South Africa
and the
Transvaal War

BY

LOUIS CRESWICKE

AUTHOR OF “ROXANE,” ETC.

WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS

IN SIX VOLUMES

VOL. III.—FROM THE BATTLE OF COLENSO, 15^TH DEC. 1899, TO LORD ROBERTS’S ADVANCE INTO THE FREE STATE, 12^TH FEB. 1900

EDINBURGH: T. C. & E. C. JACK

MANCHESTER: KENNETH MACLENNAN, 75 PICCADILLY

1900

CONTENTS—Vol. III.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS—Vol. III.

CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE—Vol. III.

DECEMBER 1899.

17.—Field-Marshal Lord Roberts, K.P., G.C.B., V.C., &c., appointed Commander-in-Chief in South Africa, with Lord Kitchener of Khartoum as his Chief of the Staff.

War Office issued orders under which the remaining portion of the Army A Reserve were called up; and large reinforcements were to proceed to South Africa without delay.

General Gatacre advanced from Sterkstroom to Putters Kraal.

General French established his headquarters at Arundel.

Offers of Second Contingents by the Colonies accepted.

18.—Additional Battalions of Militia embodied. There were now fifty-four Battalions of Militia embodied.

Sir Charles Warren and the Staff of the Fifth Division left Cape Town.

Reconnaissance by General French. Sortie from Ladysmith.

19.—Important order issued from the War Office, announcing that the Government had decided to raise for service in South Africa a Mounted Infantry force, to be called “The Imperial Yeomanry.” The force to be recruited from the Yeomanry.

21.—Mr. Winston Churchill arrived at Lourenço Marques after an adventurous journey.

23.—Departure of Lord Roberts from London and Southampton for the Cape.

24.—Dordrecht occupied by General Gatacre.

Sortie from Mafeking.

Two British officers captured by Boers near Chieveley.

25.—Bluejackets blew up Tugela Road bridge, and cut off Boers with their guns.

Colonel Dalgety with Mounted Police and Colonial troops held Dordrecht. (Gatacre’s Division.)

26.—Sir Charles Warren arrived at the Natal front.

Boers appeared at Victoria West.

Mafeking force attacked a Boer fort.

27.—Boers unsuccessfully bombarded Ladysmith.

28.—H.M.S. Magicienne captured German liner Bundesrath, near Delagoa Bay, with contraband of war on board.

30.—Skirmish near Dordrecht. Boers defeated with loss. Two British officers captured through mistaking Boers for New Zealanders.

JANUARY 1900.

1.—Enrolment of the first draft of the City Imperial Volunteers.

Surrender of Kuruman, after a stout resistance, to the Boers. Twelve officers and 120 police captured.

General French occupied a kopje overlooking Colesberg. Flight of Boers, leaving their wrecked guns and quantities of stores.

Brilliant manœuvre by Lieutenant-Colonel Pilcher at Sunnyside. Captured the entire Boer camp, made forty prisoners, advanced and occupied Douglas on Vaal River.

Colonel Plumer and Colonel Holdsworth from Rhodesia continued their march to the relief of Mafeking.

2.—Loyal inhabitants of Douglas escorted to Belmont.

General French still engaged with enemy at Colesberg.

3.—General French reinforced from De Aar. Boers being surrounded; fighting in the hills.

General Gatacre repulsed Boer attack on position commanding Molteno.

Colonel Pilcher, for “military reasons,” evacuated Douglas.

4.—General Gatacre occupied Molteno; Boers retreated to Stormberg with loss.

General French manœuvring to enclose Colesberg; further fighting.

5.—General Gatacre hotly engaged at Molteno by Boers from Stormberg; drove them off, inflicting heavy losses.

6.—Great battle at Ladysmith. Boers repulsed on every side with heavy loss.

General Buller made a demonstration in force to aid General White.

General French inflicted severe defeat on Boers at Colesberg. A Company of the 1st Suffolk Regiment captured.

9.—British troops invaded Free State territory near Jacobsdal. The Queensland and Canadian Volunteers cleared a large belt across the Free State border.

10.—Lord Roberts and Lord Kitchener arrived at Cape Town.

Forward movement for the relief of Ladysmith from Chieveley and Frere.

11.—Sir Redvers Buller crossed the Little Tugela, and occupied the south bank of the Tugela at Potgieter’s Drift.

Lord Dundonald and Mounted Brigade crossed the Tugela at Potgieter’s Drift.

General Gatacre made a reconnaissance in force towards Stormberg.

13.—The City Imperial Volunteers left London for South Africa.

15.—Boers attacked General French and were repulsed at Colesberg.

16.—General Lyttleton and Mounted Brigade crossed the Tugela at Potgieter’s Drift.

17.—Sir Charles Warren crossed, with his Division, at Trichardt’s Drift.

Lord Dundonald had an action with the Boers near Acton Homes.

18.—Tugela bridged and crossed by a Brigade and battery.

20.—Sir Charles Warren moved towards Spion Kop.

Reconnaissance by Lord Dundonald.

21.—Heavy fighting by Clery’s force; they attacked the Boers and captured ridge after ridge for three miles.

22—Sir Charles Warren’s entire army engaged.

23.—Spion Kop captured by Sir Charles Warren; General Woodgate wounded.

25-27.—Abandonment of Spion Kop. Sir Charles Warren’s force withdrew to south of Tugela.

27.—Brigadier-General Brabant, commanding a Brigade of Colonial forces, joined General Gatacre.

28.—General Kelly-Kenny occupied Thebus.

30.—British force reoccupied Prieska.

FEBRUARY 1900.

3.—Telegraphic communication restored between Mafeking and Gaberones.

4.—General Macdonald occupied Koodoe’s Drift.

5.—General Buller crossed the Tugela at Manger’s Drift.

6.—General Buller captured Vaal Krantz Hill.

7.—Vaal Krantz Hill abandoned, and British force withdrew south of the Tugela.

9.—General Macdonald retired to Modder River.

Lord Roberts arrived at Modder River.

10.—Colonel Hannay’s force moved to Ramdam.

12.—General French with Cavalry Division, proceeding to the Relief of Kimberley, seized Dekiel’s Drift.

BIRD’S-EYE VIEW OF THE COUNTRY COVERED BY GENERAL BULLER’S OPERATIONS FOR THE RELIEF OF LADYSMITH.
EDINBURGH and LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK

SOUTH AFRICA AND THE
TRANSVAAL WAR

CHAPTER I
THE SITUATION

“The wave that breaks against a forward stroke
Beats not the swimmer back, but thrills him through
With joyous trust to win his way anew
Through stronger seas than first upon him broke
And triumphed. England’s iron-tempered oak
Shrank not when Europe’s might against her grew
Full, and her sun drunk up her foes like dew,
And lion-like from sleep her strength awoke.
As bold in fight as bold in breach of trust
We find our foes and wonder not to find,
Nor grudge them praise whom honour may not bind:
But loathing more intense than speaks disgust
Heaves England’s heart, when scorn is bound to greet
Hunters and hounds whose tongues would lick their feet.”

—Algernon Charles Swinburne.

A week of disaster had terminated woefully. Three British Generals in succession—Sir William Gatacre, Lord Methuen, and Sir Redvers Buller—had advanced against strongly fortified Boer positions and suffered repulse. The hearts of the miserable loyalists, who hung in dire suspense on the result of British action, sank in despair—their dismay and their grief were pitiful. Great Britain echoed their sentiment. Disappointment was universal. General Gatacre had failed through lack of caution and mischance; the other Generals had come to grief owing to the circumstances which forced them willy nilly to hurry to the assistance of beleaguered towns in the face of overwhelming disadvantages, notably the lack of cavalry and the inefficiency of the guns. Lord Methuen had been unable to bring home his early victories owing to the absence of mounted men. Sir Redvers Buller had failed to dislodge the enemy from his strong, naturally fortified positions owing to the weakness of his artillery in comparison to that of the enemy, who had Nordenfeldt and Hotchkiss quick-firing guns in every available position. He had made a glorious attempt—owned to be magnificent; but it was not war, and in his failure he recognised that it was not the game of derring-do, but the game of “slim” warfare as played by his brother Boer which must claim his attention. Now was verified the prophecy of the Polish apocalypse: “The war of the future will be a war of sieges and entrenched positions. In the war of the future the advantage will always rest with the defensive. In the war of the future, frontal attacks, without immense superiority in numbers, will be impossible.”

Every campaign, they say, has its lessons. This one we now find to be full of them, so full indeed that it has necessarily taken our Generals some time to become acquainted even with their grammar. When the war was forced upon us by the Pretoria oligarchy for the long-cherished purpose of ousting Great Britain from South Africa, many of the authorities were of opinion that a rabble of undisciplined farmers would be incapable of offering any formidable resistance to the superior military system of Great Britain. Not a hint of doubt as to the success of our arms and the effectiveness of our war apparatus was entertained. When Colonials in the summer of ’99 volunteered their services, the Government received the offers with a sniff. Later they accepted them with grateful thanks. It was never imagined that colonists could know anything of the art of war, or that they might teach a lesson or two even to that august institution the Staff College. Those who knew ventured to suggest that in South Africa the same cast-iron principles that existed in European warfare would be valueless, and that the lessons of Ingogo and Majuba in ’81 might be repeated in ’99 in all their dire and dismal reality. But these pessimists were scoffed at. They therefore waited, and hoped against hope. Now and then they feebly wondered by what process infantry, arriving two months late, when the enemy had had time to entrench the whole country at various naturally strong strategic points, would be able to overcome the disadvantages attendant on immobility. But they were silenced by a look. British pluck and endurance might be calculated upon to surmount everything and anything—some said! No one seemed to care to tackle the problem of how men on foot would be enabled to compete creditably, in anything like equal numbers, with a mounted enemy possessing more than ordinary mobility.

