were fired over the noble dead who had given their lives to attain the great end, and then an effort was made to sing the National Anthem, but the notes were quavering with the emotion which these hitherto fearless men now feared might unman them.

Finally Colonel Baden-Powell—a little abruptly to cover the touching nature of his farewell—addressed the garrison:—

“We have been a happy family during the siege. The time has now come for breaking up. When we were first invested I said to you, ‘Sit tight and shoot straight.’ The garrison has sat tight and shot straight, with the present glorious result. Many nice things have been said about me at home, but it is an easy thing to be the figurehead of a ship. The garrison has been the rigging and sails of the good ship Mafeking, and has brought her safely through her stormy cruise.”

He then thanked the ladies, beginning with the matron of the hospital, whose pluck and devotion could not be sufficiently extolled. Turning to the Protectorate Regiment, he said:—

“To you I need say nothing. Your roll of dead and wounded tells its own tale.”

Shaking hands with Colonel Hore he thanked him for the assistance he had given him, and to the artillery, under Major Panzera and Lieutenant Daniel, he said:—

“You were armed with obsolete weapons, but you made up for these by your cool shooting and the way you stuck to your guns.”

The colonel afterwards turned to the British South Africa Police:—

“I need not repeat to you men the story of the little red fort on the hill, which Cronje could not take.”

And to the Cape Police, under Captain Marsh, he addressed himself as follows:—

“You have not been given an opportunity of doing anything dramatic, but throughout the siege you have held one of the nastiest places in the town, where the enemy were expected at any moment, and where you were always under fire.”

The colonel next made some graceful remarks to the Town Guard. He compared them to a walnut in a shell; saying that people thought that they had but to break the shell to get at the kernel. But the enemy had learnt better. They had got through the husk and found they could get no hold on the kernel. In conclusion, he announced that any civilians who wished to return to their ordinary occupations immediately might do so. Those who had none to return to, whose billets had been lost or businesses ruined, would be permitted in the meantime to draw trench allowances and to remain on duty in the inner defences.

Major Goold Adams was then cordially thanked for all the excellent work he had done as Town Commandant, after which the Railway Division (under Captain Moore) and Lieutenant Layton (who had received a commission for his splendid services) were addressed:—

“I cannot thank you enough for what you have done. You have transformed yourselves from railway-men to soldiers. Your work is not yet done, because it will be your business to reopen communication and get in supplies.”

He then turned to the outsiders, the Northern Relief Force under Colonel Plumer, which had borne the brunt of the seven months’ fighting, and expressed his regret that they had been too weak to relieve the town “off their own bat.” But he eulogised the splendid work done in bad country and climate. The Southern Force under Colonel Mahon were congratulated on having made a march which would live in history. Their chief was complimented on the magnificent body of men he commanded, while the Imperial Light Horse, associated as it was with memories of Ladysmith, Colonel Baden-Powell declared he was especially pleased to see, as these would be able, in consequence of their own experience, to sympathise with the people in Mafeking.

So the amazing defence of Mafeking was over! For seven months the gallant little town had withstood every ingenious device of the Boers, and in the end it had come off victorious. The first shot was fired on the 16th of October, and from that day the rumble of bombardment had been the accompaniment of almost every hour between the rising and setting of the sun. And now all was serene and still, and only the battered walls of the once neat little hamlet told the terrible, the glorious tale of British doggedness and British pluck.

