ENNUI ENLIVENED BY SUDDEN DEATH
LADYSMITH, _November 15, 1899_.
This drama is getting too long for the modern stage, and so far the
Dutch have obeyed none of the dramatic rules. To-day was one monotony of
rain, and may be blotted out from the memory of all but the men who lay
hour after hour miserably soaking upon the edges of the hills. After the
early morning not a shell was fired. The mist was too thick to allow
even of wild shots at the town.
I had another try at getting a Kaffir runner to carry a telegram through
to Estcourt.
_November 16, 1899._
The sun came back to cheer us up and warm our bones. At the Liverpools'
picket, on the Newcastle road, the men at six o'clock were rejoicing in
a glorious and soapy wash where the rain had left a pool in a quarry.
The day passed very quietly, shells only falling on an average of one
every half-hour. Unhappily a shrapnel scattered over the station,
wounded three or four natives, and killed an excellent railway guard--a
sharp fragment tearing through his liver and intestines. There was high
debate whether the shell was thrown by "Silent Susan," or what other
gun. Some even stuck out for "Long Tom" himself. But to the guard it
makes no difference, and he was most concerned.
Relief was to have come to us to-day for certain, but we hear nothing of
it beyond vague rumours of troops at Estcourt and Maritzburg. We are
slowly becoming convinced that we are to be left to our fate while the
main issue is settled elsewhere. Colonel Ward has organised the
provisions of the town and troops to last for eighty days. He is also
buying up all the beer and spirits, partly to cheer the soldiers' hearts
on these dreary wet nights; partly to prevent the soldier cheering
himself too much.
In the evening I sent off another runner with a telegram and quite a
mail of letters from officers and men for their mothers', wives, and
lovers over seas. He was a bony young Kaffir, with a melancholy face,
black as sorrow. At six o'clock I saw him start, his apish feet padding
through the crusted slush. One pocket bulged with biscuits, one with a
tin of beef. Between his black chest and his rag of shirt he had tucked
that neat packet which was to console so many a woman, white-skinned and
delicately dressed. Fetching a wide compass, he stole away into the
eastern twilight, where the great white moon was rising, shrouded in
electric cloud.
_November 17, 1899._
A few shells came in early, and by nine o'clock there was so much firing
on the north-west that I rode out to the main position of the 60th
(King's Royal Rifles) on Cove Hill. I found that our field battery there
was being shelled from Surprise Hill and its neighbour, but nothing
unusual was happening. The men were in a rather disconsolate condition.
Even where they have built a large covered shelter underground the wet
comes through the roof and trickles down upon them in liquid filth. But
they bear it all with ironic indifference, consoling themselves
especially with the thought that they killed one Boer for certain
yesterday. "The captain saw him fall."
Crossing the open valley in front I came to the long ridge called
Observation Hill. There the rifle fire hardly ever ceases. It is held by
three companies of the K.R.R. and the 5th Lancers dismounted. It looks
out over the long valley of Bell's Spruit; that scene of the great
disaster where we lost our battalions, being less than three miles away
at the foot of the rugged mountain beyond--Surprise Hill. Close in front
is one of the two farms called Hyde's, and there the Boers find shelter
at nights and in rain. The farm's orchard, its stone walls, the rocks,
and all points of cover swarm with Boer sharpshooters, and whenever our
men show themselves upon the ridge the bullets fly. An immense quantity
of them are lost. In all the morning's firing only one Lancer had been
wounded. As I came over the edge the bullets all passed over my head,
but our men have to keep behind cover if they can, and only return the
fire when they are sure of a mark. I found a detachment of Lancers, with
a corporal, lying behind a low stone wall. It happened to be exactly the
place I had wished to find, for at one end of the wall stood the Lancer
dummy, whose fame has gone through the camp. There he stood, regarding
the Dutch with a calm but defiant aspect, his head and shoulders
projecting about three feet over the wall. His legs were only a sack
stuffed with straw, but round his straw body a beautiful khaki tunic had
been buttoned, and his straw head was protected by a regulation helmet,
for which a slouch hat was sometimes substituted, to give variety and
versimilitude. In his right hand he grasped a huge branch of a tree,
either as rifle or lance. He was withdrawn occasionally, and stuck up
again in a fresh attitude. To please me the corporal crept behind him
and jogged him up and down in a life-like and scornful manner. The hope
was that the Boers would send a bullet through that heart of straw. In
the afternoon they did in fact pierce his hat, but at the time they were
keeping their ammunition for something more definitely human, like
myself. As I retired, after saluting the dummy for his courage, the
bullets flew again, but the sights were still too high.
