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.
On the 12th of December a patrol under Lieutenant Collins was fiercely fired upon; a sergeant of the Carabineers was killed and a private was reported missing. This happened as they were turning away from a farm at Jasfontein belonging to Field-Cornet Geldenhuis, with whom they had had an interview. The proprietor received his just deserts, for later on two squadrons of Carabineers with two guns and a company of Mounted Infantry were sent out to shell the farm, which duty was accomplished with zest and thoroughness. General French’s report of the affair is too interesting to be omitted. He said:—
“I wish particularly to bring to notice the excellent conduct and bearing of the New Zealand Mounted Rifles, commanded by Major A. W. Robin, on one of these occasions.
“On 18th December I took them out with a battery of Horse Artillery to reconnoitre round the enemy’s left flank, and determined to dislodge him from a farm called Jasfontein lying on his left rear. The guns shelled the farm, and the New Zealand Mounted Rifles then gained possession of it. But the enemy very suddenly brought up strong reinforcements and pressed on us with his Artillery. Our Artillery had been left some way behind to avoid this latter fire, and I had to send back some distance for its support, during which time we were exposed to a heavy musketry fire from the surrounding hills. The conduct of the New Zealanders was admirable in thus maintaining a difficult position till the Artillery caused the enemy to retire.”
Early on the morning of the 13th patrols were again fired upon, this time from Platberg, a kopje on the fringe of Colesberg Commonage. About 4 A.M., in the dusk of early dawn, the Dutchmen, some 1800 strong, were found to be leaving their position and advancing in the direction of Naauwpoort. Thereupon Colonel Porter, with Carabineers, Inniskillings, 10th Hussars, and four guns of the R.H.A., moved eastwards. What Mr. Gilbert describes as “a short sharp shock” followed, and the enemy’s guns, after firing three shots, were silenced. Our cavalry headed the enemy off, and soon after 2 P.M. the bulk of his forces retired to their former position. Vaalkop was held by one squadron of cavalry and two guns for the rest of the day. Some Boers remained at Talboschlaagte, and some later on occupied Kuilfontein Farm, but were driven out by British shells with loss of forty killed and wounded. Our own losses during two days’ sharp work amounted to one man killed. Captain Moseley (Inniskillings) was slightly wounded, and four men also received injuries.
On the same date Colonel Miles reported from Orange River an unlucky incident. Part of the Mounted Infantry under Captain Bradshaw and the Guides under Lieutenant Macfarlane patrolled in the direction of Kamak and Zoutpansdrift, ten miles east of Orange River, for the purpose of reconnoitring and reporting the strength of the enemy. The Boers were said to be holding the drift, and near there, somewhat suddenly, a strong party of them appeared. The Mounted Infantry attacked, and a brisk engagement followed, with the result that the enemy decamped to Geemansberg. Unfortunately, for this smart piece of work Captain Bradshaw paid with his life; Lieutenant Greyson (Buffs) was wounded, three men were killed, and seven wounded. Captain Bradshaw was an energetic and valuable officer, and his loss was deeply deplored.
To return to General French. Hard days of work in a broiling sun with little to show for it were the lot of those around Naauwpoort at this time. On the morning of the 15th two guns of the Horse Artillery, going eastward across the veldt from Vaalkop, shelled a Boer waggon which had been espied winding along the road. It was presumably from Colesberg, and laden with supplies for the artillery of the enemy. Several shells were at once launched, but they failed to strike it. The artillery then tried a new position, and were “sniped” at by odd sharpshooters from the hills. Finally a “Long Tom” was brought by the Boers to bear on the situation, and then the artillery, pursued by shells, returned to Vaalkop.
Boer aggression continued. On the 16th the enemy took up a position on a hill near Kannaksolam and sniped at the British patrols when they went to water their horses. The Dutchmen were splendidly concealed, so splendidly that it was impossible for the patrols to return the fire. The New Zealanders were also fired upon, and though five scouts lay for hours on the hill watching the Boers’ hiding-place, not one of the foe showed his nose out of cover. At last, in the afternoon, Captain Jackson, with eight Carabineers on patrol, caught sight of the enemy peeping from his lair, and suddenly found himself in the midst of a volley. Captain Jackson was shot in the spine and instantly killed, the other members of the party and the riderless horse fleeing amid a storm of bullets. On the morning of the 18th the remains of the gallant officer were buried at Naauwpoort with military honours. The enemy’s position was shelled at daybreak by ten guns.
A RECONNAISSANCE IN FORCE WITH GENERAL FRENCH’S CAVALRY NEAR COLESBERG.
Drawing by R. Caton Woodville.
On the same day General French made a successful reconnaissance with a battery of Horse Artillery and the New Zealand Rifles. The New Zealanders had some exciting experiences. Major Lee and his men went forth to draw the fire of the Boers, and unfortunately, instead of drawing the shell of the enemy they drew the shot, and found themselves all at once in a very warm corner indeed. They were rapidly hemmed in on three sides, and stood a very good chance of being cut off. But pluck carried the day, and though all their accoutrements, saddles, and water-bottles showed visible signs of the hurricane of destruction through which they had ridden, they arrived in camp safe and sound, much to the satisfaction of the General, who issued an order complimenting them on the success of their reconnaissance.
Major Lee, who was in command of the New Zealanders at Arundel, was reported to be a splendid fellow—not the typical dashing officer by any means, but what was described as a regular paterfamilias of somewhat aldermanic proportions. He was hale, hearty, and beaming, and withal a man of coolness and courage. The qualities possessed by this officer were said to be shared by most of his men, who, though of the rough and ready stamp, were true chips of the old British block.
Mr. Gifford Hall was most enthusiastic about Colonials all and sundry, and, knowing their excellence and Great Britain’s needs, delivered himself of words of wisdom which are worthy of repetition:—
“Ex-frontier cavalryman myself, with further experience as cowboy in both the United States and North-west Canada, and also as stockrider in Australia, I have never for a moment doubted that in the raising of an irregular Anglo-Boer force lay the solution of England’s problem, ‘How to successfully cope with the enemy.’ Sans standard of physique, sans much orthodox training, sans everything but virility, inherent horsemanship, inherent wild-land craft, mounted on his own pony—bronco of Canada or brumbie of Australia—the Canadian ranche hand, the Australian stockrider, shearer, station rouseabout, or the ‘cull’ of all lands Anglicised might easily become the quintessence of a useful and operative force against a semi-guerilla enemy. A pair of cord breeches, a couple of shirts, his big hat, and a cartridge-filled belt, Winchester carbine, a pony of the sort that can be run to a white sweat, and staggering, tremble, and then be kicked out to nuzzle for grass or die—that’s what your man wants. The pants and shirts will be better than he has worn for years; the gun he has ‘shot straight’ with ever since he first handled his ‘daddy’s’ muzzle-loader; and the ‘hoss,’ why each is of the other, horse and man, each apart, a thing inept. Orthodoxy against the Boers in military operations doesn’t wash. Aldershot-cum-Sandhurst-cum-Soudan-cum-Further-India and War-Office tactics fall flat. The Boer is here, there, and everywhere, not to be followed by ‘crushing forces’—only to be checked and turned and tracked and harried and hustled by a brother Boer. There is scarce a Canadian ranche hand but owns a pony of bronco breed, scarce an Australian station hand of any decent calibre but owns or can procure a tough and serviceable semi-‘brumbie’ mount. And will these men volunteer? Yes, plenty of them, and those that won’t can’t. Surely Empire saved or gained is worth their worth to the Motherland they fight for. Let her hire them. Transportation and time? The Boer war is not over yet, and England’s pocket is deep. To-day she fights for her life, for her honour, and win she must. Arm them and saddle them, men of the wild-lands and prairies. Work them van, flank, and rear. This folly of ‘standard’ physique and ‘training’—to the winds with it. The theory of weight and height for effective fighting is exploded. Heart, eye, and seat, and wild-land inherent tact make up for it. Five-feet-six can ride and shoot and fight or die as well as six-feet-two. We wild-landers have proven it over and over again. Even when the war is over, and our regulars and reserves must return, make these men into protective police for a while, officered not by orthodoxy but by knowledge and experience. They will ‘learn the country.’ They will evolve scouts from amongst them who shall make no mistakes. They will give to England what she needs in times like these—to come again or not. Your yeomanry won’t do the trick; nor your oat-fed kharki-clad higher Colonials either. ’Tis your Anglo-Boer, cowboy, stockrider, shearer, rouseabout, cull, given his way and a cause—yes, he and his scrub-fed mongrel mount and ‘gun.’”
These expressions of opinion almost amounted to a prophecy, for very shortly the Canadian ranche hands, the Australian stockriders, the hardy New Zealanders, and the “higher” Colonials—as Mr. Hall styled them—taught us lessons which we were swift enough to follow.
At Christmas the troops fared well, and contributions of a homely and delectable kind were supplied to make the season pleasurable. The inhabitants of Naauwpoort showed their appreciation of Mr. Thomas Atkins in many tangible ways, notably by providing him with appetising refreshments as he arrived by rail. Of course, there was a run on the telegraph office. Christmas greetings went pouring out and came pouring in, while the mail-bags swelled with a plethora of seasonable blandishments. At Arundel Colonel Fisher and the officers of the 10th Hussars endeavoured to forward Christmas greetings to the Colonel of the Regiment, His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, but for some unexplained reason the felicitation was not allowed to go beyond the vigilant eye of the censor.
The great attraction of Christmas, and its accompaniment the New Year, was the expectation of a gift from Queen Victoria, which was specially prepared according to the order of the Sovereign herself. It was to take the form of a tin of chocolate, and was to be presented to every soldier on service in South Africa. The box was specially designed, and adorned with the regal monogram. This unique gift, in order to make it the more valuable as a trophy or a family relic, was manufactured only of the exact number required for presentation to each individual serving at the front.
Naauwpoort enlivened itself with sports, and though the weather was almost tropical, the activity served to compensate for the absence of the mirth of Merrie England. At this time the Boers were approaching nearer the British camp. There was a three days’ truce, it is true, but their positions were only six miles from our troops, and they were warned that a nearer approach would mean prompt action by the guns.
