The first view of Capetown from the sea is not easily forgotten. We
sailed into the bay just as the sun was rising in splendour behind the
cliffs of Table Mountain. The houses of the town which fill the space
between the hills and the sea were still more or less in shadow, picked
out here and there by twinkling lights. On the summit rested a fleecy
cloud which concealed the pointed crags and hung from the edges of the
precipice like a border of fine drapery. On the right, groups of
buildings stretched onwards to Sea Point, where the surf was breaking on
the rocks within a few feet of the road; on the left were the more
picturesque suburbs of Rosebank, Newlands and Claremont nestling amid
their woods and orchards; and still further on lay Wynberg, with its
vast hospital, already become a household word in English homes. The
dreary flats of Simon's Bay, where British war-ships lay at anchor, shut
in the view.
Pleasing as the picture is when seen from the deck of a Castle Liner,
disappointment generally overtakes the voyager who has landed. Capetown
itself has little to boast of in the way of architecture. Except
Adderley Street, which is adorned by the massive buildings of the Post
Office and Standard Bank, the thoroughfares of the town offer scarcely
any attractions. The Dutch are not an artistic race, and the fact that
natives here live not in "locations" but anywhere they choose has
covered some portions of the town's area with ugly and squalid houses.
Nor, as a matter of fact, does the general tone of thought and feeling
in Cape Colony naturally lend itself to aesthetic considerations. Even
the churches fail to escape the influence of a spirit which subordinates
everything else to practical and utilitarian considerations. Can two
uglier buildings of their kind be found in the civilised world than the
English and Dutch cathedrals at Capetown?
Another unpleasant feature of life in Capetown is the misfortune, not
the fault, of the inhabitants in being frequently exposed to the full
fury of the south-east wind. Sometimes for whole days together the Cape
is swept by tremendous blasts, which tear up the sea into white foam and
raise clouds of blinding dust along the streets of the town.
Nevertheless the kindness and generosity of the people are not in any
way lessened by these unpleasant features in their surroundings. The
warmth of colonial hospitality is acknowledged by all travellers, and
may be partly due to that love of the mother country which survives in
the hearts of Englishmen who have never left South Africa, and yet
recognise in the visitor a kind of tie, as it were, between themselves
and old England. Such hospitality blesses him that gives as well as him
that takes, and the host listens with deepest interest to his guest's
chatter about London, or perhaps the country town or village where he or
his forefathers lived in days gone by. Any one who is accustomed in
England to the conventional "Saturday to Monday" or the "shooting week"
in a country house opens his eyes with wonder when he receives a warm
invitation from a colonial to spend a month with him at his house on the
Karroo. And such invitations, unlike those which the Oriental traveller
receives, are uttered in earnest and meant to be accepted.
Capetown is by far the most cosmopolitan of all our colonial capitals.
Englishmen, Dutchmen, Jews, Kaffirs, "Cape boys" and Malays bustle about
the streets conversing in five or six different languages. There is a
delightful freedom from conventionalism in the matter of dress. At one
moment you meet a man in a black or white silk hat, at another a
grinning Kaffir bears down upon you with the costume of a scarecrow; you
next pass a couple of dignified Malays with long silken robes and the
inevitable _tarbush_, volubly chattering in Dutch or even Arabic. These
Malays form a particularly interesting section of the population. They
are largely the descendants of Oriental slaves owned by the Dutch, and,
of course, preserve their Moslem faith, though some of its external
observances, _e.g._, the veiling of women, have ceased to be observed. I
did my best during a few days' stay at Somerset West to witness one of
their great festivals called "El Khalifa". At this feast some devotees
cut themselves with knives until the blood pours from the wounds, and a
friend of mine who had witnessed the performance on one occasion seemed
to think that in some cases the wounding and bleeding were not really
objective facts, but represented to the audience by a species of
hypnotic suggestion. As, however, my visit to Somerset West took place
during the month of Ramazan there was no opportunity of witnessing the
"Khalifa," which would be celebrated during Bairam, the month of
rejoicing which amongst Moslems all the world over succeeds the
self-mortifications of Ramazan. Even if their external observances of
the usages of Islam seem somewhat lax, the Cape Moslems, I found,
faithfully observe the month of abstinence, and I remember talking to a
most intelligent Malay boy, who was working hard as a mason in the full
glare of the midday heat, and was touching neither food nor drink from
sunrise to sunset.
All around were signs and tokens of the war. Large transports lay gently
rolling upon the swell in every direction, and it was said that not less
than sixty ships were lying at anchor together in the bay. H.M.S.
_Niobe_ and _Doris_ faced the town, and further off was stationed the
_Penelope_, which had already received its earlier contingents of Boer
prisoners. It is very difficult, by the way, to understand how some of
these captives contrived later on to escape by swimming to the shore,
for, apart from the question of sharks, the distance to the beach was
considerable.
On land the whole aspect of the streets was changed. Every few yards one
met men in khaki and putties. This cloth looks fairly smart when it is
new and the buttons and badges are burnished; but, after a very few
weeks at the front, khaki uniforms become as shabby as possible. No one
who is going into the firing line has any wish to draw the enemy's fire
by the glint of his buttons or his shoulder-badges, and so these are
either removed or left to tarnish. Nor does khaki--at any rate the
"drill" variety--improve its beauty by being washed. When one has
bargained with a Kaffir lady to wash one's suit for ninepence it comes
back with all the glory of its russet brown departed and a sort of limp,
anæmic look about it. And when the wearer has lain upon the veldt at
full length for long hours together in rain and sun and dust-storm his
kit assumes an inexpressible dowdiness, and preserves only its one
superlative merit of so far resembling mother earth that even the keen
eyes behind the Mauser barrels fail to spot Mr. Atkins as he lies prone
behind his stone or anthill.
As our lumbering cab drove up Adderley Street to the hotel a squadron of
the newly raised South African Light Horse rode past. The men looked
very jaunty and well set up with their neat uniforms, bandoliers and
"smasher" hats with black cocks' feathers. There has never been the
slightest difficulty in raising these irregular bodies of mounted
infantry. The doors of their office in Atkinson's Buildings were
besieged by a crowd of applicants--very many of them young men who had
arrived from England for the purpose of joining. A certain amount of
perfectly good-humoured banter was levelled against these brand-new
soldiers by their friends, and some fun poked at them about their
riding. Occasionally, for instance, a few troopers were unhorsed during
parade and the riderless steeds trotted along the public road at
Rosebank. But certainly the tests of horsemanship were severe. Many of
the horses supplied by Government were very wild and sometimes behaved
like professional buckjumpers; and it is no easy task to control the
eccentric and unexpected gyrations of such a beast when the rider is
encumbered with the management of a heavy Lee-Metford rifle. Since the
day on which I first saw the squadron in question it has passed through
its baptism of fire at Colenso. The Light Horse advanced on the right of
Colonel Long's ill-fated batteries, and was cruelly cut up by a
murderous fire from Hlangwane Hill.
