CHAPTER II
MAFEKING IN DECEMBER AND JANUARY
Christmas Day, in deference to warlike etiquette, was observed as a holiday; but, in spite of the pacific nature of the occasion, the man who was the brain of Mafeking was organising a plan by which the cordon around the town might be broken. He was deciding that there must be a big fight on the morrow, and that a desperate effort must be made to change the cramped vista of affairs. Waiting was a weary game, and it was felt that some one must make a move. The Boers certainly, had they chosen, might have carried the town by assault, but for such activity they had no appetite. This was no boy’s job, and, as they themselves confessed, they went out to shoot, not to be shot. Not so the gentle civilians, who, while incarcerated in this little hamlet of the veldt, had developed into valiant campaigners. They were always ready to be up and doing, and gladly fell in with the Colonel’s plans. Frequent reconnaissances had disclosed the fact that the enemy’s position, though strong on the western face, was fairly vulnerable at a point on the east, and at this point it was decided an attack on the morning of the 26th should be directed.
The plan of attack was as follows:—Captain R. Vernon, King’s Royal Rifles, with C Squadron, and Captain FitzClarence and D Squadron, to lead; Captain Lord Charles Bentinck, with A Squadron, to hold the reserve upon the left, which was under the command of Colonel Hore. Major Panzera and the artillery were to take up a position upon the extreme left of the line. The railway running to within a few hundred yards of Game Tree had been repaired, in order that the armoured train, under Captain Williams and twenty men of the British South Africa Police, with one-pounder Hotchkiss and Maxim, from a point parallel with Game Tree, might protect the right flank. This flank was to be further supported by Captain Cowan and seventy men of the Bechuanaland Rifles. The entire operations from this side were to be under the command of Major Godley, while Colonel Baden-Powell and his staff, Major Lord Edward Cecil (Chief Staff Officer), Captain Wilson, A.D.C., and Lieutenant Hanbury Tracy watched the direction of events from Dummie Fort.
CRONJE’S FORCE ON THEIR MARCH SOUTH.
Drawing by Sidney Paget, from a Sketch made 8 Miles South of Paardeberg by W. B. Wollen, R.I.
It must be remembered that at that time the character of the fort they intended to assail was barely known. In reality, it rose some seven feet above a ditch deep and wide, which almost defied assault. However, it was decided that Game Tree, from which had poured voluble rifle and artillery fire for many weeks, must at all hazards be silenced. It was most important that communication with the north should be, if possible, re-established, and there was every hope that a successful fight might make it easier for Colonel Plumer to eventually join hands with the besieged.
The night passed. As the grey dawn broke over the veldt, a flash weirdly orange and a golden puff of smoke showed that the preconcerted plan had begun to be put in operation. Major Panzera with his seven-pounders had started the programme. Presently the Maxim rapped out in chorus, while on the right the great dusty crocodile, the armoured train, slunk along to its destination. Its whistle shrieked. It was Captain Vernon’s signal for action. On the instant a thin line of moving kharki broke from cover, bayonets glittered among the scrub, cheers and the rattle of musketry filled the air. Officers and men were dashing, as only Britons can dash, each striving to outrush the other towards the lair of the enemy. Quick as thought they had plunged into the scrub that girdled the sandbags, and excitedly, jubilantly, some one on Dummie Fort sang out, “They are swarming over the bags—the position is ours!”
All waited anxiously, almost breathlessly. The moments grew and grew, seconds became years. The sputtering of rifles continued, and swelled into a vast hum, and then some one—the same some one, only in a very different voice from that which spoke last, said hoarsely, “Our men are coming back!”... Yes. They were indeed coming back—the remnant—firing sullenly their parting shots ere they receded. The enemy’s position had been proved impregnable! Their parapet was loopholed in triple tiers and roofed with a bomb-proof protection. It had but a single opening, large enough to admit one man at a time. It was in firing his revolver into one of the loopholes and endeavouring to pull out a sandbag with his left hand that Lieutenant Paton was killed. Captain FitzClarence, far ahead of his men, was shot in the thigh within 150 yards of the fort, and both Captains Sandford and Vernon were laid low almost within a stone’s throw of the rifles of the enemy. Lieutenant Swinburne, who, directly Captain FitzClarence was wounded, led his men forward with dauntless energy, escaped unhurt. But few were equally lucky. Out of a storming party of eighty, twenty-one were killed and thirty-three wounded. It was when he saw this useless sacrifice of life that Major Godley sent a message to headquarters by the aide-de-camp. “Captain Vernon, sir, has been repulsed,” he said, “and Major Godley does not think it worth while trying again.” Nor was it. All that could be done was to send the ambulance to perform its grim duty.
In describing the tragic affair, Mr. Angus Hamilton, in Black and White, said: “Indeed, from the armoured train it could be seen that the progress of the men towards the fort was like the Charge of the Six Hundred into the Valley of Death—a conviction which became more and more apparent as our men gallantly held to their course. Within 300 yards of the fort it was almost impossible for any living thing to exist, and the rush of the bullets across the zone of fire was like the hum of myriads of locusts before the wind. The gallantry of the effort, the admirable steadiness and precision with which the attack was delivered, has been compared by our commanding officers to deeds which rank among the foremost of our martial chronicles.”