For some time the ears of London had been pricked up in anxious expectation. Lord Roberts had promised to relieve Mafeking by the 18th of May, and the Field-Marshal was known to be punctuality personified. All the town remained in a state of suppressed excitement, little flags were selling like wildfire, and big flags were being got into readiness for the great, the longed-for word. Early in the morning of the 17th the papers were anxiously perused, and man asked man if any news had leaked out. The 18th arrived. Nothing was known. The War Office maintained its adamantine calm. The day grew middle-aged, almost old—then, as the shutters were about to go up (twenty minutes past nine was the exact hour), one telegram of Reuter’s fired the fuse, and London, followed presently by the whole British Empire, was ablaze with excitement. The flame, like most flames, broke out almost unnoticed. Some one on a cycle—some one in a cab, heard the glorious three words, and sped breathless to carry the contagion of his rapture far and wide. Street after street began to smoulder—to glow; and, presto! the town was one vast conflagration! Such a furnace of patriotism had never been seen within the confines of the staid metropolis. By ten o’clock the populace of one consent had run wild into the streets—the houses were too cramped to hold them—they ran wild, roaring and yelling and shouting and singing, passing into the heart of the Capital in dense armies—passing? nay!—for soon none could pass, but had merely to be propelled good-humouredly by the compact mass that surged apparently to no destination whatever. Whence came the clamouring hosts it was impossible to say—they seemed to rise from the earth, so rapidly, so mysteriously, did their numbers increase. Liberty, equality, fraternity, was the motto of this memorable night. All ages, and ranks, and sexes were linked together in the bonds of sympathetic patriotism—countess or coster, duke or drayman, it was all one—an identical beam of triumph imparted a relationship to every British face. Minutes had scarcely grown into hours before the Union Jack fluttered from every window, from every cart and ’bus, from every hand, and the roar of human joy was as the roar of the ocean in a tempest. At the theatres, as at the railway stations, the crowds heard and wondered only for a moment, for the electrical news got into their midst, and they on the instant took up the cry and the cheer, and repeated them with all their might. Indeed, theatrical performances were suspended while the joyous audiences sang and re-sang “Rule, Britannia” and “God Save the Queen,” and then, unsatisfied, tore into the open to let off steam as it were, and view a sight which never before has been witnessed, and probably never again will be visible in the precincts of London Town. The Mansion House, where the display of the message had caused a huge concourse to assemble, was next besieged, and the old walls literally shook with the mighty roar of the multitude. The “National Anthem” swelled out thunderously with volume that was almost awe-striking as the combined voice of a Handel Festival, and shouts for the Lord Mayor grew and grew, and became deafening as that honoured citizen and splendid patriot showed himself.

He then delivered the following speech: “I wish the music of your cheers could reach Mafeking. For seven long weary months a handful of men has been besieged by a horde. We never doubted what the end would be. British pluck and valour when used in a right cause must triumph. The heart of every one of you vibrates with intense loyalty and enthusiasm, I know, and the conscience of every one of you assures you that we have fought in a righteous and just cause.” The crowd, incapable of silence for very long, broke into “Rule, Britannia,” and when this outburst of emotion was expended, the Lord Mayor continued: “We have fought for our most glorious traditions of equality and freedom, not for ourselves alone, but for the men of all those nations who have settled in South Africa and who were under the protection of the British flag.” Three cheers for Colonel Baden-Powell were then called for, and three for Lord Roberts, and these having been heartily given, he said: “The people of Bloemfontein and Mafeking are now singing ‘God Save the Queen’; you can do it for yourselves.” This they proceeded to do not once but twenty times through the livelong hours of the night. Meanwhile the following practical telegram was despatched by the Lord Mayor:—

“To Baden-Powell, Mafeking, via Cape Town.

“Citizens London relieved and rejoiced by good news just received. Your gallant defence will long live in British annals. Cable me what money wanted for needs of garrison and inhabitants after long privations.

“Alfred Newton, Lord Mayor.”

At the same time a huge portrait of Colonel Baden-Powell was displayed in front of the Mansion House, and the strains of “God Save the Queen” and “Rule, Britannia” were now intermingled with the lively tune of “For he’s a jolly good fellow.” These combined choruses were echoed and re-echoed, and carried along like a gigantic stream of sound into the suburbs of London, into sleeping Kensington and remote Clapham, so that men and women turned in their beds—sat up, terrified at first, then realising the situation, gave up thought of rest, and listened with swelling hearts to the triumphant din. And so, on and on—through the night till morning broke!

