THE ESCAPE OF PRISONERS FROM PRETORIA
At this time great excitement prevailed owing to the escape from Pretoria of Captain Haldane, D.S.O. (Gordon Highlanders), who was captured after the disaster to the armoured train at Chieveley; of Lieutenant Le Mesurier (Dublin Fusiliers), who was taken prisoner with Colonel Moeller’s force after the battle of Glencoe; and of Sergeant Brockie, a Colonial volunteer. These officers had a more adventurous task than even that of Mr. Churchill, for since the war correspondent’s escape the Boers had naturally taken additional precautions, and had mounted extra guard over their prisoners. The officers most ingeniously contrived to dig a trench underneath the floor of the prison, and here they hid themselves. For eighteen long days they remained cramped in this small underground hole, in the daily expectation that the other officers and their guards were about to be transferred to new quarters, when a chance of escape would be offered.
Captain Haldane gave exciting details of his adventures in Blackwood’s Magazine; but, before dealing with them, it is interesting to consider the position of the vast congregation of British officers that had gradually been collected within the confines of the Model School. Curiously enough, after all the fighting, the sum total of prisoners of war on both sides was now nearly equal. By the 23rd of March the Boer prisoners in our hands were 5000, while the British prisoners in Pretoria numbered some 3466. Since that date, through various unlucky accidents, the Boers had captured some 1000 more of our troops, and thus early in April the enemy almost equalled us in the matter of capture!
The Model School, Pretoria.
The Model School stands in the centre of the town. It is commodious, though devoid of privacy (on the principle of a boys’ dormitory) well ventilated, lighted with electricity, and roofed with corrugated iron. At the time of the escape there was a gymnasium, and also a scaling-ladder against the wall, which suggested infinite possibilities to such men as Captain Haldane, who had all the exciting histories of “Latude,” “Jack Sheppard,” and “Monte Christo” at his fingers’ ends. There were rough screens to enclose some of the cubicles, and the walls in some cases were decorated with cuttings from the illustrated papers, or with humorous sketches made by talented amateurs. Two of these were especially admired, a chase after President Steyn personally conducted by Lord Roberts, and a caricature of President Kruger, which latter was highly appreciated even by the Boers when it came under their notice.
The special nook of the Rev. Adrian Hofmeyer, who had made himself into a general favourite, and was laconically declared to be a “regular brick,” was the most decorative of all, being made gay with various scraps of colour and design to cheer the weary eye. By this time the reverend gentleman, having had a more trying experience of incarceration than most, had got to look upon the Model School in the light of residential chambers, and consoled others with the account of his own experiences. His story was not an enlivening one:—
“I was lodged in the common jail, Cronje’s law adviser having informed him it would not be legal to shoot me. Cronje consequently thought the best thing to do would be another illegality, namely, imprison a non-combatant and correspondent. Mr. Cronje has ample time to-day in St. Helena to meditate upon this and other illegal acts of his. I was locked up in a cell eighteen feet by nine feet, and for the first few days was allowed to have my meals at the hotel. Soon, however, this liberty was taken away, for it proved too much for the Christian charity of the Zeerust burghers to see a despised prisoner of war marched up and down from the hotel to the jail under police escort. Other restrictions were soon imposed also, and after a little while I was locked up day and night, the door of the unventilated cell being open only three times a day for fifteen minutes at a time. No books nor papers were allowed me, no visitors, and the few loyal friends who tried to supply me with luxuries were cruelly forbidden to do so by the authorities. I cannot help thinking to-day of the strange irony of fate. The commanders who practised this cruelty upon me were Cronje and Snyman. The one is to-day a prisoner of war, and can, perhaps, put himself in my place. He is an old personal acquaintance, too.”
The worthy padre was afterwards removed, and gave a further description of his experiences.