The daily routine went on somewhat monotonously—the grooming, watering, and exercising of horses; drilling, exercising the mules of ambulance and transport waggons; unloading the food supplies, cooking them—occupations which afforded work in plenty, but the real business of warfare was suspended. Some of the officers made an effort to get up hunting parties, and succeeded in bagging a few springbuck, but their expeditions were fraught with even more risk to themselves than to their quarry. For instance, in one case, while two gallant Nimrods were in the act of stalking a splendid springbuck, their chargers made off. They suddenly found themselves almost surrounded by Boers, and an animated chase followed. Luckily the carcass of the springbuck, which was left behind, was too great a prize to be parted with, and the enemy captured it in preference to the huntsmen!
At this time there was great consternation in camp, as two cavalry officers were taken prisoners. It subsequently transpired that the officers, Lieutenant Till (Carabineers) and Lieutenant Hedger (attached to the 10th Hussars), were captured through an unfortunate accident. They mistook the Boers for New Zealanders, and therefore were unprepared to offer resistance. On discovering their error they made a desperate attempt to escape, but were overpowered.
The Colonials afterwards discarded their picturesque hats and took to helmets. Owing to the resemblance of their headgear to that of the Boers, some British pickets had mistaken them for the enemy and fired on them.
On the 29th the enemy fell back on Colesberg, and there with his small force General French proceeded to tackle him. “So near and yet so far” must have been repeated many times by both Generals French and Gatacre when each failed to accomplish some clever moves for want of the necessary reinforcements. In the ordinary course of things, from Naauwpoort to Sterkstroom was an easy three-hours journey by rail, but now, with the barrier of the Boers at Stormberg—the junction between the East London and Port Elizabeth systems—it was necessary to travel, if by rail, via Port Elizabeth, thus making a three-days instead of a three-hours trip. And railway travelling was by no means a safe and enjoyable exercise. True, the lines of communication were protected by some eleven hundred Volunteers, but as martial law had not been proclaimed south of Naauwpoort, and disloyalty was here the rule and not the exception, it was quite on the cards that at any moment culverts would be found blown up and rails twisted.
CHAPTER IV
THE COLONIALS AT BELMONT
On Christmas Day Lieut.-Colonel Pilcher, formerly of the Northumberland Fusiliers, late of the Bedfordshire Regiment, arrived at Belmont and took command of the troops. The Station Staff now consisted of Colonel Pilcher; Major Bayly, Major MacDougall, and Major Dennison. The garrison was soon strengthened by two companies of the 2nd Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry under Major Ashby. A general state of high polish was begun, and the Canadians, ever active and on the alert, came in for some excellent training, which they were not slow to profit by. Owing to the insecure state of the neighbourhood, it was put in a fair state of defence. Stone sconces were built on the kopjes; earthwork trenches were built at the station and elsewhere; and a series of alarm drills was carried on, in order to enable all concerned to take up their especial posts at a moment’s notice. For instance, at an appointed hour an alarm on the bugles would wake the echoes. The men would rush to arms; every company, previously instructed, would fall in on its own private parade ground, and then set out at the double for its post. Celerity without fluster was the motto of the movement. When all were posted, some in trenches a mile off, others three or four hundred yards away, the Colonel would proceed to make such disposition of his troops as the imagined enemy might impose. For instance, he would picture the attack coming from the north-east and march some of his force in the direction of the assumed attack, covering it with a strong line of skirmishers, while other troops in springless four-wheeled buck waggons were sent to their support. The movement would be only sufficiently developed to give the men an intelligent appreciation of what might be required of them, and certainly nothing could exceed the promptness and alacrity with which the troops threw themselves into their military rehearsals. The Canadians especially distinguished themselves by their zest and acuteness, and in all the bogus engagements—the attack drill—earned the praise of the commander. The following is a copy of a regimental order: “The officer commanding the Royal Canadian Regiment is desired by the officer commanding the troops at this station to express his satisfaction with the intelligent and quiet way in which this morning’s work was carried out by the officers, non-commissioned officers, and men of the Royal Canadian Regiment.” The Colonel particularly appreciated the manner in which the men avoided “bunching,” the most fatal error that can be made by troops in modern warfare of the kind in hand.
At the end of the year more Australians arrived. These troops had been stationed for a short time at the Orange River, getting their horses into condition after a six weeks’ voyage. From thence they moved on to Belmont. The two companies of Queensland’s Mounted Infantry found their green tents awaiting them, and a hearty welcome. The men, a hardy and stalwart set, tall and comely to look on, were well fitted in their kharki uniform, which showed no signs of relationship to the slouching apparel peculiar to hastily rigged-out troops. Their jackets, cord breeches, felt hats looped up at the side with a tuft of feathers of the emu, gave them a picturesque as well as workmanlike air. But their leggings were dangerously dark, and scarcely as suited to sand or morass—the ground was either one thing or the other—as the familiar puttees. These useful articles had now been assumed by the Canadians instead of their shrunken or loosely flapping duck trousers. The effect was infinitely more dapper, becoming to the figure, and serviceable for hard wear. The Queenslanders and Canadians at once fraternised, the older arrivals making the new comers welcome by inviting them to drinks and breakfast, and generally “showing them around.” The bond of union was cemented by the fact that the officer in command of the Queenslanders, Colonel Ricardo, was an old Royal Canadian Artillery officer.
COLONEL PILCHER’S RAID
New Year’s Day was a great occasion for the Colonial troops. They had been burning with impatience to come in touch with the enemy, and till now no opportunity had been afforded for testing their prowess in the field. At midday on the 31st of December a force under Colonel Pilcher started off from Belmont. The force consisted of 200 Queenslanders, commanded by Colonel Ricardo; 100 Canadians, Toronto Company, with two guns; and a horse battery under Major de Rougemont; 30 Mounted Infantry under Lieutenant Ryan (Munster Fusiliers); the New South Wales Ambulance, under Surgeon-Major Dodds; and 200 Cornwall Light Infantry. These left Belmont and proceeded westward. Twenty miles were covered before sunset, and the force encamped at Cook’s Farm. In this region, on a string of kopjes, a Boer laager was reported to be, and this—it was decided—must be removed.
Map Illustrating Colonel Pilcher’s Raid.
Scale 9 miles = 1 inch.
[Transcribers' note: For ease of reference, the black line beneath the image would be approximately one inch in length in the original.]
Colonel Pilcher’s programme, however, was not divulged. Great caution was preserved, as the country was swarming with native spies, and all movements of the troops were watched and reported to the enemy. The Colonel therefore very adroitly arranged that no person should have a chance of reporting his movements, and caused a watch to be kept on all the natives, and these during the night were shut in their huts to prevent any from escaping and communicating the intention of the troops. The vigilance was certainly well rewarded. At daybreak the force steadily marched out, creating as little dust as possible, and took up a position at a place some fifteen miles off, called Sunnyside. Here the enemy’s laager was reported to be situated. It was posted on two connected kopjes to north and south, and towards these kopjes the troops advanced. When within a distance of some four miles the troops halted. Major de Rougemont with two guns under Lieutenant Atkinson, Captain Barker with the Toronto Company of Canadians, and Lieutenants Ryan and Smith with the Mounted Infantry were ordered in the direction of the enemy’s laager to the north; while Colonel Pilcher with Colonel Ricardo and the Queenslanders, A Company under Captain Chaucer, and B Company under Captain Pinnock, advanced from the south. Patrols were sent to the east. All was done with great quietness and precision, and the Boer tactics so closely imitated that the enemy were unconscious of the arrival of the British till the troops were upon them. Major Rougemont’s force made use of all the existing cover, which luckily was sufficient to screen both man and horse, and in a very short time had discovered some excellent ground which gave on to the Boer position. The enemy’s laager was ensconced in a nest of trees, at the base of a range of kopjes commanded by a convenient ridge. This ridge—reported by the Mounted Infantry to be clear of the enemy—with great promptness was practically seized and occupied before the Boers had sufficiently gathered themselves together to contest the position. The guns were advanced at a trot, and unlimbered within 1500 yards of the laager, into which two shells were neatly plumped, with a stupendous detonation that startled the whole surrounding neighbourhood. Up scrambled the Boers, streaming and bounding along the sides of the kopje like stampeded goats, and commencing to fire with all their might. Upon our guns and gunners came a torrent of lead fierce and sustained. Two Maxims under Captain Bell now prepared to give tongue from the right, and then the Toronto Company was ordered to double into action. They leapt to the word. With a gasp of relief they cried, “At last!” and were off. When within 1000 yards of the position their rifles came into play. A hurricane of bullets met the enemy’s fire: met it, continued fiercely—and finally subdued it.
While the guns under Lieutenant Atkinson were booming and banging, the Mounted Infantry, ably led by Lieutenant Ryan, were working their way along the right, and hunting the enemy from a concealed position among the scrub. At midday Colonel Pilcher and the Queenslanders were steadily nearing the position from three separate directions. They approached under cover, cautious as tigers and nimble as cats, finally firing, and returning the fire, but only when they caught glimpses of the enemy. Then they blazed away to good purpose, and continued to approach nearer and ever nearer, till the enemy, in view of the persistent and deadly advance, shrank from his ground, and sulkily retired. The dexterity of the Queenslanders was remarkable; they stalked the enemy as a sportsman would stalk a deer, criticising their own fire and the fire of the foe with workmanlike coolness and interest. The success of these tactics was complete. The laager was captured, and with it forty ill-kempt, surly prisoners. Lieutenant Adie, who was with a patrol of four men, came suddenly on a number of the enemy, and was wounded in two places, but he was saved and carried off by two plucky fellows, Butler and Rose, who came to his rescue. The latter was wounded, and his horse was killed. Another dashing Queenslander, Victor Jones, was shot through the heart, and Macleod, an equally brave comrade, after many lucky escapes, while advancing with Colonel Pilcher’s force, was shot through the spine. While these heroic and tragic doings were taking place, General Babington with a mounted force had been working hard, his operations having been arranged for the purpose of co-operating with Colonel Pilcher, and distracting the enemy’s attention from the north. These manœuvres had the desired effect, and the day’s work, apart from its pathetic side, was accounted a glorious success. So cleverly had the proceedings been contrived, and so ingeniously were the orders interpreted by one and all, that the Boers were completely nonplussed. There was a hurried stampede, and the Federals bolted, leaving their laager with all its luxuries, its boiling soup, its gin and water bottles, &c., at the mercy of the invaders.