[Illustration: BULWAN]
On my return to the old Scot's house, I found an excited little crowd in
the back garden. They were digging out an enormous shell which had
plumped into the grass, taking off the Scot's hat and knocking him down
with the shock as it fell. The thing had burst in the ground, and it
was as good as a Chinese puzzle to fit the great chunks of iron
together. At first we could not find the solid base, but we dug it out
with a pick from the stiff, black clay. It had sunk 3 ft. 8 in. down
from the surface, and had run 7 ft. 6 in. from the point of contact. It
was a 45-pounder, thrown by a 4.7 in. gun--probably one of the four
howitzers which the Boers possess, standing half-way down Lombard's Kop,
about four miles away, and is identical with "Silent Susan." But with
smokeless powder it is almost impossible to say where a shot comes from.
"Long Tom" and "Puffing Billy," with their huge volumes of smoke, are
much more satisfactory.
Rain fell heavily for the rest of the day, and the bombardment ended,
but it was bitter cold.
_November 18, 1899._
The bombardment was continued without much energy. The balloon reported
that the Boers were occupied in putting up more guns on Bulwan. Rumour
says there will be thirteen in all, a goodly number for a position which
completely commands the town from end to end. All day the shells had a
note of extra spite in them as they came plunging among the defenceless
houses. But they did no great harm till evening. As a rule the Boers
cease fire about half-past six, and some twenty of us then settled down
to dinner at the hotel--one or two officers, some doctors, and most of
the correspondents. We had hardly begun to-night when a shell from
"Silent Susan" whistled just over the roof and burst in the yard. Within
five minutes came the louder scream of another. It crashed over us,
breaking its way through the hotel from roof to floor. We all got up and
crowded to the main entrance on the street. The shell had struck a
sidewall in the bar, and glanced off through the doorway without
exploding. Dr. Stark, of Torquay, was standing at the door, waiting for
a place at dinner, and talking to Mr. Machugh, of the _Daily Telegraph_.
The shell struck him full in the thigh, leaving his left leg hanging
only by a piece of flesh, and shattering the right just at the knee.
"Hold me up," he said, and did not lose consciousness. We moved him to
the hospital, but he died within an hour. I have little doubt that the
shells were aimed at the hotel, because the Boers know that Dr. Jameson
and Colonel Rhodes are in the town. But the man killed was Dr. Stark, a
strong opponent of the Chamberlain policy, and a vigorous denouncer of
the war's injustice.
The havoc of the siege is gradually increasing, and the prospect of
relief grows more and more distant. Just after midnight the Boers again
aroused us by discharging all their guns into the forts or the town, and
again the people hurried away to their caves and culverts for
protection. The long Naval guns replied, and then all was quiet.
_Sunday, November 19, 1899._
Another day of rest, for which we thank the Fourth Commandment. After
the Sabbath wash, I went up to Cæsar's Camp for the view. On the way I
called in upon the balloon, which now dwells in a sheltered leafy glade
at the foot of the Gordons' hill, when it is not in the sky, surrounded
by astonished vultures. The weak points of ballooning appear to be that
it is hard to be sure of detail as distinguished from mass, and even on
a clear day the light is often insufficient or puzzling. It is seldom,
for instance, that the balloonist gets a definite view towards Colenso,
which to us is the point of greatest interest. I found that the second
balloon was only used as a blind to the enemy, like a paper kite flown
over birds to keep them quiet. Going up to the Manchesters' position on
the top of Cæsar's Camp, I had a view of the whole country almost as
good as any balloon's. The Boer laagers have increased in size, and are
not so carefully hidden.
Beside the railway at the foot of "Long Tom's" hill near Modder Spruit,
there was quite a large camp of Boer tents and three trains as usual.
