_JOHANNESBURG AND PRETORIA IN OUR HANDS_
In all operations up to this point Lumsden’s Horse, with Loch’s Horse
and companies of the West Riding and Oxfordshire Light Infantry, forming
the 8th Mounted Infantry Regiment, under Colonel Ross, had, with other
corps of Colonel Henry’s brigade, been so actively engaged scouting
ahead of the main column with which Lord Roberts moved, that they had
neither time nor opportunity to know what was being done by other
divisions of the army. It is necessary, therefore, to explain briefly
here the general dispositions for an advance on Pretoria at the moment
when Lord Roberts crossed Vaal River into Transvaal territory. Since
they marched out of Kroonstad the troops, whose advance was most
direct—following the line of railway with slight divergences—had covered
just a hundred miles in four days. Mounted troops, being employed to
reconnoitre on each flank and keep up communications along their front,
almost doubled that distance. In face of such a rapid advance the Boer
commandos which had dispersed after their evacuation of Kroonstad found
a difficulty in concentrating for the defence of any strategic points.
They were evidently puzzled by the sudden mobility of British forces,
and, what with Methuen marching for the west, French’s Cavalry making a
dash for the drifts at Parys and Reitzburg, as if Potchefstroom were
their objective, the main column pushing along beside the railway for
Viljoen’s Drift, and Ian Hamilton marching as if for Engelbrecht’s Drift
on the Heilbron-Heidelberg road, the Boer commandants could not agree as
to which point would most likely be threatened first or at which they
might make a stand with the greatest chance of success. Hasty
preparations were made by them with a view to checking General Ian
Hamilton, whom they credited with a design on Heidelberg and the Eastern
railways. Possibly that, combined with a great movement in force upon
the junctions outside Johannesburg, might have been the shortest way to
end the war, because, as we know now, the Boer Generals attached very
little importance to the defence of their big towns, while they realised
fully all the strategical advantages of free communication between
Pretoria and the eastern districts; and President Kruger especially was
anxious to keep open a line by which prominent members of his
Administration might be able to get away with a sufficient store of
bullion for private and political uses at the last moment. The defenders
of Engelbrecht’s Drift, however, waited in vain watching the trap they
had laid for General Ian Hamilton. His line of march had been suddenly
changed by orders from Lord Roberts, and, instead of crossing the Vaal
where he was expected, east of Vereeniging, he had made a rapid march
westward to strike the river between General French’s Cavalry and the
main body, leaving our right flank to be guarded by General Gordon with
the 3rd Cavalry Brigade. With regard to all this and the ceremony at
Viljoen’s Drift, when Lord Roberts proclaimed the annexation of Orange
Free State to the British Crown, Lumsden’s Horse knew nothing at the
time. Content with their own share of the good work that had been
accomplished, they were consoling themselves by the prospect of at least
one day’s well-earned rest for men and horses. But that good fortune was
not to be theirs after all. Colonel Lumsden, continuing his official
record, explains how these pleasant hopes were dashed:
The 27th dawned, the horses were turned out to graze, leave was given
for men to go into town, and general cleaning up began, when suddenly
at 10.30 A.M. we had an order to move at once to help the 3rd Cavalry
Brigade under General Gordon, who was reported to be in a tight corner
to the north-east. Horses were caught, saddles put on, and we were
away by 11, with no rations for man or horse. The rest of the brigade
joined in four miles further on. All proceeded with every precaution
through a difficult bit of trappy country, arriving about 4.30 P.M. at
the drift where General Gordon was supposed to be stuck up. There no
signs of him could be seen, so we made tracks back to a point four
miles north of Vereeniging, where we were to have joined our column,
when it camped there that night. We struggled on until, our horses
giving out, the whole brigade bivouacked at 8 P.M., having put behind
us some seven miles of our return journey, and having done quite
twenty-five miles. Lieutenant Neville, with a guide, was sent in to
headquarters for instructions, and returned at 3 A.M. with the order
that our brigade was to come on at once and resume its position in
front of the headquarters, leading the army. By 4 A.M. we were away
again in the bitter frosty cold, leading our starved horses, the sun
rising as we waded a nasty drift over the Klip. We reached our place
in the advance guard at 7, in the nick of time, just as all had begun
to move off, and were at once pushed on three miles at a trot ahead of
everything, fighting being expected at the notorious Klip River
position. No Boers, however, were seen. The country was ablaze with
the burning veldt, which the Boers had set fire to systematically as
they went, and the Klip River was gained without a shot. There were
sounds of heavy fighting, however, in the hills on our left, where
French and Hamilton were forcing back the enemy on Johannesburg.