A mounted enemy has many advantages in his favour. He can select his own position, he can place all his force en masse into the fighting line, he can so pick his positions that one man on the defensive can make himself the equal of three men of the attacking force; and, besides, he can occupy a length of position which must extend his flanks far beyond those of the attackers on foot. These in consequence are either forced to extend to equal length, at almost certain risk of being unable to reinforce any weak point developed during the attack, and thereby cause the attack to be broken at points; or they have to “contain” only a portion of the enemy in position, and perhaps leave his wings—or one wing—free to execute an outflanking movement. It is impossible when a line extends for miles, and the enemy’s strength is not discoverable before the heat of the engagement, for infantry to come from a great distance to the assistance of weak points; and by reason of this immobility it is equally impossible for infantry in the heat of action, and when the front is extended for miles, to suddenly change a plan of attack in time to save a situation.

The task set before our Generals was, therefore, almost superhuman: they were expected to make up for want of mobility with superior strategical qualifications; but, as has been said, no committee of Generals could at this juncture have decided on a strategy applicable to the complicated situation. That the Boer was a born strategist, and had able advisers, was amply proved. The amalgam of Boer methods, with Zulu theories and modern German tactics, was sufficient to try the most ingenious intelligence. For instance, the Boers in early days selected positions on the sides and tops of kopjes, and at the commencement of the campaign, at Talana Hill and at Elandslaagte, they were so perched, in accordance with the primitive principles of their race. They ignored the fact that such positions were the worst they could select against artillery fire with percussion fuses. Even for their own rifle practice such positions were also the worst, as, firing down at an angle, their bullets as a rule ran the chance of ploughing the earth without ricocheting, and served only to hit the one man aimed at. They worked, and still work, on the old Zulu principle of putting their whole strength into the fighting line, acting on the Zulu axiom, “Let it thunder—and pass.” A sound principle this, no doubt, but one which our ponderous military machinery would not allow us to adopt. To these early methods, and to his native “slimness” and cunning, the Boer now added some German erudition. The influence of German officers and German tactics began to work changes curious and inexplicable. The Boers built scientific entrenchments, no longer on the kopjes alone but also below them, thus reducing the effect of hostile artillery, save that of howitzers, and permitting their sharpshooters to sweep the plain with a hurricane from their Mausers. In addition to this they built long castellated trenches, perfect underground avenues, to allow of the invisible massing of troops at any given point. They were also provided with ingenious gun-trenches, quite hidden, along which their Nordenfeldt gun, that pumped five shells in rapid succession, could be removed swiftly from one spot to another, and thereby defeat the efforts of the British gunners to locate it.

Thus it will be seen a new complexion was put upon Boer affairs. Novel and trying conditions were imposed on those who already had to cope with the problem of how to match in mobility a rival who brought to his support six legs, while the British only brought two. Whole armies consisting merely of mounted infantry and artillery had never before come into action, and it began to be understood that a war against bushwhackers, guerillas, and sharpshooters, plus the most expensive guns modernity could provide, was a matter more serious than any with which the nineteenth century had hitherto had to deal. We had to learn that sheer pluck, endurance, and brute force were unavailing, and that strategy of the hard and fast kind—the red-tape strategy of the Staff College—was about as unpractical as a knowledge of the classics to one who goes a-marketing. There is no finality in the art of war, and nations, be they ever so old and wise and important, must go on learning.

One of the newer questions was, how far personal intelligence might be distributed among a body of men? The General as a head, the Staff Officers as nerves that convey volition to the different members, we had accepted, but how far individual acumen was needed to insure success now began to be argued. Certain it was that in this campaign we had opportunities for studying the comparative value of individual discretion versus “fighting to order.” The Boers, every one of them, were working for themselves, absolutely for hearth and home, though perhaps under a general plan which certainly served to harass and annoy and keep the British army in a dilemma; while we laboured on a consolidated system which, if not obsolete, was certainly inappropriate. However, as there was no use in bemoaning our reverses, we began to congratulate ourselves on having discovered the cause of them. It was decided that first there must be more troops sent out to meet the extended nature of our operations, and that these troops must be accompanied by a sufficient number of horses to insure the necessary mobility, without which even the brute force of our numbers would be useless.

Of the successful issue of future proceedings none had a doubt. All knew that the finest strategy in the world must be useless when tools were wanting, and all felt certain that the admirable abilities of our Generals, when once the means of playing their war game came to hand, were bound to rise to the prodigious task still in store.

But for the dire necessity of the three gallant towns—Mafeking, Kimberley, and Ladysmith—a waiting game would have been possible and wise. The Boer stores of food and ammunition would eventually have run out, and the guns gone the way of much-used guns. Trek-oxen, instead of dragging the waggons of their masters, would have had to go to feed the hungry commandoes, and the history of slow exhaustion would have had to be told. But—again there was the great But!—those three valiant towns were holding out their hands, they were crying for help, they were standing in their hourly peril hopeful and brave because they believed—they were certain—that we should never desert them!

At home the grievous news of the reverse was digested by the public with dumb, almost paralysed resignation. At first it was scarcely possible to believe that the great, the long-anticipated move for the relief of Ladysmith had proved a failure, and that the Boers were still masters of the situation, and moreover the richer by eleven of our much-needed guns. By degrees the terrible truth began to be accepted by us. By degrees the Government awakened to the fact that the fighting of the Dutchmen within the region of Natal meant more than the pitting of one Briton against two Boers, that it meant the dashing of a whole Army Corps against Nature’s strongholds, our own by right of purchase and blood, and captured from us merely by reason of neglect and delay!

To awake, however, was to act. In our misfortune it was pleasant to recall the words of Jomini, when speaking of Frederick the Great and his defeats in Silesia. “A series of fortunate events,” he said, “may dull the greatest minds, deprive them of their natural vigour, and level them with common beings. But adversity is a tonic capable of bringing back energy and elasticity to those who have lost it.” The tonic was sipped. Jomini’s theories were proved! Though Great Britain through a series of fortunate events—a long reign of comparative peace—had become lethargic and money-grubbing, she, at the first shock of adversity, regained all her elasticity, vigour, and natural spirit of chivalry. Promptly the entire nation nerved itself to prove that, as of old, it was equal to any struggle, any sacrifice. The whole country seemed with one consent to leap to arms.

The Militia, nine battalions of Infantry, was now permitted to volunteer for service in any part of the Queen’s dominions where such services might be wanted, while it was arranged that specially selected contingents of Yeomanry and Volunteers would start for the Front as soon as there were found ships sufficient to carry them.

Noble as amazing was the hurried response of the Volunteers to the intimation that their services would be accepted for the war. Hastily they pressed forward in crowds to enrol themselves. Their promptitude was goodly to look upon and to read of, for it showed that, in spite of the theories of Tolstoi and the influence of the spirit of modernity, patriotism is inherent and not a mere exotic or cultivated sentiment in the British race. We now found that though many traditions may be worn to rags, those of the British army had grown, like old tapestry, the more precious for the passage of time.

Still the military position was pregnant with anxieties. A horse that is left at the post may perhaps win in the end, but his chances of success are remote. An army that lands in driblets three months after time is scarcely calculated to succeed against a rival army which has spent that interval in equipping itself for the fray. We were forced to remember that at the onset our officers were placed in the most dangerous positions, with inadequate support and no prospect of reinforcement, until their energies, mental and physical, had been sapped by undue and prolonged strain. On the north Tuli had but a handful of troops to resist an enormous and powerful enemy; Mafeking was surrounded, isolated, and able only to resist to the death the persistent attacks of shot and shell; Vryburg was allowed to be treacherously given away to the enemy; and Kimberley was left in the lurch as it were, to fight or fall according to the pluck of those who were ready to exhaust their vitality in loyalty to the Queen. On the Natal side things were still worse. The country, every inch of which is familiar to the Boer, had almost invited invasion. The whole strength of Boers and Free Staters was permitted to launch itself against an army which was entirely without reserves, and which could not be reinforced under a month. That brave and unfortunate soldier, Sir George Colley, had a theory that small, well-organised troops were worth as much again as large and desultory ones; but he took no account of peculiar facilities which are almost inherent to armies fighting on their own soil, as it were, and habits of warfare which have, so to speak, become ancestral with the Boer. From old time the Dutchman has employed his mountain fastnesses, his boulders, and his tambookie grass as screens and shelters, till in war the “tricks of the trade” have become a second nature to him, and serve in place of more complicated European methods. The small Natal army was, on Sir George Colley’s principle, allowed to pit itself against a fighting mass, dense and desultory it may be, but a fighting mass of enormous dimensions, which, whatever their failings, had weight, equipment, courage, obstinacy, and intimacy with their surroundings entirely in their favour. That the enemy was first in the field they had to thank the original promoters of war, the Peace party—the humanitarian persons who so long hampered reason by loud outcries against the shedding of blood that their own countrymen in the Transvaal were condemned to all the tortures of suspense, to be aggravated later by all the agonies of famine and disease. Their own countrywomen and their babes were saved from shot and shell to be sent defenceless and homeless to wander the world till the charity of strangers or the relief of death should overtake them, while the loyal natives were left in a state of trepidation and suspense, without protection, yet forbidden to raise a hand in their own defence.

