THE RELIEF.
To return to Mafeking. On the day that Colonel Mahon and Colonel Plumer joined hands near Jan Massibi’s thatched village, news leaked in that the long-talked-of relief was verily at hand. They had heard this kind of thing before, and their despair lest the Boers should attack the town to obtain the release of Eloff was scarcely allayed. However, on the 16th, dust was espied in the distance, and there was a rush to the roofs of the houses to ascertain whether that dust was hostile or friendly. It was afterwards discovered that it was the sign of the retiring enemy, and eventually towards dusk it was announced that the Relief Column was really in sight. The longing eyes of Mafeking looked out, and for the first time saw their persecutors in full retreat, saw them begin to run, and then, later, scudding for their lives, while their gratified ears, so tuned to the sound of the vicious artillery of the foe, now heard the cheery notes of the Canadian artillery, the pom-poms, and other pieces, clearing the barricades that for so long had shut out the free air of day. In the late afternoon Major Karri Davies, who after the routing of the Federals had never drawn rein till he reached Mafeking, accompanied by some eight of the Imperial Light Horse, the Light Horse that had been first in Ladysmith, marched into the town. Surprise was intense! Then surprise thawed into warmth, and then warmth grew to fever-heat. Rapture eventually reached boiling-point, and the nine men, gaunt, worn, haggard with fatigue, were deafened with cheers, and had not strength enough to do the handshaking.
Meanwhile, as we know, Colonel Mahon had outspanned. He did this only to inspan again, and proceed by moonlight to the town. He had followed the rule of South African strategy,—said he was going to do one thing and did the other,—thus outwitting the Boers, who having retired wearily, were gathering themselves up to lunge at him, and intercept his entry so soon as the dawn should break. But by four in the morning of the 17th, while the chill dramatic moonbeams were yet bathing the scene with strange mystery, Colonel Mahon and his merry men—they were merrier than merry at the prospect of their welcome—led by Major Baden-Powell, the brother of the hero of the defence, approached the town. The news of the arrival spread like wildfire. Immediately all was bustle, and bliss, and gratulation. Men, women, and children beamed. Some wept; some danced. The natives indulged in wild sounds, and showed rows of dazzling teeth. Exuberance took amazing forms; stranger wrung the hand of stranger, friends grasped and re-grasped: if they had been foreigners they would have embraced! The large hearts of the heroes within and the large hearts of the heroes from without were throbbing in unison, bursting with satisfaction in the accomplishment of great work in the cause of their country and of their fellow-men. The ragged, battered, grimy, magnificent throng was almost at a loss to express itself. Words lagged, and even those forthcoming were blurred by a foggy haze in the throat, while a strange mistiness crept over eyes that for seven months had been bright with the fire of determination. But withal, there was no emasculating abandonment to rapture of the hour. There was no unbuckling of armour. At nine the serious work of war began again. The united forces went out on a reconnaissance in the direction of MacMullin’s farm, where the chief Dutch laager was fixed, and then all the artillery, even to the grandfatherly “Lord Nelson,” performed in concert in honour of the great occasion. Cascades of shrapnel and little white balls of smoke danced and played over the laager, and bombs burst with violent detonations, and then, like magic, wreaths of dust began to rise and increase, and cloud the distance. It was the Dutchmen scampering for dear life across the veldt, their waggons and guns—all save one—rumbling into space. This one was abandoned in the hurried flight, the Boers having taken the precaution to destroy the breech, but it was nevertheless captured as a precious souvenir of times more pleasant in reminiscence than in being. The forts were visited in turn, and at Game-Tree—that dreadful thorn in the side of the garrison—the Union Jack went up to a chorus of cheers. Finally, the place was devoured by fire, to the satisfaction of those who had so long regarded it with apprehension and hate. At MacMullin’s farm were found the Boer wounded, deserted of their kind, who had scuttled with such alacrity that even their still smoking breakfasts had been foregone. Lieutenant Currie and his smart Cape Boys, and Major Baillie (4th Hussars), came on one or two stragglers in the Boer laager, who wisely surrendered. Snyman’s official correspondence was discovered, and from this much valuable information was gleaned. From one bundle of papers the garrison learned the pleasing intelligence that Kroonstadt had fallen; from another, that Kruger was not best pleased with the old Commandant—indeed, the President without palaver had inquired by telegram whether his failure of the previous Saturday had been due to drink! The rescue of Captain Maclaren (13th Hussars) from the clutches of the enemy caused great satisfaction, and he was borne off in triumph to the hospital, where he was comfortably located. He was suffering still from the wounds sustained during the fight on the 31st, one of which had been inflicted after he was helpless by a Dutchman, who deliberately fired on him at a distance of twenty yards, and subsequently robbed him of watch and money!