[Illustration: LIEUTENANT G.A. NEVILLE.]
With an editorial desire to link the separate operations into one chain,
I may here describe from personal experience what happened away on that
left flank where French and Hamilton were hotly engaged with the
outposts of a Boer force, whose object in holding the high kopjes
between Gatsrand and Klipriviersberg was obviously to force upon us a
wider flanking movement, by which the western columns would be further
separated from the main body and thus unable to co-operate with it
effectively. It is improbable that Louis Botha had any hope of being
able to defeat the British forces in detail by delivering a
counter-stroke on each column in turn. It is far more likely that his
idea even at that period was to lengthen out the British line of
communications as far as possible, thus weakening it by attenuation and
making it more vulnerable to attacks by small raiding parties.
Co-operating with him was Christian De Wet, to whom such a plan would
have been sure to commend itself as offering a chance for numbers of
Free-Staters to slip through the girdle that was gradually closing about
them, re-cross the Vaal, and harass their enemies on ground where local
knowledge would give them every advantage.
On this supposition the resistance offered to General French some
twenty-five miles north-west of Vereeniging had peculiar interest for
me, because I watched the operations there with some foreknowledge of
the probable Boer tactics gained in a curious way. Four days earlier I
had breakfasted at a farm next to Christian De Wet’s, not far from
Rodewal station. The farmer invited myself and a companion into his
house, above which a white flag was flying, and when told that this was
our Queen’s birthday he produced a bottle of whisky with which to drink
to Her Majesty’s health, which we did readily enough, although he
declined to join us. There was no unfriendliness or want of hospitality
in that, and, indeed, we should have mistrusted the man if he had put on
a pretence of loyalty because he had been induced to hoist the white
flag as an emblem of neutrality. There were no troops at that moment
nearer than Lumsden’s Horse, who could be seen on the sky-line about
four miles westward, moving towards Vredefort Road Station.
From that direction presently came a young Boer well mounted but
unarmed. His wary movements at first seemed to indicate that he had no
desire to be seen by our troops, but our host explained that the road
took many turns and twists which might puzzle a stranger. The horseman
was evidently not well pleased to find Englishmen at the farm, but this
we, being somewhat vain, attributed to jealousy, seeing that the youth
and our host’s comely daughter were exchanging glances in which there
might have been a world of other meaning, though we suspected it not. We
knew instinctively that they were not quite strangers, but there were no
signs of friendly recognition in our presence. After a brief
conversation, carried on between the young man and the farmer aside,
though neither of us could have understood the taal they talked, our
host came forward and explained that his neighbour was simply riding
from one farm to another, where the family had all surrendered and
obtained their permits to live in peace. There was nothing to be done
then except shake hands and part, but the next day my Basuto servant,
who, having lived in Johannesburg, had a wholesome dread of Boer
sjamboks, gave me a full interpretation of what he had overheard the
young man say in that neighbourly talk with our burgher friend. The
burden of it was that this guileless youth, Ferreira by name, had been
sent by Christian De Wet to let everybody know why the Free State
commandos were retiring with Botha’s Transvaalers instead of defending
their own homesteads. It was only to lure the English on to destruction,
and Christian De Wet promised that he would slip back again in a day or
two to Rodewal and play Old Harry with the invaders.
Up to the time of joining General French’s force in the afternoon of May
28 I had regarded this as a vain boast. A closer study of Boer tactics,
however, was enough to show what they were playing for, and I watched
with some apprehension our Cavalry moving westward in vain attempts to
outflank the mobile Boers, who were galloping from kopje to kopje on one
side of a vast dam fringed by treacherous mires which French’s squadrons
could not cross. Ian Hamilton meanwhile conformed to this movement
without getting touch of the enemy or drawing near to their stronghold,
which was obviously on the frowning crest of Klipriviersberg (shortened
by the Boers colloquially to Riviersberg).