They say the Boers have put their prisoners from the Royal Irish
Fusiliers here, but it is unlikely they should bring them back from
Pretoria. The tents of another large camp showed among the bushes on
Lombard's Nek, where the Helpmakaar road passes between Lombard's Kop
and Bulwan, and many waggon laagers were in sight beyond. At the foot of
the flat-topped Middle Hill on the south-west, the Boers have placed two
more guns to trouble the Manchesters further. But our defences along the
whole ridge are now very strong.
In the afternoon they buried Dr. Stark in the cemetery between the river
and the Helpmakaar road. I don't know what has become of a kitten which
he used to carry about with him in a basket when he went to spend the
day under the shelter of the river bank.
_November 20, 1899._
"Gentlemen," said Sir George White to his Staff, "we have two things to
do--to kill time and to kill Boers--both equally difficult." The siege
is becoming intolerably tedious. It is three weeks to-day since "Black
Monday," when the great disaster befell us, and we seem no nearer the
end than we were at first. We console ourselves with the thought that we
are but a pawn on a great chessboard. We hope we are doing service by
keeping the main Boer army here. We hope we are not handed over for
nothing to _ennui_ enlivened by sudden death. But the suspicion will
recur that perhaps the army hedging us in is not large after all. It is
a bad look-out if, as Captain Lambton put it, we are being "stuck up by
a man and a boy."
Nothing is so difficult to estimate as Boer numbers, and we never take
enough account of the enemy's mobility. They can concentrate rapidly at
any given point and gain the appearance of numbers which they don't
possess. However, the balloon reports the presence of laagers of ten
commandoes in sight. We may therefore assume about as many out of sight,
and consider that we are probably doing our duty as a pawn.
This morning the Boers hardly gave a sign of life, except that just
before noon "Puffing Billy" shelled a platelayer's house on the flat
beyond the racecourse, in the attempt to drive out our scouts who were
making a defended position of it.
In the afternoon I rode up to the Rifle Brigade at King's Post, above
the old camp, and met Captain Paley, whom I last saw administering a
province in Crete. Suddenly the Boer guns began firing from Surprise
Hill and Thornhill's Kop, just north of us, and the shells passing over
our heads, crashed right into the 18th Hussar camp beside a little
bridge over the river below. Surprise Hill alone dropped five shells in
succession among the crowded tents, horses, and men. The men began
hurrying about like ants. Tents were struck at once, horses saddled,
everything possible taken up, and the whole regiment sought cover in a
little defile close by. Within half an hour of the first shell the place
was deserted. The same guns compelled the Naval Brigade to shift their
position last night. We have not much to teach the Boer gunners, except
the superiority of our shells.
The bombardment then became general; only three Gordons were wounded,
but the town suffered a good deal. Three of "Long Tom's" shells pitched
in the main street, one close in front of a little girl, who escaped
unhurt. Another carried away the heavy stone porch of the Anglican
Church, and, at dinner-time, "Silent Susan" made a mark on the hotel,
but it was empty. Just before midnight the guns began again. I watched
them flashing from Bulwan and the other hills, but could not mark what
harm they did. It was a still, hot night, with a large waning moon. In
the north-west the Boers were flashing an electric searchlight,
apparently from a railway truck on the Harrismith line. The nation of
farmers is not much behind the age. They will be sending up a balloon
next.
_November 21, 1899._
The desultory bombardment went on as usual, except that "Long Tom" did
not fire. The Staff is said to have lost heliographic communication with
the south. To-day they sent off two passenger pigeons for Maritzburg.
The rumour also went that the wounded Dublins, taken to Intombi Spruit,
from the unfortunate armoured train, had heard an official report of
Buller's arrival at Bloemfontein after heavy losses. Another rumour told
that many Boer wives and daughters were arriving in the laagers. They
were seen, especially on Sunday, parading quite prettily in white
frocks. This report has roused the liveliest indignation, which I can
only attribute to envy. In our own vulgar land, companies would be
running cheap excursions to witness the siege of Ladysmith--one shilling
extra to see "Long Tom" in action.
In the morning they buried a Hindoo bearer who had died of pneumonia.
