THROUGH WORLDS UNKNOWN AND FROM WORLDS UNKNOWN
[Sidenote: _A pleasure jaunt._]
During this six weeks of tarrying at Bloemfontein I found myself able
to visit a most interesting Methodist family residing some twenty
miles south of the town. For my sole benefit the express to the Cape
was stopped at a certain platelayer's hut, and then a walk of about a
mile across the veldt brought me to the pleasant country house of a
venerable widow lady. Her belongings had of course been freely
commandeered by the Boers on the outbreak of war; nor had the sons,
being burghers, though loyal-hearted Britishers, been able to elude
their liability to bear arms against their own kin. The two youngest,
schoolboys still, though of conscript age, had been sent down south
betimes; and so were well out of harm's way, but the two elder were
not suffered to thus escape. One as a despatch rider, and one as a
commissariat officer, they were compelled to serve a cause that did
violence to their deepest convictions. On the first appearance
therefore of the British, both brothers following the bidding of
strongest blood bonds, transferred their allegiance, if not their
service, to the other side. Thereupon they were so incessantly
threatened with a volley of avenging Boer bullets they felt compelled
to take a holiday trip to the Cape. Thus was their gentle mother with
war still raging round her gates bereft of the presence, protection,
and sorely needed aid of all her sons.
We arranged for the holding in her home of an Easter Sunday evening
service; and then returning to the railway were cheered by the speedy
sight of a goods train bound for Bloemfontein. Whereupon I scrambled
on to the top of a heavily loaded truck, and there, being a
first-class passenger provided with a first-class ticket, travelled in
first-class style, sitting awkwardly astride of nobody knows what. On
the same truck rode a Colonial, an English cavalryman, and a Hindu who
courteously threw over me a handsome rug when the chilly eve closed in
upon us. A decidedly representative group were we atop that truck-load
of miscellaneous munitions of war. And on into the darkness, and
through the darkness, we thus rode till late at night we reached the
lights of Bloemfontein.
[Sidenote: _Onwards but whither?_]
On Saturday, April 22nd, the colonel of my battalion informed his
quartermaster that the next day his men would leave Kaffir River,
proceed to Springfield, and thence to "worlds unknown!" That is
precisely where we soon found ourselves. Early on Sunday morning I
said "Good-bye" to Bloemfontein, expecting to see its face no more,
for surely this must be the long looked for start towards golden
Krugerland! At Kaffir River I found the Guards were some hours ahead
of me, but was just in time to catch the tail of a long train of
transport waggons belonging to them, so that fortunately there was no
fear of my being left alone, and lost a second time upon the veldt.
Thus commenced a long Sunday march, as we all supposed, to
Springfield. Later on we learned it certainly was not Springfield we
were slowly approaching; but that possibly night-fall would land us
somewhere near the Waterworks recently shattered, and still held, by
the Boers. Yet "not there, not there, my child," were our weary feet
wending. We began to wonder whether they were wending anywhere; and to
this hour nobody seems to know the name of the place where we that
night rested. Perhaps it had no name! Soldiers on active service
seldom walk by sight. It is theirs always "to _trust_ and obey." Even
regimental officers seldom know precisely where their next
stopping-place will be, or what presently they will be called upon to
do. They often resemble the pieces on a chess board, which cannot see
the hand that moves them and cannot tell why this piece instead of
that is taken. To keep our adversaries if possible in the dark, we
have ourselves to dwell in darkness; but it is a source of sore
distress all the same. The troops hunger for information and seldom
get it; so, to supply the lack they invent it; and then scornfully
laugh at their own inventings. They would sooner travel anywhere than
"through worlds unknown"; and yet somehow that becomes for them the
commonest of all treks!
[Sidenote: _That Pom-Pom again!_]
While the afternoon was still new we heard on our near left the sound
of heavy shell firing; of which, however, the men took no more notice
than if they had been manoeuvring on Salisbury Plain. They marched on
as stolidly and cheerily as ever, chatting and laughing as they
marched. But presently there broke upon our ears the familiar sound of
the pom-pom, which months ago at the Modder had so shaken everybody's
nerves. Instantly there burst from the whole brigade a cry of
recognition, and every man instinctively perceived that some grim
business had begun. Another Sunday battle was raging just over the
ridge, and the rest of that day's march had for its accompaniment the
music of pom-poms, the rattle of rifle fire, and the thud of shells.
But at the close of the day an officer somewhat discontentedly
reported that "if" our artillery had only reached a certain place by a
certain time, something splendid would have happened. Many of our
rat-traps proved thus weak in the spring, and snapped too slowly,
specially on Sundays. Some such disastrous "if" seemed to spring up in
connection with most of our Sunday fights, though we still seem to
cling fondly to the belief that for fighting the Lord's battles the
Lord's day is of all days incomparably the best. It was on Sunday,
December 10th, the disastrous attack on Stormberg was delivered; and
on the evening of that same fatal Sunday the Highland Brigade marched
out of the Modder River Camp to meet their doom on Magersfontein.