Being alone, and far from my supplies, I slept supperless that night in
a deserted Boer store, for the sake of such shelter as a wall and roof
might give from a keen icy wind that swept in gusts through the broken
windows. I had neither overcoat nor blanket, and saw nothing to lie on
but a filthy floor or the bare laths of a rickety iron bedstead. I chose
the latter. Having been in the saddle from 5 in the morning until 10 at
night, with the exception of necessary halts for my horse to graze, I
was soon oblivious to the discomfort of that rude couch, and, for all I
knew, my pillow might have been softest down instead of hard
saddle-flaps. But long before daybreak the cravings of a hunger that had
only been tantalised by coffee and biscuit twenty-four hours earlier
awoke me to a consciousness that my limbs were aching with cold and sore
from the chafing of those sharp-edged laths. Striking a light, I looked
at the little thermometer attached to my wallet, and found that it
registered ten degrees of frost. More sleep was not to be thought of, so
I groped through the darkness to a stall only less draughty than the
store I had slept in, found my horse shivering there, rubbed him down
with a wisp of straw, by way of restoring his circulation and my own,
and waited for the dawn. Then I found my way across vleis and spruits to
where General Ian Hamilton’s force was moving off through dense mists
from Cyferfontein to attack the Boer position on Riviersberg. When the
rising sun dispelled those mists the Gordons and City Imperial
Volunteers were spread out in thin lines stretching fan-like across a
segment of the veldt, and so they went on hour after hour without
finding any sign of Boers. The pangs of hunger being all-potent, I rode
off in search of a farm, hoping also to come across another British
column within a few miles. After an hour or more I was gladdened by the
sight of Haartebeestefontein Farm standing in the midst of green
mealie-patches and belted about by eucalyptus trees—the very picture of
peace. At that moment four Boers drove out from the farm-yard in a
well-horsed Cape cart, but made no sign at sight of me except by driving
the faster. They needn’t have been in such a hurry to get away from an
unarmed and famished Englishman, who had not one comrade within miles.
But luckily they didn’t know.
Though French’s Cavalry had been at the farm a day before me and
ransacked the Veldt-Cornet’s deserted house, in search of any documents
that might have been left there, ducks were swimming in a pond close by
and fowls cackling about the sheds from which some Kaffirs presently
appeared. To my request, for bread or eggs or milk they had but one
answer, ‘Ikona.’ The sight of a loaded revolver might have produced some
effect, but, having none, I dismounted and made a systematic search. If
food in any shape was there it must have been very cleverly hidden.
Finding not so much as a bundle of oat-hay for my horse to nibble at, I
rode on across ridge and hollow another five miles or so, and then came
upon a little dorp or hamlet, from which all the inhabitants except a
Dutch schoolmaster and his wife had disappeared. They declared that not
a scrap of food had been left behind. But the good vrau gave me a cup of
excellent coffee, and with thanks for the best of hospitality, which
gives all it can, I jogged along another league or two, following the
straight road towards Johannesburg and expecting every minute to fall in
with the rearguard of a column going that way. All the while I had not
seen a single soldier or the trace of an iron-shod hoof that was not at
least a day old. The unmistakable marks of ‘ammunition’ boots were not
there, and neither horse nor man had left footprints on tracks where the
morning’s thaw had softened them. At last from a rugged ridge I saw
smoke curling up from houses among the trees that marked the course of a
river some two miles ahead. Not caring much by that time whether Britons
or Boers might be in those houses, I rode straight for the nearest of
them, which turned out to be a farm in the barn of which I saw much
forage.