COLONEL PILCHER’S ATTACK ON SUNNYSIDE KOPJE—CANADIAN AND AUSTRALIAN CONTINGENTS RECEIVE THEIR “BAPTISM OF FIRE.”
Drawing by H. C. Seppings Wright from Sketch by Fred. Villiers.
A vivid description of the Boer camp was given by Mr. Frederick Hamilton of the Toronto Globe, who accompanied the Canadians.
“Fourteen ancient tents, their blankets, kettles, and camp utensils, tossed about in wild confusion. Three long waggons of the type in which the voortrekkers voyaged the veldt, a team of a dozen magnificent oxen, a big water-cart which we eyed greedily, a Kaffir wattled hut, its floor piled high with odds and ends of clothing and valuables, its doorway marked by a shell-smash; the rocky kopje-side behind, a flat plain dotted with shaggy, bushlike trees in front—such was the Boer laager. Prisoners came from here and there, over a score from the kopje-top, more from this corner and that of the field, and were taken to the hut. Within it and around its door they squatted, a silent downcast crew; what a mess they had made of their affairs! Perhaps they were not so despondent as we thought, for one man as he sat in the guarded group pointed out a rifle which one of the victors was carrying, and claimed it as his own—a piece of cheek which staggered our men. The prisoners claimed only part of our attention; with eager curiosity the camp was ransacked. At last we had our hands upon these Boers: what manner of men were they, and how did they live? Poorly enough, I should say; the camp must have been densely crowded with the motley gathering, and we could see the odd admixture of practical barbarism with occasional contact with civilisation, as when good suits of clothes lay side by side with repulsive-looking strips of biltong. We felt that all this was ours, ours by right of battle, ours by virtue of victory. Perhaps we were wrong, perhaps the confiscated property of rebels should fall to the Crown, but as long as men go to war so long will victors walk through the camp of the vanquished with just that feeling swelling through their veins. Something else lay heavy upon us—thirst. It raged through us. The yellow pool where the veldt cut into the kopje face filled our water-bottles, and we drank and drank. The foul dregs of the Boers’ water-cart were drained with joy. As the sun was setting our own water-cart with more wholesome water drove up, and we drank and drank again. As our fires were lighted, what receptacles could be found were filled and the muddy fluid boiled. Our transport waggons were miles away, and for tea or coffee we were dependent on what we found in the Boer waggons. I remember drinking a cup of hot water and finding it most refreshing. Food was foraged. One section of our men found a sheep’s carcass hanging up under a tree, slaughtered by the rebels before our shell changed the tenor of their day. Some had hardtack or army rations in their haversacks. Here and there they picked up enough to make up a meal, not especially plentiful, and very scrappy, but satisfying. Indeed a most peculiar thing about the whole affair was the great amount of work we managed to do on a very small amount of food. The shadows of the evening were falling as we finished our meal, sent out the necessary pickets, and prepared for rest.”
Later came the death of poor Macleod the Queenslander, whose wound had been mortal. As the Queenslanders had early moved on to Rooi Pan (a farmhouse across the veldt where rebels were suspected to be in hiding), the Canadians took upon themselves the duty of conducting the sad ceremonies of burial. A grave was dug and a New Testament found. Then the Canadians slowly bore to its last resting-place the remains of the heroic young Colonial who had lost his life in the service of the mother country. Major Bayly, the Staff Officer of the expedition, read a few selections from Corinthians over the body, after which it was consigned to the heart of the veldt. A rude cross bearing his name and corps was placed to mark the spot, and written thereon was also the intimation that it was “Erected by his Queensland and Canadian comrades.” The noble young fellow Victor Jones secured less formal burial, though his loss was as deeply regretted. On the following day two of his comrades from Rooi Pan started off in search of his body, and having found it, buried it without ceremony or rite, but with the keenest feelings of sorrow.
On this day, the 2nd of January, the work of destruction of Boer effects was begun. Soon after dawn a huge bonfire was made under such waggons and ammunition of the foe as could not be utilised, and as the troops marched out they were saluted by the appalling uproar of the exploding cartridges. The procession, as it moved on its way to Rooi Pan, a distance of some four or six miles, presented a somewhat mediæval aspect in spite of symbols of modernity—magazine rifles and machine guns. In front was the wide expanse of grassy veldt; behind, the curling blue smoke from the burning wreckage of the camp. Along the road came the heavy springless waggons piled high with booty, their negro drivers flourishing their long whips and repeating their vociferous bark of “Eigh” to encourage the small, contumacious mules. With them marched the bronzed, picturesque-looking army with its train of captives in the rear, an unkempt, dilapidated crew—a strange contrast to the lively and robust Canadians, who, rejoiced at their yesterday’s feat, were singing as they tramped along. Very curious was it to hear, instead of the familiar British airs our soldiers love, the Niagara camp-song with its Hallelujah chorus, and the popular “The Maple Leaf” proceeding from the brawny throats of these brother soldiers of the Queen. Their joy and their triumph was complete, and with a good night’s rest and the beautiful morning air to refresh them, their spirits were effervescent in the extreme.
At Rooi Pan there was a halt for half-an-hour, during which Colonel Pilcher took the opportunity to address his force, and convey to them congratulations on the recent fight which had been forwarded by General Wood, commanding at the Orange River. Water-bottles were then filled from the clear pond in the farm of one of the prisoners, and soon, the sun growing momentarily hotter, the party advanced. This time their route lay over dust ankle-deep in places, dust which rose up in clouds and came down into eyes and ears and throats, and settled itself in hot cakes and rings on hair and beards and necks. But presently, after a few miles, the state of things was improved. Government roads stretched a smooth highway in front, and kopjes—the dangerous kopjes that afforded such comfortable hiding-places for the wily foe—grew fewer and farther between. There was now comparative comfort, for there was little fear of encounter with the enemy in the open.
The journey was continued without event. There was no sign of opposition, and about three o’clock in the afternoon, as they neared their destination, a message came in, “Nothing to be seen in Douglas but Union Jacks and red ensigns.” This was a fact, and Colonel Pilcher and his troops very soon occupied the town. Never was there a more enthusiastic demonstration: the loyal inhabitants cheered to the echo; some almost wept at the arrival of their deliverers.
This town is situated below the junction of the Modder and Vaal Rivers, and is of some importance. Here the long-suffering loyalists had remained, ever since the commencement of hostilities, in anxious expectation, awaiting the arrival of the British troops. Naturally the frenzy of their delight knew no bounds, particularly when it was found how completely the rebels had dispersed. Fourteen tents, three waggons, an immense store of rifles and ammunition, saddles, forage, equipment, and many incriminating letters were seized. On some of the envelopes were stamped “On Her Majesty’s Service,” showing that these had been used by the newly appointed Landrost of Douglas in the absence of an official Free State superscription.
The joy of the loyalists was of short duration. In the afternoon Colonel Pilcher broke to them the terrible news. He stated that, for military reasons, his force would be obliged to leave on the morrow. Consternation prevailed. The leading members of the community explained that, if deserted, their lives would not be worth a moment’s purchase. It was impossible to remain where they were and await the return of the enemy, consequently Colonel Pilcher ordered all who wished to leave to be ready by six the next morning, and promised them safe conduct to Belmont. Thereupon a scene of great animation ensued. An immense exodus was actively arranged. Vehicles of all kinds, sizes, and shapes were got ready, while the women and babies—such as overflowed the transport accommodation—were taken charge of by the gallant Canadians. These marched forth singing, to keep up the spirits of the community, and finally, when the wearisome end of the journey seemed never to be reached, some of the noble fellows, although worn out with a long spell of active work, and suffering from sore feet, carried the babies, and thus relieved the women of the fatigue of the march. The cortège left Douglas at eight o’clock on the morning of the 3rd, and reached Dover Farm at two o’clock. With the refugees were sent forward the captured rebels. These before their departure were paraded, and Colonel Pilcher enjoined those who were Free Staters or Transvaalers to step from the ranks, as they would be treated as prisoners of war. The rebels who had taken up arms against their Queen would suffer different treatment. No one stepped forward, and it was evident that either there were no Boers among the number, or they mistrusted the assurances of Colonel Pilcher, and preferred to meet their fate en bloc. (They were subsequently sent to the Cape for trial.) Colonel Pilcher’s “slim” arrangement for the confusing of the natives prior to making his advance was eminently successful, for the Boers, so a prisoner said, considered themselves deeply aggrieved that they had not received information regarding the proposed movements. On the 5th Colonel Pilcher’s column arrived at Belmont. The night’s march from Cook’s Farm was splendidly managed. News had reached him to the effect that some 600 or 800 Boers intended to effect a junction, and attack the column. At eight o’clock, therefore, the whole force started quietly forth, stealing off in the jetty obscurity like a band of conspirators. A halt was made during the night to allow the troops a short spell of repose: after this they continued their journey without mishap. Two companies of Canadians were employed to hold a pass some six miles off Belmont, in order to prevent the incoming force being cut off by the enemy.
So ended, happily, a most successful raid. The Colonial troops had more than acted up to the expectation of every one; and, though it was somewhat disappointing that Douglas had to be instantly evacuated, the expedition had helped to demonstrate to the loyalists that the British could and would come to their aid, and that faith in the end has its reward.
The following table of their march is interesting as showing the wear and tear to which the troops were subjected:—
| Miles. | |
| Sunday, December 31, Belmont to Thornhill | 22 |
| Monday, January 1, Thornhill to Sunnyside (action) | 13 |
| Tuesday, January 2, Sunnyside to Rooi Pan, 6 miles; | |
| Rooi Pan to Douglas, 15 miles | 21 |
| Wednesday, January 3, Douglas to Thornhill | 24 |
| Thursday night, January 4, Thornhill to Richmond | 10 |
| Friday, January 5, Richmond to Belmont | 12 |
| ——— | |
| Total | 102 |
This smart little military exploit was appreciated throughout the globe. Telegrams poured in from all parts of the Queen’s dominions congratulating Colonel Pilcher and the Colonials on the excellent work they had accomplished. The following from G.O.C., Cape Town, read:—
“Congratulate Colonel Pilcher on brilliant exploit, which will have far-reaching effect.”