“After eight weeks of such life I was taken to Pretoria, and there quartered in the Staats Model School with the British officers. Here everything was better, and I quickly recovered my health and strength. The building was a magnificent one, and the surroundings very pleasant, but our jailer, a Landdrost, and our guards, the Zarps, never forgot to remind us of the fact that we were prisoners. The food we got from Government sufficed for one meal; the rest we had to buy, being charged most exorbitant prices. When I left, the officers’ mess amounted to £1600 per month for 144 officers. On my arrival, I was asked by the officers to conduct service for them every Sunday, in addition to that held by an Anglican clergyman. For two Sundays, therefore, we had two services a day, and then Winston Churchill escaped, and the following extraordinary letter was sent the officers by the Anglican clergyman:—
“‘Gentlemen,—By the kind courtesy of the Government, I have been permitted to hold services for you in connection with the Church of England, which services I have felt it a privilege on my part to conduct. After what has recently occurred—viz. the escape of Mr. Churchill from confinement—I exceedingly regret that, in consideration of my duty to the Government, I must discontinue such regular ministrations, as I desire to maintain the honour due to my position. Of course I shall always be glad to minister to you in any emergency, with the special permission of the authorities, who will, with their usual kindness, duly inform me.—With my best wishes, I am, gentlemen, yours sincerely, ——.’
“Out of charity, I do not publish the reverend gentleman’s name,[2] but I can add that ‘the emergency’ referred to never presented itself. Since that time, I had the pleasure and honour of conducting the services every Sunday, and they were the pleasantest hours I spent in prison. Our singing was so hearty and good, that many of the townsfolk strolled up of a Sunday morning to hear us.”
BRITISH PRISONERS ON THEIR WAY TO PRETORIA: THE FIRST HALT
Drawing by S. Begg
As may be imagined, all manner of devices were invented for the purpose of securing news, the only intelligence of outside events coming to the unhappy prisoners through the Standard and Diggers’ News, which journal, of course, dwelt gloatingly on British disasters. But the authorities were suspicious. One day a harmonium was removed, owing to the treasonable practice of performing “God save the Queen”; on another, a cherished terrier was banished, as he was declared to be a smuggler, and charged with the crime of carrying notes in his tail! But at last, an ingenious ruse was successfully perpetrated. A man, accompanied by a dog, came to the railings and there engaged in a private dialogue, which savoured of the maniacal, till the eagerly listening officers discovered that there might be method in the strange man’s madness. A sample of the scene was given by the correspondent of the Standard:—
“‘Would you like a swim?’ asked the master, and the dog, with a wag of his tail, answered ‘Yes.’ ‘Ladysmith is all right,’ continued the man, and the tail wagged assent. ‘We will come again,’ said the master, and the dog agreed. For a time the prisoners thought him mad, this man with the dog who talked in his beard, and mixed his dog talk with such names as ‘Ladysmith,’ ‘Mafeking,’ ‘Cronje,’ ‘Roberts.’ Then the truth dawned on them, and the ‘Dog Man’ became a hero, whose coming was watched with longing, and whose mutterings in his beard were ‘as cool waters to the thirsty soul,’ or as ‘good news from a far country.’ One day the ‘Dog Man’ was missing, and there was lamentation, until, looking towards the house opposite, the prisoners saw him standing well back in the passage, at the entrance to which two girls kept watch. The ‘Dog Man’ was waving his hat in eccentric fashion, and the waving was found to be legible to those who understand signalling. Next morning a tiny flag was substituted for the hat, and communication between the officers and the Director of Telegraphs was established by flag signal.”
The prisoners endeavoured to keep up an air of jocosity, though, as one confessed, their tempers were “very short and inclined to be captious.” Naturally their occupations were limited, and it was not unusual to see gallant commanders engaged in darning their socks, or washing their clothes under the pump. Their attire, too, was not of the choicest, some of them having been accommodated when sick with suits technically known as “slops,” purchased for a low price in Johannesburg. Hence one officer disported himself in choice pea-green, while another figured in rich yellow. These prison suits were scarcely becoming, particularly as many of the smartest of the smart were growing beards, or, if not beards, the ungainly chin tuft or “Charley,” which destroyed their martial aspect. Sometimes they engaged in games, bumble puppy and the like, and occasionally expanded to other sports. A letter from a sprightly member of the band to the Eton College Chronicle described the humorous side of their daily life:—
“Model School, Pretoria.