Evidently none of our mounted troops had been there, but it was too late
to think of turning back. That, in all probability, would have brought a
Mauser bullet whistling about my ears. ‘Bluff’ was the only game to play
in such circumstances, so I called to a Kaffir servant, told him to
fetch forage for my horse, and then swaggered towards the house as if I
had been a Staff officer with a whole regiment at my back. On the stoep
a bearded Boer met me. He had been lying prone on ground where rhenoster
bushes grew. Their burrs were still sticking to his serge jacket, the
left elbow of which was stained by the red earth on which it had rested,
and his right thumb was black with a coating of burnt melinite. I saw it
all as he raised one hand in a sort of half-military salute, and
extended the other to welcome me, and in that moment I knew he had just
come down from Riviersberg heights for lunch in the intervals of
fighting. So, still playing an assumed part, I asked what weapons he
had, and he brought me a well-worn Martini-Henry; but that was not what
I wanted. After some show of misunderstanding the Boer brought his wife,
who talked English fluently enough, and when I had explained to her the
awful consequences of concealing arms or ammunition from a British
officer, holding plenary powers of punishment, there was no necessity
for saying any more. Without even waiting for my words to be
interpreted, her husband went out and came back with a Mauser rifle, the
fouling of which was still moist round its breech-chamber, and a
bandolier half full of cartridges. These I took charge of, not knowing
what I should do with them if a Boer commando happened to come that way.
As to British troops—well, at any rate, I had no hesitation in assuring
the Boer that his household would be safe from them. I did not think it
necessary to add that none would be likely to come anywhere near him. In
return for my leniency (save the mark!) he suggested something that had
been in my mind all the while, and thereupon his good wife brought a
deliciously white loaf and milk that was fragrant in its freshness. She
was sorry that they ‘had nothing better to offer.’ Nothing better!
Heavens, how sweet it tasted! Yet I was restrained from eating or
drinking much by the thought that any show of my famished state would
give me away. It was difficult to parry all questions concerning the
number of troops I had with me, so I said that my men must have found a
lot of arms to collect or they would have been there sooner. Upon that
the Boer volunteered information as to the number of rifles which could
possibly be in farms or cottages round about. All this information I
noted down ostentatiously, wondering as I did so how on earth I should
get out of the hole into which circumstances were thrusting me deeper
and deeper.
At that moment, as luck would have it, two West Australians of the 4th
Regiment M.I. turned up, and, leaving them to collect the arms of which
such careful note had been made, and to eat the remnants of my
unfinished meal I mounted to ride off in quest of their main body,
taking care, however, to command proper protection for the house in
which I had been so hospitably entertained. ‘Well played,’ said one,
with much outward show of respect, as he produced a bottle of brandy
from the ample pocket of his ‘coat British warm,’ and offered me a nip.
I saw that he, at any rate, understood the game. At Eikenhof Drift I
found the main body which turned out to be no more than a patrol. Its
appearance drew fire from the Boers, who were apparently holding that
road into Johannesburg strongly. They began to show in groups of twenty
and thirty on kopjes where no sign of them had been seen before, and
were evidently meditating a movement by which the drift might have been
outflanked. To prevent this Major Pilkington, who was in command,
detached some men from his scanty force to hold two smaller fords, and
in a short time there were several casualties from rifle fire at short
range. Just then we could hear the roar of guns where General Ian
Hamilton was attacking miles away on the left. Hard pressed, yet
determined to hold on where he was, Major Pilkington had not a galloper
whom he could send with a message to his divisional General, Pole-Carew.
I volunteered to carry it, and started for a ride of twenty miles across
unknown country, making sure that I should hit off some column within
that distance. But all the troops under the immediate command of Lord
Roberts had been following the line of railway—where their front was
cleared by the 8th Mounted Infantry, with which were Lumsden’s Horse and
other regiments of Colonel Henry’s brigade—in a turning movement, the
extent of which will be appreciated after perusal of the preceding
narrative. I had ridden a distance that would have measured nearly
thirty miles from point to point without seeing more than a small patrol
of British troops. That night, or early the next morning, when Major
Pilkington had withdrawn his small force, a thousand Free State Boers
crossed Eikenhof Drift and got in rear of the British columns to rejoin
De Wet. Meanwhile, with French or Hamilton on the west, and in advance
of the main body on the east, deeds were being done that sealed the fate
of Johannesburg and Pretoria. Lumsden’s Horse took a full share of
honours that day, though their Colonel does not descant upon these at
great length in his official report, but contents himself with the
following record:
On the 29th we marched at 5.30, expecting to arrive after ten miles at
Natal Spruit, where fighting was certain. Our maps and information
were, however, wrong, for we found ourselves most unexpectedly in
sight of the place with the smoke of the train leaving the station.
