The report of the chief was as follows:—
“Shortly before midnight I was awoke by the officials of the South African Republic, Sandburg, Military Secretary to Commander-General Botha, and a general officer of the Boer army, who brought me a letter from Botha, proposing an armistice for the purpose of settling terms of surrender.
“I replied that I would gladly meet the Commander-General the next morning, but that I was not prepared to discuss any terms, as the surrender of the town must be unconditional.
“I asked for a reply by daybreak, as I had ordered the troops to march on the town as soon as it was light.
“In his reply, Botha told me that he had decided not to defend Pretoria, and that he trusted that the women, children, and property would be protected.”
The next morning the main army moved on towards the railway station, while General Ian Hamilton’s troops wound their way to the west of the town. (General French, it may be noted, had made his way to the north, and had skirmished himself into possession of an enveloping area.) Pretoria was now in sight. But even as the troops neared the railway station, trains—trains bearing away the surrendering Hollanders—were seen to be steaming forth. A chase followed, but barbed wire, gardens, houses, made pursuit impossible, and one train escaped. Others which were still in the station, however, were arrested, but not before a scrimmage of a bellicose kind had taken place between Major Shute, the advance guard, and the would-be fugitives. Then followed the release of the British prisoners and the excited rushing of the emancipated ones through the town. Meanwhile Major Maude and his party moved along amid the expectant populace, placing sentries at important points in the road, to the tune of the roars and cheers from the British prisoners, who—many of them—were almost wild with enthusiasm. After having secured the government buildings, the officers of the Staff attached to the Guards’ Brigade paid their respects to Mrs. Kruger, who, attired in black silk and a white cap, received them with her usual Dutch calm, in the cottage where the old statesman was wont to live in almost peasant-like simplicity. Here, not many days ago, the most interesting, if not the most admired, figure of latter-day history had smoked the cavernous pipe which was his invariable companion. Here, not many days ago, sitting in the shady verandah and guarded by two policemen, and the white marble lions given him by Mr. Barnato, he had plotted and schemed behind the impenetrable mask that served him for a face. Now he was gone; and the great marble lions, massive and obdurate as ever, had become as the emblems of British majesty. The commanding officer informed the wife of the late President that the burghers guarding the Presidency would now be replaced by British soldiers, whereupon the Dutch guard placed pistols and ammunition on the pavement by the side of the marble monsters; and their occupation, now and henceforth, was ended!
At two o’clock, on the 5th of June, came the grand finale. Lord Roberts, Lord Kitchener, the Staff, and foreign attachés, numbering nearly 300, formed up in the main square in the centre of the magnificent official buildings, and there, once more, was hoisted the British flag amid the cheers—sincere and insincere—of the populace. Then followed the great spectacle—a pageant wherein was asserted the majesty of Great Britain—in the form of an unending host of muscular and disciplined heroes. The roll of drums, the flow of kharki, the clank and clang of armed men, began and continued for hours and hours, while the amazed inhabitants, arrayed in their bucolic best, wide-mouthed, wide-eyed, stood watching the vast procession, the like of which the little town had never before beheld.
Particularly remarkable among the vast cortège of seasoned warriors were the patriotic C.I.V.’s, whose soldierly bearing drew forth eulogies from the chief himself. All were agreed that they were the finest body of men that had ever been seen, and every one declared that their actions had been as excellent as their appearance.
A not less attractive feature of the great day was the march past of the Naval Brigade, its smart amphibians, its jolly blue-jackets so square and brawny and brave, and its big guns on improved gun-carriages, all of which had done such good work from beginning to end. The roar that greeted them as they swung along the streets of the conquered town was a sound to echo in the memory for many a year to come.
At such an imposing spectacle in so primitive an arena our enemies—real or subsidised—of course, took the opportunity to scoff. True, the ceremonial was scarcely as impressive as might have been the occupation of some less primitive capital; but its significance was twofold, and had ramifications far beneath the surface. The importance of the event to the British nation, and indeed to the whole European audience of critics, could not be overestimated. For, not a spectacle, but a symbol was intended. Great Britain came, not to conquer new territories, nor to acquire new power. She came to assert herself, and maintain her prestige in the face of the whole world, and meant, by the occupation of Pretoria, to mark the new epoch, drawing a line between the old era of maladministration, chicanery, and despotism, and a fresh one of law and order, and equal rights for white men. The great object of the war, therefore, had been achieved.