The grave was dug among the unmarked heaps of the native graveyard on
the river bank. It took five hours to make it deep enough, and meantime
the dead man lay on a stretcher, wrapped in a clean white sheet. His
friends, about twenty of them, squatted round, almost motionless, and
quite indifferent to time and space. In their midst a thin grey smoke
rose from a brazen jar, in which smouldered scented wood, spices,
lavender, and the fresh blossom of one yellow flower like an aster. At
intervals of about a minute, one of the Hindoos raised a short, wailing
chant, in parts of which the others joined. On the ground in front of
him lay a sweetly-scented manuscript whose pages he never turned. It was
written in the Oriental characters, which seem to tell either of Nirvana
or of the nightingale's cry to the rose. At times the other friends
tapped gently on three painted drums, hardly bigger than tea cups. The
enemy, seeing from Bulwan the little crowd of us engaged upon a heathen
rite, threw shrapnel over our heads. It burst and sprinkled the dusty
ground behind us with lead. Not one of the Hindoos looked up or turned
his face. That low chant did not pause or vary by a note. Close by, a
Kaffir was digging a grave for a Zulu woman who had died in childbed. In
the river beyond soldiers were bathing, Zulus were soaping themselves
white, and one of the Liverpool Mounted Infantry was trying to prevent
his horse rolling in four feet of water.
_November 22, 1899._
A day only relieved by the wildest rumours and a few shells more
dangerous than usual. Buller was reported as being at Hellbrouw; General
French was at Dundee; and France had declared war upon England. Shells
whiffled into the town quite indiscriminately. One pitched into the Town
Hall, now the main hospital. In the evening "Long Tom" threw five in
succession down the main street. But only one man was killed. A Natal
policeman was cooking his dinner in a cellar when "Silent Susan's" shot
fell upon him and he died. For myself, I spent most of the day on
Waggon Hill west of the town, where the 1st K.R. Rifles have three
companies and a strong sangar, very close to the enemy. I found that, as
became Britons, their chief interest lay in sport. They had shot two
little antelopes or rehbuck, and hung them up to be ready for a feast.
Their one thought was to shoot more. From the hill I looked down upon
one of Bester's farms. The owner-a Boer traitor-was now in safe keeping.
A few days ago his family drove off in a waggon for the Free State.
White were their parasols and in front they waved a Red Cross flag. On a
gooseberry bush in the midst of the farm they also left a white flag,
where it still flew to protect a few fat pigs, turkeys, and other fowl.
The white flag is becoming a kind of fetish. To-day all our white tents
were smeared with reddish mud to make them less visible. Beyond Range
Post the enemy set up a new gun commanding the Maritzburg road as it
crossed that point of hill. The Irish Fusiliers who held that position
were shelled heavily, but without loss.
_November 23, 1899._
The schoolmaster's wife had a fine escape. She was asleep in her bedroom
when a 45lb. shell came through the fireplace and burst towards the
bed. The room was smashed to pieces, but she was only cut about the
head, one splinter driving in the bone, but not making a very serious
wound. Two days before she had given a soldier 10s. for a fragment. Now
she had a whole shell for nothing. At five o'clock "Long Tom" threw
seven of his 96lb. shells straight down the street in quick succession,
smashing a few shops and killing some mules and cattle, but without
further harm. We watched them from the top of the road. They came
shrieking over our heads, and then a flare of fire and a cloud of dust
and stones showed where they fell. At every explosion the women and
children laughed and cheered with delight, as at the Crystal Palace
fireworks.
Both yesterday and to-day the Boers on Bulwan spent much time and money
shelling a new battery which Colonel Knox has had made beside the river
near the racecourse. It is just in the middle of the flat, and the enemy
can see its six embrasures and the six guns projecting from them. The
queer thing is that these guns never reply, and under the hottest fire
their gunners neither die nor surrender. A better battery was never
built of canvas and stick on the stage of Drury. It has cost the
simple-hearted Boers something like £300 in wasted shell.
All day waggons were reported coming down from the Free State and moving
south. They were said to carry the wives and daughters of the Free
Staters driven by Buller from their own country and content to settle in
ours, now that they had conquered it. A queer situation, unparalleled in
war, as far as I know.