We were sent to endeavour to cut it off as it wound about the kopjes,
and had a very exciting gallop of three miles, blowing up the railway
behind the train. Again we pushed on to try and cut her off at the
next big bend, but again were too late, and ran into the fire of a
party covering the retreat of the train.
We then took up a position commanding the railroad, while under
Colonel Ross’s orders a party of five men was sent to block the line
at any cost. This very dangerous task was given to Lieutenant Pugh and
the undermentioned men, who carried it out with great determination
and coolness: Privates Turner, Were, Dagge, and Parks.
An officer of high rank, whose opportunities of knowing what happened
give especial value to his testimony, says:
On May 29 the 8th Mounted Infantry were ordered to move from Klip
Drift to cut the Natal Railway line, the Springs line (the main line
north of Elandsfontein), and the telegraph wires at important points.
When near the junction of Natal and Free State lines we saw a
train-load of burghers from Natal passing northwards to where, beyond
the junction, the railway runs from a broad valley into one of several
converging kopjes through a deep cutting in the steep and rugged
hillside. With the object of heading off that train as it slackened
speed on a stiff gradient, Lumsden’s Horse made a great gallop up the
valley towards a point where it narrows to a neck, from which the
hills rise abruptly on each side. Their course for two or three miles
was over rough ground parallel to the railway and nearly midway
between it and a branch of Natal Spruit. They were unable, however, to
arrive in time, and the Boers, detraining, occupied a kopje just above
the railway cutting, the gorge and banks of which they could command
from the ridge above and from a ganger’s hut, which they also held in
force. Thus they had the railway between them and Lumsden’s Horse, and
seemed in a good position for sweeping all approaches to it by an
effective rifle fire. Lumsden’s Horse dismounted in the hollow and
advanced against that kopje.
It was, however, necessary to destroy the line, and the Engineer
officer who accompanied the force for the purpose of blowing up the
line was not handy. Lieutenant Pugh, with four men, then volunteered
to get into the cutting at its deepest point and either block or break
it. As the Boers were holding the ganger’s hut close to this point, it
was a warm corner! However, Pugh and his party reached the line. The
four men covered his further advance from the edge of the embankment
whilst he descended into the cutting. Having nothing wherewith to
break the line, he effectually blocked it with a number of huge
boulders—quite sufficient to stop any train passing through. This
occupied some time, and his covering party were pretty busy with the
Boers at the hut, who were at first inclined to run in on him. But as
one or two of them paid dearly for their temerity, their efforts
ceased, so that Pugh and his party were enabled to retreat from their
little picnic without loss. Pugh is now a D.S.O.
It was a long and hard day that 29th of May; the 8th Mounted Infantry
were under fire from 7 A.M. till 9 P.M. Lumsden’s Horse were among the
_few_ troops in at the finish on the hill north of Elandsfontein,
where the parting duel was fought with the Boers as they retreated.
All the lines were cut. The consequent bag was fourteen engines and
over 400 waggons—not a bad day’s work. Even Lord Kitchener is reported
to have ‘smiled’ when he heard the news.
[Illustration:
_Photo: Harrington & Co._
LIEUTENANT H.O. PUGH, D.S.O.
