Young Eloff, who had gallantly volunteered to subdue Mafeking or die in the attempt, beguiled the interval in preparing for his feat of chivalry by indulging in a mild form of jocosity. He informed Colonel Baden-Powell that he had heard of his Sabbath concerts, tournaments, and cricket matches, and would be glad, as it was dull outside, to come in and participate in them. The Colonel replied in the same vein—begged to postpone a return match till the present one was finished, and suggested as they were now 200 not out, and Snyman and Cronje had been unsuccessful, a further change of bowling might be advantageous! In reality the young Boer was racking his brains with plans for the future, getting information regarding the forts and defences, and deciding when the time came for assault to do the thing with a flash and a flourish!
And his ambition was not entirely groundless, for things were coming to a sorry pass, and the tension grew daily more severe. It was necessary to be eternally pushing out trenches and capturing forts in order to secure grazing and breathing space, but this action had the result of so extending the lines, that the problem of how to protect ten miles of perimeter against some 2000 Boers, with only 700 men, became harder than ever to grapple with. Fortunately there was still an inner line, but even this was difficult to guard, now that the gallant seven hundred were reduced in stamina by long privation and immediate famine.
A great deal of irritation was caused by pilfering and house-breaking that went on. As the men were in the trenches and the women in the women’s laagers, all the ill-conditioned vagabonds, the human sauria that had trailed from the Rand and Bulawayo, at the hint of loot “made hay” while there was no police at liberty to cope with them. Every hand in Mafeking had been required, and the police had been forced to become soldiers, defenders of the state and not of private property. And well they had done their work! For over six months some 2000 to 3000 Boers had found fodder here for their eight guns, including a 9-pounder. They had been kept stationary, and thus prevented from combining with the Tuli column, or invading Rhodesia, or joining forces with any of the aggressive commandos in the south. And this wonderful arrest had been accomplished by men who at the beginning of hostilities were practically unarmed and unfortified. It was no marvel, therefore, that President Kruger and his advisers, who had started their fell work with such confidence, now began to wag their heads in acridity and dismay. The overweening bumptiousness of the several commandants who, full of buoyant and bellicose aspirations, had attempted the subjugation of Mafeking, had been their undoing. These had become the laughing-stock even of their own people.
Commandant Cronje early in the war had been so convinced of his ability to capture Mafeking that he had caused a proclamation to be printed annexing the district to the South African Republic. But he had found it a disastrous place, and had left it with some loss of prestige, as had many others who had attempted “to do the trick” and failed. Until this date the Boers had expended considerably over 100 tons of ammunition, lost over 1000 men killed and wounded, and had four guns disabled, yet nothing was accomplished.
Commandant Eloff was then specially deputed by Kruger to pulverise “B.P.”, and came to his work in high spirits accompanied by a man—a deserter—who, having served as a trooper in the Protectorate Regiment, was well acquainted with the plans of the fortifications and the military customs of the place. Of course, it was the object of the youthful commandant to make an attack as speedily as possible, for rumours of approaching relief threatened to put an end to his machinations and spoil his ambitious scheme. He knew that a relief column had reached and was advancing from Setlagoli, and that what had to be done must be done now or never. Still he had a notion that after passing Kraaipan any journey for troops would be arid, waterless, and discomforting, and believed that the column might be cut off before it could offer serious opposition to his plans.
Commandant Snyman, on his side, was as depressed as his colleague was jaunty. He was scarcely flattered to find a youngster determining to solve a problem which for a considerable time had defeated him, and therefore at the onset, in regard to the momentous plans for attack, the two commandants were scarcely at one. The rift widened as affairs developed. Indeed, in letters which subsequently passed between the pair, it was discovered that Eloff, to use his own words, “had been preparing to trip him up for years.” This Snyman must evidently have known, and determined to show—as he did when the opportunity offered—that “two could play at that game.” At this time, however, though the trail of the green and yellow monster might have been seen winding about the Boer laagers, there was no suspicion that when combined action against the common enemy—the British—would be needed the older commandant would fail the younger one.
Curiously enough, though at the instance of the Boers the Sunday truce had been agreed upon, they were the first to break through the compact. On the 6th of May, while the usual auction sales were taking place, and the ladies were cautiously doing their weekly shopping, an affair of some moment since prices ruled high, the rattle of musketry betrayed that something was wrong. It was then discovered that the Boers had fired on the horse guard, killing Trooper Franch, and wounding three horses, and causing a stampede of the herd towards their own lines. Fortunately the ever-wary B. P. kept a machine gun in the valley, and a sharp engagement took place, but nevertheless the Boers succeeded in capturing some of the all too precious cattle. The affair was soon over and the terrified ladies continued their shopping, but the incident was sufficient to demonstrate that soon, if the Boers should fail to succeed by fair means, they would have recourse to foul.
At last, on the 12th of May, came the great, the long-looked-for assault. It was not yet dawn, the stars were still blinking pallidly, when an ominous crackling awoke the town. It came from the east, where rosy tints of the sunrise were beginning to show themselves. At once every one was astir. The alarm bugle blared out, bells sounded, forms all sketchily attired, some still in pyjamas, rushed to their posts.
Though the bullets came from the east, whizzing and phutting into the market-square, Colonel Baden-Powell, with his natural astuteness, declared that the real attack would come not from there but from the west, the corner where stood the stadt of the Baralongs. All got their horses ready, armed themselves with whatever came to hand, and fled precipitately out into the nipping air of the morning. For an hour this brisk fusillade continued, then at about 5.30 there was a lull. The sun now was slowly beginning to rise, reddening the east with vivid blushes. But the colonel’s eyes were fixed on the west, and there sure enough was what at first seemed a reflection of the sunrise—a tremendous flaming mirage surmounted by dense volumes of smoke, and accompanied by a weird stentorian crackling commingled with yells discordant, and despairing lamentations from the direction of the native village. There was no doubt about it, the stadt was ablaze! whether by accident or design none at that moment could decide. Away went the guns, after them the Bechuanaland Rifles, rushing to the fray; and then on the morning breeze came a strange sound—cheers—but not British cheers—cheers that sent a thrill of horror through all who anxiously awaited the upshot of the encounter. It was scarcely to be credited, but it was the truth! The enemy had arrived! They were already in the fort that was held by Colonel Hore and his staff! They were not 500 yards off! At this time, though the bullets from the east fell less thickly, those from the west began to pour in, and through this cross fire the besieged rushed to their several destinations. Women, distracted, fled hither and thither; men shot and shouted and gave orders. Columns of smoke and cascades of sparks told the tale of conflagration, and natives scared, babbling, panic-stricken, tore through the streets.
There was just cause for alarm. The evil hour had come. The Boers had reached the orderly-room which stood outside the Kaffirs’ stadt. The clerk, finding himself surrounded, hurriedly telephoned to the Colonel, “The Boers are all in among us.” Such news it was almost impossible to credit, and the Colonel put his ear to the telephone. Then the sound of Dutch voices convinced him of the horrible truth. The next thing was a message saying that the Boers had taken Colonel Hore and his force prisoners, and that the British were powerless to help them. Telephonic communication was immediately destroyed with wire-pliers, but a state of consternation prevailed. It was perfectly true that Colonel Hore was powerless, as with his small force of twenty-three all told it was impossible to guard the many outbuildings that surrounded him against such overwhelming numbers, particularly as at first in the dusk it had been impossible to distinguish whether the advancing men were foes or friends.