Then, the whole face of London seemed transmogrified. National emblems—red, white, blue, yellow, green, stars and stripes—draping the houses and festooning the roads, gave the town the aspect of one huge bazaar. Balconies were decorated, awnings thrown out, and in some cases, to give a touch of realism, bathing towels[6] were hung from the verandahs. People passing by, and ignorant of the double meaning of the curious drapery, shrugged their shoulders, scoffed—then, awakened by a flash of illumination, looked again and broke into renewed cheers. Before the dwelling of the mother of the defender of Mafeking a vast crowd collected, wielding flags and laurels, and displaying in their midst the bust of the hero with a British lion crouching at his feet. Cheers rent the air, and increased in volume when the proud parent of this splendid Briton appeared on the balcony and acknowledged the demonstration. The glad tumult in front of this point of attraction continued throughout the day, people coming from far and wide here to vent their ecstasy of enthusiasm—some in shouts, many in tears.

By nightfall, the whole Empire was pouring forth its excitement in congratulatory telegrams, for, four minutes after the receipt of the intelligence in London the news had passed over the Atlantic cables and was in the New York office of the Associated Press, whence it was forwarded to the farthest limit of the North American Continent. Canada, New South Wales, Sydney, and all the other colonies whose bravest and best had contributed to the great doings in the Transvaal, were now aglow with bunting and illuminations. Church bells pealed, processions passed shouting and rejoicing, ships were dressed from truck to taffrail, and prayers and anthems of praise were got ready to be offered up on the following day at all churches.

Thus, for a brief space, was seen a vast concourse of millions of souls of differing opinions, customs, and creeds, diffused even to the remotest corners of the British-speaking world, yet closely united by a bond of fraternal sympathy in consequence of the triumph of British manhood in the most unique ordeal that the loyalty of any nation has been called upon to endure.

CHAPTER VI

FROM KROONSTAD TO JOHANNESBURG

The following casualties took place in the Winburg Column, May 21st:—New South Wales Mounted Infantry—Wounded severely, Lieutenant A. J. M. Onslow, 1st Royal Irish—Lieutenant M. H. E. Welch.

On the 23rd, Lord Roberts and his majestical and magnificent apparatus of war, its thousands of gallant souls, its multiplicity of vehicles, its endless supplies and zoological train, encamped on the south bank of the Rhenoster River. The Boers, apparently demoralised in their preparations for resistance, and having had their left flank turned by Hamilton at Heilbron, were now continuously “on the run.” Meanwhile burghers hourly came in to surrender arms and ammunition, the last vestige of truculence having evaporated. The Boer Government telegraphed to Lord Roberts offering to exchange an equal number of prisoners on parole, and threatening if the offer should be refused to remove from Pretoria to some other district the 4000 prisoners now confined there. As to the fate of the Johannesburg mines there was considerable uncertainty; reports declared they would be destroyed in the event of entry to the Transvaal by the British, and also that the town itself would be defended, as defence works were being rapidly pushed forward, guns got into position, and trenches and defences constructed.

On the other hand it was stated that, on hearing of the threat to destroy the mines and possibly the town, Commandant Louis Botha had hastened to the President, and in a stormy interview had asserted his intention, if such a thing were contemplated, himself to defend Johannesburg from such an act of vandalism. He concluded by denouncing the diabolical intention and saying, “We are not barbarians.” Mr. Kruger did not argue the subject—possibly his conscience tweaked him on the subject of barbarity—but gave in. Terrible altercations were daily taking place between the Boers, the Free Staters, and their mercenaries, and the burghers were inclined to throw all the blame of defeat on the Hollanders who had brought about the war and left the Boers to bear the brunt of the loss to life and property that hostilities entailed. These were merely reports, but they served, as the passage to the north proceeded, to show which way the wind blew.