Capetown is not well furnished with places of amusement. There is, it is
true, a roomy theatre, whose manager, Mr. de Jong, sent an invitation
to the staff of the "Pink 'Un" to dine with him and his friends at
Pretoria on New Year's Day! How the Boers must have laughed when they
read of this cordial invitation! During the few days which elapsed
before our ambulance train started for the front we paid a visit to the
theatre, but we found the stage tenanted by a "Lilliputian Company," and
it is always tiresome and distressing to watch precocious children of
twelve aping their elders. One feels all the time that the whole
performance scarcely rises above an exhibition of highly-trained cats or
monkeys, and that the poor mites ought all to be in bed long ago.
Nevertheless, this dreary theatre was, in default of anything better,
visited again and again by British officers and others. A friend of mine
in the Guards told me with a sigh that he had actually watched the
performances of these accomplished infants for no less than seven
nights.
There are several music halls in Capetown. I have visited similar
entertainments in Constantinople, Cairo, Beyrout and other towns of the
East, but I never saw anything to match some of these Capetown haunts
for out-and-out vulgarity. There was, it is true, a general air of
"patriotism" pervading them--but it was frequently the sort of
patriotism which consists in getting drunk and singing "Soldiers of the
Queen". On one occasion I remember a curious and typical incident at one
of these music halls. Standing among a crowd of drunken and half-drunken
men was a quiet and respectable-looking man drinking his glass of beer
from the counter. One of the _habitués_ of the place suddenly addressed
him, and demanded with an oath whether he had ever heard so good a song
as the low ditty which had just been screamed out by a painted woman on
the stage. The stranger remarked quietly that it "wasn't a bad song, but
he had certainly heard better ones," when the bully in front without any
warning struck him a violent blow in the face, felling him to the
ground. A comrade of mine, a Welshman, who was standing near the victim,
protested against such cowardly behaviour, and was immediately set upon
by some dozen of the audience, who savagely knocked him down and then
drove him into the street with kicks and blows. These valiant
individuals then returned and were soon busy with a hiccuping chorus of
"Rule, Britannia". How forcibly the whole scene recalled Dr. Johnson's
words: "Patriotism, sir, is the last resort of a scoundrel".
The Uitlander refugees were numerous in Capetown, and the principal
hotels were full of them. Those whom I happened to meet did not seem at
all overwhelmed by their recent oppression, and some of them contrived
out of their shattered fortunes to drink champagne for dinner at a
guinea a bottle. I do not think that the average Johannesburg Uitlander
impresses the Englishman very favourably. Mining camps are not the best
nurseries for good breeding or nobility of character, and one could not
help feeling sorry that gallant Englishmen were dying by hundreds while
some of these German Jews wallowed in security and luxury. Quite
recently an officer overheard a "Jew-boy" loudly declaring in a shop
that "after all, British soldiers were paid to go out and get shot,"
etc., and in a fit of righteous indignation the Englishman seized the
Semite and threw him out of the door.
English visitors to the Cape who, like myself, wished to contribute our
humble share towards the work of the campaign had several directions in
which to utilise their energies. The Prince Alfred's Field Artillery was
raising recruits, and on the point of leaving for the front for the
defence of De Aar. The Duke of Edinburgh's Rifle Volunteers enlisted men
on Thursday, drilled them day and night, and sent them off on the
Tuesday. This fine corps has, much to its vexation, been almost
continuously employed in guarding lines of communication and protecting
bridges and culverts from any violence at the hands of colonial rebels.
The South African Light Horse has already been mentioned. For those of
us who found it impossible to pledge ourselves for the whole period of
the war, owing to duties at home which could not be left indefinitely,
and who possessed some knowledge of ambulance work, an excellent opening
was found in one of the ambulance corps originated by the Red Cross
Society under Colonel Young's able and energetic management.
Having volunteered for service on one of the ambulance trains and been
accepted, I set off with a corporal to Woodstock Hospital to secure my
uniform and kit. The quartermaster who supplied me was justly annoyed
because some mistake had been made about the hour for my appearance, and
when he rather savagely demanded what sized boots I wore, I couldn't for
the life of me remember and blurted out "nines," whereas my normal
"wear" is "sevens". Instantly a pair of enormous boots and a
correspondingly colossal pair of shoes were hurled at me, while, from
various large pigeon-holes in a rack, bootlaces, socks, putties and
other things were rained upon me. I couldn't help laughing as I picked
them up. Here I was equipped from head to foot with two uniform suits of
khaki--which mercifully fitted well--shirts, boots, shoes, helmet,
field-service cap and other minutiae, and the entire equipment occupied
some four minutes all told. What a contrast to the considerable periods
of time often consumed at home over the colour of a tie or the shape of
a collar!
Shouldering the waterproof kit-bag containing my brand-new garments, and
saluting the irritated officer, I marched off to ambulance train No. 2,
where I speedily exchanged my civilian habiliments for her Majesty's
uniform. The "fall" of my nether garments was not perfect, but on the
whole I was rather pleased with the fit of the khaki, relieved on the
arm with a red Geneva Cross.
One of the two ambulance trains on the western side is manned entirely
by regulars, the other (No. 2) is in charge of an R.A.M.C. officer, but
the staff under him is composed almost wholly of volunteers. This staff
consists of a civilian doctor from a London hospital attached to the
South African Field Force, two Red Cross nurses from England, a staff
sergeant, two corporals, a couple of cooks and ten "orderlies" in charge
of the five wards.
Introductions to my comrades followed. We were certainly one of the
oddest collection of human beings I have ever come across. Our pursuits
when not in active service were extremely varied--one of our number was
an accountant, another a chemist, a third brewed beer in Johannesburg, a
fourth was an ex-baker, and so on. We were, on the whole, a very
harmonious little society, and it was with real regret that I left my
comrades when I returned to England. At least four of our number were
refugees from Johannesburg, and very anxious to return. These
unfortunates retailed at intervals doleful news about well-furnished
houses being rifled, Boer children smashing up porcelain ornaments and
playfully cutting out the figures from costly paintings with a pair of
scissors, and grand pianos being annexed to adorn the cottages of Kaffir
labourers. Another member of our little society had a very fair voice
and good knowledge of music, for in the days of his boyhood he had sung
in the choir of a Welsh cathedral; since that time he had practised as a
medical man and driven a tramcar. The weather was very trying sometimes
and J----, our Welsh singer, had acquired an almost supernatural skill
in leaping from the train when it stopped for a couple of minutes,
securing a bottle of Bass and then boarding the guard's van when the
train was moving off. On one of these successful forays I saw J---- send
three respectable people sprawling on their backs as he violently
collided with them in his desperate efforts to overtake the receding
train. The victims slowly got up and some nasty remarks about J---- were
wafted to us over the veldt. We had a couple of cooks. One of them was
an American who had served in the Cuban war, the other a big Irishman
called Ben. The American _chef_, being the only man out of uniform on
the train, had access to alcoholic refreshments at the stations, which
were very properly denied to the troops, and he rejoiced exceedingly to
exercise his privilege. He could sleep in almost any position, and
generally lay down on the kitchen dresser without any form of pillow, or
slept serenely in a sitting posture with his feet elevated far above his
head.