By noon the reconnaissance was at an end,—the place was found to be clear of the horrible girdle that for seven months had encompassed it,—and then the Market Square became a scene of unrestrained enthusiasm. The Town Guard got itself into position ready to do honour to the warriors who had come through fire and blood to release their fellow-countrymen, while every nook and corner of the broken hamlet was filled with excited, cheering folks—folks whose vocal cords seemed scarcely to have suffered from scant fare and unceasing vigils, and who yelled as though by sheer force of lung power they meant to swell their song of jubilation to the four corners of the earth!
THE LAST ATTACK ON MAFEKING: B.S.A. POLICE ESCORTING BOER PRISONERS TO THE GAOL
Drawing by H. M. Paget, from materials supplied by Major F. D. Baillie, Special Correspondent of the Morning Post.
Perhaps the march past of the united relief columns was the most unique and imposing ceremony ever performed within the confines of such a “chicken-run.” Here, in this tiny compass, the whole empire veritably met together—South Africans, Australians, Canadians, English, Scots, and Irishmen, Indians, Cape Boys—all following one another, unit after unit, like some quaint scenic procession of the nations. There were the bronzed colonels—Baden-Powell, and Mahon, and Plumer, now household names throughout the world—accompanied by their staffs, the élite of the embattled array. There were the glorious 12-pounders—M Battery of the Royal Horse Artillery, whose every limber looked dear to the eyes that long had been strained in eagerness for their coming—and their guardians, the helmeted band of staunch and sturdy gunners, who carried the voice of Empire far and wide—there were the plumed and mettlesome Colonials, very fighting-cocks at the sniff of war—there was the lion rampant in the form of the Union Brigade (the picked portions of it from the Royal Fusiliers, Royal Scots, Royal Welsh Fusiliers, and Royal Irish Fusiliers), a right regal company, the very sight of which in common times would have caused the heart of Britons to throb, and which now sent the cup of patriotic rapture brimming over. Cheers or tears? Shouts or sobs? It was a “toss”-up which would supersede the other, and amid the stupendous fracas even the dauntless hero of this unparalleled, soul-stirring outburst turned aside that none should view the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.
The painter, when he depicted Agamemnon in the hour of sublime sacrifice, drew a veil over the features of the chief. He judged the supreme moment of human exultation too sanctified for common gaze. Even so must we draw the veil of silence over this supreme moment in the life of the saviour of Mafeking ... the soundless epic is the more sonorous.
The parade over, addresses were presented and the usual formalities gone through. The gratitude of the town for the relief—the appreciation of the magnificent work done by Colonel Baden-Powell, and the stupendous energy of the succouring forces, were all dilated on and thanks returned. A hailstorm of cheers then broke out—cheers for Queen and country, for Baden-Powell, Mahon, Plumer, Colonel Rhodes, Major Karri Davies; in fact, every one cheered every one else, for all were too deserving, too heroic, to overlook the deserts and heroism of those who had imperilled their lives over and over again to maintain the prestige of their native land. So passed the day, and at night chums and comrades gathered together and jested and laughed, and told yarns of skirmish and sortie and surprise, till they sank to sleep in their greatcoats and blankets, fairly worn out with their eleven days and nights of boot and saddle.
On the 19th, the garrison assembled for a last, a solemn function. A great thanksgiving and memorial service was held at the cemetery, and all bade a last farewell to those who had shared with them the tribulations of the siege without reaping the harvest of honour their hands had sown.