On the Queen’s birthday the 4th Brigade of cavalry crossed the Vaal near Pary’s Drift, and the 1st Brigade at a drift farther east of Pary’s, while General Ian Hamilton’s column was ordered to move towards Boschbank still higher up. They arrived just in time to save the coal-mines from being destroyed. The operation of crossing the Vaal was one of the most risky that has been undertaken in the campaign, as the road down to the drifts led through about six miles of mountainous country forming a narrow pass, well suited to Boer tactics. Fortunately, although the Boers were seen hovering in the vicinity, the arrival of the cavalry was unexpected, and they made no effective resistance.

It will be seen that here the distribution of the advance underwent a change. General French adhered to his original course on the left, but General Hamilton, screened by Gordon’s Cavalry, crossed in front of the main army, and concentrated near Vredefort on the west, thus preparing a little surprise for the Boers, who were collected in their thousands opposite Engelbrecht Drift in the expectation that the British General would continue to proceed towards the north. Meanwhile, the cavalry, to a desultory accompaniment of musketry, was engaged in securing the approaches to Lindique Drift, over which the baggage had to pass. On the 26th, Colonel Henry’s Mounted Infantry, and the Bedfordshires, crossed at Viljoen’s Drift and there encountered an Irish-American rabble in act of injuring the coal-mines and bridge; and the wreckers—an alcoholically-valiant gang of hirelings—speedily made off, leaving behind them three days’ supplies, which came in most handy for the benefit of the troops. By this time General Hamilton had reached Boschbank, and Lord Roberts had arrived at Wolve Hoek.

The Cavalry Division, finding the force of Mounted Infantry had moved to Vereeniging—and thus opened up communication with Lord Roberts’s main advance—flew on. On the evening of the 27th they seized the head of the horse-shoe of hills wherein the Boers in large numbers had ensconced themselves. This dashing exploit was attended with the loss of only one Scots Grey and one Carabineer wounded. The position thus gained overlooked the Boers’ main position at Klips Wersberg, defending Johannesburg.

While this was going on (on the 27th) Lord Roberts, with the 7th and 11th Divisions, crossed the Vaal facing Vereeniging, and encamped on the north bank, and found vacated several intricately prepared positions whence the Boers had intended to offer opposition. They had abandoned position after position at the approach of one or other of the great feelers of the big British machine that threatened to surround them.

The fact was, this enormous army was moving as an avalanche—stupendous and strong—an avalanche that swept all things before it. Horses and men were in splendid fettle, their spirits were rising, their confidence intense, and all endeavoured to emulate the example in activity set them by the Field-Marshal, who, like a young man of thirty, was up before dawn and working hard till sundown. In spite of the cold nights—especially trying after the heat of midday—the Commander-in-Chief looked healthy and well, while his troops, who had marched magnificently in trying circumstances, needed no finer eulogy than to be described as worthy of him.

A grand march of twenty miles brought the main army on the 28th, to Klip River, within eighteen miles of Johannesburg—a march so rapid and so well organised that the Boers, who had prepared a delicate salute of five guns with which to welcome the troops, had barely time to hustle their weapons into the train and steam off as some of the West Australian Mounted Infantry dashed into the station! These smart Colonials were very much to the fore all day and showed a vast amount of dash and dexterity. Major Pilkington and a patrol of some thirty of them were moving in advance of the 11th Division in hope to find a suitable drift for the passage of troops and guns across the Klip River. The drift was discovered, but also the Boers—a posse of them hovering among the kopjes that flanked the road. Without ado, the little party prepared themselves for the worst, spreading themselves, rifles in hand, to protect the position they had gained, a position of some importance, since it commanded bridges about a mile and a half to east and west of the road. The party divided into two groups, arranged themselves at each bridge, and endeavoured to make a line—a very thin line—as a uniting link between the groups. It was somewhat like the fable of the frog that tried to blow himself out to the size of a bull—but in this case the minute object’s pretence was successful; the thirty isolated men deluded the Boers, and caused them to believe that these sturdy defenders of the drifts were supported by a huge force in reserve. Blazing away with their rifles, the Dutchmen attacked the small party, and an uneven contest commenced and proceeded till dusk. Lieutenant Porter, while directing some operations, was wounded, but fortunately at this juncture there came to his rescue some guardsmen, who were escorting a convoy, and these, owing to the gallant manner in which the drifts had been held, managed in the darkness to get their convoy into safety, and enable the Westralians, whose work was accomplished, to “silently steal away.” Meanwhile, during the whole day, some ten miles to the left—on the west of the railway—sounds of animated knocking portended much activity on the part of Generals French and Hamilton in the neighbourhood of Syferfontein and Klip River. General French was engaged in a reconnaissance in force of the enemy’s position. After drawing the fire of all the Dutch guns, and consuming a good deal of powder, the casualties on the part of the cavalry were small—about five—mostly Inniskillings.

