II.—NEWS OF A FAMOUS VICTORY
HE had been talking that morning at the Office of the siege of Ladysmith, for six relatives of the family were at the front, three with Sir George White in the besieged place, and three with Sir Redvers Buller, fighting for their deliverance. Word had come to the house the night before that Ladysmith might be relieved any hour, and every one knew that unless help came speedily, the garrison would have to surrender. Duty took me to Cambridge that day, and I had gone upstairs to get ready, and coming down again I heard a shout in the hall as if something had happened, but it did not occur to me what it was. My hostess was speaking excitedly somewhere, and I could not catch what she was saying. Servants had rushed out from bedrooms and other places, and were standing on the breakfast-table in a house near the War landings. As I reached the hall the butler, a most stately personage, broke forth from his quarters and rushed past me carrying his coat on his arm, and then in his shirt sleeves, having forgotten to put on his coat, and without a hat—he will likely deny this, but he was a spectacle for gods and men—he ran, yes, he who was intended by nature to be an archbishop, ran across the square. Then I understood, and turned to a footman, who looked as if he would like to follow the butler.
“Ladysmith,” was all I said.
“Yes,” he cried; “word come, War Office, sent here, butler gone, make sure”; then he went out to the doorstep to catch the first sight of the returning butler. Meanwhile my hostess had come down to the hall, and there had gathered the household of all kinds and degrees—my host and the other guests had gone out—housemaids, ladies' maids, kitchen-maids, footmen, her majesty the cook, and every other person beneath the roof, high and low, and we were all trembling lest there had been some mistake in the message, and the news was not true. The butler came across St. James's Square, and when he saw us standing—forgetting himself again, but now he had his coat on—he waved triumphantly, and then we knew that Ladysmith was saved. We gave some sort of cheer and shook hands indiscriminately, each one with his neighbour, and with two or three neighbours, and talked together, mingling names of Generals and relatives, and places, and battles, while the butler, who had arrived and regained his breath, but not yet his unapproachable dignity, assured us that the siege was lifted, and that White, and what remained of his gallant men, were unconquered.
It was time for me to start, and I told the hansom man to drive round by the War Office, that I might see this great thing. When we got down the Press were just leaving with the intelligence, and the first of the public were reading the news. Each man took the news in his own fashion, one laughing and slapping his legs, another crying and speaking to himself, a third rushing out to cheer, and I, why I, being an unemotional Scot, remembered that if I fooled away any more time, reading news of victories, I might lose my train, so I rushed back to the hansom.
“Is't all correct?” the driver leant down from his perch, determined not to let himself go till he was perfectly certain that, not only the straight tip had been given, but that at last the event had come off.
“All right,” I said; “Buller's army have driven back the Boers, and the advance guard has entered Ladysmith.”
Whereupon he whipped off his hat, and standing up in his place, a stout, red-faced Englishman in sporting dress, he gave a cheer all on his own account, and then when I got in he opened the trap and shouted down, “Old Buller's done it; he had a bloomin' tough job, but he's a game sportsman, and I said he'd do it. And old Buller's done it.” Again he celebrated the event with a cheer, and we started for Charing Cross.
Something occurred to me, and I pushed the trap open. “Look here,” I said, “the people near the War Office have heard the news, but after we pass Piccadilly Circus you'll be the first man to tell that the siege is raised.”
“Right, sir, I'm on the job. Old Buller's done it.” By the time we reached Bloomsbury he had the whole country to himself, and he did his duty manfully. As we crossed a thoroughfare, he would shout to the'bus drivers on either side, “Ladysmith relieved; just come from the War Office. Old Buller's done it.” Then in an instant, before we plunged into the opposite street, one could see the tidings run both ways, from 'bus to 'bus, from cab to cab, and the hats waving in the air, and hear, “Ladysmith and Buller.” Bloomsbury is a fearfully decorous and immovable district, inhabited by professors and British Museum students, and solid merchants, and professional men, but my driver for once stirred up Bloomsbury. A householder would be standing on his doorstep in tall hat and frock coat, well brushed, and with a daintily folded umbrella under his left arm, fastening the left button of the second glove, and looking out upon the world from the serene superiority of a single eyeglass. Then he would catch sight of us, and the sound of something my driver was flinging to the men on a furniture van.