Reason now had its way. But remedies cannot be applied in a moment, and the public, which is always wise after the event, vented its anguish and its feelings of suspense by indulging in criticism, or in asking questions which, of course, could not be answered till the principal persons concerned were able to take part in the catechism. For instance, some of the riddles buzzed about in club and railway carriage were: Why did Sir Redvers Buller make a frontal attack across an open plain against an enemy admirably entrenched, and posted in a position not only made strong by art but by nature? Why was it that the Government, in spite of the warnings given by Sir Alfred Milner while he was in England in May ’99, neglected to take such precautions as would have prevented the enemy from being entirely in advance of us in the matter of time? Why, also, were the Boers permitted to arm themselves with the most expensive modern weapons, to be used against us, under the very eye of our representative in Pretoria, without our being warned of the inferior quality of our own guns, and of the impossibility of making ourselves a match for the enemy so long as the cheese-paring policy of the authorities at home was countenanced? Why, with an Intelligence Department in working order, was it never discovered that united Free State and Transvaal Dutchmen would vastly outnumber all the troops we were prepared—or, rather, unprepared—to put in the field, the troops we strove to make sufficient till the strain of reverse forced from us the acceptance of help from the Colonies, the Militia, and the Volunteers?

The great question of reinforcements filled all minds. Nothing indeed could be looked for till they should reach the Cape. Fifteen huge transports were due to arrive between the end of December and the beginning of January, bringing on the scene some 15,000 troops of all arms. The Fifth Division, under Sir Charles Warren, consisting of eight battalions of Infantry and its complement of Artillery and Engineers was expected, also the Household Cavalry Composite Regiment, the 14th Hussars, a siege train, a draft of Marines, and various odd branches of the service. Later on more troops would follow, but pending the arrival of the warrior cargoes it was impossible for our Generals to do more than act on the defensive, and consider themselves fortunate if they could prevent the further advance of the enemy to the south.

But the most momentous move of the closing year was the departure of Lord Roberts for the seat of war. Here was this gallant officer, whose life had been devoted to the service of his country, and who was at an age when many other men would have elected to stay by hearth and home, suddenly called on to act in the most difficult and trying crisis. And, in the very hour that he was asked to rouse himself to meet the call of Queen and country, he was dealt a crushing blow. His gallant son, the only one, and one well worthy to have worn the laurels of his noble father, besides adding to them by his own splendid acts, was carried off, a victim to the severe wound he received at Colenso. Here was a supreme trial, so supreme indeed that none dared touch it. All, even Lord Roberts’s sincerest friends, shrunk from dwelling on the agony of mind that must have been endured by this great hero when at the same moment the voice of duty and the cry of domestic love jarred in conflict. On the one side he was called upon to brace himself to meet a political situation fraught with all manner of indescribable complications, while on the other, human nature with a thousand clinging tendrils drew him towards the numbness of mute woe or the consolation of private tears. But, like the great warrior he is, he got into harness and started off, leaving his misery in the hands of the great British people, who held it as their own. The “send off” they gave him at Waterloo Station was one of the most remarkable outbursts of public feeling on record, and this was not only due to admiration for the conqueror of Kandahar, but to profound sympathy for the man and the father who was thus laying aside his private self and placing all his magnificent ability at the service of the Empire.

DOINGS AT CHIEVELEY

It was now found desirable to remove part of the camp about ten and a half miles to the south, to get out of range of the Boer big guns which commanded the position. The wounded were daily being sent off in train-loads to Maritzburg, many of them, in spite of being shot in two or three places, cheerful and anxious to return quickly “to be in at the death,” as they sportingly described it. The funeral of Lord Roberts’s gallant son caused a sense of deep depression to prevail in all ranks, for he was not only regretted by those who held his brilliant qualities in esteem, but in sympathy with the sore affliction which had befallen the veteran “Bobs,” whose name, wherever Tommy goes, is one to conjure with. The ceremony was a most impressive one, and the pall-bearers were all men of young Roberts’s corps. These were Major Prince Christian Victor, Colonels Buchanan-Riddell and Bewicke-Copley, and Major Stuart-Wortley.

The graves of all the unfortunate slain were marked round, covered with flowers, and temporary tablets arranged till suitable memorials should be prepared.

A PICKET OF 13th HUSSARS SURPRISED NEAR THE TUGELA RIVER (HUSSAR HILL).
Drawing by John Charlton.

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.

Map of the Seat of War. Scale 1 inch=86 miles.
[Transcribers' note: Image is a link to a larger scale image. For ease of reference, the black line beneath the image would be approximately one inch in length in the original.]

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—

“‘Hold the Fort, for I am coming,’
Says the helio—
Quick as light the answer flashes,
‘Ain’t you coming slow?’”

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!

LIEUT.-GENERAL FORRESTIER WALKER, K.C.B.
Commanding the Lines of Communication.
Photo by Elliott & Fry, London.

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

Plucky little Mafeking continued to hold its own, and not merely to hold its own, but to make itself dauntlessly aggressive. Continual sorties took place, and indeed formed part of the routine of daily life. Commandant Cronje now sent in a communication disputing the right of the British to use dynamite in any way in the operations for the defence of the town; but Colonel Baden-Powell was inclined for deeds, not arguments, so Cronje was silenced. The town was enlivened by a great concert, in which the National Anthem was sung with fervour and intense significance. This showed without doubt that Mafeking meant to fight so long as breath should last. In regard to provisions and water, the garrison was getting on well. The art of dodging shells, said one officer, was being carried to a state of great perfection, and the fighting was being conducted in strict accordance with military etiquette, Commandant Cronje always giving due notice of bombardment!

For some time after Colonel Walford’s gallant defence of Cannon Kopje on the 31st October, nothing much occurred. The losses from this attack were more than at first supposed. Captain the Hon. H. Marsham, as we know, was killed, and Captain Pechell, who was hit in the abdomen by a piece of shell, succumbed to his injuries. Sergeant Lloyd, who did splendid service with the Red Cross company, was struck while attending to the wounded, and died. Trooper Nicholas, whose arm was shattered, succumbed owing to shock to the system. A trooper who was hit by a bullet in the collar-bone escaped death miraculously. Fortunately, Lieutenants Brady and Dawson, who were also injured, were getting on well.

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.

The Siege of Mafeking
Topographical Sketch showing the British and Boer Positions
From a sketch by a British officer brought by runner to Buluwayo

The enemy now engaged in hostilities under the command of the son of Cronje, who was said to have had, in the interval, a passage d’armes with his father, the General, the younger man having taunted the elder for not having succeeded in reducing Mafeking to submission. Whereupon Cronje fils undertook to do the great deed himself, and in setting about it managed to get killed. The Boers again stormed the place, and were driven back in confusion by the magnificent energy of the British South African Police, leaving strewn on the field of action an enormous number of dead and wounded. Their removal occupied two hours. Captain Goodyear, commanding a squad of Cape “boys,” made a dashing sortie, and received a wound in the leg, but he nevertheless captured the brickfields, and held them against the enemy, thus preventing him from utilising them for sniping operations.

Sunday the 5th of November was, as usual, observed as a day of truce. The enemy made an effort to defy the rules of Sabbath etiquette, and were informed, under a flag of truce, that if they should continue to erect works commanding the brickfields, the guns would open fire on them. This warning had the desired effect. The memory of Guy Fawkes, together with the news of our victories in Natal, was honoured by an exhibition of fireworks—a display which some thought rather de trop considering the nature of the daily operations in the town. On the following day the Boers made themselves unpleasantly obstreperous by saluting the place with quick-firing guns, weapons whose shells burst almost simultaneously with the report, thus depriving those aimed at of the chance of running to cover.

The air of Mafeking is said to be equal to champagne, and perhaps to its stimulating influence the garrison owed its sprightliness and activity. The little township “ran” a journal of its own, and though not so effervescent as The Lyre of Ladysmith, it had its humorous side. The Mafeking Mail, as it was called, was issued daily—shells permitting. Quoting from the Mail of the 1st of November, a facsimile of which was reproduced by the Daily Telegraph, we read that—

“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.

Outpost and Entrenchment, Southern Fort, Mafeking

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.

SERGEANT-MAJOR—IMPERIAL LIGHT HORSE. Photo by Gregory & Co., London.

KURUMAN AND ELSEWHERE

Of the diminutive town of Kuruman and its gallant struggle little can be said. The garrison—consisting of seventy-five British subjects, including the men that came from Bastards—under the command of Captain Baker stood out valiantly, fighting with rare obstinacy, and hoping that British success elsewhere would speedily draw off the intermittent attentions of the Boers. From the 13th to the 20th of November a strong party of Dutchmen kept up incessant pressure, but they were forced to retreat, though both sides suffered loss. On the part of the British one special constable was killed.

The official details of the defence showed that the Mission Station which was formerly the centre of Dr. Moffat’s long work among the natives of that part of Africa was the point of resistance to the Boer attack. When the Dutch commandant notified the magistrate of his intention to occupy the place, the latter replied that he had orders to defend it. Thereupon he collected twenty natives and thirty half-castes, with whose aid he barricaded the Mission Chapel, and there resisted the assault of 500 Boers for six days and nights, after which the Boers abandoned the attack.

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

Poor Mafeking! The inevitable hung like a ghost over everything—bodiless, formless, but always there at the elbows of the gallant band that so long had held out against the foe. He was now coming closer—closer, continuing to sap and approach by parallels, till before long not only shells but rifle-fire would render streets impassable, shelters useless, and fortified positions dangerous. Colonel Baden-Powell’s brilliant wits were hard pressed to keep the enemy from carrying the town by storm, and all who valued their lives lived underground, burrowing like rabbits, or in bomb-proof shelters, from which occasionally they were routed, not by fire but by water.

