A day of unfulfilled expectation, unrelieved even by lies and rumours. From the top of Observation Hill I again watched the Dutch in their clustered camps, fourteen miles away across the great plain, whilst our heliograph flashed to us from the dark hill beyond them. But there was no sound of the expected guns, and every one lost heart a little.
At the market, eggs were a guinea a dozen. Four pounds of oatmeal sold for 11s. 6d. A four-ounce tin of English tobacco fetched 30s. Out of our original numbers of about 12,000 nearly 3,000 are now sick or wounded at Intombi, and there are over 200 graves there. More helpers are wanted, and to-day Colonel Stoneman summoned 150 loafers from their holes in the river-bank, and called for twenty volunteers. No one came, so he has stopped their rations till they can agree among themselves to produce the twenty ready to start.
January 17, 1900.
The far-off mutter of Buller's guns began at half-past five a.m., and lasted nearly all day. From King's Post I watched the stretch of plain—Six Mile Flats, the official map calls it—leading away to Potgieter's Drift, where his troops are probably crossing. I could see three of the little Dutch camps, and here and there bodies of Boers moving over the country. Suddenly in the midst of the plain, just our side of the camp near "Wesse's Plantation," a great cloud of smoke and dust arose, and slowly drifted away. Beyond doubt, it was the bursting of a British shell. Aimed at the camp it overshot the mark, and landed on the empty plain. As a messenger of hope to us all it was not lost. The distance was only fourteen miles from where I stood—a morning's walk—less than an hour and a half's ride. Yet our relief may take many days yet, and it will cost hundreds of lives to cross that little space. The Boers have placed a new gun on the Bluebank ridge. It is disputed whether it faces us or Buller's line of approach over the Great Plain. The whole ridge is now covered from end to end with walls, traverses, and sangars.
January 18, 1900.
In the early morning the welcome sound of Buller's guns was not so frequent as yesterday. But it continued steadily, and between four and five increased to an almost unbroken thunder. From the extremity of Waggon Hill, I watched the great cloud of dust and smoke which rose from the distant plain as each shell burst. The Dutch camps were still in position, and we could only conjecture that the British were trying to clear the river-bank and the hills commanding it, so as to secure the passage of the ford.
While I was there the enemy threw several shrapnel over the Rifle Brigade outpost. Major Brodiewald, Brigade Major to the Natal Volunteers under Colonel Royston, was sitting on the rocks watching Buller's shells like myself. A shrapnel bullet struck him in the mouth and passed out at the back of his neck. He was carried down the hill, his blood dripping upon the stones along the track. In the afternoon one of the bluejackets was also seriously wounded by shrapnel. The bombardment was heavy all day, the Bulwan gun firing right over Convent Hill and plunging shells into the Naval Camp, the Leicesters, and the open ground near Headquarters. It looks as if a spy had told where the General and Staff are to be found.
The market quotations at this evening's auction were fluctuating. Eggs sprang up from a guinea to 30s. a dozen. Jam started at 30s. the 6lb. jar. Maizena was 5s. a pound. On the other hand, tobacco fell. Egyptian cigarettes were only 1s. each, and Navy Cut went for 4s. an ounce. During a siege one realises how much more than bread, meat, and water is required for health. Flour and trek-ox still hold out, and we receive the regulation short rations. Yet there is hardly one of us who is not tortured by some internal complaint, and many die simply for want of common little luxuries. In nearly all cases where I have been able to try the experiment I have cured a man with any little variety I had in store or could procure—rice, chocolate, cake, tinned fruit, or soups. I wonder how the enemy are getting on with the biltong and biscuit.
January 19, 1900.
Before noon, as I rode round the outposts, I found the good news flying that good news had come. It was thought best not to tell us what, lest, like children, we should cry if disappointed. But it is confidently said that Buller's force has crossed the Tugela in three places—Wright's Drift eastward, Potgieter's Drift in the centre, and at a point further west, perhaps Klein waterfall, where there is a nine-mile plain leading to Acton Homes. The names of the brigades are even stated, and the number of losses. It is said the Boers have been driven from two positions. But there may not be one word of truth in the whole story.