Two days later, on March 13th, Lord Roberts entered Bloemfontein. During the early morning of that day I had been sent forward to see if I could find some halting-place where the Headquarter Staff could breakfast, and was fortunate enough to find a very comfortable farm for that purpose, which, as it turned out, belonged to a brother-in-law of Steyn’s. The lady of the house, who was quite a nice woman, received us very amiably, but told us that the Boers never expected we should have left the river and marched in the way we did, as they were persuaded that the route we took would result in the army inevitably perishing of thirst, so waterless was that bit of country. I expect the margin was narrow, but events justified the selection made, and all was well. Just as the Headquarter Staff rode into the town, a column arrived, so Lord Roberts and his Staff halted and pulled out of the way to allow the Grenadier Guards to march in. It was a magnificent sight. The men, after a terrific march, caked with dust, parched with thirst, and literally in rags, swung past their Chief with their heads erect, and all the air of conquerors. For the moment all fatigue seemed to have left them, and they marched as if they were returning to their barracks after an hour’s exercise in Hyde Park.
Bloemfontein for the first week or so was quite a pleasant change after about six weeks on the march through a very thirsty country. We began by being billeted in the sort of Government House usually occupied by Steyn and his family. It was quite a good and well-built house, and four of us occupied a large room on the second floor, which we believed to be Mrs. Steyn’s bedroom. I remember we came to the conclusion that the lady in question must have been somewhat primitive in her toilet arrangements, for nothing in the shape of washing utensils were to be seen; such a thing as a bath, for instance, was obviously non-existent, and indeed there was not even a water-tap above the ground floor. However, my room-mates and myself, who all happened to be old friends, settled down very comfortably. They were Lord Dudley and his brother, Jack Ward (the present Sir John Ward), and Lord Stanley, who was still doing duty as Press Censor. A short time afterwards, when Colonel Neville Chamberlain gave up his post as Private Secretary to the Commander-in-Chief, Stanley succeeded him, and later accompanied the Chief home. I was unlucky enough to have taken rather a bad chill after a very soaking night at Paardeberg, and though I managed to stick it out until our arrival at Bloemfontein, I had to lay up for a few days with a good deal of fever, so being the invalid of the party I was allotted the only bed, the rest of my comrades sleeping more or less on the floor. There being nothing particular to do for the moment, the doctor thought I might just as well get a little change and rest, so as soon as I had got rid of my little feverish attack I went down to Cape Town for a week, partly for change of air, and principally to buy stores for the Headquarter Mess. The railway was running through to the Cape all right, the only trouble being that the Boers had blown up the big railway bridge at Norval’s Pont, so on my way down I had to cross the river in a boat.
Nothing in South Africa impressed me so greatly as the efficiency of the Railway Corps. I crossed the Orange River three times in three months, the first time, as above mentioned, in a boat, the second time, a week later, in a train over a temporary bridge, and three months afterwards in a train running over the permanent bridge that is there to this day. During the whole of the advance to Pretoria, when marching along the line, the Railway Engineers succeeded in keeping pace with the Army on the march, bringing up not only their repairing plant, but stores for the Army as well. Though we, who were riding close to the railway line, could see all the rails standing on-end, twisted like corkscrews for miles ahead of us, and though the ponts which crossed the innumerable spruits were one and all blown up, the trains succeeded in keeping up with the troops; and even the bridge over the Valsch River at Kroonstadt, which is a real river, only delayed them for a few days. In fact, the ordinary wreckage of war is repaired almost as quickly as it is created.
I spent a pleasant week at Groote-Schurr. Cecil Rhodes had returned there after the relief of Kimberley; his brother Frankie, still looking very thin after the privations of the Ladysmith siege, was taking a brief holiday in his brother’s house. Alas! he also is no longer with us. He was one of my oldest friends, for I had known him since my young days, when hunting from Grantham. He was the kindest of men, and those of the beleaguered garrison of Ladysmith, who knew him during the siege, were always full of stories of his generosity and unselfishness. Ian Hamilton, now General Sir Ian, was another Ladysmith man who came there for a few days’ fattening-up, Billy Lambton, then a Captain in the Coldstream Guards (now General Sir William), was also a guest, during his recovery from a severe shell-wound in the knee received at Magersfontein; whilst the two ladies—Lady Edward Cecil and Lady Charles Bentinck—were still doing their work at Cape Town, with Groote-Schurr for their headquarters.
When my week’s leave had expired, four of us took the train back to Bloemfontein, but I may as well quote an old letter I wrote home at the time to describe my journey.