In the evening I heard the Liverpools and Devons were likely to be
engaged in some feat of arms before midnight. So I stumbled out in the
dark along the Helpmakaar road, where those two fine regiments hold the
most exposed positions in camp, and I spent the greater part of the
night enjoying the hospitality of two Devon officers in their
shell-proof hut. Hour after hour we waited, recalling tales of Indian
life and Afridi warfare, or watching the lights in the Boer laagers
reflected on a cloudy sky. But except for a hot wind the night was
peculiarly quiet, and not a single shell was thrown: only from time to
time the sharp double knock of a rifle showed that the outposts on both
sides were alert.
_November 24, 1899._
Though there was no night attack a peculiar manoeuvre was tried, but
without success. On the sixty miles of line between here and Harrismith
the Boers have only one engine, and it struck some one how fine it would
be to send an empty engine into it at full speed from our side.
Accordingly, when the Free State train was seen to arrive at the Boer
rail-head some eight miles off, out snorted one of our spare
locomotives. Off jumped the driver and stoker, and the new kind of
projectile sped away into the dark. It ran for about two miles with
success, and then dashed off the rails in going round a curve. And there
it remains, the Boers showing their curiosity by prodding it with
rifles. Unless it is hopelessly smashed up, the Free State has secured a
second engine for the conveyance of its wives and daughters.
It is a military order that all cattle going out to graze on the flats
close to the town should be tended by armed and mounted drivers, but no
one has taken the trouble to see the order carried out. The Empire in
this country means any dodge for making money without work. All work is
left to Kaffirs, coolies, or Boers. Two hundred cattle went out this
morning beyond the old camp, accompanied only by Kaffir boys, who, like
all herdsmen, love to sleep in the shade, or make the woods re-echo
Amarylli's. Suddenly the Boers were among them, edging between them and
the town, and driving the beasts further and further from defence. The
Kaffirs continued to sleep, or were driven with the cattle. Then the
Leicester Mounted Infantry came galloping out, and, under heavy rifle
fire, gained the point of Star Hill, hoping to head the cattle back. At
once all the guns commanding that bit of grassy plain opened on
them--"Faith," "Hope," and "Charity"--from Telegraph Hill, the guns on
Surprise Hill, and Thornhill Kopje, and the two guns now on Bluebank
Ridge. Two horses were killed, and the party, not being numerous enough
for their task, came galloping back singly. Meantime the Boers, with
their usual resource, had invented a new method of calling the cattle
home by planting shells just behind them. The whole enterprise was
admirably planned and carried out. We only succeeded in saving thirty or
forty out of the drove. The lowest estimate of loss is £3,000, chiefly
in transport cattle.
But who knows whether by Christmas we shall not be glad even of a bit of
old trek-ox? Probably the Dutch hope to starve us out. At intervals all
morning they shelled the cattle near the racecourse, just for the sake
of slaughter. To-day also they tried their old game of sending gangs of
refugee coolies into the town to devour the rations. Happily, Sir George
White turned at that, and sent out a polite note reminding the
commandants that we live in a polite age. So in the afternoon the Boers
adopted more modern methods. I had been sitting with Colonel Mellor and
the other officers of the Liverpools, who live among the rocks close to
my cottage, and they had been congratulating themselves on only losing
two men by shell and one by enteric since Black Monday, when they helped
to cover the retirement with such gallantry and composure. I had
scarcely mounted to ride back, when "Puffing Billy" and other guns threw
shells right into the midst of the men and rocks and horses. One private
fell dead on the spot. Three were mortally wounded. One rolled over and
over down the rocks. Several others were badly hurt, and the bombardment
became general all over our end of the town.
_November 25, 1899._
Almost a blank as far as fighting goes. It is said that General Hunter
went out under a flag of truce to protest against the firing upon the
hospital. There were no shells to speak of till late afternoon. Among
the usual rumours came one that Joubert had been wounded in the mouth at
Colenso. The Gordons held their sports near the Iron Bridge, sentries
being posted to give the alarm if the Bulwan guns fired. "Any more
entries for the United Service mule race? Are you ready? Sentry, are you
keeping your eye on that gun?" "Yes, sir." "Very well then, go!" And off
the mules went, in any direction but the right, a soldier and a sailor
trying vainly to stick on the bare back of each, whilst inextinguishable
laughter arose among the gods.