]
This incident is described with further detail in a private letter by
Lieutenant Pugh, who, modestly minimising his own share in a very
hazardous enterprise, writes:
Yesterday our orders were to take Elandsfontein, cut the wires and
blow up the railway, and to do the same at Germiston. The first
excitement began at Elsburg, where we saw a train going out of the
station. Seeing it was on the move, we sent some men to try to cut it
off, but it went back up an angle like the Darjiling train. There was
another angle, and we galloped about three miles to that part, but the
train was too fast and went round a kopje, where its occupants
evidently got out and opened fire on us. If we had known the line we
would have got that train easily by going to the left instead of to
the right. While we were dismounted and firing an order came for six
men to rush for the line and try to block it. The Colonel passed on
for the six men at the end to go. It happened to be partly my section
and partly No. 4. One man could not find his horse, so I went off with
four men and galloped right up to the railway and under the
embankment. It was held by a fairly strong picket, who luckily did not
fire till we were under cover. I put two men on to fire at that
picket, of which three were hit—the range was only about fifty
yards—and the other two on to about 100 on our left front 200 or 300
yards off. We were also fired at from a kopje on our right. The picket
presently cleared, and I made a rush for the line: it was in a cutting
and out of the fire. I rolled some boulders on the lines, and on
getting back found a pretty hot fire had opened on us from behind: it
turned out to be one of our own Maxims. We mounted and galloped back
without a scratch.
Colonel Ross’s orders then were to push on and support the 4th Mounted
Infantry, who held a kopje on our right. Here we lay for two hours,
our position overlooking the Boksburg railway station, supported by
two Colt guns from Ross’s Battery, which kept up a steady fire in
answer to the enemy’s shells and bullets until their retirement. We
then continued the turning movement to the right and took possession
of the station, halting there for a few minutes to re-form, while the
Royal Engineer Company attached to us for the purpose blew up the line
at this point. One of our sailors, Private Dexter, swarming up the
telegraph post, cut all communication with Springs. At the time we and
a company of Compton’s Horse were the only troops up, and, being
reinforced by two companies of the 4th Mounted Infantry, which were
placed under my orders, we were told to proceed with all speed due
west to blow up the Pretoria line, which we should find four miles on.
We succeeded in doing this, but too late to cut off one train, which
just evaded us, our horses being too done to go faster than a modest
trot. We again halted a few minutes, facing a long kopje in front of
us.
[Illustration:
WALTER DEXTER, D.C.M., B Company,
cutting the telegraph wires at Elandsfontein
(_From a sketch by J.S. Cowen_)
]
Colonel Lumsden adds:
While the Royal Engineer Company were busy blowing up the railway at
this point, Captain Rutherfoord on the left, with our scouts, with his
usual keenness soon came in touch with those of the enemy, and a brisk
fire ensued on both sides, Captain Rutherfoord holding his position
until I was able to reinforce him on his right flank. Colonel Ross
soon hurried up further reinforcements on his left, which enabled us
to hold the kopje and forced the enemy to fall back on the convoy they
were covering. As night was approaching, pursuit with our tired horses
was utterly hopeless, and we were ordered to move to our left and
encamp at Germiston, which lay in the hollow behind us. This, being
the junction of railway lines that branch off in several directions,
was the key of the Boer position. Our day’s movements had, however,
been very successful, and Colonel Henry issued a brigade order next
morning saying he had been congratulated by the Commander-in-Chief on
the day’s work; while Colonel Ross was also congratulated on the
prominent part taken by his corps, which resulted in the capture of
fourteen engines and a large quantity of rolling-stock. This was very
pleasant news to us, but the work was telling its tale on the horses,
who were dead beat and fast tumbling to pieces from overwork and want
of food. Our casualty was fortunately only one during the day—namely,
Private J.D. Bewsher, who was shot through the knee while we were
engaging the enemy opposite Boksburg.
Owing to the pace we had travelled and the hilly nature of the
country, our Maxim gun under Captain Holmes, with its escort, had not
come into camp when we retired to bed. The men, as on many previous
occasions, had to turn in without food, and their horses were in the
same plight.
In another action, on the 30th, north of Germiston, Trooper Elwes, son
of the Archdeacon of Madras, was wounded by a bullet through the ankle
and Trooper Radford had his horse shot in two places.
[Illustration:
_Photo: D. Brownsworth_
P.C. PRESTON, D.C.M.