From Military Secretary, Government House:—
“Please send following message to Colonial troops employed in action at Sunnyside: ‘His Excellency Sir Alfred Milner sends you his heartiest congratulations on your success, and hopes it is only the forerunner of many more. While regretting the loss of some of your brave comrades, he feels sure that your friends in the colonies over the sea will feel proud of the success of their representatives, as he himself does.’”
From Sir Redvers Buller the following was received:—
“General Buller desires that his congratulations be conveyed to the Colonial troops on their action at Sunnyside.”
From the Governor, Queensland, came:—
“Request you will be good enough to convey to Queensland Mounted Infantry hearty congratulations on gallant conduct at Sunnyside and sympathy in loss of life. Second contingent embarks for South Africa next week.”
ACTIVITIES AND SURPRISES
More useful work, which had a direct bearing on the events of the future, took place during Colonel Pilcher’s three weeks’ stay at Belmont. Soon after the Douglas expedition another excursion was devised. More Canadians were to be employed. The Queenslanders were to send such men as they could mount, their animals being, many of them, still hors de combat from the sea trip, and the guns and infantry were to go as a matter of course. A dive into the enemy’s country was projected—one of the first deliberate incursions upon the Southern Dutch Republic. These incursions were of immense value, and served in reality as pilotage for the gigantic military engine that was shortly to sweep the way from the Cape to Bloemfontein.
At six o’clock in the morning of Tuesday, January 9, the column started. It was composed as follows:—
Royal Horse Artillery—Two guns, 45 men, 51 horses. Queensland Mounted Infantry—Two Maxims, 116 men, 106 horses. Royal Munster Fusiliers Mounted Infantry—15 men, 15 horses. Royal Canadian Regiment—Two Maxims, 293 men, 2 horses. New South Wales Army Medical Corps—Two ambulances, 18 men, 14 horses. Total—487 men, 188 horses.
The officers who were engaged in the flying column were:—
Staff—Lieut.-Col. T. D. Pilcher, P.S.C., in command; Major M. Dobell, R.C.R.I., Staff Officer; Major S. J. A. Denison, R.C.R.I., Quartermaster; Major Brown, Q.M.I., Transport Officer; Lieut. Lafferty, R.C.R.I., Transport Officer; Lieut. J. H. C. Ogilvy, in charge of R.C.R.I. machine gun section; Capt. Pelham, Q.M.I., in charge of Queensland machine gun section; Lieut. A. C. Caldwell, R.C.R.I., attached; Lieut. C. W. M’Lean, R.C.R.I., attached; Rev. J. M. Almond, chaplain. Royal Horse Artillery—Major de Rougemont and Lieut. Atkinson. Queensland Mounted Infantry—Lieut.-Col. Ricardo, Capt. Chauvel, Capt. Pinnock, Lieut. Bailey, Lieut. Glascow. R.M.F. Mounted Infantry—Capt. Bowen, Lieut. Tyrrell. Royal Canadian Regiment—Lieut.-Col. Pelletier. A Company—Capt. Arnold, Lieut. Hodgins, Lieut. Blanchard. B Company—Lieut. Ross, Lieut. J. C. Mason, Lieut. S. P. Layborn. H Company (half-company)—Lieut. Burstall, Lieut. Willis. New South Wales Army Medical Corps—Capt. Roth, Lieut. Martin; Capt. Dods, Queensland, attached. (Lieut.-Col. Patterson of Queensland also went with the force as a spectator.)
The troops marched out by the road skirting the kopje so gallantly stormed by the Guards, and moved over the veldt some few miles to the south-east, towards the Free State. After passing Riet Pan a wide left wheel was made, and the force struck north-east to eastwards, towards the Free State. Here the dull purple kopjes wound along in chains, dotted here and there with small plains some three or four miles in depth and width. At Blaauwbosch Pan the border was reached—the border between Griqualand West and the Southern Republic. A halt was called. The troops gathered on a circular plain fringed with high kopjes. The road, fenced across with wire, ran through the plain, and close by was a small pan or pool, which glittered like diamonds when shaken by the thunder showers; for the sky, always overcast and threatening, now and then burst into tears. Though these tears had the effect of April showers they were mightily drenching, and the troops, in saturated overcoats like tepid sponges, pursued their march somewhat uncomfortably. In the place above described Col. Pelletier, with two companies of the Canadians, was left with orders to remain till three in the afternoon, in readiness, if occasion demanded, to reinforce Colonel Pilcher. Failing a message, he was to return to camp. The flying column proceeded, travelling north till parallel with Enslin, where Gordons and Australians were encamped, and from whence the Victorian Mounted Infantry were skirmishing. Great caution had to be observed, as it was difficult, particularly with so many Colonials about in their soft felt hats, to discern friend from foe. Scares, as may be imagined, were many. One of these took place when advancing horsemen were seen skimming the distance. These dismounted and knelt. They meant business. The excitement was intense. Signallers instantly fluttered flags, and presently, after some moments of suspense, the troops were reassured. It was a squadron of the 9th Lancers, who had come from Modder River reconnoitring, keeping the Riet between them and the Jacobsdal position. But we are anticipating.
Types of Arms—Lord Dundonald’s Galloping Gun-Carriage with Maxim.
(Photo by Gregory & Co., London.)
On the first day of their march, the force enjoyed unlooked-for hospitality. About five miles east of the border was the house of one Commandant Lubbe, the commandant of Jacobsdal, a luminary of some magnitude in the Free State. He may be described as a “man of substance,” to which his comfortable dwelling and flourishing surroundings testified. Upon this pastoral domain the troops, somewhat famished and fatigued, advanced. Their arrival, for the Boers, was most ill-timed and unexpected. At that very moment dinner for some fifteen persons was being spread, piping hot, on the festive board. Odours of succulent fare pervaded the atmosphere, odours inviting—tantalising! The portly Burghers were in the very act of setting to when they were warned of the approach of British scouts. A stampede followed. Departing coat-tails, and, five minutes later, mounted dots racing away to the shelter of distant kopjes—that was all that our troops on arrival beheld. But they saw something better than Boers. Their eyes lighted on the goodly array of edibles, and, presto! the officers were seated. Joyously they surrounded the well-equipped table, and demolished with zest and considerable humour the repast which had been prepared for their foes.
A couple of negro domestics were the sole persons left on the homestead. The place was searched; ammunition was found, and dies for casting bullets. These were promptly destroyed. Some live stock and various other useful articles were seized, including three rifles left behind in the flight of the Burghers. Presently there came a report that the enemy were in hiding in the neighbourhood of some kopjes. A rush to action was made. The Maxim gun section went to some kopjes flanking the house, the Canadian guns went to a height on the east, the Queensland ones to a height on the west. Lieutenant Willis took his section of H Company to support the Queensland guns, while Lieutenant Burstall took his section, with intrenching tools, to a ridge midway between farm and kopje, to prepare a position. Clatter and clank went the horse artillery guns to a coign of vantage on the right, whence they could spit at the enemy if they should attempt to mount or surround the big kopje in that direction, while the Queenslanders on the west commenced explorations for the reported foe. Horror! Slouch-hatted horsemen were distinctly visible—they were coming nearer and nearer—though evidences of their own caution were visible. They were not going to be trapped. Our gallant troops were as determined not to be surprised. Thus must the Kilkenny cats have commenced overtures. Both parties were wide awake! Both parties were sidling up! It was but a matter of moments, and they would promptly spring at each other’s throats!
Excitement was at a supreme pitch, when the good glasses of an officer offered a revelation. The hostile hordes—the advancing horsemen—were now plainly discernible. They proved to be not blood-thirsty Boers—not an innocent crowd of ostriches that so often in the distance had been mistaken for cavalry, but only a company of Victorian Mounted Rifles from Enslin, from which place the advanced line was this time but some dozen miles distant. It was a pleasant surprise. The scouts came in contact, exchanged greetings, and the troops each went on their respective way. Colonel Pilcher’s force bivouacked at the farmhouse, and the next morning, the 10th of January, saw them on their return journey to Belmont. It was during this journey, as they wound homewards with their captured prizes of oxen, that more horsemen were seen in the distance—those who, as before said, were discovered to be the 9th Lancers, on business already mentioned. The force reached camp about noon. On the following day the sojourn of Colonel Pilcher in those regions came to an end. He moved on to Modder River to command the Mounted Infantry force at the front. His stay was fraught with much benefit to the troops, as his energetic measures, smart manœuvres, and surprise drills brought the spirited Colonials to a high state of alertness and proficiency.
AT MODDER RIVER
General Methuen, as has been noted, was forced at last to fall back on his base at the Modder River, since the Boers held their position in great strength, and it became necessary to rest the men, free them from tension, and save them from unnecessary sufferings due to the scarcity of water. In addition to this, the Engineers were enabled to carry on much necessary work. Railway communication was perfected, and the permanent bridge was repaired, to provide against accident, which in case of a flood might overtake the temporary one.
On the Boer left flank, from the extreme end of Majesfontein south-eastwards to the Riet River, was comparatively open ground. Beyond the broad expanse of bush which stretched for over a thousand yards was a road leading to Jacobsdal, and farther on was flat country which offered no cover, and appeared singularly free from traps or trenches. Looking over this open ground, it seemed possible to turn the Boer flank and cut off the enemy’s communications with Jacobsdal, and possibly threaten his line of retreat to the Free State.
Some one has called the Modder River the Hampton Court of Kimberley, and perhaps it was fortunate that the troops found themselves forced to halt in a locality which is one of the most picturesque in South Africa. The surroundings were comforting after the desolation of Gras Pan—with never a house to hint at humanity, and only the frowning darkness of threatening kopjes to break the monotony of the view—and the primitive prettiness of Honeynest Kloof, which boasts but a farm or two and a few trees to give it life. From this point the country became greener, the eye was relieved from the autumnal drabs and purples of the rocky hills, and began to lean affectionately on the suggestion of moistness implied by the expanse of verdure.
Across the river was the crowded railway station, choked with stores and goods waggons, and the usual medley of camp kit. On one side accoutrements, lances, swords, the steel of their scabbards glinting through the crackled coats of kharki—odds and ends of uniform—telling their tale of action—action—action—in all its phases. And close beside them were other portions of baggage seemingly the same, but—oh! how tragically different! Here were rifles and bayonets, broken, battered, and blood-stained—all that was left of the heroic dead who had acted their last drama at Majesfontein, and whose belongings, in an inert mass, seemed to confess dumbly that they were “off duty” for ever.