“Dear Mr. Editor,—Whilst following the fortunes of old Etonians in South Africa, perhaps it may have escaped your notice that a small and unhappy band has already reached Pretoria. Mr. Rawlins’s House is represented by Captain Ricardo (Royal Horse Guards), and H. A. Chandos-Pole-Gell (Coldstream Guards); Mr. Carter’s by Major Foster (Royal Artillery); the late Mr. Dalton’s, Mr. Ainger’s, and Mr. Luxmore’s respectively by M. Tristram (12th Lancers), G. Smyth-Osbourne (Devonshire Regiment), and G. L. Butler (Royal Artillery); and Mr. Cornish’s by G. R. Wake (Northumberland Fusiliers). The histories of their separate captures would take up too much of your valuable space. Some have been here but a short time, some many weeks; and during their captivity their thoughts turned to old Eton days, and the game of fives recommended itself to them as a means of passing some of the many weary hours. There was no “pepper-box,” or “dead man’s hole”; but a room, two of whose walls mainly consisted of windows, with the aid of three cupboards and a piece of chalk, was quickly converted into a fives court. Entries for a Public Schools’ tournament were numerous, Eton sending three pairs. Tristram and Gell unanimously elected themselves to represent Eton’s first pair, closely followed by Eton II., Ricardo and Osbourne, Eton III. being Wake and Butler. The facts that Tristram had recently been perforated with Mauser bullets, and Gell had spent Christmas and the three preceding weeks in the various jails between Modder River and Bloemfontein, were no doubt responsible for their not carrying off the coveted trophy. Alas! they were badly beaten in the first round by Marlborough. Not so Eton II. and III., who carried the Light Blue successfully into the second round, both having drawn byes. This good fortune could not last, and they fell heavily at the second venture, being beaten by Wellington and Rugby respectively. The ultimate winners proved to be Wellington, after a desperate encounter with Charterhouse.
“So much for our pleasures; our troubles are legion, but we will not burden you with them. We daily expect to hear of the E.C.R.V. sharing the hardships of the campaign, and covering themselves with glory to the tune of
“Floreat Etona.
“P.S.—We all hope to be at Eton on the 4th of June.
“Feb. 14, 1900.”
(Curiously enough, the 4th of June brought to a close the deadly period of durance vile. On that date the gallant crew spent their last night as prisoners!)
To return to Captain Haldane and his partners in adventure. Ever since Mr. Churchill’s escape he had racked his brains to discover a means of escape, and had made multifarious plans, many of which were rejected as absolutely hopeless, while many others failed after efforts which testified to the perseverance and ingenuity of their inventors. It was no easy matter after Mr. Churchill’s exploit to hit on a means of evading the wily and now alert Boer.
The guard were armed with rifles, revolvers, and whistles, and as these consisted of some thirty men, who furnished nine sentries in reliefs of four hours, there was little hope of escaping their vigilance. Fortunately the prisoners, such as had plain clothes in their possession, were permitted to wear them, otherwise the dream of freedom could scarcely have been indulged in. Bribery was not to be thought of, and a repetition of Mr. Churchill’s desperate dash for freedom was impossible. It remained, therefore, for Captain Haldane and his colleagues to invent a new and ingenious method of bursting their bonds. An effort to cut the electric wires to throw the place in darkness while they scaled the walls, proved a sorry failure, and at last, having tried the roof and other points of egress and found them wanting, the companions hit on the happy idea of burrowing a subterranean place of concealment. Here they thought to scrape on and on till they bored a tunnel into the open! The discovery of a trap-door in the planks under one of the beds lent impetus to their designs, and they arranged to excavate a route diagonally under the street, and so pass into the gardens of the neighbouring houses. Marvellous was the patience and perseverance with which they, almost toolless—with only scraps of biscuit tins and screwdrivers—toiled daily in the accomplishment of their plan, and pathetic their dismay when their tunnel finished up by landing them in several feet of water with a promise of more to come. But they were indefatigable. Captain Haldane, like the great Napoleon, argued that the