On the 29th of May, part of the Cavalry Division, General Ian Hamilton’s Mounted Infantry, the 19th and 21st Brigades, and some Colonials who had moved parallel to the main advance since it left the Vaal, found themselves about twelve miles south of Johannesburg. East of Doornkop some 4000 Boers, with six guns, had taken up a menacing position, strengthened with various natural obstacles, while the ground had been blackened with grass fires to afford an effective background to approaching kharki. The troops, supported by the guns, at once steadily advanced to attack the Boer centre, while Generals French and Hutton operated on the west to turn the right flank of the position. After an hour’s smart fighting the infantry were able to push on, Porter’s brigade having ridden five miles to the west, and turned the enemy’s right, while the infantry, with fixed bayonets, had driven the enemy from every cherished kopje. In the attack, the Gordons in the centre of the right, the City Imperial Volunteers in the centre on the left, advanced gradually on the Boer position. The gallant nature of the advance over the burnt and blackened ground, which made the infantry into targets for the foe, excited the admiration of all. Grandly the Gordons flung themselves upon the enemy, in spite of the Boer guns and “pom-pom,” that dealt death and destruction among their numbers. Seventy of the dashing fellows dropped, and the only consolation for so great a loss was, that by nightfall 6000 Dutchmen were scudding away in the darkness, while General Hamilton was bivouacking on the ground seized from them, and Generals French and Hutton, who had turned the right flank of the position, were threatening Krugersdorp. The conduct of the City Imperial Volunteers was magnificent, and to them, as well as to the Gordons, much of the credit of the day’s work was due. They behaved as skilled troops, taking cover with great ingenuity, and returning the attacks of the enemy with amazing coolness and precision. Their sustained volleys succeeded in clearing out the Boers immediately in front of Roodepoorte. Commandant Botha—not Louis Botha, but a kinsman—with a hundred foreign and Irish subsidised sympathisers, was captured, and, in addition to these, a Creusot gun and twelve waggons of stores and ammunition were secured.

The losses among officers in this engagement were comparatively few. Captain St. J. Meyrick, 1st Gordon Highlanders, was killed. Among the wounded were:—

City Imperial Volunteers—Capt. G. W. Barkley. 1st Gordon Highlanders—Capt. G. E. E. G. Cameron, Lieut.-Col. H. H. Burney, Capt. P. S. Allen, second Lieut. A. Cameron, Surg.-Lieut. A. H. Benson, Dr. R. Hunter. Vol. Co. Gordon Highlanders—Capt. J. B. Buchanan, Lieut. J. Mackinnon, Lieut. H. Forbes. Royal Army Medical Corps—Lieut. A. H. Benson. 2nd Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry—Lieut. H. W. Fife (since dead). 10th Hussars—Lieut. T. Lister.

During General French’s operations near Klip River, on the 27th, 28th, and 29th, the wounded officers were:—

New Zealand Rifles—Captain Palmer. 7th Dragoon Guards—Major W. J. Mackeson, second Lieut. G. Dunne. Capt. D. L. MacEwen, Cameron Highlanders, attached to Intelligence Department, was taken prisoner.