We steamed away from the Capetown station in the afternoon. The regular
service had to a large extent been suspended, and here and there
sentries with fixed bayonets kept watch over the government trains as
they lay on the sidings. If it was thought prudent to guard trains from
any injury in Capetown itself, one can realise the absolute necessity of
employing the colonial volunteers in patrolling the long line of some
600 miles from the sea to Modder River.
"Queen Victoria's afternoon tea"--as we called it--was served about
five. The two orderlies for the day brought from the kitchen a huge
tea-urn, some dozen bowls, and two large loaves. We supplemented this
rudimentary fare with a pot of "Cape gooseberry" jam, the gift of a
generous donor, and improved the quality of the tea with a little
condensed milk. Fresh from the usages of a more effete civilisation I
did not feel after two cups of tea and some butterless bread that
"satisfaction of a felt want"--to quote Aristotle--which comes, say,
after a dinner with the Drapers' Company in London, and for two nights I
tore open and devoured with my ward-companion a tin of salmon which I
bought from a Jew along the line. But, strange to say, after a few days
of this _régime_, which in its chronological sequence of meals and its
strange simplicity recalled the memories of early childhood, my
internal economy seemed to have adapted itself to the changed
environment, and after five o'clock with its tea and bread I no longer
wished for more food. Exactly the same experience befalls those
inexperienced travellers in tropical countries who, at first, are
continually imbibing draughts of water, but soon learn the useful lesson
of drinking at meal-time only, and before long do not even take the
trouble to carry water-bottles with them at all.
Our destination was supposed to be De Aar, but nobody ever knew exactly
where we were going or what we were going to do when we got there.
During a campaign orders filter through various official channels, and
frequently by the time they have reached the officer in charge of a
train others of a contradictory purport are racing after them over the
wires. This sort of thing is absolutely unavoidable. Between the army at
the front and the great base at Capetown stretched some 700 miles of
railway, and over this single line of rails ran an unending succession
of trains carrying troops, food, guns, and last, but by no means least,
tons upon tons of ammunition. The work of supplying a modern army in the
field is stupendous, and the best thanks of the nation are due to the
devoted labours of the Army Service Corps. The officers and men of the
A.S.C. work night and day, they rarely see any fighting, and are seldom
mentioned in the public press or in despatches; yet how much depends
upon their zeal and devotion! Amateur critics at home have frequently
asked why such and such a general has not left strong positions on the
flank and advanced into the enemy's country further afield. Quite apart
from the fearful danger of exposing our lines of communication to attack
from a strong force of the enemy, these critics do not seem to possess
the most elementary idea of what is involved in the advance of an army.
How do they suppose hundreds of heavily laden transport waggons are to
be dragged across the uneven veldt, intersected every now and then by
rugged "kopjes" and "spruits" and "dongas"? Ammunition alone is a
serious item to be considered. Lyddite shells, _e.g._, are packed two in
a case: each case weighs 100 lb., and I have frequently seen a waggon
loaded with, say, a ton of these shells, and drawn by eight mules, stuck
fast for a time in the open veldt; the passers-by have run up and shoved
at the wheels and so at last the lumbering cart has jogged slowly on.
This load would probably in action disappear in half an hour; and when
one reflects that in one of our recent engagements each battery fired
off 200 shells, it is easy to understand the enormous weight of metal
which has to follow an army in order to make the artillery efficient,
and to realise how unwilling a general is to leave a railway behind him,
and attempt to move his transport across the uncertain and devious
tracks of an unmapped African veldt. Lord Kitchener's successful march
upon Omdurman was only rendered possible by the fact that the army kept
continuously to the railway and the Nile.
The railway journey northwards is full of interest. Between Capetown and
Worcester the country is well watered and fields of yellow corn
continually meet the eye, interspersed with vines and mealies. Yet here
and there that lack of enterprise which seems to characterise the Dutch
farmer is easily noticeable. Irrigation is sadly neglected and hundreds
of acres which with a little care and outlay would grow excellent crops
are still unproductive.
Soon after leaving Worcester the line rises by steep gradients nearly
2,500 feet. Right in front the Hex River Mountains extend like a vast
barrier across the line and seem to defy the approaching train. But
engineering skill has here contrived to surmount all the obstacles set
up by Nature. The train goes waltzing round the most striking curves,
some of them almost elliptical. Tremendous gradients lead through
tunnels and over bridges, and the swerving carriages run often in
alarming proximity to the edge of precipitous ravines. What a splendid
position for defensive purposes! Had the present war been declared three
weeks earlier De Aar would have been quite unable to stand against the
Boers, and thus the enemy might with his amazing mobility have made a
swift descent along the railway and occupied the Hex River pass. Out of
this position not all the Queen's horses and all the Queen's men would
have dislodged him without enormous loss. With the armed support of all
the Dutch farmers from Worcester to the Orange River, a Boer occupation
of this strong position would have been a terrible menace to Capetown
itself. As it is, shots are occasionally fired at trains as they run
northward from Worcester, and as a few pounds of dynamite would wreck
portions of the Hex River line for weeks the government patrols in this
locality cannot be too careful.
Our first passage through the Karroo was by night, but during the busy
days of service which followed we frequently saw this dreary expanse of
desert in daylight. Some mysterious charm, hidden from the eyes of the
unsympathetic tourist, dwells in the Karroo. The country folk who
inhabit these vast plains all agree that to live in them is to love
them. Children speak of the kopjes as if they were living playmates, and
farmers grow so deeply attached to their waggons and ox teams that Sir
Owen Lanyon's forcible seizure of one in distraint for taxes appeared a
kind of sacrilege in the eyes of the Boers.
At times nothing can be more unlovely than the stony, barren wilderness
of the Karroo. The Sudan desert with its rocky hills and the broad Nile
between the yellow banks is infinitely more picturesque than this vast
South African plain. Still, at certain periods of the day and year the
Karroo becomes less forbidding to the view. Sometimes after heavy rain
the whole country is covered with a bright green carpet, but in summer,
and, indeed, most of the year, the short scrub which here takes the
place of grass is sombre in tint. Nevertheless cattle devour these
apparently withered shrubs with avidity and thrive upon them. Again,
when the warm tints of the setting sun flood the whole expanse of
desert, there is a short-lived beauty in the rugged kopjes with all
their fantastic outlines sharply silhouetted against the glowing sky.
The farms on the Karroo, and, in fact, generally throughout the more
northern parts of the colony, are of surprising size. It is quite common
to find a Dutchman farming some 10,000 acres. Arable land in the Karroo
is of course very rare, and one would think that the "Ooms" and the
"Tantas" and their young hopefuls would have their time fully occupied
even in keeping their large herds and flocks within bounds. One
continually sees half a dozen ostriches stalking solemnly about a huge
piece of the veldt, with no farm-house anywhere in sight, and it is
difficult to understand how these people contrive to catch their
animals.