MAJOR-GENERAL HECTOR A. MACDONALD, C.B.
Photo by Heath, Plymouth.
Christmas Day was an unpleasant memory—a tropical sun overhead, a whirlwind of dust around. It is said that every man must eat a peck of dirt in his life-time, and on this day the troops certainly ate their quantum. Food and drink were ruined, and tempers into the bargain, for the day was made into one long twilight misery by a hurricane of driving dust.
The position of the Boers soon after this period grew somewhat uncomfortable. Night attacks were threatened; indeed, Lord Methuen had the Naval guns laid on to the Boer positions by day, with the order that they were to be fired by night. And the order was obeyed with zest. The Boers were on tenter-hooks. The shells burst, throwing gorgeous haloes into the Majesfontein night. Of course, the compliment was returned. Tier after tier of the Boer positions spitted and spouted and vomited flame, and the night breezes, carrying the fracas on their wings, brought it close, so close indeed, that an attack sounded as though imminent. Still our outposts were silent. Discipline kept them “mum.” Still the Boers continued, and the rattle of their rifles directed at nothing in particular, and everybody in general, wakened the echoes of the hills.
There was nothing further to be done. Reinforcements had to be awaited with annoying, almost humiliating patience. The Boers were stretched from Jacobsdal on the east to a point miles away on the west of the railway; they were intrenched horse-shoe fashion, with Majesfontein for their most imposing stronghold. There was no means of outflanking them, for in order to wheel to the west the force would need to march through an arid and waterless desert. Had the march been ventured upon, the position might not have bettered, as Lord Methuen, even supposing he had succeeded in reaching Kimberley, would still have had before him the bulk of the Boer commandoes, who would have been at liberty to cut off his supplies. The “relief” of Kimberley without supplies would have been the reverse of relief.
All the British could do was to struggle to hold their ground, and make their proximity as uncomfortable as possible for the enemy. Routine went on like clockwork, save that the Modder River clock had no works. It was a child of Necessity! A broken steel rail suspended from a crossbeam was struck by the sentry with the blunt head of an axe. The stupendous clang proclaimed the hours all over the camp. The troops were not allowed too much leisure, and ennui was not permitted to reach them; they dug trenches, constructed breastworks, and generally improved the lines of defence; indeed they worked with a will at anything that came to hand. Some one, seeing them alight at a railway station, remarked: “They’ve left all their frills behind them.” This was truly the case. Mr. Atkins was now above the desire for display. He was workmanly in the extreme, and made himself a jack of all trades, alternately groom, labourer, cook, porter, mule-driver, laundryman, and hero! To-day he was scouring, rubbing, kharki-painting, and hoisting; to-morrow he was good-humouredly playing the rôle of his own washerwoman by the river-side. One moment he was pulling or coaxing or cudgelling obdurate mules, and apostrophising them in language peculiarly his own; the next he was rushing gallantly to the forefront to spend his heart’s blood in the service of his Queen!
To General Wood must be given the credit of the first entry into the enemy’s country. On the 6th of January, with a force of all arms, he occupied Zoutpansdrift, the place—situated north of the Orange River, in Free State territory—where gallant Captain Bradshaw met his fate. Communications between the banks of the river were maintained by means of a pontoon bridge. This was an excellent piece of work, for by holding the drift it was possible to control the progress of the Free Staters, and avert sudden raids against the railway between Orange Station and De Aar. A great deal of active though scarcely “showy” work was carried on at this time, often under the most unfavourable conditions. For instance, on the 14th of January, one of the most obnoxious and ever to be remembered dust-storms burst over the place. It made life temporarily into a bilious sea, a blinding, suffocating bath of yellow sand. Food was ruined, to say nothing of temper. Clothes were covered, eyes and throats were clogged, and the pores of the skin were caked with showers of ochreous pepper, which made every one in camp miserable for a period of quite seven hours!
Cavalry reconnaissances at this period were frequent. The troops, always in peril of their lives, explored some twenty-five miles into the Orange Free State, and found the country clear of the enemy with the exception of patrols. The Victorian Mounted Rifles under Captain M’Leish did some admirable scouting, and visited several farms, which they found had been vacated in hot haste at their approach. The country was thoroughly searched, the 9th and 12th Lancers under General Babington doing valuable work. It was this party that came in touch with Colonel Pilcher and the Queenslanders near Lubbe’s Farm.
Our warriors became well versed in peculiarities of Boer homesteads. All the Dutch farms had a brotherly likeness, and were usually found at a sufficient distance from each other to carry out the Boer ideal that one man should not breathe or see the smoke from his neighbour’s chimney. They commonly nestled under cover of some small kopje, and seemed as though so planted for purposes of self-protection. Self-protection is the first law of nature, and the Boer character has a great reverence for first laws. In every farm was found a harmonium—on the Natal side there were pianos—and many Bibles. Some of these were valuable, and were old enough to arouse the covetous interest of the bibliophile. Most probably they were heirlooms, and had belonged to the early trekkers, who could thumb them out, text by text, when their capacity for other reading was nil. These one-storeyed abodes were composed of sun-baked bricks plastered over, and the flat roofs were lined within by ceilings of deal. Simplicity, ignorance, bad taste, and uncleanliness reigned everywhere. Indeed, it was a matter for wonder how close to civilisation, yet how remote from it, the Dutchmen had contrived to dwell. The cattle kraals and homestead were surrounded with rudely-constructed walls of stone that in their ruggedness were not unpicturesque.
Types of Arms—Maxim Automatic Machine-Gun (the “Pom-Pom”).
(By permission of Messrs. Vickers Sons & Maxim, Limited.)
To return to camp. The Boers, determining not to be accused of lack of invention, adopted a new and ingenious dodge. In the distance from the British outposts a Highlander was observed in the act of driving cattle. As the proceeding was contrary to orders, the manœuvres of the man were carefully observed, and he was discovered to be a Boer masquerading in Highland uniform. He was at once fired upon and he fell, but succeeded in rising and making off before he could be captured.
On the 16th of January Lord Methuen made a demonstration against the left of the Boer entrenchments at Majesfontein, for the purpose of drawing off some of the force investing Colonel Kekewich’s garrison. On the following day, the 17th, a similar demonstration was made, but the enemy was nothing if not “canny,” and refused to be drawn. Then new tactics were tried. On the 23rd there was quite a theatrical bombardment. Night fell. The moon rose, empurpling the frowning kopjes and filling the whole foreground with magnesian radiance. Then the balmy breath of evening was ruffled with the uproar of British shells, whizzing like rockets and bursting in the Boers’ lair. For full half-an-hour a brisk cannonade was maintained, neither party being in view of each other, both being wrapped in the mysterious gloom of the midnight shadows; but the echoes took up the weird tale of warring souls and repeated it into the ear of the winds. Ordinarily, shelling morning and evening was a matter of daily ritual. So many shells into the Boer trenches, so much breakfast. An hour of brisk bombardment, four hours of night’s repose. Such might have been the printed programme.
On the 24th of January a tremendous reception was given to General Hector Macdonald, who arrived in the best of health and spirits, and at once took command of the Highland Brigade. With each of the officers he conversed, and apprised them of a special message entrusted to him by Lord Roberts, an attention which afforded immense satisfaction to all concerned.
The appointment of “Fighting Mac”—as he is popularly called—to the command of the Highland Brigade was full of romantic interest. As a sergeant in the Gordon Highlanders he was one of those who took part in the disastrous fight at Majuba. He was unluckily taken prisoner, but so great was his valour and dash that he even excited the admiration and appreciation of the enemy. This was testified to this remarkable man in a remarkable way. General Joubert, to show his esteem for his fine qualities as a soldier, decided on restoring to him the sword which he had necessarily surrendered. As the sword was not immediately forthcoming, the Boer commander offered a reward for it, so that it should be returned to the gallant fellow who had so nobly striven to defend it. The picture of Colonel Macdonald and his Khedivial Brigade at Omdurman was made ever present to us all through the vivid word-painting of Mr. Steevens in his book “With Kitchener to Khartoum”; and now it is easy to realise that the kilted warrior was at the moment the right man in the right place. The men wanted him. Some were sick and sore and fretted to get a chance to distinguish themselves in the field. Tradition demanded it, and tradition was dear to them; strangely and absurdly dear, some thought. Here were men exposed to the fierce sun in what the layman calls “petticoats,” suffering agonies in the muscles of their scorched legs, yet enduring anything rather than part with the external attributes of their warrior land. Though the kilt and the sporran had to be extinguished under a hideous apron of kharki, and though the heat and weight of wool pleats surmounted by cotton was overwhelming, they preferred these sufferings to any change in their gear. Suggestions were offered on every side, but it was certain that nothing would overcome the conservative devotion of the Highlander for the warlike insignia of his race. Yet their plight was sometimes pitiable, particularly on occasions when, as a Scot described it, he had to take a barbed wire entanglement at “the double” and emerged “a bleeding mass, with his kilt hard a starboard, his kharki flap half left turn, and his sporran dangling on the wire.” Anyhow the men of the kilt meant to hold on to all their traditions, and to take the taste of Majesfontein out of their mouths. And they were truly glad of “Fighting Mac” to help them.
Camp routine was occasionally varied and upset by locust swarms. These descended persistently for a space of about three hours, making the atmosphere dense, as though thick with snowflakes. It was a snowstorm in mourning. Down came the creatures in myriads, gobbling every blade of grass, every crumb, every edible fragment, and then, swiftly as they had come, disappearing on the wings of the wind. They were useful at times, however, for on one occasion, just as a party of troopers had almost fallen into a trap laid by the enemy, the air became suddenly dark, and presently a veil of locusts descended, entirely cutting off the British from the Boers, and enabling the former to scuttle campwards in the sudden obscurity. Not so convenient or comforting was the dust-storm, with which the troops were becoming well acquainted. The dust-storm or dust-spout is analogous to a waterspout. Columns of dust rise vertically to a height of about 150 feet in the air and promptly descend with alarming velocity, sweeping over the earth at the rate of five or six miles an hour, and making life for the time being into a state of chaos. But everything may be turned to account, and the British, being tired of Boer tricks, utilised even the sand-storm with pleasing results. One of the great difficulties of our gunners in shelling the enemy consisted in the fact that the Boers, at the first sign of fire, rushed to bomb-proof trenches. They employed lookout men to give a signal of warning. On the 29th of January, however, when the Naval gunners saw a storm brewing, they bided their time. No sooner had the whirl descended than they set to work and plumped lyddite with great success into the enemy’s lines.