The history of the hurried capture of this vital strategical position was inspiriting. Colonel Henry, with the 8th Mounted Infantry, started at dawn with orders to seize Elandsfontein at all costs. The 3rd Cavalry Brigade in support made a detour to the east towards Boksburg, in a direct line to Pretoria, followed rapidly along the line by Pole-Carew’s and Tucker’s Divisions. The object of the somewhat wide easterly move was to outflank the enemy’s defensible positions and secure the communications to Pretoria, and thus cut off and isolate the force prepared to check the advance of the British. Just as the advance guard neared the Natal line, a train was seen conveying half of the Heidelberg Commando from Volksrust to the north. It was impossible to arrest it, but after firing on the departing machine, the troops proceeded to demolish the line and secure the Natal communications. The Mounted Infantry which, owing to the uselessness of the Klip River Bridge, were without artillery, were now assailed by a party of Boers with guns, who had ensconced themselves in the ridges which menaced the southern road, but nevertheless they pressed forward bent on obeying orders and gaining Elandsfontein. They pushed ever on and on till the great city, the monstrous hive of gold-getters, the scene of Boer despotism and Uitlander servility, became visible from the rolling hills. Momentarily they expected to hear a roar, to see a flare and an upheaval, and to know the worst had come—the mines had been destroyed! But all was silence. The huge town, surrounded in places by a blanket of smoke, seemed slumbering on the bosom of the undulating downs. In the distance, however, the station showed active. Trains were steaming off to Pretoria. Others with their steam up were preparing to follow. These trains must be arrested, and their freight captured. It was a case, unfortunately, of horse-flesh versus steam. But still it was worth the venture! Off went a section of the Yorkshire Mounted Infantry, galloping like fury to the station, while the main body made for Boksburg; and the Australians, toolless, tore to Knight’s Station, and there piling up trollies, boulders—anything, in fact, that came to hand—blocked the line. They were pelted by hidden Boers, but fled carefully to cover after accomplishing their object.

Meanwhile, some of the Yorkshire Mounted Infantry had seized the station, and, with it, three locomotives whose steam was up ready for departure. But the enemy were in strength there—they were at least strong in proportion to the twenty dashing Yorkshire men who had plunged into the mêlée, and these gallant fellows found themselves in a critical position, fighting like demons for their hardly-earned prize with desperate men, whose sole source of salvation lay in the locomotives that stolidly panted and wheezed in utter disregard of the fierce fight raging for their possession. Then, with almost theatrical precision, a vast procession was seen to be approaching: a river of kharki flowing down the southern slopes into the Rand. It was the Mounted Infantry from Boksburg and the Infantry Division—the goodly Grenadiers leading—pouring in their numbers to the rescue of the gallant little band! Thus by nightfall one of the most fateful of the operations of the war was concluded, and Johannesburg was virtually seized without the wrecking of a mine and with little loss of life. During the operations Captain MacEwan, Cameron Highlanders, and Lord Cecil Manners (correspondent to the Morning Post) were taken prisoners. Lieutenants Pepper, West Australian Mounted Infantry, Beddington, Imperial Yeomanry, and Forrest, 1st Oxford Light Infantry, were wounded. Immense crowds, surprised to find that the struggle was a matter of hours and not of days, watched the fighting from west and east corners of the town, and the shock of the fall of Elandsfontein disorganised their plans and demoralised themselves.

While this was going on, the Cavalry Division had advanced through the gold mines, having Johannesburg on their right, and was encamped on the west of the town, keeping a wary eye on the Boers, who were fleeing hot-foot to Pretoria.

Within the City of Gold, all was turmoil. On the discovery of the situation there followed a violent up-rising. The Kaffirs, on seeing the Boers repulsed, rushed to the Jews’ houses to loot them, and the foreign contingents immediately set out on a species of internal invasion, breaking open shops and stores and houses, and throwing out of doors and windows goods collected for the benefit of needy burgher families. The uproar, however, was speedily suppressed by the firm measures of Dr. Krause. In answer to the flag of truce sent in by the Field-Marshal, this official went out to meet him. There being still many armed burghers in the place, the Transvaal Commandant requested Lord Roberts to postpone his entry for six hours. To avert disturbance this arrangement was agreed to, and Lord Roberts decided to postpone till the 31st his entry into the conquered town.