word impossible was only to be found in the dictionary of fools. Rumours that the prisoners were to be removed to a new building in two or three days only contrived to render the conspirators more desperate in their craving to be at large, and again the trap-door system was discussed. The young men determined on revised operations, and hit on the plan of living underground in the cave they should dig, thus disappearing from Boer ken and conveying the idea that they had already bolted, leaving as evidence of flight their three empty beds! Here they proposed to wait till, the hue-and-cry after them having ceased, and the prison doors having been opened for the removal of the other officers, they could slink forth at their leisure. But the change of prison did not come to pass as soon as expected. The empty beds told their tale; the place was searched, the crouching creatures in their burrow heard the tramp of armed men above them, voices in close conference, and afterwards the departing footsteps of the discomfited Boer detectives. It was decided that the prisoners were gone, and further report, amplified by Kaffir imagination, declared that they were already on their way to Mafeking! Still, though safe from discovery, the plotters were far from comfortable. Food in very meagre quantities was smuggled through the trap-door, till at last, famine being the mother of resource, by a process of what they called “signalgrams,” their wants and intentions were conveyed to those above. Then when the appointed raps gave notice of the opening of the mysterious portal, potted meats and other luxuries were liberally passed down. And here, in this ventilationless, miry hole, in darkness and dank-smelling atmosphere, they groped a weary existence, daring neither to cough, nor sneeze, nor whisper, lest discovery should rob them of success. They were unwashed—so grimy as to be unrecognisable even to themselves—they were cramped and covered with bruises, brought about by bumping their heads against the dome of their low dwelling; they were often hungry and sleepless, but they were buoyed up with a vast amount of hope and pluck.
Day after day sped on with unvarying monotony, and gradually hope began to exude at the pores. Six days passed, and they thought patience had come to the end of her tether. They longed to hold themselves upright, to see daylight, to eat their quantum of food, and, above all, to hear the sound of their own voices. But still they held on—longer, longer. Every day they knew made their chance of escape more secure, for the authorities in Pretoria, assured of their departure, had now ceased even from the habitual nine days of wonderment regarding their fate. Then they began to dig and burrow still further, this time with the assistance of a bayonet and a skewer, and for days and days pursued their silent, secret work, in hope to dig a channel some thirty feet long to reach the hospital yard beyond the Model School. Meanwhile they stored food in preparation for the great journey, and listened acutely for news of the proposed transfer of the prisoners to other quarters. At last they had their reward. A note was passed down to say that the officers were to be removed on the morrow. Then all was excitement. The curtain was drawing up on the play of which the prologue had promised so much. The trap-door was carefully fastened down, false screws being put into the screwholes so as to render the hiding-place as inconspicuous as possible.
At last came the looked-for hour. Sounds of packing-up and the shuffling passage of footsteps betokened activities. The commandant went his rounds, and then a cheery voice was heard to say, “All’s well. Good-bye.” They knew that was a signal—the end had come! So in time the whole party of prisoners disappeared, and with them their custodians! The coast was clear. Peeping forth from their ventilator the joyous hidden trio could view the street, the moving of baggage, and all the bustling preparations for a general exodus. Their rapture knew no bounds. But escape was even then deferred. Sightseers and police tramped through the vacated rooms all day, moving perilously near the trap-door, and laughing and jesting, unsuspicious of the precious haul that might have been theirs. It was late in the afternoon before the last visitors departed. Then, after collecting maps of their proposed route, taking a final meal, packing their meat lozenges, chocolate, &c., and money, they dressed and waited anxiously for the kindly cloak of night....