_Sunday, November 26, 1899._
Another day of rest. I heard a comment made on the subject by one of the
Devons washing down by the river. Its seriousness and the peculiar
humour of the British soldier will excuse it. "Why don't they go on
bombardin' of us to-day?" said one. "'Cos it's Sunday, and they're
singin' 'ymns," said another. "Well," said the first, "if they do start
bombardin' of us, there ain't only one 'ymn I'll sing, an' that's 'Rock
of Ages, cleft for me, Let me 'ide myself in thee.'" It was spoken in
the broadest Devon without a smile. The British soldier is a class
apart. One of the privates in the Liverpools showed me a diary he is
keeping of the war. It is a colourless record of getting up, going to
bed, sleeping in the rain with one blanket (a grievance he always
mentions, though without complaint), of fighting, cutting brushwood, and
building what he calls "sangers and travises." From first to last he
makes but one comment, and that is: "There is no peace for the wicked."
The Boers were engaged in putting up a new 6 in. gun on the hills beyond
Range Post, and the first number of the _Ladysmith Lyre_ was published.
_November 27, 1899._
The great event of the day was the firing of the new "Long Tom." The
Boers placed it yesterday on the hill beyond Waggon Hill, where the 60th
hold our extreme post towards the west. The point is called Middle Hill.
It commands all the west of the town and camp, the Maritzburg road from
Range Post on, and the greater part of Cæsar's Camp, where the
Manchesters are. The gun is the same kind as "Long Tom" and "Puffing
Billy"--a 6 in. Creusot, throwing a shell of about 96lbs. The Boers
have sixteen of them; some say twenty-three. The name is "Gentleman
Joe." He did about £5 damage at the cost of £200. From about 8 to 9 a.m.
the general bombardment was rather severe. There are thirty-three guns
"playing" on us to-day, and though they do not concentrate their fire,
they keep one on the alert. This morning a Kaffir was working for the
Army Service Corps (being at that moment engaged in kneading a pancake),
when a small shell hit him full in the mouth, passed clean through his
head, and burst on the ground beyond. I believe he was the only man
actually killed to-day.
A Frenchman who came in yesterday from the Boer lines was examined by
General Hunter. He is a roundabout little man, who says he came from
Madagascar into the Transvaal by Delagoa Bay, and was commandeered to
join the Boer army. He came with a lot of German officers, who drank
champagne hard. On his arrival it was found he could not ride or shoot,
or live on biltong. He could do nothing but talk French, a useless
accomplishment in South Africa. And so they sent him into our camp to
help eat our rations. The information he gave was small. Joubert
believes he can starve us out in a fortnight. He little knows. We could
still hold out for over a month without eating a single horse, to say
nothing of rats. It is true we have to drop our luxuries. Butter has
gone long ago, and whisky has followed. Tinned meats, biscuits,
jams--all are gone. "I wish to Heaven the relief column would hurry up,"
sighed a young officer to me. "Poor fellow," I thought, "he longs for
the letters from his own true love." "You see, we can't get any more
Quaker oats," he added in explanation.
In the afternoon I took copies of the _Ladysmith Lyre_ to some of the
outlying troops. It is but a single page of four short columns, and with
a cartoon by Mr. Maud. But the pathetic gratitude with which it was
received, proved that to appreciate literature of the highest order, you
have only to be shut up for a month under shell fire.
_November 28, 1899._
Hopeful news came of British successes, both at Estcourt and Mooi River.
The relief column is now thought to be at Frere, not far below Colenso.
A large Boer convoy, with 800 mounted men, was seen trending away
towards the Free State passes, perhaps retiring. Everybody was much
cheered up. The Boer guns fired now and then, but did little damage. At
night we placed two howitzers on a nek in Waggon Hill, where the 60th
have a post south-west of the town.