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.

Facsimile of Writing in Album by Col. Baden-Powell

To make it evident that Mafeking was determined to keep lively and aggressive in spite of intermittent bombardment, several more gallant sorties were made, and on each occasion the little place came off with flying colours. Commander Cronje, disgusted, finally took himself off with some twenty waggons to Riceters (Transvaal), leaving his guns with the remaining commandoes and relegating to them the task of reducing the truculent town to submission.

Ruses, which are as the breath of his nostrils to the Boer in warfare, continued to be tried on Colonel Baden-Powell, who may be said to have almost enjoyed new chances to whet his wits and showed himself the last person to be caught napping. Indeed, some one at the time remarked that if they wanted to take him in they would have to get up very early in the morning and stay awake all night into the bargain! The latest Boer device was to make a show of going away and leaving a big gun apparently in a state of being dismantled. This of course was what in vulgar phrase might be called a “draw” for the besieged. But the Colonel was not to be drawn; his smart scouts continually found the enemy hidden in force, and thereupon put every one on their guard. Mafeking, in fact, “sat tight” and—winked!

MAJOR-GENERAL LORD KITCHENER OF KHARTOUM.
Photo by Bassano, London.

Meanwhile the inhabitants were pushing out advanced works with good effect, and began to feel more and more confident that their pluck and patience would ultimately receive their reward. Their bomb-proof shelters were becoming works of art. They were no longer rabbit-warrens, but well-ventilated apartments, roofed with the best steel rails and sand-bags, and lighted by windows resembling portholes. Great ingenuity was displayed in the wedding of safety with comfort, and the owners soon began to grow interested in the artistic quality of their improvised retreats!

On the 25th of November another gallant sortie was made, and the Chartered Company’s Police, with magnificent pluck and determination, attacked Eloffsfort and kept the Boers from further encroachment.

For some days nothing unusual took place. The Boers continued to annoy with their 10-ton gun and the Boer flag began to float over the fortified places surrounding the town. In fact, there was a somewhat wearisome monotony in the programme of daily life. The laconic report at that time of one of the sufferers was that the sole resource was to “snipe and wait!” Fortunately pressure elsewhere was beginning to draw off some of the hostile legions, and consequently the activity of the assault on the town was diminished. It was quite evident that Colonel Baden-Powell had been found a nasty nut to crack, and that his earthworks, his trenches, his underground shelters, his night attacks, and his hundred-and-one minor dodges, which had been craftily invented to test the amiability of the ingenuous Boer, were scarcely appreciated. Indeed, the worthy Cronje, when wisely taking himself off, was reported to have owned that the Mafeking blend of Baden-Powell-dynamite-mine-and-best-Sheffield was decidedly infernal!

On this subject the correspondent of the Times, who was cooped in Mafeking, said: “The significance of the dynamite mines which surround our position cannot be under-estimated. Had the Boers any trustworthy information as to the whereabouts of the mines, the town would probably have been stormed weeks ago. The general ignorance on their part of the locality of the mines creates corresponding dread. The mines may be taken as a material effort on the part of Rhodesia to assist Imperial prestige and interests. The Postmaster-General of Rhodesia lent Mr. Kiddy, manager of telegraphs, to superintend the laying of mines, telephones, and field-telegraphs. The services so rendered have been invaluable.”

Of the Commandant another of the beleaguered band wrote: “Commanding us we have a man than whom we could have none better. The Colonel is always smiling, and is a host in himself. To see ‘B. P.,’ as he is affectionately termed, whistling down the street, deep in thought, pleasing of countenance, cheerful and confident, is cheering and heartening—far more cheering and heartening than a pint of dry champagne. Had any man in whom the town placed less confidence been in command, disaster might have befallen Mafeking; and if we are able to place the name of Mafeking upon the roll of the Empire’s outposts which have fought for the honour and glory of Britain, it will be chiefly because Baden-Powell has commanded us.”

That our good old friend Punch should, in his old age, cause almost intoxicating delight is a fact worthy of note. A copy brought by Reuter’s cyclist-runner was safely carried into the town, to the intense joy of its inhabitants. It contained the cartoon by Sir John Tenniel in which John Bull is represented as telling the Boer that if he wishes to fight it must be a fight to the finish. The journal was read and re-read even to the advertisements, and gloated over for many days. What has now become of it is a question of interest. There are doubtless many collectors of war trophies who would pay more than his weight in gold for Mr. Punch after he had lived through and shared in the vicissitudes of siege life in Mafeking.

The pluck of Colonel Baden-Powell seemed to be epidemic. Young boys, and even women, clamoured to do their share of the work, and strove to display a perfectly unruffled front in face of shot and shell. In one house some ladies stuck to their abode while the breastworks were being built, and employed the interval in playing and singing the National Anthem, thus stimulating and cheering the workers outside, who joined heartily in the chorus. On the 28th of November grand preparations were made for an evening attack, and these were quietly inspected by Colonel Baden-Powell in the small hours of the morning. But the Boers, whose spies were for ever busy, were forewarned and had evacuated their position. From the advanced trench in the river-bed some successful sniping at the foe on the brickfields was carried on, however, and from here the enemy was eventually routed by the smart action of the besieged.

During the night the Colonel ordered Captain Fitzclarence, with D squadron and a Hotchkiss gun, to relieve Lord C. Bentinck and to support the “snipers” in the river-bed. D squadron took up a position in the river-bed under Captain Fitzclarence and Lieutenant Bridges 1400 yards from “Big Ben.” The Cape Police and a Maxim at the extreme south-east corner, and Captain Marsh with a detachment of the Cape Police in the native stadt at 2000 yards range, co-operated. It now became impossible for the Boer artillerists to hold the emplacement of their 100-lb. gun. Heavy three-cornered volleying from the British positions swept the parapet of “Big Ben” every time its detachment attempted to turn the gun upon the town. The remarkable accuracy of our fire kept the Boer gunners at bay, and after discharging two shells they withdrew the weapon below its platform. The enemy made some futile efforts to renew the shelling, but at last desisted. But on the morrow the customary salute of big guns was resumed. Meanwhile the Colonel employed himself with various jokes of a very practical nature, which served to keep the wits and energies of the Boers in a perpetual state of polish.

News from Colonel Plumer and his force was scarce, but all were aware that their days and nights were spent in hard work, great discomfort, and in perpetual and gallant efforts to come to the aid of the besieged town. It must be remembered that the Rhodesian Regiment originally had for its object the protection of the northern border of the Transvaal and a portion of the western side. Mafeking made, as it were, the outer gate, and this gate it was necessary to defend in order to preserve the communications with the north and with Buluwayo. No sooner, therefore, was it locked by a state of siege, than the entire responsibility of keeping the Boers at bay in the northern fringe of the Transvaal devolved on Colonel Plumer, who, on arrival at Tuli, set to work to guard the Drifts, and keep an eye on all quarters along the Crocodile where the Boers might try to effect a crossing. At Rhodes Drift, twenty-six miles south of South Tuli, he posted Major Pilsen with 250 mounted infantry, while Captain Maclaren, with fifty men of the Rhodesia Regiment and twenty of the Bechuanaland Border Police, was sent to garrison Macloutsie, some thirty miles north of the Limpopo, where it was said the Boers hoped to put in an appearance. Major Pilsen, as we know, was forced to retire on Tuli, after which the position vacated by him was occupied by Colonel Spreckley (Southern Rhodesia Volunteers), who in his turn was obliged to make a night march back to Tuli, with the loss of all his horses. Soon after this, strong Boer patrols approached daily towards Tuli, and the garrison had an anxious and energetic time. Minor skirmishes took place with certain success, but leaving behind them their melancholy roll of killed and wounded. Soon, however, a British victory south, and Colonel Plumer’s exertions round about, combined to alter the Boer plans, and at length their retirement in the direction of Mafeking was reported. Whereupon this enterprising officer prepared to enter the Transvaal, whither he was driven, not by the enemy, but by drought. On the 1st of December he started from Tuli with a force of mounted men, and, after hairbreadth escapes, in four or five days reached a place some fifty miles north of Petersburg, the chief town in the north of the South African Republic. He also proceeded down the railway line towards Mafeking, but was continually harassed by the enemy, and continually obliged to retrace his steps owing to lack of water and other insuperable difficulties. Here we must leave him for a time.

The Boers, learning that necessity is the mother of invention, and finding they could not get into Mafeking, were obliged to communicate with the Baden-Powell “braves” in an original manner. They fired into the town a five-pounder shell, which failed to explode. It was examined, opened, and discovered to contain the following jocose epistle:—“Dear Powell,—Excuse an iron messenger. There is no other means of communicating. Please tell Mrs. — Mother and family all well. Don’t drink all the whisky. Leave some for us when we get in.” This was a little piece of innocent diversion compared to other experiences. On the following day a shell from a Boer 100-pounder struck a store, sending its splinters far and wide, and carrying devastation in its wake. Daily some tragic episode was the result of a well-directed shot, some white or black inhabitant was left a mangled, hopeless wreck—a pathetic fortuitous atom blown to the winds by the blast of war. In addition to the intermittent uproar of the heavy guns, heaven’s thunders at times broke out, with copious showers of rain, and one of these, on the 5th, was so violent that it flooded out the trenches, and made all bomb-proof shelters untenable. Trouble and discomfort were as far as possible relieved with great energy by Lord Edward Cecil and others, but the effects of the inundation were not easily removed. Brisk engagements between the sharpshooters on either side now formed part of a morning and evening programme, and the Protectorate Regiment, under Lord Charles Bentinck, did such good service that the enemy grew shy of approach, and concluded that the process of starving out the garrison would be more comfortable than shelling so vigorous and retaliative a community.

