Photo: Bourne & Shepherd
CAPTAIN RUTHERFOORD, D.S.O.
Pretoria did not give itself away all at once to the temptations of a novel spectacle; but there were ladies in carriages among the little crowd of sightseers, and some stolid burghers looked on with approval, while others took part in the chase, for Boers have a bond of sympathy with us in love of horse-racing and field sports. The Commander-in-Chief came, sitting his shapely chestnut with a firmer and more workmanlike ease than half the horsemen present could boast of, and looking as if he could still show them all the way over a stiff hunting country. His appearance at the starting-point was a signal for marshalling the forces into line.
Then a Staff officer gave the word to go, and away went the motley field, more than half a hundred strong, spurring, hustling, charging like a Cavalry squadron for all they were worth. A light-weight, who served with distinction in Her Majesty’s Navy years ago, was quickest off, and led them over the two stone walls, closely followed by Captain Cox, of the New South Wales Lancers. Then came the second flight, riding for the walls knee to knee. Thanks to bold hearts and resolute riding, they all got over. A fall in that dense formation with another rank rushing close behind would have brought more than one rider to unutterable grief. But the ranks began to thin where a spruit had to be crossed, with steep banks into and out of the drift. There the ‘Skipper’s’ pony, with speed unchecked, gained a good lead, but he came down at the next made-up fence and gave his rider a nasty fall. The active light-weight, however, nipped into the saddle and went on cheery as ever. Then in clouds of dust, through which the fences could scarcely be seen, leggy horses and diminutive ponies rushed onward, jostling for a lead as before. Captain McNeil, of Montmorency’s Scouts, came down and broke his collar-bone, and Gibbs, of the Somerset Yeomanry, falling with his horse on top of him, had two ribs broken. But still ‘the chase went sweeping heedless by’ over a wide dug-out, with a hurdle to screen it and a trappy ditch where the road had to be crossed. Then they spread out to gallop over stony ground for the spruit, into which many floundered. The pace was beginning to tell on horses out of condition as they struggled up hill to go for a formidable bank of sandbags topped with loose earth that had been dug out of the ditch in front. Down-hill again to a hollow, where the little stream meandering between boggy ground had to be crossed three times. There several jaded steeds came to a standstill, having shot their bolts, and only a select few went up the next hill to the trappiest fence of all, where water flowed between deep banks. There the ‘Skipper’ got his third fall, but he mounted again and followed the leaders as they rounded the flag and rode for home. Captain Cox had also been left behind, and the running was taken up by Captain Rutherfoord, of Lumsden’s Horse, with Major Kenna, V.C., of the 21st Lancers, in close attendance. Flanks were heaving and pipes wheezing before the next boulder-strewn ridge had been crossed. ‘A run is nothing without music,’ said a subaltern as he roused his panting steed for another effort. He nearly blundered, as many others did, over the next little fence, and they were being left hopelessly behind. Kenna and Rutherfoord charged the last stone wall side by side, and rose together at it. Rutherfoord landed first, and had the race in hand, but, mistaking the post, eased his horse too soon. So Kenna, V.C., got a neck ahead in the straight run home, and thus won his right to claim the brush or whatever may be a substitute for it in paper-chasing. That was the official verdict, but Lumsden’s Horse still hold that their champion was first past the post.
One day a pleasant incident enlivened Colonel Lumsden’s ordinarily uneventful round of inspections. He had been visiting posts south of Irene, and was hurrying back to headquarters on an affair of urgent importance, when a train stopped at one of the sidings. Before he had time to realise that it was a special, or to make any inquiries, the train began to move again. So he jumped on to the nearest platform, and presently found himself in a corridor, cleaner and more carefully looked after than any he had seen on a Transvaal railway up to that time. Not knowing what to make of it, and half-expecting to meet an angry Chief of the Staff face to face, he refrained from exploring further. Presently a lady passed and said, ‘Won’t you come in?’ Colonel Lumsden was smoking at the time, and declined for that reason. ‘But mother wishes you to come,’ was the reply. So the gallant Colonel yielded with ready grace, and found himself in the presence of Lady Roberts, who, with her daughters, was on the way to Pretoria. They were just then nearing Irene, and Colonel Lumsden drew attention to the camp of his Indian Volunteers, in whom he thought Lady Roberts would naturally be much interested. To his surprise he saw a huge bonfire burning, and in silhouette against it were the words, ‘Welcome to Lady Roberts!’ Sergeant-Major Stephens had hit upon this happy idea, and put it into execution just at the right moment. One of the daughters, seeing it, said, ‘Oh, mother, there is a warm welcome for you, at any rate!’ Lady Roberts frequently referred to this impromptu welcome in conversation with Colonel Lumsden afterwards, and spoke appreciatively of the pleasure it had given her.
For nearly two months—from the fall of Pretoria on June 5 to July 29—Lumsden’s Horse were scattered up and down the railway lines between Pretoria and Johannesburg.
Colonel Lumsden gives the following official account of this period in a letter to the executive committee of his corps:
My headquarters are still at Irene, while my corps is stationed in detachments along the railway from here to Springs. I am daily expecting an order to concentrate either here or at the latter point, having received official information that we are to be relieved by Mounted Infantry from the Regulars.
Beyond living in a constant state of alarm, standing to arms at all hours of the night, and our patrols shooting and being shot at, there is little or nothing of interest to record.
Scouting parties have had several narrow escapes, but nothing of a serious nature occurred until yesterday (July 13), when I heard by wire from Captain Beresford at Springs that Private Claude F. Walton, of the Mysore detachment, had been wounded rather severely while out on patrol with Captain Clifford, but without, I understand, endangering his life. The shot was fired from a farmhouse, which has since, I am glad to say, been burnt to the ground. Two days previously, when I was on a visit to Springs, Captain Chamney and his patrol had rather a narrow squeak, but got safely away under a pelting fire.