At the lower extremity of the vast Nieuweveld range which shuts in the
Karroo on the west lies the little township of Matjesfontein, a
veritable oasis in the desert. Here lies the body of the gallant
Wauchope who perished in the disastrous attack on the Magersfontein
trenches. The whole line north of this point was patrolled by colonial
volunteers, amongst whom I noticed especially the Duke of Edinburgh's
Rifles, with gay ribbons round their "smasher" hats. Nothing could be
less exciting or interesting than their monotonous routine of work. We
continually came across a little band of, say, twenty or thirty men and
a couple of officers stationed near some culvert or bridge. Their tents
were pitched on a bit of stony ground, with not a trace of vegetation
near it, and here they stayed for months together, half dead from the
boredom of their existence. Nevertheless such work was quite essential
to the success of the campaign, for the attitude of the Dutch colonists
up-country has been throughout the war an uncertain factor, and if these
long lines of communication had been left unprotected it is more than
likely that our "Tommies'" supplies would not have arrived at the front
with unfailing regularity. As it was, shots were occasionally fired at
the trains, and at one spot we passed a curious incident occurred in
this connection. A patrol suddenly came across a colonist who had
climbed up a telegraph post and was busily engaged in cutting the wires.
"Crack" went a Lee-Metford and the rebel, shot like a sitting bird,
dropped from his perch to the ground. On another occasion we heard a
dull explosion not unlike the boom of a heavy gun, and found a little
later that a culvert had been blown up a few miles ahead of us not far
from Graspan. In short, I do not think that the British public fully
realised the danger threatened by any serious and extensive revolt of
the Dutch colonists. Had the farmers in that vast triangle bounded by
the railway, the coast and the Orange River thrown off their allegiance,
it would have taken many more than 15,000 colonial volunteers to prevent
their mobile commandos from swooping down here and there along this long
line of railway, and utterly destroying our western line of
communication as well as menacing Lord Methuen's forces in the rear.
Whatever may be said or thought of some of Mr. Schreiner's actions, it
is held, and justly held, by level-headed people of both parties at the
Cape, that the continuance in office of the Dutch ministry has
contributed more than anything else to preserve the colony from the
peril of an internal rebellion. For this we cannot be too thankful!
Signs of animal life in the Karroo are few and far between. There are
scarcely any flowers to attract butterflies, and I never saw more than
four or five species of birds. There was one handsome bird, however, as
big as a crow, with black and white plumage--probably the small bustard
(_Eupodotis afroides_)--which occasionally rose from among the scrub and
after a brief flight sank vertically to the ground in a curious
fashion. Sometimes too, at nightfall, a large bird would fly with a
strong harsh note across the stony veldt to the kopjes in the distance.
Of the larger fauna I saw only the springbok. A small herd of these
graceful little creatures were one evening running about the veldt
within 500 yards of the train. On another occasion too, very early in
the morning, one of our two Red Cross nurses was startled by the sudden
appearance of a large baboon which crept down a gully near
Matjesfontein--the only one we ever saw.
Between Matjesfontein and the great camp of De Aar there is little to
interest or amuse the traveller. The only town which is at all worthy of
the name is Beaufort West, nestling amid its trees, a bright patch of
colour amid the neutral tints of the hills and surrounding country. Here
reside many patients suffering from phthisis, for the air is dry and
warm and the rainfall phenomenally small. But after all what a place to
die in! Rather a shorter and sweeter life in dear England than a cycle
of Beaufort West!
As we steamed into De Aar the sun had set, and all the ways were
darkened, so, after a vain attempt to take a walk about the camp after
the regulation hour, 9 P.M.--an effort which was checked by the
praiseworthy zeal of the Australian military police--we returned to the
train. Here I was greeted to my amazement by the notes of an anthem, "I
will lay me down in peace," sung very well by our Welsh ex-choir-boy and
two other members of the corps, who nevertheless did not lay them down
in peace or otherwise till the small hours of the morning.
Next day we rose early, but found that we should have to spend five or
six days at De Aar. This news was not at all pleasant. I have been in
many dreary and uninteresting spots in the world, _e.g._, Aden or Atbara
Camp, but I have never disliked a place as much as I did De Aar. The
whole plain has been cut up by the incessant movement of guns, transport
waggons and troops, and the result is that one is nearly choked and
blinded by the dense clouds of dust. Huge spiral columns of sand tear
across the plain over the tops of the kopjes, carrying with them scraps
of paper and rubbish of all sorts. The irritation produced by the
absorption of this permeating dust into the system militates to some
extent against the rapid recovery of men who suffer from diseases like
dysentery or enteric fever. It travels under doors and through window
sashes, and a patient is obliged, whether he will or no, to swallow a
certain amount of it daily. Nevertheless the South African dust does not
appear to be so bacillus-laden as, _e.g._, that of Atbara Camp, which,
amongst other evil effects, continually produced ulceration in the mouth
and throat.
De Aar lies in the centre of a large plain, shut in on every side by
kopjes. In fact its position is very similar indeed to that of
Ladysmith. The hills on the east and west were always held by pickets
with some field guns belonging to the Royal Artillery and the Prince
Alfred's Artillery Volunteers. A much loftier line of kopjes to the
north was untenanted by the British, but any approach over the veldt
from the north-east was blocked by several rows of shelter trenches and
a strongly-constructed redoubt with wire entanglements, ditch, and
parapet topped with iron rails. Signallers were continually at work, and
at night it was quite a pretty sight to watch the twinkling points of
the signal lights as they flashed between the tents on the plain and the
distant pickets on the tops of the kopjes. Boers had been seen to the
east and on the west; some at least of the Dutch colonists were in open
revolt; so officers and men were always prepared at a moment's notice to
line the trenches for defence, while the redoubts and the batteries on
the hills were permanently garrisoned.
Everybody loathed De Aar. With the exception of some feeble cricket
played on some unoccupied patches of dusty ground, and a couple of
shabby tennis courts, usually reserved for the "patball" of the local
athletes of either sex, there was absolutely nothing to do, and we were
too far off Modder River to feel that we were at all in the swim of
things. The heat was sometimes appalling. On Christmas day the
temperature was 105° in the shade, and most people took a long siesta
after the midday dinner and read such odds and ends of literature as
fell into their hands.
We train people, of course, read and slumbered in one of the wards,
while our comrades under canvas lay with eight heads meeting in the
centre of a tent and sixteen legs projecting from it like the spokes of
a wheel. Mercifully enough scorpions were few and far between at De Aar,
so one could feel fairly secure from these pests. How different it was
in the Sudan campaign, especially at some camps like Um Teref, where
batches of soldiers black and white came to be treated for scorpion
stings, which in one case were fatal. _A propos_ of reading we were
wonderfully well provided with all manner of literature by the kindly
forethought of good people in England. The assortment was very curious
indeed. One would see lying side by side _The Nineteenth Century_, _Ally
Sloper's Half Holiday_, and the _Christian World_. This literary
syncretism was especially marked in the mission tent at De Aar, where
the forms were besprinkled with an infinite variety of magazines and
pamphlets--to such an extent indeed that in some cases the more vivid
pages of a _Family Herald_ would temporarily seduce the soldier's mind
from the calmer pleasures of Mr. Moody's hymn book, and those who came
to pray remained to read.