]
Describing Trooper Preston’s adventurous ride with despatches and his
readiness of resource in a difficult situation, another correspondent
writes:
Eight men of Lumsden’s Horse in charge of Sergeant Macnamara were sent
out in a big patrol under Captain Harris, 1st West Riding M.I., with
orders to take the Johannesburg Waterworks. Captain Harris paraded his
sixty men, and chose two of Lumsden’s Horse as his orderlies. We then
rode down the kopjes to the plain below, Compton’s Horse firing over
our heads at the Boers all the time. As we went down we met Trooper
Elwes, No. 2 Section, B Company, being brought in wounded through the
ankle when on patrol with Lieutenant Pugh. About a mile away there was
a farmhouse under the kopje which was held by the Boers; some
Australians with us rushed the place, and captured three Boers and a
waggon of ammunition. After marching about an hour, firing every now
and then and being fired at, we got to the Waterworks on a hill
towering above Johannesburg. The fort is on another hill half a mile
away. It seemed as if trenches had been dug for us round the
Waterworks, high banks of gravel perfectly protecting us. Trooper
Preston, of Lumsden’s Horse, was sent back to Germiston with a
despatch saying the Waterworks were occupied; he was to make the
shortest possible cut, and gallop all the way. This orderly had a very
exciting adventure. His shortest road lay through the outskirts of
Johannesburg. When riding through these streets he saw several Boers
peeping out of their houses, and at one place they actually tried to
stop him. He galloped through them, however; they then shouted out to
know if the English were in Johannesburg yet, and he answered that
they were, knowing that if he said no he would as likely as not be
shot at. They then asked where he was going to, and he said Pretoria.
Thus it was that a man of Lumsden’s Horse was the first, or one of the
first, to enter Johannesburg. A little further the orderly met two
Kaffirs who could talk English, and who told him that among the rocks
on a small kopje on the left of the road was an armed Boer waiting to
shoot him. The orderly was puzzled what to do, as he could see no Boer
behind the rocks; however, he dismounted and advanced on foot towards
the kopje, leading his horse behind him. Having got within speaking
distance of the rocks and still seeing no Boer, he put his rifle to
his shoulder and pointed it at the biggest rock, shouting out, ‘Hands
up, or I fire!’ Immediately two arms were seen above the rock, the
order ‘Hold up your rifle’ was obeyed at once, and the orderly found
he had captured the Boer. About a mile further on he met some
Australians, and having to gallop with the despatch he handed the
prisoner over to them, taking with him the rifle and ammunition. Alas!
at the door of the Colonel’s tent whom should he meet but Lord
Kitchener himself, who, seeing the orderly had two rifles,
commandeered one. Meanwhile the Boers kept up a continuous fire at the
Waterworks. However, several Englishmen and young ladies had climbed
up the hill at the back and brought food and drink for the first of
their countrymen whom they had seen—several of them, while Tommy ate
and drank, firing away with the soldiers’ rifles at the fort. In the
evening Preston brought the message to retire to camp, which was done
in a very orderly fashion, the patrol arriving back soon after dark
with the total casualties of three men wounded, having spent the most
or one of the most exciting and agreeable days in the whole campaign.
Colonel Lumsden describes other incidents in the following passage:
A party of West Riding Regiment’s Mounted Infantry scouting on our
left did not get off so easily, for seeing some men in khaki and
helmets to their front they mistook them for friends, and, getting
within speaking distance, were much surprised to find their morning’s
greetings met with a summons to surrender. Their immediate attempt at
flight resulted in two casualties—one wounded and taken prisoner, the
other, although wounded, getting back to camp. Firing then became
general on our right, where the 3rd Cavalry Brigade was on outpost
duty, and we were hastily summoned to saddle up and reinforce them. We
arrived in time to witness an artillery duel, the Boers retiring
slowly under the fire of the Cavalry pom-poms. The morning’s work,
however, resulted badly for them, they having had sixteen casualties,
which were attended to by our medical officer, Captain Powell, who was
luckily on the spot.
