Ladysmith: The Diary of a Siege

by Henry Woodd Nevinson

Mortals depend for their happiness not only on their circulation but on the weather. To-day was certainly the gloomiest in all the siege. It rained steadily night and morning, the steaming heat was overpowering, and we sludged about, sweating like the victims of a foul Turkish bath. Towards evening it suddenly turned cold. Black and dismal clouds hung over all the hills. The distance was fringed with funereal indigo. The wearied garrison crept through their duties, hungry and gaunt as ghosts. There was no heliograph to cheer us up, and hardly a sound of distant guns. The rumour had got abroad that we were to be left to our fate, whilst Roberts, with the main column, diverted all England's thoughts to Bloemfontein. Like one man we lost our spirits, our hopes, and our tempers.

The depression probably arose from the reduction of rations which I mentioned yesterday. The remaining food has been organised to last another forty-two days, and it is, of course, assumed we shall have to use it all, whereas the new arrangement is only a precaution. Colonel Ward and Colonel Stoneman are not to be caught off their guard. One of their chief difficulties just now is the large body of Indians—bearers, sais, bakers, servants of all kinds—who came over with the troops, and will not eat the sacred cow. Out of about 2,000, only 487 will consent to do that. The remainder can only get very little rice and mealies. Their favourite ghi, or clarified butter, has entirely gone, and their hunger is pitiful. The question now is whether or not their religious scruples will allow them to eat horse.

Most of us have been eating horse to-day with excellent result. But one of the most pitiful things I have seen in all the war was the astonishment and terror of the cavalry horses at being turned loose on the hills and not allowed to come back to their accustomed lines at night. All afternoon one met parties of them strolling aimlessly about the roads or up the rocky footpaths—poor anatomies of death, with skeleton ribs and drooping eyes. At about seven o'clock two or three hundred of them gathered on the road through the hollow between Convent Hill and Cove Redoubt, and tried to rush past the Naval Brigade to the cavalry camp, where they supposed their food and grooming and cheerful society were waiting for them as usual. They had to be driven back by mounted Basutos with long whips, till at last they turned wearily away to spend the night upon the bare hillside.

January 31, 1900.

Again the sky was clouded, and except during an hour's sunshine in the afternoon no heliograph could work. But below the clouds the distance was singularly clear, and one could see all the Dutch camps, and the Boers moving over the plain. The camps are a little reduced. Only four tents are left in the white string that hung down the side of Taba Nyama.

Two parties, of forty Boers apiece, passed north along the road behind Telegraph Ridge whilst I was on Observation Hill in the morning. But there was no special meaning in their movements, and absolutely no news came in. Only rumours, the rumours of despair—Warren surrounded, Buller's ammunition train attacked and cut to pieces, the whole relieving force in hopeless straits.

In the town and camps things went on as usual, under a continued weight of depression. The cold and wet of the night brought on a terrible increase of dysentery, and I never saw the men look so wretched and pinched. When officers in high quarters talk magnificently about the excellent spirits of the troops, I think they do not always realise what those excellent spirits imply. I wish they had more time to visit the remnants of battalions defending the hills—out in cold and rain all night, out in the blazing sun all day, with nothing to look forward to but a trek-ox or a horse stewed in unseasoned water, two biscuits or some sour bread, and a tasteless tea, generally half cold. No beer, no tobacco, no variety at all. To me, one of the highest triumphs of the siege is the achievement of MacNalty, a young lieutenant of the Army Service Corps. For nights past he has been working in the station engine shed at an apparatus of his own invention for boiling down horses into soup. After many experiments in process and flavouring, and many disappointments, he has secured an admirable essence of horse. This will sound familiar and commonplace to people who can get a bottle of such things at grocer's, but it may save many a good soldier's life none the less. I hope to see the process at work, and describe it later on.

Mr. Lines, the town clerk, who has quietly stuck to his duties in spite of confusion and shells, gave me details to-day of the rations allowed to civilians. During the siege there has been a fairly steady white population of 560 residents and 540 refugees, or 1,100 in all. This does not include the civilians at Intombi, whose numbers are still unpublished. Practically all the civilians are drawing rations, for which they apply at the market between 5 and 7 p.m. They get groceries, bread or biscuit, and meat in the same quantities as the soldiers. Children under ten receive half rations. Each applicant has to be recommended by the mayor or magistrate, and brings a check with him. I suppose the promise to pay at the end of the siege is only a nominal formula.