From Boshop Methuen’s force moved on in zigzag fashion, their destination being Kroonstad. From Hoopstad to Bothaville they passed over good roads, through picturesque country, followed for miles by the graceful bends of the Vaal River—a ribbon of silver fringed with willows. The weather was now growing more and more chilly, and after sundown frost began to nip and biting winds to whistle through the bones. Nights were spent in trying to gain warmth, and when dawn came the sun was welcomed with thanksgiving. The infantry in these raw mornings had the advantage of the cavalry, as they could work themselves into a glow, but there were other occasions in which the mounted men had their revenge, and could forge on ahead and secure, before the arrival of the lagging pedestrians, all manner of tempting edibles—chickens, ducks, sucking pigs, and the like, which happened to be at the farms. These luxuries were greedily coveted, for, coming along from Boshop some 220 miles, diet had been limited to biscuits—hard, dry, and irresponsive—and any variety in the monotonous fare was received with unqualified rejoicing. Near Bothaville, as dawn broke, a curious episode took place. In the distance was spied a tent—a species of farmyard in the centre of the open veldt. Chickens and cattle and a trek waggon fringed the strange mushroom-shaped domain. It being necessary to discover the nature of the occupant of this shanty, one of the military party approached and hallooed. No answer. He roared louder. Then from the inner recess of the tent a burly voice bellowed—“You can’t commandeer me; I’m an Englishman. The first Dutchman that pokes his head around here will look like a sieve when I’ve done with him.” To this warlike challenge the British soldier meekly replied—described himself and his business—whereupon a change rapid as amusing came over the scene. Out from the tent, “like a cork from a bottle,” burst the inmate, glad past speech, excited past effervescence—wife, children, came rushing forth from their hiding-places, rapture writ in smiling letters over every feature. The British were come—at last—at last! The valiant couple were taken in charge, removed to Bothaville and protected, and their long days of loyal suspense and tribulation were at an end. Then on went the goodly multitude, through streets whose houses fluttered with white, taking with them as they went their Boer prisoners, who, sitting in their own carts, alternately shivered and snarled. At Kroonstad—reached on the 27th of May—they pitched their camps, not in the town itself but discreetly removed from the awful reminiscences of dead horse and beast left by Boer and British armies in their last tussle, and here they thought to take a brief rest before marching away from rail and civilisation. But man proposed and the exigencies of the situation disposed, and by the 1st of June we find Lord Methuen’s troops hastening off to the assistance of the 13th Battalion of Imperial Yeomanry at Lindley. To understand the urgent necessity for this detour we must return to Senekal.
OFFICERS OF THE SEAFORTH HIGHLANDERS
Photo by Gregory & Co., London
THE BATTLE OF BIDDULPH’S BERG (28TH AND 29TH OF MAY)
So soon as General Rundle entered Senekal—on the 26th of May—he proceeded to make inquiries as to the whereabouts of General Colvile, whom he believed to be at Lindley, some forty miles north-east of him. It so happened that General Colvile had just vacated that place and continued his march in the direction of Heilbron. No sooner was his back turned than the Boers pounced on Lindley, and not only pounced, but contrived to make themselves instantly aggressive. As ill luck would have it, the Duke of Cambridge’s Yeomanry under Colonel Spragge, who had been sent from Kroonstad to join General Colvile’s force, were caught by the enemy a few miles short of their destination.
They were in the awkward position of having missed General Colvile and lost a pied-à-terre at Lindley.
In this dilemma a message was sent to General Rundle informing him of the desperate quandary.
The General, instantly reviewing the critical state of affairs, devised a strategical plan which, he thought, would serve—far off as he was—to extricate the entangled forces who were demanding his assistance. He was aware that a posse of Boers was within some six miles of him, circling around towards Bethlehem in the east, and he conceived the scheme of attacking these with such force and determination as to press them hard and force them in their turn to appeal for help from the hordes that were infesting Lindley to the annoyance and dismay of the not yet united British forces who had prayed his aid. This device was masterly in the extreme, as it, so to speak, forced the masses of the enemy to come south in all haste, and thus saved risks of failure which might have resulted from a long movement of infantry over a distance of about forty miles. So, leaving General Boyes with three battalions in occupation of Senekal, General Rundle, with a force consisting of 2nd Grenadier Guards, 2nd Scots Guards, 2nd East Yorkshire, under General Campbell, the 2nd West Kent Regiment, the 2nd and 79th Batteries Royal Field Artillery, and the 4th and 7th Battalions of Imperial Yeomanry—marched off towards the east over some miles of open country over which the tall grass, bleached now by many days of scorching sun, waved thickly round their knees. In the distance were three ominous hills—such hills as the Dutchmen delight in—fronted by a lower eminence which was occupied by the enemy. These espied the coming of the British, and promptly betook themselves to their main position on two of the hills, Biddulph’s Berg and Tafel Berg. From these points of vantage they greeted the Kent and Derbyshire Yeomanry, who had advanced to reconnoitre, with a storm of bullets which at once laid low many a brave fellow. Still the Derbyshire Yeomanry pursued their way, worked round the hill and dismounted and proceeded to seek cover, where they were forced to remain till dark set in, unable to stir lest the volleys of the enemy should find them out. On the western side the Kent Yeomanry were hotly attacked, and many were wounded. Meanwhile, from the foremost hill, whence the Boers had spied out the coming of Rundle’s force, the British now in possession, commenced to fire upon the heights of the Biddulph’s Berg; the artillery too dropped shells in the direction of the enemy; and the sun went down on the hostile forces, fighting vigorously so long as a ray of daylight served to illumine the deadly operations. Then they bivouacked where they were. At dawn the battle was resumed, and an effort was made to turn the enemy’s right flank. The Grenadiers under Colonel Lloyd moved off to the west, supported by the Scots Guards, West Kent, and Imperial Yeomanry, marching over miles of