We then returned to camp, and shortly afterwards Captain Holmes came
in with his Maxim gun, reporting that he had lost two of his scouting
party, Privates Cary-Barnard and G.I. Watson, whom he had sent out in
advance while journeying to rejoin us in the early morning. A few
hours afterwards the missing men came into camp, stating that having
been informed that our men were in front they had ridden confidingly
into a body of about fifty men dressed like our own troops in khaki,
thinking they were friends, but were suddenly disillusioned by being
ordered to surrender. Under the conditions attempting to escape on
their worn-out horses was out of the question, and they had no option
but to deliver up their arms. They were cross-questioned as to our
strength and the likely duration of the war. Private Watson, in reply
to the latter question, told the General that he considered fighting
would be over in a few days, a reply that seemed to cause much
amusement. They were then offered the choice of remaining as prisoners
or giving their word of honour that they would fight no more during
this war. They chose the latter, thinking the end was very near.
Next morning, June 1, our orders were to march on Johannesburg, six
miles distant, which we reached unopposed in time to see the Union
Jack hoisted over the Fort, which had been divested of all its guns
except a few rendered useless. We then marched some five miles north
of the city, and camped for two days. On the morning of the 3rd we
marched twelve miles towards Pretoria, meeting no resistance, but
again losing touch with our Maxim, which, being unable to follow us
across country, had to stick to the road, and which we were destined
not to see for several days.
So Lumsden’s Horse had gratified one desire on which their hearts were
set for many months. Their brigade had led the fighting line practically
into Johannesburg, and when the Union Jack was hoisted over its public
buildings they cared nothing for the ceremonial parades, but were only
anxious to take the lead again in a march on Pretoria. With soldier-like
brevity Colonel Lumsden’s chronicle sums up the operations of an
eventful day:
On June 4 we advanced to Six Mile Spruit, again being the foremost
corps of the leading brigade, all anticipating a heavy fight in front
of us, as the spruit was said to be our enemy’s last position and
likely therefore to be desperately contested. These prognostications
were not, however, realised. Careful reconnaissance showed that there
were no Boers at the spruit. We then proceeded leisurely up the chain
of hills beyond it, concluding they were not held, but with every
precaution against the unexpected. It was not until midday that we
came in touch with the enemy, who opened on the 4th Mounted Infantry
on our right with shell fire. We were then pushed forward to take a
commanding kopje, and got a smart peppering from a few snipers hidden
in the rocks on our left flank, but had no casualties, though the
bullets were falling thickly among us as we crossed the open.
It now became evident that the enemy’s main position was on our left,
and I was ordered to occupy a ridge about one mile distant in that
direction, opposite a steep kopje about 1,000 yards off held by the
Boers. Here they were beautifully entrenched and kept up a steady fire
on our line, which we returned with interest, until aid arrived in the
shape of three fifteen-pounders on the right, two pom-poms on our
left, and three Colt guns in the centre. These searched the ridge for
some hours without dislodging the Boers, whose trenches must have been
admirably constructed, as a move on our part from one rock to another
was sufficient to draw a hail of bullets, while we were unable to spot
a single Boer.
Here Private Charles E. Stuart was wounded by a bullet through the
ankle, but was unable to be removed from the firing line until the
fire slackened late in the afternoon, when a kind friend carried him
down on his back to the ambulance tonga at the foot of the hill.
At about 4 P.M. the enemy’s fire began to dwindle, and eventually
ceased altogether, and just as we meditated leaving our ridge to cross
over to theirs our Infantry became visible, advancing from westward
along the ridge which the enemy had occupied, while to our right
front, some two miles off, more British Infantry appeared on the sky
line, showing that the Boer position had been quitted. At this period
our Brigadier’s orders came for us to retire from the kopje and make
our bivouac for the night somewhere on the plain below.
June 5 was the day on which we reached the goal we had been struggling
for. Pretoria at last, not fighting our way in, as anticipated by
everybody, but forming a peaceful procession, with our baggage behind
us, news having arrived that the Governor had surrendered the town
late the previous night.
We were not allowed to halt, but just passed through the city and out
to Irene, a station ten miles south of Pretoria and on the
Johannesburg line, which we at present occupy, the whole corps
protecting the rail from Pretoria to Johannesburg.
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Footnote 9:
Hindustani for ‘fowls.’—ED.
Footnote 10:
Hindustani for ‘orders.’—ED.
Footnote 11:
Hindustani for ‘blunder.’—ED.
Footnote 12:
See Appendix IV.—ED.
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