Meanwhile the other prisoners were removed to a camp from which escape was almost impossible. The place was enclosed with barbed wire fencing standing as high as a man. It measured about one hundred and fifty yards in length, and in width at the ends might have measured fifty yards. From this pen it was possible to gaze out over the hills to see life with the eye of Tantalus, so near and yet so far—men and women passing, trees and houses and cattle, all giving pictures of the free life without, that it was impossible for them to share. No efforts now to evade the guard could be made, for the enclosure was dotted thickly with electric lights, and was so thoroughly illuminated in every corner that there was no spot where a man could not have read. The dwelling-house was walled, and roofed with zinc, bare within and comfortless, and in the dormitory one hundred and forty cots were ranged side by side. A few screens, as in the Model School, were arranged at some of the bedheads, but of privacy there was none. The exchange was a sorry one, and Captain Haldane and his companions, Mr. Le Mesurier and Mr. Brockie, were wise in making a vigorous bid to get clear of the fate that overtook their comrades.
Already a whiff of coming liberty seemed to reward these conspirators for their dark days of anticipation. Their meal and their preparations completed, they reconnoitred and discovered that all was clear. Then, joyously, the intending fugitives emerged from their terrible lair. With some difficulty they stood upright, their limbs refused their office, they felt old, rheumatic stricken, incapable of movement. But at last, boots in hand, creeping, as the French say, on pattes de velours, they dragged themselves to a broken window, and, passing through the gap made by the shattered pane, gained the yard. Climbing over the railings—luckily unnoticed in spite of the brilliant rays of the full moon—they made for the nearest road leading to the Delagoa Bay Railway. Fortunately for them young Brockie, who was a Colonial and up to the “tricks of the trade,” donned the Transvaal colours round his hat. Added to this he wore his arm in a sling, to give the impression that he was a wounded Boer. Thus they got through the somewhat deserted street to the outskirts of the town unchallenged. Once a policeman almost spoke to them, his suspicion was on the eve of being aroused, but the solitary myrmidon of the law, inquisitive yet discreet, found himself face to face with three desperate men whose expression was not reassuring! He wisely slunk off. Towards the railway line they now went, experiencing a series of hairbreadth ’scapes, for there were orders to shoot any one seen wandering on the railway track. But they dodged in holes and round corners, in rank grass and in ditches and dongas, traversing river and spruit, and plodding along the highway, now losing their bearings, now retracing their steps, ever striving to reach Elands River station, twenty miles east of Pretoria.
New Camp for British Prisoners at Pretoria.
(Drawing by J. Schönberg.)
On the left of the railway line ran the river, and as they toiled on—the silver of the stream and the glint of the railway lines shimmering in the ray of the moon—they descried tents, heard voices, and, worse still, a dog’s bark, inquisitive, suspicious. Quickly to earth they went, hiding and dodging in the long grass between river and line. This, the critical moment of their journey, forms one of the most exciting phases of Captain Haldane’s altogether interesting narrative.
“After lying in the grass about twenty minutes, for we did not care to move so long as the dogs remained on the alert, we heard voices coming in our direction, and the barking of the dogs became more distinct. A whispered conference was held, and then we dragged ourselves like snakes diagonally back towards the river. Reaching a ditch, Le Mesurier, who was following me, came alongside and asked me if I had seen Brockie, who had been following him. I had not, so we waited a few moments; but seeing nothing of him, and the enemy drawing near, we crossed the obstacle, and found ourselves at the edge of the stream. Again we paused, this time for several minutes, and the searchers came in view, following our track.
“The crisis had come: to stay where we were meant probably recapture. I whispered to Le Mesurier to follow me quietly, and not to splash. The next minute I was in the river, which was out of my depth, and Le Mesurier dropped in beside me. Holding on to the roots of the reeds which lined the bank, we carefully pulled ourselves some distance down-stream, and then paused. The searchers and their dogs were evidently now at fault, and showed no signs of coming our way, so we continued our downward course, and ultimately swam across and into a ditch on the other side.