In the evening about 5 o'clock, when the rays of the setting sun were
less vertical and the cool of the evening was not yet merged in the
chill of the night, we sallied out for a stroll. Everybody walked to and
fro and interchanged war news--such as we had!--and mutual condolences
about the miseries of our forced inaction at De Aar. Canteens were
opened in the various sections of the camp, and long columns of
"Tommies" stood with mess-tins, three abreast, waiting their turn to be
served, for all the world like the crowd at the early door of a London
theatre. The natural irritability arising from residence in De Aar,
added to the sultry heat and one's comparative distance from the canteen
counter, frequently caused quarrels and personal assaults in the swaying
column. But those who lost their temper generally lost their places too,
and the less excitable candidates for liquor closed up their ranks and
left the combatants to settle their differences outside.
Non-commissioned officers enjoyed the privilege of entering a side door
in the canteen for their beer, and thus avoided the crush: and one of my
comrades cleverly but unscrupulously secured a couple of stripes somehow
or other and, masquerading as a corporal, entered the coveted side door,
and brought away his liquor in triumph.
Apart from these liquid comforts, which were, very properly, restricted
in quantity, those of us who possessed any ready money could purchase
sundry provisions at two stores in De Aar. The volunteers were paid at
the rate of 5s. a day, which seems a very high rate of pay when one
remembers that the British soldier, who ran much greater risk and did
more actual fighting, received less than 1s. Of course there were
volunteers here and there like myself who possessed some means of our
own and so thought it right and proper to return our pay to the Widows'
and Orphans' Fund, but nevertheless I fail to see why we should be paid
at this exorbitant rate. The most glaring instances of over-paid troops
were the Rimington Scouts, who actually received 10s. a day and their
rations. One trembles to think of the bill we shall all have to pay at
the close of the campaign!
The articles most in request at De Aar were things like "Rose's lime
juice cordial," Transvaal tobacco, cigarettes, jam, tinned salmon,
sardines, etc. Now it happened that the entire retail trade of the place
was in the hands of two Jewish merchants. The more fashionable of the
two shops took advantage of our necessities and demanded most exorbitant
prices for its goods. "Lime juice cordial," _e.g._, which could be got
for 1s. 6d. or 1s. 3d. in Capetown, was sold for 2s. 6d. and 3s. at De
Aar, and the other charges were correspondingly high. Nemesis, however,
overtook the shopman, for the camp commandant hearing of his evil deeds
placed a sentry in front of the store and so put it out of bounds. He
held out for a couple of days, while his more reasonable if less
pretentious rival flourished exceedingly, but a daily loss of £200 is
too severe a tax on the pertinacity of a Jew, or indeed of anybody, so
the rival tariffs were arranged on similar lines, and the sentry sloped
rifle and walked off. The mission workers at De Aar--some excellent
people--dwelt in two railway carriages on a siding. There were, I think,
two ladies and a gentleman. They worked exceedingly hard and their
mission tent was generally well filled. It is astonishing what keenness
is evoked by evangelical services with "gospel hymns". We all sang a
hymn like "I _do_ believe, I _will_ believe," with an emphasis which
seemed to imply that the effort was considerable, but that nobody, not
even a Boer commando, could alter our conviction. Many of the
hymns--poor doggerel from a literary point of view--were sung to
pleasing tunes wonderfully well harmonised by the men's voices. Then
there was a brief address by a young man with a serious and kindly face,
and this was succeeded by a series of ejaculatory prayers taken up here
and there by the men. It was a strange and impressive spectacle to see a
soldier rise to his feet, his beard rough and unkempt, his khaki uniform
all soiled and bedraggled, and forthwith proceed to utter a long prayer.
Such prayers were largely composed of supplications on behalf of wives
and families at home, and one forgot the bad grammar, the rough accent
and the monotonous repetition in one's sympathy for these honest fellows
who were not ashamed to pray.
Would we Churchmen had more enthusiasm and courage in our teaching and
our methods! This was the quality that enabled the infant church to
emerge from its obscure dwelling in a Syrian town and spread all the
world over. It is this warmth of conviction which lent fortitude to the
martyrs of old time, and at this moment breathes valour into our brave
enemies. But where is such vital enthusiasm to be found in the Church of
England? In one of our cathedrals we read the epitaph of a certain
ecclesiastic: "He was noticeable for many virtues, and sternly repressed
all forms of religious enthusiasm". History repeats itself, and for
manly outspeaking on great questions of social and political importance
the laity are learning to look elsewhere than to the pulpit. Oh! for one
day in our National Church of Paul and Athanasius and Luther, men who
spoke what they felt, unchecked by thoughts about promotion and
popularity and respectability. Enthusiastic independence is as unpopular
in religion as it is in politics; and the fight against prejudice and
unfairness is often exceeding bitter to the man who dares to run his
tilt against the opinion of the many. The struggle sometimes robs life
of much that renders it sweet; nevertheless it may help to make history
and will bring a man peace at the last, for he will have done what he
could to leave the world a little better than he found it. These good
mission-folk looked after our physical as well as our spiritual
necessities. They had annexed a small house and garden just opposite
their tent, and here we could buy an excellent cup of tea or lemonade
for one penny, as well as a variety of delectable buns, much in request.
So pressing was the demand for these light and cheap refreshments that
the supply of cups and glasses gave out, and the lemonade was usually
served out in old salmon or jam tins. Very often, after a couple of
hymns and, perhaps, a prayer, we went across and finished up the evening
with a couple of buns and a cup of tea. One of my ambulance comrades,
an ex-baker from Johannesburg, was extremely good in helping on the
success of the refreshment bar, and frequently stood for hours together
at the receipt of custom. The returns were very large. One day, I
remember, they amounted to £22 in pennies: this would mean, I think, on
a low estimate, that something like 1,500 soldiers used the temperance
canteen on that evening. Apart from this enterprising work, private
gifts in the way of fruit occasionally arrived on the scene, and I well
remember one day when almost every "Tommy" one met carried a pine apple
in his hands. In addition to such pleasures of realised satisfaction we
enjoyed the pleasures of anticipation; for was not her Gracious
Majesty's chocolate _en route_ for South Africa? The amount of interest
exhibited in the arrival of these chocolate boxes was amazing. Men
continually discussed them, and a stranger would have thought that
chocolate was some essential factor in a soldier's life, from which we
had, by the exigencies of camp life, been long deprived! As a matter of
fact, portable forms of cocoa are extremely valuable in cases where
normal supplies of food are cut off. Every soldier on a campaign carries
in his haversack a small tin labelled "emergency rations". This cannot
be opened unless by order from a commanding officer and any infraction
of the rule is severely punished. At one end of the oblong tin are "beef
rations," at the other "chocolate rations," enough to sustain a man amid
hard and exhausting work for thirty-six hours. The chocolate rations
consist of three cubes and can be eaten in the dry state; once, however,
I came across a spare emergency tin, and found that with boiling water a
single cube made enough liquid chocolate for ten men, a cup each. People
make a great fuss in England if they don't get three or four meals a
day, but a healthy man can easily fight with much less nourishment than
this. I have seen Turkish troops during the Cretan insurrection live on
practically nothing else than a few beans and a little bread, and on
this meagre and precarious diet they fought like heroes. In the Sudan a
few bunches of raisins will keep one going all day. At the same time,
these things are to some extent relative to the individual. I have known
huge athletic men curl up in no time because they couldn't get three
meals a day on a campaign, whereas others, of half their build and
muscle, may bear privations infinitely better. It is annoying to find
here and there in the newspapers querulous letters from men at the front
complaining that plum puddings and sweetmeats haven't reached them, and
that their Christmas fare was only a bit of bully beef and a pint of
beer. These men don't represent the rank and file of the army a bit. The
English soldier is better fed and clothed and looked after than any
other fighting man in the world, except possibly the American, and the
manly soldier is not in the habit of whining after the fashion of these
letters because he doesn't get quite as good a dinner on the veldt as he
does in the depôt at home.