Similarly on the night of Sunday, January 22nd, our men set out to
win, and lose, Spion Kop. The Paardeberg calamity, the costliest of
all our contests, was also a Sunday fight; and though in the face of
such facts no man may dogmatise, such coincidences, all happening in
the course of a few weeks, in the conduct of the same war, make one
wonder whether Sunday is really a lucky day for purposes so dread, and
whether the Boers are not justified in their supposed refusal to
fight on Sundays excepting in self-defence. In that respect, I at any
rate, am with the Boers as against the Britons.
[Sidenote: _A problem not quite solved._]
When night at last arrived, we had neither tents nor shelters of any
sort provided for us, though the cold was searching, and everything
around us was wet with heavy dew. Men and officers alike spread their
waterproof sheets on the bare ground, and then made the best they
could of one or two blankets in which to wrap themselves. Through the
kindness, however, of my quartermaster friend, since dead, I was
privileged to push my head and shoulders under a transport waggon
which effectually sheltered me from wind and wet; and there, in the
midst of mules and men, mostly darkies, I slept the sleep of the
weary.
Brief rest, however, of a more delicious kind I had already found in
the course of that toilsome afternoon tramp described above. During a
short halt by the way I lay upon my back watching a huge cloud of
locusts flying far overhead, and thinking tenderly of those just then
assembling at our Aldershot Sunday afternoon service of song, not
forgetting the gentle lady who usually presides at the piano there.
Then I took out my pocket Testament, and read Romans xii.: "If thine
enemy hunger, feed him." But about that precise moment the adjoining
kopje, with a shaking emphasis, said to me, "pom-pom," and again
"pom-pom." But how to feed one's enemy while thus he speaks with
defiant throat of brass, is a problem that still awaits a
satisfactory solution!
[Sidenote: _A touching sight._]
In the course of the day I was greatly touched by the sight of an
artillery horse that had fallen from uttermost fatigue, so that it had
to be left to its fate on the pitiless veldt. It was now separated
from its team, and all its harness had been removed; but when it found
itself being deserted by its old companions in distress and strife, it
cast after them a most piteous look, struggled, and struggled again to
get on to its feet, and finally stood like a drunken man striving to
steady himself, but absolutely unable to go a single step further. Ah,
the bitterness alike for men and horses of such involuntary and
irrecoverable falling out from the battle-line of life! Not actual
dying, but this type of death is what some most dread!
[Sidenote: _Rifle firing and firing farms._]
When on Monday we resumed our march, it was still to the sound of the
same iron-mouthed music; but now at last we could not only hear, but
see some of the shell fire, and watch a few of the men that were
taking part in the fight. Far away we noticed what looked like a line
of beetles, each a good space from his fellow beetles, creeping
towards the top of a ridge. These were some of our mounted men. Lower
down the slope, but moving in the same direction, was a similar line
of what looked like bees. These were some of our infantry, on whom the
altogether invisible Boers were evidently directing their fire. As you
must first catch your hare before you can cook it, so you must first
sight a Boer before you can shift him; and the former task is
frequently the more difficult of the two. In more senses than one
short-sighted soldiers have had their day; and in all ranks those who
cannot look far ahead must give place to those who can. Henceforth the
most powerful field-glasses that can possibly be made, and the most
perfect telescopes, must be supplied to all our officers; or on a
still more disastrous scale than in this war the bees will drop their
bullets among the beetles, and Britons will be killed by Britons.
Later in the day, to my sincere grief, a beautiful Boer house was set
on fire by our men, after careful inquiry into the facts by the
provost-marshal, because the farmer occupying it had run up the white
flag over his house, and then from under that flag our scouts had been
shot at. Such acts of treachery became lamentably common, and had at
all cost to be restricted by the only arguments a Voortrekker seemed
able to understand; but the Boers in Natal had long before this proved
adepts at kindling similar bonfires, though without any such
provocation, and cannot therefore pose as martyrs over the burning of
their own farms, however deplorable that burning be.
[Sidenote: _Boer treachery and the white flag._]
At Belmont a young officer of the Guards named Blundell was killed by
a shot from a wounded Boer to whom he was offering a drink of water;
and about the same time another Boer hoisted a white flag, which our
men naturally mistook for a signal of surrender, but on rising to
receive it, received instead a murderous volley of rifle fire, as the
result of which the correspondent of _The Morning Post_ had his right
arm hopelessly shattered.
At Talana Hill, our first battle in Natal, the beaten Boers raised a
white flag on a bamboo pole, but when our gunners thereupon ceased
firing, "the brother" instead of surrendering bolted! At Colenso, a
company of burghers with rifles flung over their backs, and waving a
white flag, approached within a short distance of the foremost British
trenches, but when our troops raised their heads to welcome these
surrendering foes, they were instantly stormed at by shot and shell.
At length General Buller found it necessary in face of such frequent
treachery, officially to warn his whole army to be on their guard
against the white flag, a flag which to his personal knowledge was
already through such misuse stained with the blood of two gallant
British officers, besides many men.
It is said that when Sir Burne Jones' little daughter was once in such
a specially angry mood as to scratch and bite and spit, her father
somewhat roughly shook the child and said, "I do not see what has got
into you, Millicent; the devil must teach you these things."