At the close of the impressive ceremony three volleys were fired over the noble dead who had given their lives to attain the great end, and then an effort was made to sing the National Anthem, but the notes were quavering with the emotion which these hitherto fearless men now feared might unman them.
Finally Colonel Baden-Powell—a little abruptly to cover the touching nature of his farewell—addressed the garrison:—
“We have been a happy family during the siege. The time has now come for breaking up. When we were first invested I said to you, ‘Sit tight and shoot straight.’ The garrison has sat tight and shot straight, with the present glorious result. Many nice things have been said about me at home, but it is an easy thing to be the figurehead of a ship. The garrison has been the rigging and sails of the good ship Mafeking, and has brought her safely through her stormy cruise.”
He then thanked the ladies, beginning with the matron of the hospital, whose pluck and devotion could not be sufficiently extolled. Turning to the Protectorate Regiment, he said:—
“To you I need say nothing. Your roll of dead and wounded tells its own tale.”
Shaking hands with Colonel Hore he thanked him for the assistance he had given him, and to the artillery, under Major Panzera and Lieutenant Daniel, he said:—
“You were armed with obsolete weapons, but you made up for these by your cool shooting and the way you stuck to your guns.”
The colonel afterwards turned to the British South Africa Police:—
“I need not repeat to you men the story of the little red fort on the hill, which Cronje could not take.”
And to the Cape Police, under Captain Marsh, he addressed himself as follows:—
“You have not been given an opportunity of doing anything dramatic, but throughout the siege you have held one of the nastiest places in the town, where the enemy were expected at any moment, and where you were always under fire.”
The colonel next made some graceful remarks to the Town Guard. He compared them to a walnut in a shell; saying that people thought that they had but to break the shell to get at the kernel. But the enemy had learnt better. They had got through the husk and found they could get no hold on the kernel. In conclusion, he announced that any civilians who wished to return to their ordinary occupations immediately might do so. Those who had none to return to, whose billets had been lost or businesses ruined, would be permitted in the meantime to draw trench allowances and to remain on duty in the inner defences.
Major Goold Adams was then cordially thanked for all the excellent work he had done as Town Commandant, after which the Railway Division (under Captain Moore) and Lieutenant Layton (who had received a commission for his splendid services) were addressed:—
“I cannot thank you enough for what you have done. You have transformed yourselves from railway-men to soldiers. Your work is not yet done, because it will be your business to reopen communication and get in supplies.”
Mafeking Railway Station—The First Train arriving from the North after the Relief. (Photo by D. Taylor, Mafeking.)
To the Bechuanaland Rifles Colonel Baden-Powell exclaimed:—
“Men, you have turned out trumps. With volunteers one knows that they have been ably drilled, but there is no telling how they will fight. I have been able to use you exactly as Regular troops, and I have been specially pleased with your straight shooting. The other day, when the enemy occupied the Protectorate Fort, they admitted that they were forced to surrender by your straight shooting, under which they did not dare to show a hand above the parapet.”
The chief delighted the juvenile Cadet Corps by giving them their meed of praise for their conduct as soldiers, concluding with, “I hope you will continue in the profession, and will do as well in after life.”
He then turned to the outsiders, the Northern Relief Force under Colonel Plumer, which had borne the brunt of the seven months’ fighting, and expressed his regret that they had been too weak to relieve the town “off their own bat.” But he eulogised the splendid work done in bad country and climate. The Southern Force under Colonel Mahon were congratulated on having made a march which would live in history. Their chief was complimented on the magnificent body of men he commanded, while the Imperial Light Horse, associated as it was with memories of Ladysmith, Colonel Baden-Powell declared he was especially pleased to see, as these would be able, in consequence of their own experience, to sympathise with the people in Mafeking.
So the amazing defence of Mafeking was over! For seven months the gallant little town had withstood every ingenious device of the Boers, and in the end it had come off victorious. The first shot was fired on the 16th of October, and from that day the rumble of bombardment had been the accompaniment of almost every hour between the rising and setting of the sun. And now all was serene and still, and only the battered walls of the once neat little hamlet told the terrible, the glorious tale of British doggedness and British pluck.
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