“We had been a good half-hour in the stream, which seemed to us intensely cold, and our teeth were chattering so that we could scarcely speak. My wrist-watch had stopped; but Le Mesurier’s, a Waterbury, was still going, for it had been provided by his care with a waterproof case. We now crept along the ditch up-stream again, and then turned off towards the hillside, which was dotted with large boulders. Coming round the corner of one of these, we found a tent in front of us, and not caring to pass it, we tried to climb up the steep face of the hill. Failing at one point, we found a kind of “chimney,” up which we climbed, pulling and pushing each other till the top was gained. A few minutes’ rest was necessary, for our clothes were heavy with water and the climb had made us breathless. Le Mesurier had done wonders with his ankle—the cold water had been most efficacious. Next we walked along the rocky face of the hill, parallel to the direction we had followed below, and gradually descended to the level and struck a path. Brockie was irretrievably lost, and it was useless to attempt to find him. He had with him a water-bottle and sufficient food, and knew both the Dutch and the Kaffir languages. Following the path, we passed several clumps of bracken, one of which we selected as a suitable hiding-place. To have walked farther in our wet and clinging garments might have been wiser, but we decided that we had had sufficient excitement for one night without trying to add to it.”
So there they remained—wet, frigid, excited, aching—all through the long sleepless hours, with nothing to vary the monotony save the nip of the musquitoes. When morning came, their jaded limbs, like the joints of wooden dolls, almost threatened to creak; and only with the warmth of sunrise did they regain some of their pristine elasticity. For food they now became anxious; their supplies were waterlogged, their chocolate was a thirst-creating mash, and their precious whisky bottle in the course of recent adventures had lost cork and contents. A miserable day passed hiding in a swamp, and crouching out of the light of day till again at night, and in a thunder-storm, they thought it advisable to resume their journey. Then, by the mercy of Providence, footsore, throatsore, heartsore, and hungry they came on a field of water melons. Though ravenously they took their fill, their joy was not of long duration. The inevitable bark of the Boer dog warned them to be off. After this they again lost their bearings, making needless detours, and only reaching Elands River station—worn, weary, and down-hearted—before daybreak. Then making their way to some gum trees that offered welcome shelter, they again sought to sleep, but it was not to be. Imagination had made molehills into mountains and footsteps into cracks of doom. A Dutch youth passed by, his dog growled and sniffed; discovery seemed imminent, but the hand of fate intervened, they remained safe. Two nights, three nights were passed on the veldt in anticipation of a train that might be on its way to Balmoral. Their sufferings, their anxieties, and risks make many a tale with a tale. Hiding continued during the day, now in an antbear hole, now among grasses sodden with dew, the fugitives, from caution, fatigue, and other causes, covering to that time only thirty-six miles in four days. Finally, to make a long story short, the unhappy wayfarers, their spirits and constitutions at the lowest ebb, were led by the kindness of a Kaffir into the safe keeping of a British subject, the manager of the Douglas Colliery Store, who then nourished them and helped them to repair the terrible havoc wrought by the past days of anxiety and starvation, and assisted them to make plans for getting over the border. Here, newly arrayed in decent clothing, washed and trimmed—for they had originally presented the effect of veritable scarecrows—they began to regain energy and hope. They were then initiated in the first moves of a scheme to carry them to safety. With the assistance of Dr. Gillespie, the doctor of the miners—a “rare guid” fellow from all accounts—they got, on the 24th of March, to the Transvaal Delagoa Bay Colliery; and here for some days following a conspiracy was set on foot to buy some bales of wool, sufficient to make a truck load, and forward the bales, plus the escaped prisoners, to a firm at Lorenço Marques. The scheme succeeded, though only after some smart and sympathetic manœuvring on the part of the newly found British friends, and many hours of terrible risk and suspense. Finally, to the intense joy of the two adventurous ones, they found themselves on Portuguese territory. On Sunday the 1st of April they were free men! From that time their ways were fairly smooth. They were the heroes of the hour, for every one had heard of their story and was expecting them, Sergeant Brockie having preceded them after some equally exciting experiences.
On the 6th of April the gallant pair left Lorenço Marques for Durban, Captain Aylmer Haldane hastening to rejoin his regiment, the 2nd Battalion Gordon Highlanders, at Ladysmith, and Mr. Le Mesurier (Dublin Fusiliers) going round to join General Hunter’s Division in the Free State. Thus the two enterprising officers, after enduring almost unequalled tortures of body and mind, found themselves free to return to duty and fight again for the honour and glory of the Empire.