“We started up a party of four, the two Groote-Schurr ladies, Artie Stanley, and myself. We had two very comfortable carriages, one for the ladies and one for the men, and no end of provisions and champagne provided for us by our kind host. It was all very cheery as far as Norval’s Pont, where the railway authorities succeeded in getting our train bodily over the temporary bridge that spanned the Orange River. At Norval’s Pont they had just had the news of Broadwood’s disaster at Sanna’s Post, and the funks had rather set in on the line. Admiral Maxse had telegraphed to his daughter (Lady Edward Cecil) forbidding her to come up any further, and Artie Stanley also received a telegram telling him that no civilians were to go on, so all my pleasant companions were bundled out of the train and their places taken by various officers. After a very long delay we got off, and in the middle of the night, at one of the stations, we were all wakened up and ordered to have rifles ready, for the Boers were said to be on the line somewhere. However, it turned out to be only a scare, and as I did not possess a rifle it did not concern me, and eventually in due course, without any further disturbance, the train arrived here. Next day all was peace again, so telegrams were sent to the ladies to say that they might come up, which they promptly did. The day after the panic season set in again, and they were packed off back again to the base. When I got back I found that all the Staff, except the Chief’s own particular little lot, had been shot out of Government House, so, greatly to our comfort, Eddy Stanley, Dudley, Bend d’Or (the Duke of Westminster) and I, find ourselves lodged on the ground floor of a very decent house belonging to one Fischer, a prominent Boer statesman, who has bolted.”
The next fortnight at Bloemfontein was very dull and uneventful, and, moreover, rather depressing with the knowledge, that hard work and bad water were, between them, responsible for about 1500 enteric cases in the Bloemfontein hospitals. The daily round was monotonous enough. At seven every morning I was in the saddle, and generally went round to see the Naval Brigade, who had made themselves and their cow-guns extremely comfortable at the top of a neighbouring kopje, but as they never were in need of anything, my visits were of the perfunctory order. Later in the day, I took my turn with the other Aides-de-Camp to ride in attendance on the Chief, and work away at the usual deciphering and enciphering business. But our little home, thanks to the fact that one of its leading inhabitants, Lord Stanley, was Press Censor, was, I verily believe, the “hub” of Bloemfontein. Thither all the Press correspondents, some eighty in number and locally known as “Stanley’s Light Horse,” used to repair to get their perpetual messages censored, and (low be it spoken!) when news was scanty, as it very often was during the long halt at Bloemfontein, to try and pick up a few crumbs from us. Between us, we generally could produce the latest camp stories, and when there was nothing better, those very unveracious statements had to serve. The “Specials” had amongst their ranks a number of very clever people, to say nothing of at least one very distinguished man in the person of Mr. Rudyard Kipling, whose acquaintance I made then for the first time. Amongst the veterans were Mr. Bennett Burleigh and Mr. Melton Prior, both old acquaintances of mine, whose names had been known for years all over the Empire, whilst amongst the younger men were Messrs. Gwynne, Perceval Landon, and Prevost Battersby,—the latter I had got to know well on the voyage out, we having been fellow-passengers in the same steamer.
It very soon was deemed necessary to start a newspaper, and the Friend was produced to supply the want, under the auspices of Rudyard Kipling, Perceval Landon, and Gwynne,—a veritable galaxy of talent. It was only the other day that Mr. Kipling and I were talking over old Bloemfontein days, and he gave me a delightful account of how he and his coadjutors, having a good deal of space at their disposal, filled it up with advertisements stating that certain little shops in the town could provide every sort of luxury. Most of these said luxuries were purely imaginary and probably have not even penetrated to Bloemfontein to this day, and he went on to describe the rage of the crowds of customers who had at once swarmed into the town thinking to do their shopping!
Towards the end of April, Dudley and I got a few days’ leave from our Chief to accompany a flying column that was going to Taban-Tchu under the command of Ian Hamilton. We loaded up a Cape cart with provisions and once more started on the trek. And a delightful change it was to be on the veldt again after living for so long in that rather poisonous little town! The objective of the expedition was, I believe, that of a rounding-up movement designed to surround the Boer forces, who were said to be moving to the northward somewhere in that neighbourhood. Unfortunately, the Boers were too quick for us, and there was no apparent result, and with the exception of some desultory skirmishing on the outskirts of Taban-Tchu and Israel Port, the column to which we had attached ourselves had but little fighting to do. Viewed as a pleasure trip it was very agreeable, as the climate was perfection and, to us, it was all new country.
By the end of the week I was back at Bloemfontein again, but this time only for a very few days, as the long, weary period of waiting there had come to an end, and on May 3rd Lord Roberts, with the Headquarter Staff, went by train to Karri Siding, to assume direct command of the Army that was now on the march to Pretoria. It is not my intention to describe Lord Roberts’ march to Pretoria, except from the point of view of a spectator. Very little fighting took place, but it struck me that the Boers were distinctly clever. They wasted a great many days for us by repeatedly putting up a show that was just big enough to force our invading army to deploy, and the loss of time involved made a very considerable hole in the short winter days of May and June.