Coming events now began to cast their shadows before. Activities around the railroad showed that the influence of Lord Kitchener was already at work. The Royal Engineers commenced to build a strong and permanent bridge across the Modder at its confluence with the Riet. This bridge was constructed about fifteen feet above water, to insure it against the flooding of the river during the rainy season in the Free State, and enable the heaviest traffic to be carried to the scene of action. This promised shortly to be situated in the direction of Jacobsdal. Here the Boers kept a species of headquarters; and here, in the open plain dividing them from Kopjesdam, they set fire to the veldt for two miles. The conflagration began in the afternoon of Wednesday, the 31st of January, and continued throughout the night, illuminating earth and sky with weird reflections. The smoke of these fires served to act as a screen for Boer movements, for at this time the hostile armies were reinforced by troops from Barkly and Koodoesberg districts. The burning of the grass might also have been arranged with the object of procuring a black background against which the approach of winding, snake-like columns of kharki could be more distinctly visible.
There was some excitement in camp as to the reported capture of Mr. Jourdaan, the private secretary of Mr. Rhodes, who had endeavoured to pass from the beleaguered town with messages from the “Colossus” relating to the critical affairs of the moment.
On the 31st of January the British occupied Prieska unopposed. The Boers had been in possession of the place in all about five days, and had left, taking with them two prisoners, one of whom they subsequently released. Commandants Olivier and Snyman were busy recruiting, and finding themselves at a loss for combatants, were now forcing Dutchmen all and sundry to serve with the Transvaal colours. “There is no such thing as a loyal Dutchman,” declared Olivier, and promptly commandeered young and old on pain of fine or imprisonment.
CHAPTER V
CHRISTMAS AT LADYSMITH
Prices at Ladysmith had now gone up, but still those whose purses were plethoric could treat themselves to a few luxuries. Jam, for instance, was 3s. 6d. per lb., a possible price but a tantalising; while eggs were sold at about half a guinea a dozen. Whisky fetched from £5 to £7 a bottle, so there was little fear of dipsomania; and small packets of cigarettes were worth 3s. 6d. a piece. On the 23rd of December there was a grand auction. The Mayor at one time had instituted periodical auctions for the sale of the town produce, but finding competition too brisk, and fearing prices would never return to their normal level, the plan had been dropped. However, in face of Christmas there was a great sale, and the soldiers eagerly competed for bargains in the way of chickens and ducks and etceteras of the meal. In default of Covent Garden or Leadenhall, a long table at an angle of the main street was set out with inviting fare tantalizing to all but the most stoical. One Gordon was seen dragging off another in act of making an extravagant bid—“Come awa, mon! we dinna want nae sour grapes.” Poultry was fetching from 8s. to 10s. a bird; while vegetables, in proportion, were more costly still. Vegetable marrows were sold for 2s. 9d. each; and carrots, homely and almost despised carrots, fetched over 3s. a bunch! As a great luxury a turkey, a goose, a sucking-pig now and then appeared on the Ladysmith board; but the ordinary domestic meal was composed of trek beef and “goat” mutton. But even these were becoming beautifully less.
Christmas passed off well. Hope revived. News of Lord Methuen’s earlier victories refreshed the ears of the community, and a series of sports of various kinds helped to impart to the day a suitable air of festivity. Quantities of popular people set to work to make the day merry. Colonel Dartnell, Major Karri Davies, Colonel Rhodes—the delight of all from the Tommies to the babes—arranged a Christmas Tree. It was decorated with gifts and mottoes, “Imperial to the core,” and attended by children of all sizes and degrees, even to a siege baby aged three days! But behind the scene enteric fever and dysentery flourished, and languishing in Intombi camp, two miles out, were pathetic remnants of the hale and hearty regiments who had marched to the front in October. The other gallant warriors were now nothing more than a mob of badly-dressed scarecrows, lean and wizened, but, as one of them said, “good enough food for powder.” The horses, too, had grown thin and spiritless, their anatomy was grievously obvious, and in their eyes—those erstwhile fiery eyes—there seemed to dwell the melancholy foreboding of a strange hereafter—the hereafter when sausages should be served out to the hungry, and the poor equine devotees would have spent the last of themselves to keep the British flag flying.
The message of the Queen warmed the hearts of the weary garrison. It was pleasant to know that the Sovereign, in thought, lived in the shadows as in the sunlight of Empire. Still, none but those experiencing it could plumb the depths of monotony and wretchedness. It was enough to kill the martial spirit of the most valorous, though none would own that bellicosity was exuding little by little from their wasted finger-ends. Far from it.
Sir George White maintained a series of night attacks or threats of night attacks, which served to keep the Boers uncomfortably on the qui vive, and these, as a necessary return, indulged in exasperating bombardment during the day. On the 26th as many as 176 shells were flung into the town before nine in the morning, independently of the action carried on by the Maxim automatic guns. It was plain the Boers considered that the inactivity of Christmas Day must be atoned for, and therefore the guns were plied with additional ardour. On the 27th, unfortunately, their murderous efforts were more than rewarded. A shell was fired from the Creusot gun on Bulwana, which dropped into the Devons’ mess at Junction Hill. There, were congregated many of the officers, and of these Lieutenant Dalziel and Lieutenant Price-Dent were killed. Many others were wounded. Lieutenant Twist was injured in five places, and Lieutenants Scafe, Kane, Field, Byrne (Inniskilling Fusiliers), Tringham (Royal West Surrey), and Captain Lafone—who had been previously wounded at Elandslaagte—were all more or less mutilated.
HOUSEHOLD CAVALRY—CAPTAIN, 2nd LIFE GUARDS.
Photo by Gregory & Co., London.
On the 28th the Naval Battery took on itself to avenge the loss of the noble fellows who had fallen victims to the Bulwana gun, and directed at it, or rather at its gunners, six well-intentioned shots from the 4.7 inch and 12-pounder, with the result that the voice of the aggressor was temporarily silenced. There was some satisfaction in the feeling that the gunners who had created such awful havoc and regret had met their deserts. Both Lieutenant Dalziel and Lieutenant Price-Dent were particularly promising young officers, having both seen service with Sir William Lockhart on the Indian frontier, the latter having also served in the Chitral Relief Force. A sentiment of gloom mingled with fury disturbed the fortitude of the gallant party, and the only satisfaction they enjoyed was calculation and speculation as to what form Sir Redvers Buller’s next move would take. “When will Buller come, and how?” such were the questions which were repeated scores of times during the day.
The cessation of the fire from Bulwana was certainly cheering, and from various sources it was discovered that the Boers were becoming nervous in fear of night attacks and the destruction of more of their big guns. Their state of mind was not evidenced entirely by their conduct, for two plugged shells fired into the camp were found to contain a hunk of plum-pudding and the compliments of the season.
Sickness, as we know, was rife, but fortunately there were many doctors of repute in the town, members of the Army Medical Department, and also independent practitioners. There was Dr. Jameson, whose ability was for years testified at Kimberley, and also Dr. Davies of Johannesburg; these assisted materially in giving advice, but unfortunately medicines were now growing scarce, and milk, though some invalids could digest nothing else, was not to be had. It is too pathetic to deal with the losses that must have occurred through the lack of suitable nourishment for those whose cases, not in themselves serious, only required care and sustenance.
The bombardment on the first day of the New Year had tragic results. A shell crashed into the house of Major Vallentine and killed a soldier servant named Clydesdale. Later, another shell burst near the railway station, where a cricket match between the railway officials and bridge guards was taking place, and killed Captain Vallentine Todd. The unlucky player was in the act of bowling, and dropped with the ball still in his hand.
THE ATTACK ON WAGON HILL
Our midnight surprises had not been without their lesson, and now the Boers conceived the brilliant, the desperate idea of emulating British example, and bringing Ladysmith to her knees by assault in the small hours. Some three days before the event, a Kaffir deserter had warned the besieged that an attack was contemplated; that it had been decided among the Boers that a large force must be moved up from the neighbourhood of Colenso, and that a final assault at arms must be attempted. The warning was pooh-poohed. Kaffir tales were almost as prevalent as flies! It was proverbial that night attacks to the Dutchman were taboo—they were dangerous, they tried the nerves, and cold steel glittered horribly in the moonlight. So Ladysmith slept. But as a matter of fact the Kaffir was right. These arrangements had taken place, and two storming parties from the Heidelberg and Harrismith commandoes were promised immediate return to their homes if they should succeed in the hazardous enterprise. Accordingly, on the evening of the 5th of January they arranged a plan which on Saturday the 6th they almost carried out. The main object of their attack, they decided, should be on the western side of the perimeter, where a crescent-shaped, flat-topped eminence divided them from the town. At the south point of this crescent was placed Cæsar’s Camp, bounded on the east by the Klip River, and at the west point, a distance of some four miles, was a post known as Wagon Hill. Close to this was a twin plateau called Wagon Hill West. Cæsar’s Camp was guarded by the Manchester Regiment, the 42nd Field Battery, and a Naval 12½-pounder gun. Only half a battalion of 60th Rifles were on Wagon Hill, while two squadrons of Imperial Light Horse were on Wagon Hill West. Against these positions the enemy decided to make their concentrated attack. The darksome steeps were almost perpendicular, and afforded excellent cover for approach. In some respects they resembled Majuba, where a man climbing up was almost invisible till he came face to face with his quarry. Some three hundred warrior-farmers of the Harrismith commando arranged secretly to gather in Fournier’s Spruit, a dry nullah which intersected the base of the position, and there wait till the gloom of the small hours should give them the chance they were expecting. Their plan was to divide in two columns. The one, under the Harrismith Commandant, De Villiers, was to attack the steeps of Wagon Hill West, while the other, in concert, was to crawl to the nek or slope which united that hill with Wagon Hill proper, and thus cut off the former hill from the rest of the camps. In this way, should the plan succeed, they hoped to make the southern peak of the hill, Cæsar’s Camp, untenable. Accordingly, divesting themselves of shoes, they started off, and under cover of darkness, like stealthily slinking panthers, approached, from different points, the British lines. It so happened that a Hotchkiss gun and some Naval guns were being placed in position on the top of Wagon Hill West. Possibly these guns may have tempted the enemy. They would be useful, they thought, to capture and turn on camp or town. All day and all night the Royal Engineers and Bluejackets had been labouring to get the weapons into position, and at this hour the party were taking a “breather” after their long and arduous efforts. With them, to cover their operations, were the King’s Royal Rifles and the Gordon Highlanders, who occupied a post on the front and flank. The fatigue party were resting, as before stated. Suddenly, in the stillness of the night, a curious and unusual sound was heard. The velvety sound of a muffled footfall. A crumbling as of broken earth. Ears pricked up. The sentry at once cried out, “Who goes there?” “Friend,” was answered, and the next moment the sentry dropped dead!
