Chapter Twenty Two.
The President, who had been elected so often that the office promised, so far as he was concerned, to be a perpetual one, is a hearty, genial gentleman, beloved by all who know him. He is a native of Cape Town, and received his education in England. The welfare of the little republic, over which he has so long and so wisely ruled, is the dearest object of his heart.
We met the President and his wife, who invited us to call at their residence, a large, two-storey “White House,” as it is called, surrounded by extensive grounds in the prettiest spot on the outskirts of the town. We were told by residents that our visit would be very formal, but it did not prove to be so. We found them both most charming and affable people. A luncheon of delicacies and choice fruits from their own orchard was laid for us, and Mrs Brand, or “Lady Brand,” as she is more generally called, was so bright and witty that an hour passed away very pleasantly. She is a large, striking-looking woman of noble features, and with a mind capable of assisting her husband in matters of state. Her best sympathies are with her people, and no one deplores more than she the lamentable ignorance to be found in the remote districts. It rests with the people themselves to remove this ignorance; excellent boarding-schools, both government and private, are established in every village throughout the country. She has unbounded confidence in the capabilities of the Dutch to govern themselves. Certainly, if the country can produce more such people as her noble husband and herself, they will have no difficulty in finding a leader.
The President seemed greatly interested in us as being Americans, and asked us question after question about our customs and form of government. A special session of the Volksraad was called while we were in the town, to discuss the condition of the Transvaal, which was now in open revolt, and we had an opportunity of seeing the representative men of the country. They came to town in all sorts of vehicles, European and American carriages, Cape carts and ox-wagons. The many vehicles, all drawn by handsomely matched horses, made the town very bright and gay.
The men who gathered together were, many of them, aliens by birth, but all showed signs of more than average intelligence. The question they had come to discuss, viz, what should be the attitude of their country in the present state of affairs in the Transvaal, was important, for the people of that territory were united to them by many ties. News was brought by post cart that the Boers in the Transvaal, who had long wished to govern themselves, had risen up against English rule, had come riding into Potchefstrom from all the country around, and had taken possession of the town. There we were in the midst of people closely related to the Transvaal, which was but a few days’ ride from us.
As news came that Pretoria, so isolated, was in a state of siege, and that English troops were coming out as fast as the steamers could bring them to put down the Boer rebellion, things began to look interesting. In addition to the troubles in the Transvaal, the Cape Colony was also embroiled in a war with the Basutos, a warlike tribe occupying a large tract of country east of the Free State. What with war with the Basutos on the one side of us, and the Boers on the other, South Africa was not precisely a country to which one felt the Millennium would soon come.
Fighting against the natives, either Zulu or Basuto, is an entirely different kind of warfare from meeting the deadly aim of the Boer on his own soil. In this dry, cruel country, with its natural fastnesses and dry river beds, the Boer from his boyhood wanders, gun in hand, trained to handle it as easily as the English soldier handles his cane when not on duty. When news came in that every officer of a fine English company of brave fellows had been shot, picked off like birds on a fence, a wave of horror swept over the hearts of those friendly to the British flag. The English troops went on nothing daunted, and when fighting on one of the heights were beating their foe, who was turning to flee. At this critical moment they discovered that their leader had neglected to bring sufficient ammunition up the mountain-side. When the Boers saw the situation, and rushed back upon them, the brave English fellows, in their desperation, picked up stones and threw them at their foe, and then, rather than be taken prisoners, jumped down a declivity of a hundred feet to effect their escape.
I quote a descriptive account of the engagement at “Lange’s Nek” from the special war correspondent of the Natal Witness:—
“No unfair means were taken by the Boers yesterday. We attempted to take the hill, and in our endeavours to reach the summit they repulsed us. This is the whole thing in a nutshell; men who were in the engagement stated that the Boers had entrenched themselves, and this is more than probable when it is considered that natural trenches must abound in the positions they occupied. It was also represented that they had numbers of Kafir allies to assist them. This may or may not be true. I was posted near the cannon, and although I had a magnificent view from that point, I observed no Kafir force whatever. It is perfectly true that many of the Boers used fowling-pieces loaded with buckshot, and they did fearful damage in wounding men, but whether this can be regarded as unfair when rockets are used on our side, I leave any one to decide. Mere words are tame to express the manner in which the gallant 58th behaved on this occasion. Their conduct throughout, even against overwhelming odds, and the knowledge acquired too late of the enemy’s position being impregnable, left nothing to be desired.
“The attempt to eulogise these men seems like mockery; their deeds speak for them far more eloquently than words can. So true and deadly was the Boer aim that Colonel Deane, in command of the 58th, fell almost immediately upon fire being opened. Officers and men were shot down in every direction. Every volley of the Boers carried its fearful freight too true, and thinned our already meagre force. Still they held on to the last, hoping against hope, and dying martyrs. Every man on the field yesterday was more than a soldier—he was a hero. The word ‘Retreat!’ was at last given, but oh, what a retreat! Men walking over their dead comrades’ bodies, ever and anon another addition being made to those already down—wounded men imploring that their rifles should not be thrown into the enemy’s hands.
“The sight was grand, but awful, and those who witnessed the engagement at Lange’s Nek yesterday are likely to carry the impression to their graves. Had it not been for the shells, which unquestionably created great havoc among the Boer ranks at this period, few, very few, of the 58th would have survived that day. On reaching the foot of the hill the 60th Rifles were drawn up to protect their retreat, and, if possible, induce the enemy to follow up. The Boers, however, retired to their position under cover of a ravine.”
This was what the fighting was like; it seemed more like a massacre of the gallant Englishmen than a battle. But what seemed most astonishing to the English population was that these quiet, peaceful people, who nobody thought would fight, rose up in a day as one man, without any such purpose being known to the English!
The colony of South Africa is always in a flourishing condition when war breaks out. Then English gold and foreign speculators come to its shores; everything is at fever heat; towns are built and beautified. Afterward comes the reaction; the breath of life and vigour dies out, leaving the colony hopelessly in debt. The colony then remains a drain upon the exchequer of England, which pays out thousands of pounds for the war “epidemics” that every few years break out between the native and the English, or the Boer and the English.
These wars yield nothing in return to England but mourning hearts at home for brave sons who lie buried under African soil.