Whereupon, the little one indignantly flashed back this reply:--"Well
the devil may have taught me to scratch and bite, but the spitting is
my own idea!" With equal justice the Boers may claim that though the
ordinary horrors and agonies of war are of the devil, this persistent
abuse of the white flag is their own idea. Of that practice they
possess among civilized nations an absolute monopoly, and the red
cross flag has often fared no better at their hands.
But then it would be absurd and most unfair to blame the two
Republics as a whole for this. No people on earth would approve such
practices, and doubtless they were as great a pain to many an
honourable Boer as they were to us. But upland farmers who have spent
their lives in fighting savage beasts, and still more savage men, are
slow to distinguish between lawful tricking and unlawful treachery,
and are apt to account all things fair that help to win the game.
[Sidenote: _The pet lamb still lives and learns!_]
During this long trek through worlds unknown, our pet lamb, perchance
taking encouragement from the example of the two chaplains, followed
us all the way on foot, and became quite soldierly in its tastes and
tendencies. It scorned even to look at its brother sheep on the veldt
modestly feeding on coarse veldt grass; but on sardines and bacon-fat
it seemed to thrive astonishingly; and both my bread and sugar it
coolly commandeered. So rapid and complete is camp-life education,
even when a pet lamb is the pupil!
[Sidenote: _Right about face._]
On the morning of our fifth day in "worlds unknown" we breakfasted
soon after four, by starlight; and before sunrise were again trekking
hard. About ten miles brought our almost interminable string of
waggons to two ugly river drifts, across which, with much toil and
shouting they were at last safely dragged. Then we suddenly halted and
to our amazement were ordered to return whence we came. So across
those two ugly drifts the waggons were again dragged; four o'clock in
the afternoon found us on the precise spot where four o'clock in the
morning had watched us breakfasting; and by the afternoon of the
following Sunday we were back in Bloemfontein from which on the
previous Sunday we had made so bold a dash for fame and fortune. In
the course of those eight excessively toilsome days the Guards had
captured three wounded Boers; but what else they had accomplished no
one could ever guess. Somebody said, however, that something wonderful
had been done by somebody somewhere in connection with that week of
wonders; which was of course consoling; but it was only long after we
learned that De Wet after laying siege to Wepener for seventeen days
had made a sudden rush to reach his sure retreat in the north-east
corner of the Free State; that we with other columns had been sent out
to intercept him; and had as by a hair's breadth just managed to miss
him. Such are the fortunes and misfortunes of war. As an attacking
force, De Wet in the course of the war made some bold and brilliant
moves, though always on a comparatively small scale; but in the art of
running away and escaping capture, no matter by whom pursued, he has
given himself more practice than probably any other general that ever
lived. "Oh my God make him like a wheel!" We were a lumbering waggon
chasing a light-winged wheel; and the wheel was winner!
[Sidenote: _From worlds unknown._]
While on this long trek I lighted on a newly-arrived contingent of
Canadian mounted infantry which had come to our aid from worlds
unknown. They proved to be a splendid body of men, and worthy
compatriots of the earlier arrived Canadians who had rendered such
heroic service at Paardeberg. Their Methodist chaplain, the Rev. Mr
Lane, of Nova Scotia, seemed incontestably built on the same lines; a
conspicuously strong man was he, and delightfully level-headed. I
therefore all the more deeply deplored the early and heavy failure of
his health, as the result of the severe hardships that hang round
every campaigner's path, and his consequent return, invalided home.
[Sidenote: _The Bushmen._.]
About this same time another equally remarkable body, the Australian
Bushmen, who, like the Canadians, had come from worlds unknown, were
in the far north making their way _through_ worlds unknown to the
relief of Mafeking. Their advance, says Conan Doyle, was one of the
finest performances of the war. Assembled at their port of embarkation
by long railway journeys, conveyed across thousands of miles of ocean
to Cape Town, brought round another two thousand to Beira, transferred
by a narrow gauge railway to Bamboo Creek, thence by a broader gauge
to Marandellas, sent on in coaches for hundreds of miles to Bulawayo,
again transferred by trains for another four or five hundred miles to
Ootsi, and then facing a further march of a hundred miles, they
reached the hamlet of Masibi Stadt within an hour of the arrival of
Plumer's relieving columns; and before that week was over the whole
Empire was thrilled, almost to the point of delirium, by learning that
at last the long-drawn siege of Mafeking was raised; and a defence of
almost unexampled heroism was thus brought to a triumphant end.
[Sidenote: _The Australian Chaplains._]
From start to finish the Bushmen were accompanied by an earnest
Methodist chaplain, whom I met only in Pretoria, the Rev. James Green,
who, most fortunately, throughout the whole campaign, was not laid
aside for a single day by wounds or sickness; and who, after returning
home with this time-expired first contingent of Australian troops,
came back in March 1902 with what, we hope, the speedy ending of the
war will make their last contingent.
Between Mr Green's two terms of service I was, however, ably assisted
by yet another Australian Wesleyan chaplain, the Rev. R. G. Foreman,
though he, like so many others, was early invalided home.