On the 10th of December the Dutchman Viljoen, who was a prisoner, was exchanged for Lady Sarah Wilson. The story of this enterprising lady is one of remarkable interest. In the beginning of the siege she left Mafeking and rode to Setlagoli Hotel, where she arrived on the same night. No sooner was she asleep than the rattle and roar of musketry commenced. This was afterwards discovered to be the gallant fight of Lieutenant Nesbitt on the armoured train, which has been described in the opening story of the siege. Poor Nesbitt, it may be remembered, was taken prisoner. Lady Sarah, a day or two after the fight, rode to the scene of the engagement and photographed the wreck. Later on, this intrepid lady moved from Mosuti to the care of a colonial farmer, and with great difficulty and much expenditure of energy and coin, she managed to induce the natives to provide her with information. All this time she and her friends were subject to the insults of the Boers. At one period she was declared to be the sole survivor of Mafeking, in hiding in the disguise of a woman. At another, she was believed to be the wife of one of the British generals. Others declared that the extraordinary lady was a member of the Royal Family, who was acting as spy on the doings of the Boers in the Colony. After moving to Vryburg, life for her became more exciting still. A young Boer passed her off as his sister, and some loyalists in the town gave her shelter, and helped her to obtain official despatches and news. But her state was far from comfortable, for most of her excursions had to be made under the shadow of night, and her days were spent enclosed in a room at the hotel. When Lady Sarah desired to leave the town, her exit was not so easy. The magistrates had issued orders that no one was to leave, and but for the kindness of her “brother Boer,” she might not have been able to depart. Their journey was commenced at four in the morning, while it was still dark, and before leaving the town they had to submit to a search of their car, lest it should contain any contraband of war.

At last, however, it was discovered that Lady Sarah Wilson’s energy was connected with despatch-running, and her liberty was threatened. One day while riding to Mafeking with her maid she was captured by the Boers. On reaching Snyman’s camp, the general refused to allow her to proceed to her destination or to return to Setlagoli. She was then detained as a prisoner of war, pending negotiations with Colonel Baden-Powell regarding the terms of her release. The Colonel offered to exchange for Lady Sarah a Boer lady prisoner, but the enemy refused to part with their prize till Viljoen, who was incarcerated in Mafeking, was first given up. Colonel Baden-Powell then represented that he, as a natural consequence, and without terms of exchange, had at once transferred women and children prisoners to the care of their people; but the Boer general was not to be prevailed upon by argument. Eventually Viljoen was given up and Lady Sarah returned safe and well to Mafeking. The transaction, though somewhat unpleasant, was on the whole decidedly complimentary to Lady Sarah in particular, and to the British feminine sex in general. It fully proved that an Englishwoman might in future view herself as the equivalent of a Boer officer.

The artillery-fire of the enemy was now beginning to prove more efficient than formerly. In spite of this, however, Colonel Baden-Powell, in the kindness of his heart, issued a warning to the Burghers advising them to make terms and go home. This very characteristic epistle is here reproduced, as it shows the amazing blend of serpent and dove in the spirit of the man who was at that moment facing the choice of death or surrender:—

“To the Burghers under arms round Mafeking:—

“Burghers,—I address you in this manner because I have only recently learned how you have been intentionally kept in the dark by your officers, the Government, and the newspapers as to what is happening in other parts of South Africa. As the officer commanding Her Majesty’s troops on this border, I think it right to point out clearly the inevitable result of your remaining longer under arms against Great Britain. You are aware that the present war was caused by the invasion of British territory by your forces without justifiable reasons. Your leaders do not tell you that so far your forces have only met the advanced guard of the British forces. The circumstances have changed within the last week. The main body of the British are now daily arriving by thousands from England, Canada, India, and Australia, and are about to advance through the country. In a short time the Republic will be in the hands of the English, and no sacrifice of life on your part can stop it. The question now that you have to put to yourselves before it is too late is:—Is it worth while losing your lives in a vain attempt to stop the invasion or take a town beyond your borders, which, if taken, will be of no use to you?

“I may tell you that Mafeking cannot be taken by sitting down and looking at it, for we have ample supplies for several months. The Staats artillery has done very little damage, and we are now protected both by troops and mines. Your presence here and elsewhere under arms cannot stop the British advancing through your country. Your leaders and newspapers are also trying to make you believe that some foreign combination or Power is likely to intervene in your behalf against England. It is not in keeping with their pretence that your side is going to be victorious, nor in accordance with facts. The Republics having declared war and taken the offensive, cannot claim intervention on their behalf. The German Emperor is at present in England, and fully sympathises with us. The American Government has warned others of its intention to side with England should any Power intervene. France has large interests in the goldfields, identical with those of England. Italy is entirely in accord with us. Russia has no cause to interfere. The war is of one Government against another, and not of a people against another people. The duty assigned to my troops is to sit still here until the proper time arrives, and then to fight and kill until you give in. You, on the other hand, have other interests to think of, your families, farms, and their safety. Your leaders have caused the destruction of farms, and have fired on women and children. Our men are becoming hard to restrain in consequence. They have also caused the invasion of Kaffir territory, looting their cattle, and have thus induced them to rise and invade your country and kill your Burghers. As one white man to another, I warned General Cronje on November 14 that this would occur. Yesterday I heard that more Kaffirs were rising. I have warned General Snyman accordingly. Great bloodshed and destruction of farms threaten you on all sides.

“I wish to offer you a chance of avoiding it. My advice to you is to return to your homes without delay and remain peaceful till the war is over. Those who do this before the 13th will, as far as possible, be protected, as regards yourselves, your families, and property, from confiscation, looting, and other penalties, to which those remaining under arms will be subjected when the invasion takes place. Secret agents will communicate to me the names of those who do. Those who do not avail themselves of the terms now offered may be sure that their property will be confiscated when the troops arrive. Each man must be prepared to hand over a rifle and 150 rounds of ammunition. The above terms do not apply to officers and members of the Staats artillery, who may surrender as prisoners of war at any time, nor to rebels on British territory.

“It is probable that my force will shortly take the offensive. To those who after this warning defer their submission till too late, I can offer no promise. They will have only themselves to blame for injury to and loss of property they and their families may afterwards suffer.”—(Signed) R. S. S. Baden-Powell, Colonel, Mafeking, December 10.”

If this warning did nothing else, it certainly had the effect of touching General Snyman in a soft spot, for he at once wrote to his Burghers in fiery language, expressing his disapproval that such a communication should have been addressed direct to them. The idea that “sitting and looking at a place is not the way to take it” seems to have gone home to him, for he promptly challenged the besieged to come out and drive him away!

On the same day as his address to the Burghers the Colonel wrote home to a relative in England, and sent the missive folded in a quill, which was in its turn rammed into the pipe of a Kaffir:—

“Mafeking, Dec. 12, 1899.

“All going well with me. To-day I have been trying to find any old Carthusians in the place to have a Carthusian dinner together, as it is Founder’s Day; but so far, for a wonder, I believe I am the only one among the odd thousand people here.

“This is our sixtieth day of the siege, and I do believe we’re beginning to get a little tired of it; but I suppose, like other things, it will come to an end some day. I have got such an interesting collection of mementoes of it to bring home. I wonder if Baden[1] is in the country? What fun if he should come up to relieve me!

“I don’t know if this letter will get through the Boer outposts, but if it does, I hope it will find you very well and flourishing.”

KIMBERLEY

At Kimberley on November 4 things were still cheerful, though short commons had begun to be enforced. The Transvaalers advanced on Kenilworth, and Major Peakman with a squadron of the Kimberley Light Horse, emerging suddenly from the bush, gave them a warm reception. Colonel Scott-Turner reinforced Major Peakman, and two guns were sent to support him against the enemy’s guns, which at that juncture ceased firing. The enemy’s fire with one piece of artillery was on the whole poor, and fortunately little serious damage was done. Later in the afternoon came another encounter with the enemy, an encounter which was kept up till dusk, and in which the enemy sustained considerable loss. Unfortunately Major Ayliff of the Cape Police, a brave and efficient officer, was wounded in the neck. The Boers occupied the Kampersdam mine, some five miles distant, and shelled the Otto Kopje mine, while the manager, Mr. Chapman, like a Spartan, watched the destruction of his property and kept Colonel Kekewich informed as to the damage done. This was luckily small. On November 6 General Cronje sent a message to Colonel Kekewich calling on him to surrender, otherwise the town would be bombarded, and on the following day a force of Free State artillery, supported by a large commando, began further offensive operations. Captain Brown, who rode out a short distance to Alexandersfontein, was captured, and stripped by the Boers because he would reveal nothing regarding the state of the town.

Plan of Kimberley and Environs

ARMY SERVICE CORPS.
Photo by Gregory & Co., London.

According to rough calculation, the opposing forces at Kimberley early in November stood thus:—

The disparity was not enlivening, but, though provisions were beginning to run low, pluck was inexhaustible. And with pluck, as with faith, one may move mountains.

On the 11th of November the bombardment of the town was commenced with great vigour, the Boers firing from three positions. Little serious damage was done, owing to the fact that many of the shells did not burst. In spite of the incessant brawling of artillery, the perpetual appearance of fog, and a stinging pall of smoke in which they lived, the inhabitants of the place kept up an air of cheery unconcern, which naturally they were far from feeling. They also determined to disquiet the enemy by continual threats of attack from unexpected quarters. With the spirit of philosophers they at times made small divertisements for themselves. Once when a cooking-pot was struck the debris were put up to auction, and some fun was got out of the brisk competition for the historic relics. Some of the choicest of these were knocked down—this time not by guns—for the sum of £2 a piece. The price of a complete shell was about £5, and portions of one could be purchased at proportionate rates. Bits and fragments fetched sums varying from half a crown to half a sovereign!