The military authorities at De Aar exercised the utmost stringency in
refusing permission to unauthorised civilians to stay in the camp or
pass through it. These regulations were absolutely necessary. The
country round De Aar was full of Dutchmen, who were, with scarcely an
exception, thoroughly in sympathy with the enemy, and throughout the
campaign, at Modder River, Stormberg, the Tugela, and even inside
Ladysmith and Mafeking spies have been repeatedly captured and shot.
Some of the attempts by civilians to get through De Aar without adequate
authorisation were quite amusing. I remember a particularly nice Swedish
officer arriving one night, equipped after the most approved fashion of
military accoutrements--Stohwasser leggings, spurs, gloves, etc., but
his papers were not sufficient for his purpose, and charm he never so
wisely, the camp commandant politely but firmly compelled him to return
to Richmond Road, which lay just outside the pale of military law.
Another gentleman, well known in England, failed in his first effort to
penetrate the camp on his way northwards, but succeeded finally in
reaching De Aar by going up as an officer's servant!
The run from De Aar to Belmont is about 100 miles. The ambulance train
arrived there on the evening of the battle, and the staff on board
found plenty of work ready for them. The wounded men were all placed
together in a large goods' shed at the station. They lay as they were
taken from the field by the stretcher-bearers. Lint and bandages had
been applied, but, of course, uniforms, bodies and even the floor were
saturated with blood. Such spectacles are not pleasing, but nobody ever
thinks about the unaesthetic side of the picture when busily engaged in
helping the wounded. "The gentleman in khaki," poor fellow, has often
precious little khaki left on him by the time he reaches the base
hospital. When the femoral artery is shot through one does not waste
time by thinking of the integrity of a pair of trousers--a few rips of
the knife and away goes a yard or two of khaki. If the cases had not
been so sad we should often have laughed at the extraordinary appearance
of some of the men. One soldier, for example, was brought into our train
with absolutely nothing on him except one sleeve, which he seemed to
treasure for the sake of comparative respectability! Wounded men
frequently lose so much blood before they are found that their clothes
become quite stiff, and the best thing to do is to cut the whole uniform
off them and wrap them in blankets.
Perhaps it is worth while writing a few words about the general method
pursued in the collection and treatment of our wounded men. In a frontal
attack upon a position held in force by the enemy, our men advance in
"quarter column," or other close formation, till they get within range
of the enemy's fire. They then "extend," _i.e._, every man takes up his
position a few paces away from his neighbour, and in all probability
lies or stoops down behind whatever he can find, at the same time
keeping up an incessant riflefire on the enemy. Far behind him, and
usually on his right or left, the artillerymen are hard at work sending
shell after shell upon the trenches in front. Every now and then the
infantrymen run or crawl forward fifty or sixty yards, and thus
gradually forge ahead till within two hundred yards of the enemy, when
with loud cheers and fixed bayonets they leap up and rush forward to
finish off the fight with cold steel.
Even from this skeleton outline it is easy to see that the wounded in a
battle like Belmont and Graspan are all over the place, though the
motionless forms grow more numerous the nearer we get to the enemy's
lines. Now, strictly speaking, stretcher-bearers ought not to move
forward to the aid of the wounded _during the battle_. The proper period
for this work is two hours after the cessation of hostilities. But
in almost every engagement of the present campaign our stretcher-bearers
with their officers have gallantly advanced during the progress of the
fighting and attended to the wounded under fire. Such plucky conduct as
this merits the warmest praise. In the non-combatant, who has none of
the excitement bred of actual fighting to sustain him, it requires a
high decree of courage to kneel or stoop when every one else is lying
down, and in this exposed position first to find the tiny bullet
puncture, and then bandage the wound satisfactorily. Many and many a
life has been saved by this conduct on the part of our medical staff,
for if an important artery is severed by a bullet or shell-splinter a
man may easily bleed to death in ten minutes. I have myself on one
occasion in Crete seen jets of blood escaping from the femoral artery of
a Turkish soldier, without being able to render him any assistance. In
short, it is believed that quite three-fifths of those who perish on a
battle-field die from loss of blood. In some cases a soldier may, by
digital pressure or by improvising a rough tourniquet, check the flow of
blood from a wound, but the nervous prostration which accompanies a
wound inflicted by a bullet travelling nearly 2,000 feet a second is so
great, that most men seriously wounded are physically incapable of
rendering such assistance to themselves, even if they understand the
elementary amount of anatomy requisite for the treatment.
At the same time it is only fair to point out that stretcher-bearers who
advance during an engagement and render this gallant assistance to the
wounded do so entirely at their own risk and must take their chance of
getting hit. Complaints have been from time to time made, by persons who
did not know the circumstances, that our stretcher-bearers have been
shot by the Boers. If this took place during an action no blame can
fairly attach to the enemy, for in repelling an attack they cannot of
course be expected to cease fire because stretcher-bearers show
themselves in front. The hail of bullets comes whistling along--ispt,
ispt, ispt--and everywhere little jets of sand are spurting up. Can we
wonder if now and then a stretcher-bearer is struck down? To put the
case frankly--he is doing a brave work, but he has no business to be
where he is. It is easy to see why the usages of war do not permit the
presence of ambulance men in the firing line. Quite apart from the
serious losses incurred by so valuable a corps, advantage might be taken
by an unscrupulous enemy to bring up ammunition under cover of the Red
Cross.
It is no easy task in the dark or in a fading light to find the
khaki-clad figures lying prone upon the brown sand. But when the wounded
are discovered the ambulance man finds out as quickly as he can the
position and nature of the wound, and a "first aid" bandage or a rough
splint is applied. The sufferer is raised carefully upon a stretcher or
carried off in an ambulance waggon to a "dressing-station" somewhere in
the rear. If there are not enough stretchers, or the wound is merely a
slight one, the disabled soldier is borne away on a seat made of the
joined hands of two bearers. A second row of ambulance waggons is loaded
from the dressing-station--each waggon holds nine--and goes lumbering
off to the field hospital. Here the men are laid on the ground with
perhaps a waterproof sheet under them and a blanket over them. The
R.A.M.C. officers come round, select certain cases for operation, and
see to the bandaging and dressing of the others. Finally one of the
ambulance trains arrives, about 120 men are packed in it and it steams
off rapidly to some base hospital at Orange River, De Aar, Wynberg or
Rondebosch.
Any detailed account of Lord Methuen's battles lies outside the scope of
this little volume, and the British public know already practically all
that can be known about the general plan of such engagements as Belmont,
Graspan and Modder River.