hard dried grass till within range of the Boers’ lair. But as usual the foe was invisible. It was imagined that he had vacated the position in the night; but to be on the safe side a cascade of shrapnel was poured over the steeps. Even this brusque process of search was unavailing. Not a sign of life was visible, though wounded Dutchmen must have lain in their hiding-places with stoical calm. And now commenced the dangerous, the awe-striking feature of the day. The grass, dried to chip, suddenly burst into a blaze. The carelessness of some one had set it alight, and presently the gallant Grenadiers found themselves fanned with the heat of an oven and forced to move from their position. They were now ordered to face the Boer hiding-place and attack it, while the 79th Battery behind them prepared again to scour the hill. Then, following their usual tactics, the Boer guns burst forth with loud and startling uproar, surprising the troops, who had almost accepted the idea that the enemy had fled. There was no doubt that he was “all there,” with two guns and a “pom-pom,” and meant to make himself objectionable. Just as the Boer shell was dispersing the amazed Yeomanry (who but a few moments before had been preparing the pipe of peace in full security of the Dutchmen’s supposed evacuation), the grass again broke into flame, growing and leaping by bounds, so that the best efforts to stay its progress were unavailing. Still, the artillery duel, once commenced, continued briskly, briskly as the veldt fire below, that, sweeping round the wounded as they fell, made a new and awful panorama in the sufficiently horrific scene of war. The British gunners worked their hardest to silence the Boer gun, and as they proceeded, the great furnace of roaring, crackling grass gathered and grew, and the volumes of smoke soon rendered the Boer position invisible. During this time not a sound of musketry had been heard, only the Boer gun had given tongue vociferously enough to tax all the energies of the British gunners to silence it. Then came the order for the Grenadiers to advance, and this, in spite of smoke and the violent efforts of the Boer artillery, they did in right soldierly fashion, making for the direction of the offensive weapon with splendid coolness and precision. But no sooner had they neared to within some hundred yards of the piece than they suddenly found themselves pelted at by the hitherto inactive rifles of the foe. Thick and fast buzzed the bullets of the Dutchmen, loud roared the guns as the shells burst and bellowed. One man after another dropped—was killed, maimed, mutilated—and there, invisible, lay as he fell, a prey in his helplessness to the devouring flames that were now leaping and crackling with an almost majestical vehemence, rushing far and wide, like some vast, ravening, raging demon, with a thousand fiery tongues panting forth volumes of blue-white breath over the whole universe. And within this fearful area the perpetual rattle and roll of musketry continued their fell work, while the wounded, red with their gore, and redder with the scorching of the flames, crept, and crawled and reeled to places of safety, or, woeful truth, writhed where they fell, victims to the most horrible torture that fiendish imagination has yet devised. Amid the stentorian rampage none could hear their cries for aid, none could see their struggles for release. Only now and then, when some succeeded in emerging from the fiery chaos, could the appalled few who were beyond the vivid halo of destruction realise the mighty horror that lay on the skirts of Biddulph’s Hill. But the battle raged on. The Yeomanry, under Colonel Blair, were off in hot haste to attack and rout some Boers who were endeavouring to make a flank attack, while the artillery, despite the scene of carnage, battered the hills whence the Boers, safely hidden, were pouring a horrible fusillade upon the persevering, dauntless Grenadiers. These remained for hours returning the fire of the enemy, in a position of unparalleled peril, until the order came to retire. This movement was executed with splendid precision, but many were left upon the field, and in the succouring of them deeds of heroism followed each other with such rapidity that several glorious acts passed unwitnessed and unsung. Lieutenant Quilter, with twenty men, volunteered to rescue the helpless, and rushed into the flaming furnace without arms, and under the relentless fire of the enemy. One after another of the wretched sufferers were hauled off to safety by these gallant deliverers, who, in full consciousness of the grim fate that must have been theirs should they themselves have dropped, pursued their work with almost amazing heroism. Colonel Lloyd received many injuries, and was also much scorched, but continued to command his gallant Grenadiers till further wounds made him helpless. He might again have been wounded where he lay, but for the assistance of a young drummer (Harries), into whose hand a bullet passed while he was tending his commanding officer.
While the battle was proceeding, General Rundle received a communication from Lord Roberts ordering him to go to the assistance of General Brabant, who also was in difficulties. It became necessary, therefore, to effect the retirement. The manœuvre had, however, produced the desired effect, for the Boers had been somewhat hard hit, and had given up their aggressive operations, leaving the neighbourhood of Lindley open to our force. On Wednesday the 30th General Rundle was informed that De Villiers, the Boer Commandant, was seriously wounded, and that fifty Dutchmen had been killed, and many injured, whereupon a doctor and champagne were sent to the late enemy; this in spite of the fact that very early in the proceedings of Monday the Boers had commenced the battle with their customary treacherous tricks. From an adjacent homestead they had flown a white flag, taking care that directly the scouts went forward to accept their surrender they should be pelted liberally as a reward for their confidence. As a result, one of the British party was wounded mortally, and another severely. Fortunately, the next day (Tuesday) the ruffians received their deserts, for the farmhouse was liberally pounded by the 2nd Battery of Artillery. Nor was this the sole barbaric act of the day. A West Kent Yeoman, while scouting, had passed a Dutch farmhouse, and was invited in to coffee, being assured by the Dutchwoman, who desired to play the hostess, that no Boers had been near the place for days. Happily the wary yeoman refused, for he had no sooner turned to ride off than he was pelted with bullets from a party of Boers who had immediately rushed from the homestead to fire at him. His marvellous escape was merely due to the nature of the ground round the farm, which afforded him cover.