Nothing further happened, save that a cabdriver was captured, interrogated, threatened, and finally set free. Commandant Wessels, who sounded him regarding the dynamite mines round Kimberley, concluded with the message—a typical specimen of Boer braggadocio—“Tell Rhodes I shall take Wesselton mine next Tuesday, and then he must stand whiskies!”

On the 12th Lord Methuen, on whom all had pinned their faith, arrived with his staff at the Orange River. This was a red-letter day. The news of British relief so close at hand was most inspiriting, and those whose patience was inclined to languish began to take heart. In Kimberley itself the weather was fine and warm, and as yet little ill consequence from the shelling was suffered. A peacock was killed, some buildings damaged, some nervous persons terrified. The military authorities issued a proclamation ordering that all people not engaged with the defensive forces should give up arms and ammunition, a decision that was found necessary to prevent irresponsible persons from infringing the laws of civilised warfare.

On the 17th of November a force composed of detachments of the Diamond Fields Horse, Kimberley Light Horse, and Cape Police, under Colonel Scott Turner, went out with a field-gun and two Maxims to ascertain the strength of the enemy’s position at Lazaretto Ridge. The enemy, who were posted on a rocky mound between Carter’s Farm and the reservoir, opened fire on the advancing men, who, though some vigorous volleys were returned, were obliged to retire. Meanwhile the Beaconsfield Town Guard had a tussle with the foe, and, after much firing on either side, he eventually retired. As usual, he hid behind rocks and stones, and made himself generally inaccessible. On the following day some smart engagements ensued, and so brisk was the volleying from rifles and the booming of field-guns, that the townspeople believed that some decisive battle must be taking place. There were, however, few casualties.

All eyes were now fixed on the doings of the Kimberley relief force that was concentrating at Orange River. A few more weeks, nay, a few more days, and those patient, cheery prisoners would march out free to have their reckoning with the Boers. Lord Methuen, once joined by the Coldstream Guards, Grenadiers, and Naval Brigade, would be able to push on, and then the first big move in the war would be made. So they hoped, and with reason, for an electric searchlight, worked by the Naval Brigade under Colonel Ernest Rhodes, was signalling to Kimberley, whose searchlights were plainly visible to the advancing army.

To the dreary imprisoned inhabitants this mode of communication was vastly exciting. Every day the relief column was approaching nearer and nearer, and the patient though longing besieged began to feel as if they were already almost liberated. They commenced preparing an enthusiastic welcome for the incoming troops, and ironical farewell salutations were now levied at the Boers in acknowledgment of shells and of their general artillery prowess. At that time, coming events—the disasters of Majesfontein and Colenso—had not cast their shadows before! Mr. Rhodes was particularly cheery, and took most whimsically to the information conveyed through Kaffir sources that the enemy was keenly desirous of exhibiting him in a cage at Bloemfontein prior to despatching him to Pretoria! The brutal manners and customs of the Boers, however, were no subject for joke, as shown by their treatment of four “boys” who were found and captured while searching for stray cattle. After killing a couple of them, the enemy ordered the remaining two, having first flogged them, to bury the bodies of their comrades, and then go back to Kimberley and tell their friends how they had been treated.

The Siege of Kimberley: Typical Splinter-proof Shelter of Sand-bags and Iron Plates
Photo, Hancox, Kimberley

Boer tricks continued to be practised with little success. They served instead to sharpen the wits of the beleaguered Kimburlians—if one may be allowed to coin a word which seems to suit them. A few rifle-shots were fired in the direction of Wright’s Farm for the purpose of pretending that the long-looked-for relieving force was approaching, and thus draw out the Diamond Fields Horse; but the manœuvre was a failure. The Boers consoled themselves by blowing up two large culverts near the rifle-butts on the line towards Spyfontein, where the bulk of the Boer forces were then supposed to be. An official estimate at that date (Nov. 25) placed the number of shells fired by the Boers during the bombardment at 1000, while the number of shells fired by the British was 600. Owing to the fact that the hostile shells had so often fallen in sandy ground, their effect had been neutralised. Experiments were made with “home-made” shells, or rather De Beers-made shells, which exploded to the general satisfaction of their manufacturers. Some of these were said to be labelled “With J. C. Rhodes’s compliments,” but this was doubtless a cheery quip for the entertainment of the lugubrious, as Colonel Kekewich and the “Colossus” were too good men of business to waste their ammunition on pleasantries. These two marvellous people were now working hand in hand, the great business brain of the one lending support to the military skill of the other. Mr. Rhodes placed at the disposal of the Colonel—one should say of his country—the whole resources of De Beers, and worked without cessation for the welfare of the people, spending without stint, intellect, energy, and funds on their behalf. When the mines ceased to work, he still paid full wages to the 2000 white men employed on them, and laid out large vegetable gardens in the midst of Kenilworth for the purpose of supplying the inhabitants with green foods. He organised a mounted force of 600 men, supplying them himself with horses; and later on he instituted a service of native runners and scouts, which served to keep the garrison alert as to the whereabouts of the enemy. Indeed, space does not allow of a faithful recital of the doings of this public benefactor, who, without display, made his influence felt in every quarter of the town.

Kimberley, as said, was now in communication by searchlight with Colonel Rhodes, and was racking its brains how an attempt might be made from the east side to march out and assist the troops coming from Belmont. “So near and yet so far” was the general feeling in regard to these troops, and a burning desire for the handclasp of the gallant rescuers filled all the brave yet anxious hearts that for so long had been cut off from the outer world.

On the 25th of November there was unusual activity. The mounted troops at dawn made a strong reconnaissance in force under Lieut.-Colonel Scott Turner. The guns were under the charge of Colonel Chamier of the Royal Artillery. Hostilities commenced with a hot fire from the Diamond Fields Artillery’s guns under Captain May, in the direction of Carter’s Farm, Colonel Scott Turner with his troops marching towards Lazaretto Ridge, where the enemy was strongly entrenched. This took place at about 4.30 A.M. in the dusk of the early dawn. By good chance the pickets were found to be asleep, and Colonel Scott Turner and his forces crept along the ridge and with marvellous energy rushed the Boer redoubts. On the instant rifles bristled—shots blazed out. But all was to no purpose; the Boers had to surrender. They did this in their usual treacherous fashion, hoisting the white flag while they took stray pot-shots at their conquerors. This charge was one worthy of record, for few of the men who engaged in it had ever used a bayonet in their lives. So little did they know of the weapon, that they were unable to fix it in the socket, and consequently rushed upon the enemy, rifle in one hand and naked blade in the other!

As ill-luck would have it, there was a lack of ammunition, and the British attack could not be pressed home. Meanwhile the Royal Engineers on Otto Kopje were protecting the flanks, and a strong body of infantry with a mounted force, field-guns and Maxims, were checking the advance of the enemy from Spyfontein. An armoured train, also, under Lieutenant Webster (North Lancashire Regiment), was reconnoitring north and south. The train (which was supported by three half companies of the Beaconsfield Town Guard under Major Fraser) proceeded south of Kimberley, and held the enemy’s reinforcements in check as they advanced from Wimbledon. Subsequently, owing to the brisk firing of the Boer guns, it was decided to return to Kimberley, where Colonel Scott Turner, in consequence of his inability to hold the position he had stormed, was forced also to retire. But during the hot cannonade in which our artillery was engaged with that of the enemy in all directions save Kenilworth, this gallant officer was wounded. First his horse was shot under him, then a bullet pierced the muscle of his shoulder. But he continued to perform his duties regardless of the inconvenience caused by his wound. The Boers, as usual, paid no respect to the ambulance waggon, despite the obvious Red Cross flag which fluttered over it. They fired at it when they chose, and, as some reported, used explosive bullets. Eight prisoners were captured, in addition to two wounded Boers.

The day’s work on the whole was satisfactory, as it ably demonstrated that there was life in the garrison yet. And this glorious activity was subsequently recognised in the following order:—

“The officer commanding desires to thank all ranks who took part in to-day’s engagement for their excellent behaviour. The garrison of Kimberley have this day shown that they can not only defend their positions, but can sally out and drive the enemy from their entrenched positions. He deplores the loss of the brave comrades who have so honourably fallen in the performance of their duty.”

A second sortie of the same kind was attempted on the 28th of November, but with more disastrous results. The troops took the same direction as before—attacked the Boers, beat them back, and captured their laager and three works. But, on attempting to take the fourth work, the enemy fought desperately, and Lieut.-Colonel Scott Turner was killed. When Colonel Scott Turner fell, Lieutenant Clifford, North Lancashire Regiment, who had more than once distinguished himself, assumed command of the Imperial Mounted Infantry, and, though wounded in the scalp, pluckily remained on duty till all was over.[2]

There was terrible grief in the garrison at the loss of this splendid officer, the principal organiser of the Town Guards and the successful leader of so many skirmishes and sorties throughout the siege. The following special order was issued:—

“The officer commanding has again to congratulate the troops of the garrison who engaged the enemy yesterday on their excellent behaviour and on the capture of the enemy’s laager, with his supplies, ammunition, &c. It was in every respect a most creditable performance. He has also again to deplore the loss of many brave men who have fallen at the call of duty. It was with profound sorrow he learnt that Lieut.-Colonel Scott Turner was killed while gallantly leading his men against the last stronghold of the enemy’s defences. In Lieut.-Colonel Scott Turner the garrison of Kimberley loses a brave and most distinguished comrade, and the officer commanding feels sure the whole population of Kimberley will join with them in mourning the loss of this true British officer, to whose skill and activity in the field is so largely due the complete success of our efforts to keep the enemy at a safe distance from this town.”

