The houses of a number of our citizens were built immediately outside the city boundary; and a strong feeling existed not only against permitting these dwellings to be occupied, but also against allowing some of their occupiers (who were Dutch) to remain outside the gaol. A section of these people made no secret of their sympathy with their kindred across the Vaal, nor of their belief that the war was being waged on false issues. They were thus tempted to lend the Boers a little practical assistance. Nor were they long in finding ways and means to negotiate the loan; they arranged a code of signals which enabled them to communicate with their friends. They had precious little of importance to tell—unless the siege value of eggs could be so classed. Anyhow they were caught signalling one night, and on the following morning were arraigned before the Summary Court.
This was the popular version of the story. How far it was true, I am not in a position to say; but the charge was not sustained by the evidence. The prisoners were acquitted, and ordered to find accommodation within the city. The Court took advantage of the occasion to throw out a general hint about the inadvisability of permitting anybody to reside near the borders of a beleagured town.
We had held a grand review of our forces on the opening days of the siege. The Regulars, the Light Horse, the Town Guard, etc., had filed past the Colonel and the Mayor, amid the plaudits of the people and the music of the band. The afternoon brought recollections of the demonstration. The Boers appeared to be holding a pageant of their own—for our edification, no doubt. For several hours they were marshalled on the veld with a demonstrativeness that seemed to say: "You might as well give in at once; look at the size of us!" Their size was certainly impressive; more so than their proficiency in drill. We beat them hollow at drill; so hollow that we laughed arrogantly and loud. The Boers could shoot well; but what was that—without drill!
On Thursday morning we were still laughing when the guns of Wimbleton proceeded to query our hilarity. Wimbleton Ridge, unfortunately, was rather far away; we were unable to respond. Whether it was that the revels of our risible faculties were ultimately attributed to the cattle-stealing of Wednesday night, an energetic assault was suddenly opened on Kenilworth. It is true, we had affected a tidy confiscation; but that joke was now old—too old to laugh at. We had some "snipers" all day endeavouring to worry the Boers. A mounted patrol, also, worried them. In the afternoon the rain came down to complete their misery, and the imperturbable oxen were let browse in peace.
And from another quarter there was coming worry, to shatter the dreams, the hopes, the "castles in the air" of Kimberley. The Relief Column was approaching; this time for certain. We had heard like legends before, but they were only legends (before). The Column was really coming. A native had come in with the news. Now, of a white man's reliability a doubt would not be tolerated; but the native!—well, the native had acquired a reputation for bad, bold mendacity that was altogether too unscientific to be appreciated by a close and subtle aristocracy. Still, the story was nice; we liked to believe it. There are natives and natives—there is even a Booker Washington—all men are not liars. The Press, too, attached credence to the tale, and that went far to convince us of its truth. A glance at the paper next morning established the veracity of the Bantu.
"We are authorised to state that a strong force has left Orange River, and is moving forward to the relief of Kimberley."
Such was the message. The joy was universal. In a few days the column would be with us. Kimberley would be free. The siege was over! Hurrah, the people shouted with an enthusiasm only transcended in degree by the resolute contempt with which the reported approach of French was greeted in the following year. The Queen was sung of with rare earnestness and lung power. The Colonel was toasted and praised at the bars. Baden-Powell was promised help; the Mayor was patronised. The column was drunk to, not wisely, but too well; while Tommy Atkins' glories as a soldier and a man were chorussed in unmeasured terms—and time. For the rest—we were generous—the Boers we could forgive. But they must all be captured; in the interests of the campaign it was not expedient that one should escape. Where should they be housed? The gaol was not large enough. The Town Hall was suggested. But the mines were finally selected—with exquisite irony; for we little dreamt that the thousands destined eventually to be driven there should be—our friends, indeed, but not our friend the enemy!
Friday was quiet, and a very jovial day in town. The Boers—in blissful ignorance of their approaching doom—occupied themselves in disfiguring the railway line still more. It was not easy to do; but it was done. In the afternoon two tremendous explosions were heard. "There go the culverts," was the expression in every mouth. And so it was; the culverts were blown to pieces.
The Colonel and his officers were getting weary of the cautious methods of warfare of which the enemy never seemed to tire; and the opportunity of inflicting a good and stunning blow was a consummation devoutly wished for in military circles. The Column was coming, and nothing in the way of a telling stroke had yet been struck—nothing worthy the vaulting ambition of a soldier accomplished. Fighting is a soldier's profession, and the peculiar opportunities afforded by a siege, for the acquirement of fame and distinction, were too rare to be let pass unseized. How much the Commander and his staff may have been influenced by considerations of this kind, is not easy to say. But signs were not wanting that a serious endeavour was to be made to induce Mahomet to meet, as it were, the Mountain half way. The Regulars were looking to their bayonets; the Light Horse were being equipped with brand new steel; and—to make a long story short—at break of day on Saturday morning a large body of infantry (composed of Regulars and Irregulars) under the command of Colonel Chamier set out in a southerly direction, towards Carter's Farm, with general instructions to make things hot for trespassers. The enemy in possession of the Farm were thus to be debarred from assisting their confreres at a point where another British force was to operate with more serious intent. To ensure the success of this ruse, the services of a section of the Town Guard were requisitioned for out-flanking purposes on the one side; while the geographical position of the railway line permitted the utilisation of the armoured train for similar service on the other. The infantry kept steadily advancing until they secured a position which enabled them to rattle with their rifles to some purpose—the artillery behind them also helping. Their object was soon achieved; the Boers were forced to devote their energies exclusively to their own defence. They sat tight—obedient to the number one law of nature—engrossed in blazing at the foe before them, which was precisely what the foe before them wanted.
In the meantime the real game was being played on the western border. All our available mounted men, led by Colonel Scott-Turner, had crossed the Lazaretto Ridge, and actually drawn close to a Boer camp—unobserved. When the sentry did open his eyes and had challenged our advance agents no verbal response was made; but a rifle went off, and the sentry fell. The Boers were of course instantly aroused by the report; they rushed to their trenches, and a fierce rifle-duel ensued. From the muzzles of the Mausers a withering volley came. Some of Turner's men fell from their saddles, but the rest, nothing daunted, pressed their advantage and charged pell-mell upon the foe. The Boers fought gallantly, but were unable to resist the fury of the onslaught; some of them threw down their arms; others made a dash for liberty; while not a few fell fighting to the last. Thirty prisoners were taken; also a large quantity of rifles. Seven Light Horse men were killed; twelve were seriously, and fifteen slightly, wounded. Colonel Scott-Turner, who was hit in the shoulder, had his horse shot under him. Thus ended the most serious sortie of the siege—so far.