So Johannesburg was ours! The advance, which appeared to be so rapid, straightforward, and simple, owed these qualities to Lord Roberts’s splendid, almost prophetic, instinct for gauging the enemy’s expectations with a view to disappointing them; to his strategic manipulation of his cavalry and mounted infantry, and to the magnificent marching capability of the infantry. Everywhere, the Boers had fenced themselves across the route, sometimes extending their line of defence for twenty miles or more, and everywhere, in dread of having one flank or the other turned, they had been kept oscillating between stubborn resistance and rapid flight till their nerves had given way, and they had scuttled back and back to their undoing. At the Vet, the Zand, the Valsch, the Rhenoster, and the Klip Rivers, they had cunningly prepared themselves, till, with the infantry menacing them in front and the cavalry and infantry threatening both flanks, they had realised that retreat was inevitable. Their last hope had been set on the city of mines; and now from thence, a routed, raging rabble, they were fleeing in despair.

The splendid progress of the infantry was a remarkable achievement, of which enough cannot be said. It was no mere feat of pedestrianism. It was a march in face of an enterprising enemy, and harassed with discomforts sufficiently multifarious to try the endurance of a Socrates. A scorching sun by day and a frigid temperature by night, occasional sand blasts rendering drier than ever parched throats already dry as husk from the tramp through a sand-clogged and almost waterless country, were but items in the programme. If water there chanced to be, it was ochreous and fouled by the passage of many quadrupeds, and such food as there was—bully beef and adamantine biscuit—demanded the jaws and digestion of an alligator. Yet these sturdy fellows plodded along, lumbering through sand drifts and squelching in mire and morass, or laid themselves to rest on the hard or soggy ground with a philosophy so devil-may-care as almost to fringe on the sublime. With unquenchable gaiety, they had accomplished a march of 254 miles (the distance from Bloemfontein to Elandsfontein) in eighteen days, giving as an average fourteen miles a day. (This calculation naturally excludes the ten days’ halt at Kroonstad.) From Kroonstad to Elandsfontein, a distance of some 126 miles—covered in seven days (22nd to 29th)—marching had gone forward at the rate of eighteen miles a day. Napoleon’s much vaunted march from the Channel to the Rhine in 1805 showed an average of sixteen miles a day, when the distance traversed was 400 miles, and the time taken twenty-five days. But that march, unopposed throughout, was comparatively plain sailing. Quicker forced marches have been known,[7] but in the present case the march was continuous, and may be said to beat all records of rapid marching under equally inconvenient conditions.

The twenty-four hours were allowed to pass. Then, at the entrance of the town Dr. Krause met the Commander-in-Chief, and rode with him to the government offices, and introduced to him the heads of the various departments, all of whom were requested to continue their respective duties till they should be relieved of them.

To those who had never seen Johannesburg the first glimpse was a surprise. Strangely incongruous did it seem to move from the isolation and rugged simplicity of the open veldt to the centre of a large and peculiarly civilised town. The note of modernity was sounded on every side. Buildings more than magnificent greeted the eye accustomed only to homely farms and mushroom staadts. Tramways ribbed the streets, electric lights gleamed a whiter glare than moonbeams, and nineteenth-century luxury, and in some cases refinement, were in evidence at every turn. But the public buildings were closed, and the handsome shops boarded up for precaution’s sake, while the streets were thinly populated, owing to the fact that many of the British sympathisers had been expelled, and the Boer community was on commando.

At the conclusion of the ceremony the rousing strains of the Guards’ band were heard, and the 11th and 7th Divisions marched past, with the Naval Brigade, the heavy artillery, and two Brigade Divisions of Royal Horse Artillery. General Ian Hamilton’s column and the Cavalry Division and Mounted Infantry were too far away to take part in the proceedings.