Belmont is an insignificant railway station lying in the middle of as
dreary a bit of veldt as can well be imagined. A clump of low kopjes run
almost parallel to the railway on the right, and to ascend these hills
our men had to advance over an absolutely level plain devoid of any
cover save an occasional big stone or an anthill (precarious rampart!)
or the still feebler shelter of a bush two feet high. In their
transverse march our men had to cross the railway, and lost considerably
during the delay occasioned by cutting the wire fences on either side to
clear a way for themselves and the guns.
The Boers did not apparently intend to make any serious stand against
Lord Methuen's column at Belmont. The fight was little else than an
"affair of outposts" on their side and it seems very doubtful if more
than 800 of the enemy had been left for the defence of the position.
Their horses were all ready, as usual, behind the kopjes, and when our
gallant men jumped up with a cheer and for the last 100 yards dashed up
the rough stony slope in front, very few Boers remained. Most of them
were already in the saddle, galloping off to Graspan, their next
position. The unwounded Boers who did remain remained--nearly all of
them--for good; rifle bullets and shrapnel and shell splinters are
deadly enough, but deadliest of all is the bayonet thrust. So much
tissue is severed by the broad blade of the Lee-Metford bayonet that the
chances of recovery are often very slight. As volunteer recruits know
sometimes to their cost, the mere mishandling of a bayonet at the end of
a heavy rifle may, even amid the peaceful evolutions of squad drill,
inflict a painful wound. When the weapon is used scientifically with the
momentum of a heavy man behind it, its effects are terrible. Private St.
John of the Grenadiers thrust at a Boer in front of him with such force
that he drove not only the bayonet, but the muzzle of the rifle clean
through the Dutchman. St. John was immediately afterwards shot through
the head and lay dead on the top of the kopje, side by side with the man
he had killed.
When our train, after its journey to Capetown, next returned to Belmont,
few signs of the recent engagement were visible. The strands of wire
fencing on either side the line were cut through here and there, and
twisted back several yards where our fifteen-pounders had been galloped
through to shell the retreating Boers. Now and again the eye was caught
by little heaps of cartridge cases marking the spot where some soldier
had lain down.
Less pleasant reminiscences were furnished by the decomposing bodies of
several mules, and four or five vultures wheeling over the plain. Some
enthusiasts on our train had on the previous journey cut off several
hoofs from the dead mules as relics of the fight. Our under-cook had
secured a more agreeable souvenir of Belmont in the shape of a small
goat found wandering beside the railway. This animal now struts about a
garden in Capetown with a collar suitably inscribed around its neck, and
the proud owner has refused a £10 note for it. Before their abandonment
of the position the enemy had hurriedly buried a few of their dead, but
it is very difficult to dig amongst the stones and boulders, and the
interment was so inadequate that hands and feet were protruding from the
soil. In fact several of our men whose patrol-beat covered this ground
told me it was terribly trying to walk among these rough and ready
graves in the heat of the day.
Along the whole line from Belmont northwards and to some distance
southwards the telegraph lines had been cut by the Boers. Not content
with severing the wires here and there, they had cut down every post for
miles along the railway. I wondered what the grinning Kaffirs thought of
such a spectacle; here were the white men, the pioneers of
enlightenment, engaged in cutting each other's throats and destroying
the outward signs of their civilisation! Perhaps it is worth mentioning
that native opinion in Cape Colony has, as far as can be judged from the
native journal _Imvo_, been decidedly against us in the present war.
This is a factor which must be reckoned with as regards the question
whether or no blacks shall be armed and permitted to share in the
fighting. Of course it seems at first sight perfectly fair to give the
Zulus or Basutos the means of defending themselves from cattle-raiding
Boers, but if you once arm a savage there is a very real danger of his
getting out of control, and Zulus might make incursions into the Free
State or Basutos into Cape Colony. From such things may we be preserved!
There is an intensely strong feeling amongst colonial Englishmen as well
as Dutchmen--much more intense than anything we feel at home--against
the bringing of natives into a quarrel between white men.
The train soon traverses the distance between Belmont and Graspan. None
can wish to linger on this journey, for the surrounding region is dreary
and forbidding. The everlasting kopje crops up here and there, looking
like--what in fact it is--a mere vast heap of boulders and stones from
which the earth has been dislodged by the constant attrition of wind and
rain. The hillocks in the Graspan district are by no means lofty--none
of them seemed to get beyond a few hundred feet--but beyond Modder River
the big kopje on the right which was seamed with Boer trenches must be,
I should guess, well over six hundred feet from the plain. A large
proportion of the kopjes in this part of the country have absolutely
flat tops--why, I cannot imagine--and the whole appearance of the
country suggests at once the former bed of an ocean. _A propos_ of
geology, I once in camp came across a sergeant who was surrounded by a
little band of privates, deeply interested in his scientific remarks,
which began as follows: "Now, some considerable time before the Flood,
Table Mountain was at the bottom of the sea, for sea shells are found
there at the present day, etc." It is quite a mistake to suppose that
the soldier cares for none of these things. As a "Tommy" myself I had
some unique opportunities of learning what they talked about and how
they talked, and certainly the subjects discussed sometimes covered a
very big field. I have heard a heated discussion as to the position of
the port of Hamburg, and was finally called on to decide as arbitrator
whether this was a Dutch or German town. Theological discussions were
also by no means infrequent. One of my comrades insisted with a fervour
almost amounting to ferocity upon the reality of "conversion," and was
opposed by another whose tendencies were more Pelagian, and who went so
far as to maintain that no one would employ the services of a
"converted" man if he could secure one who was "unconverted". The amount
of bad language evoked in the course of this theological argument was
extraordinary. Such acrimonious discussions as these acted, however, as
a mere foil to our general harmony, and a common practice on an evening
when we had no wounded on our hands was to start a "sing-song". The
general tone of these concerts was decidedly patriotic. "God save the
Queen" and "Rule Britannia" were thrown in every now and then, but
seldom, if ever, I am glad to say, that wearisome doggerel "The
Absent-Minded Beggar". It is quite a mistake, by the way, to suppose
that Mr. Kipling's poetry is widely appreciated by the rank and file of
the army. From what I have noticed, the less intelligent soldiers know
nothing at all about Mr. Kipling's verses, while the more intelligent of
them heartily dislike the manner in which they are represented in his
poems--as foul-mouthed, godless and utterly careless of their duties to
wives and children. I remember a sergeant exclaiming: "Kipling's works,
sir! why, we wouldn't have 'em in our depôt library at any price!" Of
course it would be ridiculous to maintain that many soldiers do not use
offensive language, but the habit is largely the outcome of their social
surroundings in earlier life and is also very infectious; it requires
quite an effort to refrain from swearing when other people about one are
continually doing this, and when such behaviour is no longer viewed as a
serious social offence. As to Mr. Atkins' absent-mindedness I shall have
a word to say later on.