“What's that?” he would cry in a sharp, excited, insistent voice; “anything about Ladysmith?”
“Relieved,” from the hansom top. “War Office news. Old Buller's done it.”
Down fell the umbrella on the step, and down came the eyeglass from the eye, and with an answering cheer the unstarched, enthusiastic, triumphant, transformed householder bolted into his home to make it known from attic to kitchen that White and his men had not fought in vain.
Round the dustbin at the corner of a street half a dozen street boys were gathered, and the driver in his glory passed a word to them also. They did not know where they would get their dinner, and they had not had much breakfast, their whole stock of clothes would not have been worth 1s. 9d., and not one of them had a cap, but they also were a bit of England, and this victory was theirs, and the last I saw of them they were standing each one upon his head and waving joyfully with his feet.
“See, sir, how the kids took it,” for my driver was getting more magnificent every minute; “said all along old Buller would do it.”
Coming down Euston Road was one blaze of glory, and when we swept into King's Cross Station at the gallop, and my driver saw the crowd of waiting porters and other hangers-on, an audience as yet unspoiled and waiting, ready for such news, it was, I take it, the greatest moment in his life. He pulled up the horse on his haunches, and again stood up on his high place.
“Straight from the War Office, as hard as we could drive; it's all right at Ladysmith—the siege is lifted, and old Buller's done it”; and then, to crown the occasion, “Three cheers for General Buller.”
He led from the top, and they joined from below, and so great was the excitement that when I offered the usual tip to the porter to carry my things to the carriage, he flatly refused to take it.
“Hexcuse me, sir, not to-day; I ain't that sort. You brought the news of Ladysmith.” Which indeed was all my share of the glory of the passage: the rest belonged to my driver, who was indeed a Mercury fit for the work of the gods.
Just as the train was starting a man arrived with a pile of newspapers to sell them on the downward journey, for the special editions with the relief of Ladysmith had been got out with vast celerity. It was a pretty sight when the train stopped at some country station to see the man jump out and hear him shout the news, while the people, a moment ago stolid and indifferent, crowded round him to buy the paper. And then the train went on its way, followed by a cheer, because Ladysmith was safe. At one station two respectable country women got into the compartment where I had been alone, and they had been so eager, as their kind is, to secure their places, that they had not caught the news before the train left the station. By-and-by they began talking together, and it appeared that the elderly woman had a son at the front, a reservist in an infantry regiment with General Buller, while the other was the wife of a reservist who was with the cavalry under General French. It was hard lines, one could not but feel, for those women to have a son and a husband taken away from their homes and peaceful employment, and sent out to hardship and danger. And it would not have been wonderful if they had complained of their lot. But no, my heart swelled with pride as in a corner of the carriage, and behind my newspaper, I heard the mother and the wife exchanging news from the seat of campaign, and talking cheerily of critical affairs. Till at last, and quite suddenly, trouble arose, and there might have been a hot quarrel in that compartment.
“My man's all right,” said the wife; “he's with French, you know, and French looks after his men, 'e does. Jim says as 'ow 'is General won't let 'is men into any traps.”
“Who are ye getting hat may I ask?” said the elderly lady, flushing purple with indignation—“talking about traps. If it's General Buller ye're meanin', hexcuse me telling you, 'e don't get 'is men into traps. My boy says that he 'ad the hardest job of them hall, 'ad General Buller, and George, 'e writes and says to me in 'is last letter, 'you just wait and see if General Buller don't do it'—them's 'is very words, 'you just wait and see if General Buller don't do it.'”
The younger woman explained she had been making no reflections on General Buller, but only had been telling how proud her husband was of his Commander, but nothing would appease the old lady.
“I know nothing about French, and I say nothing against French, but I wish you to understand that Buller is a good old sort, and, as sure as you're sitting there in this carriage, 'e'll do the job.”
Then I laid down my newspaper, and addressed the reservist's mother.
“Madam,” I said, “your son was right, and Buller is a good old sort; he's done the job, and Ladysmith is safe.”
We all shook hands, two women wept, but not for sorrow, and a man looked out of the window, intent upon the scenery.