Major M. C. Peakman, an excellent and most dauntless officer, succeeded to the command of the Kimberley Light Horse in consequence of Colonel Scott Turner’s death.

Lieutenant Wright of the Kimberley Light Horse was killed, and among the wounded were Lieutenant W. K. Clifford (1st Battalion Loyal North Lancashire Regiment), Captain Walleck (Diamond Fields Horse), and Lieutenant Watson (Kimberley Light Horse).

On the afternoon of the 29th of November, amid feelings of universal regret, the remains of Colonel Scott Turner and others who fell in Tuesday’s sortie were interred. The ceremony, so common in those days, was yet full of deep pathos. Round the graves stood Mr. Cecil Rhodes, Dr. Smart, the Mayor of Kimberley, Mr. and the Hon. Mrs. Rochfort Maguire, and indeed the whole mournful community of the place. Six volleys were fired over the graves, six blasts blown on the bugle, and then a last prayer being said, they left them “alone in their glory.”

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Captain Baden-Powell, of the Scots Guards.

[2] Henry Scott Turner entered the Black Watch at the age of twenty in 1887. After taking part in the operations in Matabeleland in 1893-94, he was, in the latter year, placed on the “Special Extra Regimental Employment List,” and in 1896 served with the Matabeleland Relief Force as adjutant and paymaster. For this service he was mentioned in despatches and received a brevet majority. After serving with the British South African Police, Major Scott Turner was, last July, reappointed as a “Special Service Officer,” and in that capacity had done excellent service in Kimberley under Colonel Kekewich.

CHAPTER III
LIFE WITH GENERAL GATACRE

On the 18th of December, General Gatacre withdrew from Putter’s Kraal, his original advance post, to Sterkstroom. At this time, in the central sphere, Generals French and Gatacre, while guarding the lines of communication, were merely waiting the turn of events. Owing to a series of successful skirmishes, in which a patrol under Captain de Montmorency, V.C., was engaged, the Boers thought discretion the better part of valour, and cleared out of Dordrecht, with the result that on the 24th of December Colonel Dalgety, of the Cape Mounted Rifles, with his force occupied the town. At Bushman’s Hoek were four companies of the Royal Scots, two 12-pounders, three Maxim guns, about 800 Kaffrarian Rifles, and about thirty Engineers. Owing to scarcity of water General Gatacre’s force had to be divided, the rest remaining at Sterkstroom. There water had to be conveyed by rail, whence, with some difficulty, it was hauled to Bushman’s Hoek in water-tanks by mules. The railway in these parts, a species of South African switchback on two narrow rails, rambled up hill and down dale with engaging ingenuity. Though water was dependent on the trains, fresh foods were sometimes obtainable. At neighbouring farms it was possible to purchase butter-milk, grain, and bread, but to “go a marketing” it was necessary to start in full marching order, for there was no knowing when the Boers might block the road, or what nefarious tricks might be taking place. It was quite impossible to be even with the Dutchmen’s ruses. For instance, one who knew their ways said that if a Boer horse went lame or knocked up, twenty chances to one a “loyal” would place a mount at his disposal, give him bed, “tucker,” forage, &c., while he would also watch the horizon for the approach of the military, and should they come the Boer would be a man of peace, without uniform, arms, or anything else to incriminate him. Therefore, as may be imagined, life was never too easy-going. The day began at 3.15 A.M., but night itself, short as it was, was scarcely restful. The troops slept with their straps on, 150 rounds of ammunition apiece by their side, in hourly expectation of attack. Niceties of the toilet were unknown, and gallant fellows with black faces and whiskers whose acquaintance with water was only weekly, were the rule. Some even presented the appearance of opera-house brigands, having locks so redundant and long, that jocose Tommies suggested writing home to their sweethearts for the loan of hairpins.

In other respects the daily routine was not unpleasant. Bullocks and sheep were killed regularly and found their way into the camp-kettle; bread was still served out, and supplemented with biscuits. For recreation there was football; and to enliven the spirits there were four cheery pipers, who at night-time made the welkin ring, and caused their compatriots to start up and indulge in reels and Highland flings, and almost to forget that they were in the land of the enemy.

On the 29th, a pouring day, Captain de Montmorency started with his scouts and thirty Cape Mounted Rifles in hope of catching the enemy. But the Boers, under cover of the mist, took themselves off in the direction of the Barkly East district.

On the 30th of December a hundred of Flannigan’s Squadron of Brabant’s Horse had a smart brush with an equal number of Dutchmen, who, however, were promptly reinforced. Thereupon the squadron retired, but unfortunately Lieutenant Milford Turner and twenty-seven men were left behind in a donga which none would leave, determining to remain there and protect Lieutenant Warren of Brabant’s Horse, who was wounded. To their assistance went Captain Goldsworthy the next day, accompanied by Captain de Montmorency’s scouts, 110 men, and four guns. These arrived on the scene so early as to surprise the Boers, who, after having been kept at bay by the small force of Colonials, had continued to snipe at them from a distance throughout the night. A sharp fight now ensued, and, after some clever manœuvring on both sides, the enemy retired with the loss of eight killed, while the party in the donga was relieved, and returned in safety to Dordrecht. The rescue was highly exciting, as the Boers were finally sent helter-skelter just as our men, worn out with a night’s anxiety in the nullah, had almost given up hope of release. As it was, they were restored to their friends in camp amid a storm of cheers.

Early on the 3rd of January a force was sent out from the advanced camp at Bushman’s Hoek to meet a hostile horde that occupied Molteno. The Boers had mounted a big gun on a kopje in front of Bushman’s Hoek, and from thence commenced to fire at about eight o’clock. Around the neighbourhood the Boers were seen to be swarming; therefore the force, composed of Kaffrarian Rifles, Mounted Infantry of the Berkshire Regiment, and the Cape Mounted Police, at once engaged them.

MAJOR-GENERAL SIR W. F. GATACRE, K.C.B.
Photo by Elliott & Fry, London.

Two hours later General Gatacre and Staff started from headquarters with half a battalion of the Royal Scots and the 78th Battery of Artillery. The Boers from their point of vantage were firing from the hill on which was placed their big gun, and they continued to fire on the Infantry as they advanced over an undulating plain to right of Cypherghat, whence the population had fled panic-stricken at the outset of the fight. Fortunately the hostile shells burst without doing damage, and the troops continued to advance.

The Artillery made a detour to the right, secured a commanding position on a kopje, and from thence began a ten minutes’ cannonade which had the effect of silencing the Boers. They withdrew their gun and retreated, the bulk of their force now advancing, now retiring, to cover the movement.

At this juncture the Mounted Infantry, which had worked its way round with a view to outflanking the enemy’s position, came on the scene only to learn of the withdrawal. This was carried on without check owing to our lack of cavalry. While General Gatacre’s force were thus engaged, the enemy was making a determined attack on 140 men of the Cape Police and 60 men of the Kaffrarian Rifles at Molteno. They were splendidly repulsed, though the Police had an unpleasant experience. Five shells dropped into their camp, but all miraculously escaped injury. The Boers now retired as mysteriously as they had come, and none knew the exact reason for their arrival. It was suspected that it was a “slim” trick to draw General Gatacre into another trap.

A strong force left Sterkstroom before dawn on the morning of the 8th of January for the dual purpose of reconnoitring in the direction of Stormberg and taking possession of the meal and flour from Molteno Mills. The force comprised the Derbyshire Regiment, the 77th and 79th Field Batteries, 400 mounted men of the Cape Police and Berkshire Regiment, the Kaffrarian Rifles, and the Frontier Rifles. The expedition was eminently successful. The operation of removing the food-stuffs and detaching the vital parts of the machinery of the mills was carried on under the protection of the Derbyshire Regiment and the 77th Battery. That of reconnoitring was undertaken by the force under Colonel Jefferies, R.A., and it was discovered that the Boers, who were supposed to have evacuated Stormberg, were within a two-mile range. A survey of the Boer position was made by the Engineers, and the troops returned to camp well satisfied with the result of their labours.

No larger martial moves could be attempted, for General Gatacre lived in a chronic state of suspended activity for lack of reinforcements. The Dutchmen had now fallen back from Stormberg, leaving only a small garrison there, and established themselves near Burghersdorp. The Boer strength in this district was estimated at about 4500, a force made up for the most part of Free Staters and Cape rebels. On the 18th of January General Gatacre moved some three hundred of all ranks from Bushman’s Hoek to Loperberg, and the 74th Field Battery, with one company of Mounted Infantry, from Sterkstroom to Bushman’s Hoek. The Boers continued a system of annoyance and petty progress by destroying railway bridges in the neighbourhood of Steynsburg and Kromhoogte, about eleven miles from Sterkstroom, and damaging portions of the line near Stormberg.

Though General Gatacre’s Division was merely the shadow of the division it should have been, and his strength, such as it was, materially thinned by reverse, he had at his elbow one man who was a host in himself. This man was Captain de Montmorency. He kept the Boers who were holding Stormberg in a simmering state of excitement and suspense. He and his active party of scouts were perpetually reconnoitring and skirmishing and emerging from very tight corners, getting back to camp by what in vulgar phrase is called “the skin of their teeth.” One of these narrow escapes was experienced on the 16th January, when Captain de Montmorency and his men went out from Molteno to gain information regarding the whereabouts of the enemy. A smart combat was the result of their efforts, and when they were almost surrounded Major Heylen with sixty Police came to the rescue, and the whole force, after some animated firing, returned safely to Molteno, plus horses, mares, foals, and oxen, which had been captured from the enemy.