In addition to the National Anthem and "Rule Britannia," we had, of
course, "Soldiers of the Queen," and a variety of other less known
ballads which described the superhuman valour of our race, and deplored
the folly of any opposition on the part of our enemies even if they
outnumbered us by "ten to one". One of our cook's greatest hits was a
song entitled "Underneath the Dear Old Flag". In order to furnish a
touch of realism the singer had secured a small _white_ flag which
floated on the top of our train; but he never seemed to realise the
incongruity of waving this peaceful emblem over his head as he thundered
out his resolve "to conquer or to die".
Just below Graspan Station the Boers had made one of their many attempts
to wreck the line. They had torn up the metals and the sleepers, and a
good many bent and twisted rails lay beside the permanent way. But this
sort of injury to a railway is very speedily set right. In an hour or
two a party of sappers can relay a long stretch of line if no culverts
or bridges are destroyed. Mishaps to the telegraph are still more easily
repaired, and already, side by side with the wreckage of the original
wires, the piebald posts of the field telegraph service ran all along
the lines of communication.
Here and there Kaffir families sat squatting about their primitive huts,
or kept watch over flocks of goats and sheep. Ostriches stalked solemnly
up to the railway and gazed at the train, and sometimes their curiosity
cost them the loss of a few tail feathers if we could get a snatch at
them through the wire railings. On one occasion a soldier attempting to
take this liberty with an ostrich was turned upon by the indignant bird,
and a struggle ensued which might have proved serious to the man; he
was, however, lucky enough to get a grip on the creature's neck and
succeeded by a great effort in killing it. Ordinarily, however, the
ostriches, despite an occasional surrender of tail feathers, lived on
terms of amity with our men, and at Belmont they were to be seen walking
about the camp and concealing their curiosity under a great show of
dignity. During the fight one of these birds took up its quarters with a
battery, and watched the whole battle without taking any food, except
that on one occasion when a man lit his pipe the bird suddenly reached
out for the box of lucifers and swallowed it with great gusto.
It was curious to notice a variety of chalk marks upon some of the ant
hills on the battle-field. The Boers had carefully measured their ground
beforehand, as we did at Omdurman, and knew exactly how to adjust their
sights as we advanced against their position. The battle of Graspan
consisted, as at Belmont, in a frontal attack upon a line of kopjes held
by a much larger force of the enemy than was present at the earlier
engagement. Lord Methuen succeeded in working his way to the foot of the
kopjes, and a final rush swept the Boers away in headlong flight. His
victory would have been much more complete had the cavalry succeeded in
cutting off the enemy's retreat, but this was not done.
We brought back a load of wounded men from this fight. The corps which
suffered most heavily was the naval brigade, composed of 200 marines and
50 bluejackets. It is worth mentioning the numbers here, because I have
seen several accounts of this fight in which the gallantry of the
"bluejackets" is spoken of in the warmest terms with absolutely no
mention of the marines. Correspondents, some of them without any
previous knowledge of military matters, repeatedly single out certain
regiments and corps for special mention, even when these favoured
battalions have not taken any leading part in the battle. We have, of
course, had the case of the Gordons at Dargai--who ever hears of any
other regiment popularly mentioned in this connection? Again, at the
battle of Magersfontein the Gordons were not amongst the Highland
battalions which bore the full brunt of that awful fusilade, yet various
English newspapers singled them out for special mention. I speak in this
way not because I am at all lacking in appreciation for the valour and
dash of both Gordons and "bluejackets," but simply because other
regiments who have often done as good or even better work--in special
cases--bitterly resent the unfair manner in which their own achievements
are sometimes slurred over in the press. Needless to say these
thoughtless reports are due almost entirely to journalists and would be
repudiated by none more keenly than the gallant men of the Gordon
Highlanders and the Royal Navy.
At the battle of Graspan the marine brigade left their big 47 guns in
the rear and advanced as infantry to the frontal attack. At 600 yards
from the Boer lines the order was given to fix bayonets: the brigade
then pushed forward for fifty yards further, when it was met by a storm
of Mauser bullets, which had killed and wounded no less than 120 out of
the 250 before the survivors reached the foot of the kopjes. It is
extremely difficult to clamber up the rough sides of an African kopje.
To do it properly one needs india-rubber soles or bare feet, for boots
cause one to slip wildly about on the smooth, rough stones. By the time
our men had got to the summit of the low ridge the Boers had leapt upon
their horses and were already nearly 1,000 yards away. Our gallant
fellows were out of breath with the arduous climb, and as it is almost
impossible to do much effective shooting when one is "blown," and the
cavalry had not appeared on the scene, the enemy got off nearly scot
free.
Amongst a number of wounded men brought down by our train from Modder
River was a private of that fine corps, the R.M.L.I., who had, after
passing through the perils of Graspan, suffered an extraordinary
casualty at the Modder River fight. He was standing near one of the 47
guns which was firing Lyddite shells at the enemy's trenches. Suddenly
the force of the explosion burst the drum of his right ear and, of
course, rendered him stone deaf on that side. He was an excellent
fellow, very intelligent and well informed, and I hope by this time the
surgeons at Simon's Bay naval hospital have provided him with an
artificial ear-drum. This marine had, as said above, come out of the
awful fire at Graspan unscathed, but I counted no less than _five_
bullet holes in his uniform; two of them were through his trousers, two
had pierced his sleeves, and the other had passed through his coat just
to the left of his heart!
The kopjes which were ultimately carried by the gallantry of our troops
at Graspan had been subjected to an awful shell fire before the infantry
attack. Nevertheless, the enemy was able to meet the advance with a
rifle fire which swept our men down by scores. On the right of the naval
brigade there was a little group of nineteen men, of these one only
remained! The Boers exhibited here, as elsewhere, the most marvellous
skill in taking advantage of cover. These farmers lay curled up behind
their stones and boulders while shrapnel bullets by thousands rained
over their position, and common shell threw masses of earth and rock
into the air. Then at the moment when the artillery fire was compelled
to cease, owing to the near approach of our infantry, the crafty
sharp-shooters crawled out of their nooks and crannies and used their
rifles with deadly precision and rapidity.
On this point--the general ineffectiveness of artillery fire when the
enemy possesses good cover--the history of modern warfare repeats
itself. The Russian bombardments of Plevna were quite futile, and
General Todleben acknowledged that it sometimes required a whole day's
shell fire to kill a single Turkish soldier. At the fight round the
Malaxa blockhouse in Crete, at which I was present, the united squadrons
of the European powers in Suda Bay suddenly opened fire on the hill and
the village at its foot. In ten minutes from eighty to one hundred
shells came screaming up from the bay and burst amongst the insurgents
and their Turkish opponents. We all of us--on the hill and in the
village--bolted like rabbits and took what cover we could. The total net
casualties from these missiles--some of them 6-inch shells--were, I
believe, three, all told.
Some of those amateur critics at home who write indignant letters about
the War Office labour under a twofold delusion. They frequently ask
indignantly how it is that our guns have been outclassed by those of the
Boers? As a matter of fact in almost every engagement of the present
campaign our artillery has been superior to that of the enemy; but, of
course, the artillery of a defending force, well posted on rising
ground, possesses enormous advantages over that of the assailants, who
have frequently to open fire in open and exposed positions easily swept
by shrapnel fire from guns, which, hidden amid trenches and rocks, are
often well-nigh invisible.