Curiously enough, while the beforesaid plan of attack was in course of being enacted, Lieutenant Mathias was visiting his posts. In the obscurity he all at once found himself confronted by Boers on every side. With amazing presence of mind he faced about, and seeing that the Dutchmen mistook him for one of themselves, acted as if he also were assaulting the hill. When near enough, however, he made a rush—a desperate rush—to warn the pickets of their danger. But he was too late. Two men were shot dead, whilst Lieutenant Mathias and a third trooper were wounded. There was no help at hand, and before assistance could be summoned, the enemy were already sweeping the hill. But the sound of the first shots had given the alarm.
Instantly all was flurry and confusion. Men that a moment before had been sleepily yawning after their heavy labours were racing hither and thither, groping in the darkness in search of arms. Others however, who were armed, forebore to fire, the felt hats of the foe being mistaken for those of the Imperial Light Horsemen. With a desperate effort Lieutenant Digby Jones gathered together his sappers. Hurried shots were fired, hurried orders given, but nothing could efface the effects of the sudden surprise. The Boers had gained the hill and driven the defenders over the crest! This all in a darkness that might have been felt. Such lanterns as there were had been overturned and extinguished in the hustle of the stampeding Kaffirs, who had been assisting at the arrangement of the gun, and who, at the first approach of the enemy, had fled. Forks and flashes of flame shining from the nek between the twin hills showed that the second column of the Dutch commando also was attaining its object. The gun, which fortunately had not yet been erected on the top of the hill, was instantly got to work under the direction of Lieutenant Parker; rifles were seized, and an effort was made in the obscurity to sweep the hill in the direction where the enemy was supposed to be. But the Boers were completely enveloped in the darkness of the night, and it was impossible to locate them; and the Hotchkiss gun was drawn back within the sandguard which had hurriedly been thrown up, only just in time. The Boers were now almost upon it. All the available men about Wagon Hill had instantly rushed to the rescue, and the Imperial Light Horse, some King’s Royal Rifles, and a few Gordon Highlanders were soon in the thick of the fray. The Highlanders, taking their place round the crest, fired, as hard as rifles would let them, down the slope. Some fierce fighting followed. Before the Boers could get farther up, the Imperial Light Horse with their wonted gallantry engaged them, and sent the invaders helter-skelter down hill into the mysterious mists of the dawn. But this was but for a moment—it was merely the commencement of affairs.
The whole garrison got under arms, not only the military, but every available man taking up some weapon to assist in withstanding the onslaught. It was felt to be a desperate situation, desperate for both sides, for the enemy knew that something must be done, and that quickly, to prevent the pending arrival of relief by Sir Redvers Buller, while the garrison, in face of reduced rations, disease, dysentery, and decreasing ammunition, was aware that it was a case of now or never. The alarm once given, Colonel Hamilton from the west had sent for reinforcements with amazing rapidity, and up came two and a half companies of Gordon Highlanders from the base of Cæsar’s Camp, while one company under Captain the Hon. R. T. Carnegie started to support the Manchester pickets on Cæsar’s Camp, and a company and a half went to Wagon Hill. It was while the Gordons were marching up and crossing the bridge of the Klip River that they met with their first mishap. Colonel Dick Cunyngham, only just recovered from his wound at Elandslaagte, was struck by a chance bullet and fell mortally wounded. Major Scott then took the command. Presently came the Rifle Brigade and half a battalion of the first 60th to the rescue, while the 21st Field Battery hurried to cover the western approaches to Wagon Hill, and the 53rd Battery took up a position to guard the most southern point of Cæsar’s Camp. But all this movement was not accomplished till much carnage had been wrought. As already mentioned, the Boers had nearly achieved their object and cut off Wagon Hill West from Wagon Hill proper. By dawn they were straggling on the plateau connecting the two hills, merely checked in their further advance on Wagon Hill by the remnant of the Light Horse. Firing at this time was so terrific and at such close range that it was impossible to move from cover and live. Bullets literally buzzed like bees in the serene morning air. On one side were the Boers making for the second hill, on the other were the British struggling to ward them off. Meanwhile, trickling along through the Fournier’s Spruit were arriving more desperate farmers, more picked men of skilled marksmanship and deadly purpose. At this time reinforcements also arrived for the brave little band who were so gallantly resisting the Dutchmen. But even the additional numbers were insufficient, it was impossible to cope with the marvellous marksmanship of the advancing horde. They came ever nearer and nearer, firing thick and fast—and with explosive bullets. The Colonel, two Majors, and four other officers of the Light Horse dropped—the enemy seized the position—and from thence it was impossible to dislodge them! To do this it would have been necessary to rush through some sixty yards of what seemed hell-fire—a perfect avalanche of death. Major Mackworth made the dashing effort, but in the very act he was stricken down, and most of the gallant fellows of the 60th Rifles who accompanied him. Another officer, Lieutenant Tod, pluckily attempted the same hazardous exploit. Twelve noble fellows followed him. Six were hit, and the valiant young leader dropped dead before he had moved three yards from cover. Colonel Codrington (11th Hussars), who was commanding a squadron of the Imperial Light Horse, made a rush forward to ascertain if it were possible to get cover for his men, but before he had gone thirty yards, he too shared the fate of the other officers. These experiences were sufficient. It was decided that the best plan would be to wait under cover till dusk, when the bayonet might be made to supersede the rifle.
H.M.S. “POWERFUL.”
Photo by Symonds, Portsmouth.
While all this was taking place on Wagon Hill, a terrific drama was being enacted at Cæsar’s Camp; and exciting assaults, defeats, and re-assaults were following each other on Wagon Hill West. Soon after dawn, the 52nd Field Battery, under Major Abdy, commenced to shell the slopes below Cæsar’s Camp, and keep the enemy from ascending in that direction. The operation was one fraught with extreme difficulty, as the shells were forced to travel over the heads of our own men in order to effect a lodgment at the desired spot. But the work of the gunners was admirable, and the shells burst with a precision that wrought awful destruction on the enemy. The whole of the eastern slopes of the hill were covered with dead Dutchmen lying amidst fragments of steel and iron in the blood-clotted grass. The scene around Ladysmith at this time was appalling. Away in the direction of Wagon Hill, fiercely every inch of ground was being contested, and here the Naval guns and artillery were bellowing and roaring and sending their deadly messages all along the ridge of Cæsar’s Camp, driving off the enemy, who came back again and again. There was a hard tussle, particularly for the Gordons and the Rifle Brigade. Their lives hung by a thread. The Boers were inflamed with either hope or desperation, and, contrary to custom, advanced to death and destruction with dogged and, one may say, admirable pluck. Day broke and grew to its zenith, and still the fighting raged; still the guns roared and snorted; still the dust and dirt flew to the skies, coming down again to stop the mouths of gasping, dying men, and blind the eyes of those who, blood-stained and sweltering, were yet selling their lives at the dearest price that could be asked.
Just as the fire was slackening, possibly from sheer fatigue on both sides, the heavily charged thunder-clouds burst over the position, and a terrific downpour of hail and rain scourged the contesting forces and flooded the trenches. The Boers at this time had been driven to a corner like wolves at bay, and could not emerge without running the gantlet of a tremendous fire from the Ladysmith guns. Wet to the skin, the ground one vast meadow of slush, the combatants still held on with grim tenacity, each side watching lynx-eyed, each being now almost mad with an insatiable and ferocious desire for victory.
The storm continued and grew. Instead, as imagined, of relinquishing the fight, the Boers took courage from the tempest. The tornado from heaven only served to increase the tornado below! It seemed to suit the stormy state of human passions, to stimulate rather than subdue. Under cover of the thunder and the swirl of the elements the Federals made one desperate onward rush, but the furious fire which met them from Volunteers and British Infantry hurled them back and sent them spinning in heaps or rushing with howls down the hill. The 53rd Battery swept the bush country with a storm of shrapnel, and away to cover they went, and with them their reinforcements, who had been hiding in the neighbouring nullahs, waiting for the great, the final hour of triumph.
So much for Cæsar’s Camp. On Wagon Hill before noon the Devons, with their gallant commander, had come to the forefront, Colonel Park again leading them to renewed success. As we know, the Boers were already on the hill, and the Gordons, who had lost their officers, were falling back when Major Milner Wallnutt rallied them. The enemy were soon removed from the emplacement which they held; but they rushed towards the west, and were there as dangerously fixed as ever. About two o’clock the most horrible moment of the fight arrived. The hill that had been the subject of such eager contest was again attacked, this time by a small but desperate body of Dutchmen. De Villiers, their Commandant, made a wild forward rush to secure the position. In an instant Major Wallnutt and a sapper were shot dead, but the rest of the sappers magnificently fronted the invaders with fixed bayonets. Presently the brilliant youth, the hero of the Surprise Hill affair, Lieutenant Digby Jones, R.E., led them forward, shot De Villiers, and dropped! A bullet had sent him home to his last account. The hoary-headed Burghers were stayed in their onward march by the splendid action of the noble boy, who so many times had risked his young life in the service of his country. At this juncture up came a dismounted squadron of the 18th Hussars, and the situation was saved. The plateau was reoccupied.