At this time a curious correspondence took place between the Boer Commandant, General Olivier, and General Gatacre. It was a species of Dutch tu quoque—the Boer leader thinking to charge the British one with the same tricks as those in which his countrymen had been detected.

General Olivier solemnly declared that a store of ammunition had been found in an abandoned British waggon—a waggon marked with red crosses and purporting to be an ambulance waggon. General Gatacre emphatically denied the “slim” impeachment. He forwarded affidavits sworn by Major Lilly, R.A.M.C., who was the last man with the waggon before it had to be abandoned, who stated that if such ammunition had been found it had been subsequently deposited there. General Gatacre further informed the Commandant that the practice of taking wives and children in or near camp and allowing them to run the risks common to belligerents was contrary to the rules of civilised warfare, and desired to point out the responsibility he incurred in so doing. He further remonstrated that a servant who had been on the field of battle to assist Father Ryan in the succour of the wounded had been detained in the Boer camp after assurances of his release had been made. To these remarks and complaints the General received no reply.

Fortunately, our wounded who were not captured were doing well. The ladies at Sterkstroom were particularly devoted, and visited and cheered the sick daily, and carried them little luxuries which were mightily appreciated. Though there were not many losses, sick and disabled were constantly being carried into the hospital as the result of reconnoitring and scouting expeditions, which were ceaseless, and had to continue ceaseless, owing to the inability of the force to take powerful action.

Movements of Gatacre and French.

On the 20th of January Lieutenant Nickerson, R.A.M.C., who had accompanied the wounded after the misfortune at Stormberg, arrived in camp. Father Ryan’s servant, on whose account General Gatacre, as already mentioned, addressed Commandant Olivier, also returned. They brought interesting news. More guns had been brought on the scene, and these were served by German gunners. Septuagenarians and striplings were drafted into the commandoes, while at Burghersdorp the Town Guard was composed of lads of about thirteen years of age. This showed that the stream of reinforcements was beginning to run dry. Many youngsters were said to have been sent from their college at Bloemfontein straight to the front.

Commandant Olivier now took the opportunity to announce that he meant to retain as prisoners all correspondents who might be captured. The correspondents were flattered, and began to calculate whether “Experiences in Pretoria” would make good “copy,” but finally decided for the liberty of the press.

A little innocent diversion was provided by the Boers during the night of the 20th. The British were awakened by furious fire, which was continued for some time. Great consternation prevailed, till it was afterwards discovered that a scare in the Boer lines had taken place, and the sound of some stampeding cattle had been mistaken for the advance of the British! The Boers had at once flown to arms, fired right and left in the midnight darkness, and as a natural consequence shot some of their own cattle!

After this, there was silence, like the ominous lull which comes before a storm. Little puffs and pants of hostility took place around Sterkstroom and Penhoek, while at Colesberg the Boers were on guard, with the fear of some impending ill. Important developments were dreaded. It was known that swarms of troops were moving from the Cape, and that the positions which had hitherto been held by the Federals in consequence of the weakness of British forces in all quarters, would soon be tenable no longer. And the waverers began to shake in their shoes. They began suddenly to adopt a helpful attitude towards the forces. The fact was, Lord Roberts had issued a proclamation encouraging Free Staters and Transvaalers to desert by the promise that they should be well treated. To the Colonial rebels he had diplomatically tendered the advice to surrender before being caught in flagrante delicto.

WITH GENERAL FRENCH

While all eyes were turned in the direction of the Natal force for the relief of Ladysmith, General French was making things lively for the Boers. It may be remembered that he left Ladysmith immediately before Sir George White’s garrison was hemmed in, and betook himself to the central sphere of war. On the 23rd of November, with a reconnoitring force consisting of a company of the Black Watch, some mounted infantry, police, and the New South Wales Lancers, he went by train towards Arundel, and was fired on by Boers who were sneaking in the hills. Three of the party were wounded, but the rest drove the enemy off. The rails had been lifted just in front of the scene of the fight. From this time activities of the same kind took place daily, the General devoting his energies to reconnoitring east and west of his position, keeping the enemy from massing at any given point, and forcing them to remain on the qui vive in perpetual expectation of attack.

Scouting at this time was carried on to the extent of a fine art. Never a day was devoid of excitement. “We start out before dawn, and get back—well, when we can!” This was the pithy description of a youngster who enjoyed some thrilling moments. The following sketch of the experiences of a New Zealander show how one and all willingly risked their lives in the service of their country:—

“I was under fire for the first time on my birthday (Dec. 7), when a section of us (four men) were sent out as a mark for any Boers to shoot at. We rode to the foot of a kopje and left one of us in charge of the four horses. Another chap and I climbed to the top. Puff! bang went three shells from their Long Tom and a perfect fusillade of bullets. It is marvellous how we escaped. We were to report as soon as we were fired at, so I volunteered as galloper to go back to our lines to report. I did a quick time over that two miles of veldt, bullets missing me all the time. I reported, and was told to go back and withdraw the men, which I did. Afterwards we took eight men, and under cover kept up a steady fire for five hours. I was horribly tired, as I had been in the saddle eighteen hours the previous day. My mate was fresh—we were planted behind stones in pairs—and while he kept up the firing I slumbered, strange as it may seem. There are thousands of troops in the camp. General French, in command of this particular division, has complimented us on many occasions on our coolness under fire and our horsemanship. He said we could gallop across country where English cavalry could only walk. He told us after a skirmish we had with the enemy that he couldn’t express in words his admiration of us, that we were the best scouts he had ever employed, and that we always brought in something, either prisoners, horses, sheep, cattle, or valuable information—which latter is entirely true. During the slack time our chaps are busy breaking in remounts for the English cavalry. Horses die like flies here, and Cape ponies are substituted.”

Numerous and ingenious tricks were practised on the Boers, many of them doubtless owing their origin to the active and fertile brains of General French and Colonel Baden-Powell, the author of the “Manual on Scouting.” One of these was to take in the enemy’s scouts by tethering ostriches to bushes on the hills. The presence of the birds naturally gave to the place an air of desolation, and satisfied the enemy that the ground was unoccupied. In Colonel Baden-Powell’s opinion fine scouting is a true bit of hero-work, and his description of the “sport” in his own words serves to show of what stuff our Colonial scouts were made. He says: “It is comparatively easy for a man in the heat and excitement of battle, where every one is striving to be first, to dash out before the rest and do some gallant deed; but it is another thing for a man to take his life in his hand to carry out some extra dangerous bit of scouting on his own account, where there is no one by to applaud, and it might be just as easy for him to go back; that is a true bit of hero’s work, and yet it is what a scout does continually as ‘all in the day’s work.’ The British scout has, too, to be good beyond all nationalities in every branch of his art, because he is called upon not only to act against civilised enemies in civilised countries like France and Germany, but he has also to take on the crafty Afghan in his mountains, or the fierce Zulu in the open South African towns, the Burmese in his forests, the Soudanese on the Egyptian desert, all requiring different methods of working, but their efficiency depending in every case on the same factor—the pluck and ability of the scout himself. To be successful as a scout you must have plenty of what Americans call ‘jump’ and ‘push,’ ‘jump’ being alertness, wideawakeness, and readiness to seize your opportunity, ‘push’ being a never-say-die feeling. When in doubt as to whether to go on or to go back, think of that and of the Zulu saying, ‘If we go forward we die, if we go backward we die; better go forward and die.’ Scouting is like a game of football. You are selected as a forward player. Play the game; play that your side may win. Don’t think of your own glorification or your own risks—your side are backing you up. Football is a good game, but better than it, better than any other game, is that of man-hunting.” Of this game, our troops, particularly in the disaffected regions of Cape Colony, were beginning to have their fill.

On the 8th of December Colonel Porter, with the 5th Dragoon Guards and Mounted Infantry, arrived at Arundel from Naauwpoort, for the purpose of making a reconnaissance and locating the enemy and discovering his strength. The force detrained some four miles outside the town and advanced across the plain, the Dragoons to left and right, the Mounted Infantry, consisting of New Zealanders and Australians, in the centre slightly in the rear. The Boers in the surrounding kopjes, seeing their danger, took themselves off with great rapidity to another ridge three miles to the north. This position was located before nightfall. At daybreak four companies of Mounted Infantry were posted on a hill two miles north of Arundel, while a troop of Dragoons reconnoitred the town and found it evacuated by the enemy. The advance was then resumed. At 8 A.M. the troops reached Maaiboschlaagte, and spied the enemy on the hills near Rensburg’s Farm. The Boers were busy dragging a huge gun up the hill. Having no artillery, the flanking movement on the left was discontinued, but the Dragoons on the right, who were three miles in advance of the remainder of the force, crossed the plain and outflanked the enemy. The crackling of muskets followed, and soon after the booming of two guns. The New South Wales Lancers now reinforced the first line, and though for many hours their “baptism of fire” was prolonged, they suffered the only loss of the day—the loss of a horse. The operations were successful, and the strength of the enemy was found to number about 2000. The occupation of this region by our troops was considered of great strategical importance, as it formed a convenient advance base for further operations. The town is situated some twelve miles from Colesberg, and is in a fashion a natural fortress. It consists of rugged hills surrounding flats, and is provided with refreshing water springs.