But even then all was not over. The great, the supreme effort to recapture Wagon Hill came at four o’clock in the afternoon. The lightning flashed, the thunder rolled, the hail clattered and splashed, the guns blazed, vomited, and growled, and the silky whistle of bullets made a flute-like treble to the awful orchestra of sound. In the midst of the uproar the Boers again obstinately advanced up the heights, firing deliberately as they came. On their heads poured the wrath of the British guns, and among their numbers rained the ceaseless bullets of the Infantry; but they steadily moved up, doggedly determined once more to reach the crest of the hill. They came nearer and ever nearer till, on a sudden, they flung themselves upon the Devons, who, cheering wildly, rushed into their midst and dispersed them. One short moment—one wild, valiant rush, and then—then the trusty British bayonets dripped with gore, and the Boers—all that were left of them, a racing, disorganised rabble—surged madly down the hill!
The worst was over; the British conquerors rushed after the retreating foe. The Devons, led by their intrepid commander, charged down the slope, and this time, with a wild exultant yell—which echoed like a tocsin among the caves and the boulders and the honeycombed banks of the river—effectually drove the fleeing herd from the scene of carnage.
The lost ground was recovered, but the lost lives.... Yes; they, too, live in the glorious annals of British history.
Captain Lafone, Lieutenants Field and Walker were among the slain; and Lieutenant Masterton was wounded. The splendid charge cost the Devons all the company officers—fifteen killed and forty wounded!
THE GREAT ASSAULT ON LADYSMITH—THE DEVONS CLEARING WAGON HILL.
Drawing by W. T. Maud.
It was a dreadful seventeen hours’ work. Not a soul but had his duty, and more than his duty, cut out for him. The jolly Jack Tars stood to their guns from morn till night, blazing away with marvellous accuracy and precision, while the gallant Natal Police, Natal Carabineers, and Mounted Rifles were wedged between the Boers from Mount Bulwana and the rest of their attacking party, and signally defeated all their efforts to effect a junction. The Manchester Regiment, the Border Regiment, a detachment of Mounted Rifles, the Gordon Highlanders, and the Rifle Brigade defended the east of Cæsar’s Camp like heroes, while on the west, as we know, the Imperial Light Horse, more Gordon Highlanders, the Devon Regiment, the King’s Royal Rifles, and a Naval detachment did glorious deeds. The Naval Brigade and the Natal Naval Volunteers occupied a central position, while three batteries of the Field Artillery were perched on a hill, and one remained on the ground below. All these were called upon to act with might and main to avert the pending calamity, to meet the stubborn, mulish persistency of the Boers with its match in British bulldog obstinacy, and show the enemy that with all the odds against them the besieged would never surrender. Valiantly—almost miraculously—they held their own. They who for months had been exposed to privation of all kinds, who had fought engagement after engagement, who had eaten, drunk, and slept with the shadow of death hanging over them, knowing that at any moment the caprice of fate might make them victims to the incoming shells or threatened disease, came out with enfeebled frames, but wills of iron, determined to conquer or to die.
Elsewhere there had also been bloody doings. The enemy had even tried to force their way into the town, and from here they were chased by the gallantry and daring of the Gloucester, Leicester, and Liverpool Regiments. The Boers were forced to retire, but even in their retirement they showed characteristic “slimness,” as they made their way in line with the neutral camp at Intombi Spruit, and thus defied the British to fire upon them. Nor was this the only example of their ingenious mode of self-defence on that day. Their “slimness” was carried on on every available opportunity. For instance, a party of the enemy, under cover of darkness of the early morning, had got almost within touch of Lieutenant Royston, who at once called on the Border Mounted Rifles to fire. They were in the act of doing so when a voice rang out, “Don’t shoot. We are the Town Guard.” No sooner, however, had the order to “Cease fire” been heard than crack, crack, ping, ping, a volley was at once poured on the Colonials. Several of their number dropped, but the rest, exasperated beyond endurance at the hateful duplicity, charged into the midst of the enemy, leaving scarce one of them to tell the tale.
These tricks and dodges set aside, the Boers fought more pluckily than was their wont, and they, cheered on by their dauntless Commandant, De Villiers, came to such close quarters that Colonel Hamilton had recourse to his revolver. Among the first of the gallant defenders to drop was the glorious, heroic figure of Colonel Dick-Cunyngham.[3] He was seen standing on the road-bridge in the act of leading his men, and was struck by some sharp-shooting Boer. By seven o’clock in the morning numbers of other splendid fellows had fallen, and the air of Ladysmith was rent with the cries and groans of the dying, who thickly strewed the ground. Lord Ava, orderly officer to Colonel Hamilton, fell mortally injured,[4] and Colonel Edwards’s wound was also severe.
Lieutenant Digby Jones (Royal Engineers) took a most heroic part, alas! with tragic results. With his own hands he shot three of the enemy, and clubbed a fourth, but for his gallant conduct, which doubtless would have been rewarded with a V.C., he paid later on in the day with his life. One gallant young trooper of the Imperial Light Horse had strange experiences. He, with only a sergeant, was among the first to meet the Boers. In the dusk of dawn the sergeant fell, and the trooper was wounded. He recovered his senses sufficiently to try and creep to cover. A shower of rain drenched him, then the sun blazed out mercilessly and scorched him. Worn out, he decided he would stagger to the Devons and get support, but, battered as he was, they failed to recognise him, and arrested him as a spy!
Numerous deeds of amazing valour were performed, so many indeed that they deserve a separate record without the limits of the narrative. But the story of the heroic Bozeley cannot be omitted. During the action there was a sergeant in command of one of the guns sitting rather doubled up on the trail of his gun. A 4.7 shell took off his leg high up on one side, and took the arm out of the socket, and he fell across the trail of the gun, as they thought, an inanimate, speechless mass. But to the astonishment of every man amongst them, a voice came from the mass inciting them on to their duty, and saying: “Here, you men, roll me out of the way, and go on working the gun.”
The list of casualties was a grievously long one:—
Killed:—5th Lancers—Second Lieutenant W. H. T. Hill. 23rd Corps Royal Engineers—Lieutenant R. J. T. Digby Jones, Second Lieutenant G. B. B. Dennis. 1st Devonshire Regiment—Captain W. B. Lafone, Lieutenant H. N. Field, Lieutenant C. E. M. Walker, 1st Somerset Light Infantry (attached). Imperial Light Horse—Lieutenant William F. Adams, Lieutenant John Edward Pakeman. 1st King’s Royal Rifle Corps—Brevet-Major F. Mackworth, 2nd Royal West Surrey Regiment (attached). 2nd King’s Royal Rifle Corps—Major R. S. Dowen, Lieutenant M. M. Tod, 1st Cameronians (attached), Second Lieutenant F. H. Raikes. 2nd Gordon Highlanders—Major C. C. Miller Wallnutt. 2nd Rifle Brigade—Second Lieutenant L. D. Hall. Wounded:—Staff—Captain Earl of Ava dangerously (died January 11). Intelligence Department—Local Captain H. Lees-Smith, slightly. 5th Lancers—Captain E. O. Wathen, slightly. Imperial Light Horse—Lieutenant-Colonel A. H. M. Edwards, 5th Dragoon Guards (attached), slightly, Major W. Karri Davis, slightly, Major D. E. Doveton, dangerously (died February 14), Lieutenant W. R. Codrington, 11th Hussars (attached), dangerously, Lieutenant J. Richardson, 11th Hussars (attached), severely, Lieutenant Douglas Campbell, dangerously, Lieutenant P. H. Normand, slightly. 1st Devonshire Regiment—Lieutenant J. Masterson, severely. 1st Manchester Regiment—Major A. E. Simpson, slightly, Captain A. W. Marden, slightly, Captain T. Menzies, slightly, Second Lieutenant E. N. Fisher, severely. 1st King’s Royal Rifle Corps—Lieutenant R. McLachlan, severely. 2nd Gordon Highlanders—Lieutenant-Colonel W. Dick-Cunyngham, severely (died January 7), Captain Hon. R. Carnegie, severely, Lieutenant W. Macgregor, severely. 2nd Rifle Brigade—Brevet Major G. Thesiger, severely, Captain S. Mills, dangerously (died February 2), Captain R. Stephens, severely, Captain H. Biddulph, slightly, Second Lieutenant C. E. Harrison, slightly. 5th Lancashire Fusiliers—Lieutenant F. Barker, attached Army Service Corps. Natal Mounted Rifles—Captain A. Wales, slightly, Lieutenant H. W. Richardson, slightly. Volunteer Medical Staff, Lieutenant R. W. Hornebrook, slightly. Royal Army Medical Corps—Major C. G. Woods, slightly.
On the following day—Sunday—in the Anglican Church, a thanksgiving service for victory was held, and all who were able attended the solemn function. At the close of the simple yet impressive service General White and his staff stood at the altar rails while the Te Deum was performed, and this was afterwards followed by the singing in thrilling unison of the National Anthem. Round the Chief were the men who have fought by his side through many days of sore trouble—each hour an eternity in its experiences. The well-known forms of General Sir Archibald Hunter and General Ian Hamilton were in evidence, but some, alas! of that goodly company would never be seen again. In the Town Hall close by, and in the adjacent hotels and dwellings, honest manly souls were breathing their last, and others had already taken their flight to where the great thanksgiving service of creation goes on for ever and ever.
Among these last was a man who was the pride of his sex and an ornament to his profession, Colonel Dick-Cunyngham, V.C. Wounded previously, from his second blow he never rallied, and on this sad Sunday passed away.
In a few words the Daily Telegraph summed up the surprising qualities of the heroic figure that had so lamentably passed from society as from the scene of war: “Lieutenant-Colonel Dick-Cunyngham was the beau-ideal of a Highland officer, and there was not a man or woman in the world who had a bad word to say about him. His heart was as true as steel, and his manner was courtesy itself. In his kilt and bonnet, a moustache that was so light that it was nearly white telling against the bronze of his face, and with a mountaineer’s figure, he was a man who caught every artist’s eye at once, and he has figured, without his knowledge, again and again in pictures and illustrations. At Shirpur he first gave proof of his great gallantry by rallying the men when for a moment they wavered; at Majuba he was the officer who asked permission to charge. Elandslaagte and Ladysmith are the last two names in his long record of heroism.”