_November 29, 1899._
A few more Kaffirs came through from Estcourt, but brought no later
news. Their report of the fighting on the Mooi River was: "The English
burnt the Dutch like paraffin. The Dutch have their ears down." Did I
not say that Zulu was the future language of opera? Riding past the
unfinished hospital I saw a private of the 18th Hussars cut down by a
shell splinter--the only casualty to-day resulting from several hundred
pounds' worth of ammunition. The two greatest events were, first, the
attempt of our two old howitzers on Waggon Hill to silence the 6 in. gun
on Middle Hill beyond them. They fired pretty steadily from 4 to 5 p.m.,
sending out clouds of white smoke. For their big shells (6.3 in.) are
just thirty years old, and the guns themselves have reached the years of
discretion. They fired by signal over the end of Waggon Hill in front of
them, and it was difficult to judge their effect. The other great event
was the kindling of a great veldt fire at the foot of Pepworth Hill, in
such a quarter that the smoke completely hid "Long Tom" for two or three
hours of the morning. Captain Lambton at once detected the trick, and
sent two shells from "Lady Anne" to check it. But it was none the less
successful. There could be little doubt "Long Tom" was on the move,
"doing a guy," the soldiers said. We hoped he was packing up for
Pretoria.
In the evening Colonel Stoneman held the first of his Shakespeare
reading parties, and again we found how keenly a month of shell-fire
intensifies the literary sense.
_November 30, 1899._
At night the Boer searchlight near Bester's, north-west of the town,
swept the positions by Range Post, the enemy having been informed by
spies (as usual) that we intended a forward movement before dawn. Three
battalions with cavalry and guns were to have advanced on to the open
ground beyond Range Post, and again attack the Boer position on
Bluebank, where there are now two guns. The movement was to prepare the
way for the approach of any relieving force up the Maritzburg road, but
about midnight it was countermanded. Accurately informed as the Boers
always are, they apparently had not heard of this change from any of the
traitors in town, and before sunrise they began creeping up nearer to
our positions by the Newcastle road on the north. They hoped either to
rush the place, or to keep us where we were. The 13th Battery, stationed
at the railway cutting, opened upon them, and the pickets of the
Gloucesters and the Liverpools checked them with a very heavy fire. As I
watched the fighting from the hill above my cottage, the sun appeared
over Bulwan, and a great gun fired upon us with a cloud of purple smoke.
A few minutes after there came the sharp report, the screaming rush and
loud explosion, which hitherto have marked "Long Tom" alone. Our
suspicions of yesterday were true, and Pepworth Hill knows him no more.
He now reigns on Little Bulwan, sometimes called Gun Hill, below
Lombard's Kop. His range is nearer, he can even reach the Manchesters'
sangars with effect, and he is far the most formidable of the guns that
torment us.
[Illustration: HOSPITAL IN TOWN HALL AFTER A SHELL]
All day the bombardment was severe, as this siege goes. I did not count
the shells thrown at us, but certainly there cannot have been less than
250. They were thrown into all parts of the town and forts. No one
felt secure, except the cave-dwellers. Even the cattle were shelled, and
I saw three common shell and a shrapnel thrown into one little herd. Yet
the casualties were quite insignificant, till the terrible event of the
day, about half-past five p.m. During the afternoon "Long Tom" had
chiefly been shelling the Imperial Light Horse camp, the balloon, and
the district round the Iron Bridge. Then he suddenly sent a shell into
the library by the Town Hall. The next fell just beyond the Town Hall
itself. The third went right into the roof, burst on contact, flung its
bullets and segments far and wide over the sick and wounded below. One
poor fellow--a sapper of the balloon section--hearing it coming, sprang
up in bed with terror. A fragment hit him full in the chest, cut through
his heart, and laid him dead. Nine others were hit, some seriously
wounded. About half of them belonged to the medical staff. The shock to
the other wounded was horrible. There cannot be the smallest doubt that
the Boer gunners deliberately aimed at the Red Cross flag, which flies
on the turret of the Town Hall, visible for miles. They have now hit
twenty-one people in that hospital alone. This last shell has aroused
more hatred and rage against the whole people than all the rest of the
war put together. When next the Boers appeal for mercy, as they have
often appealed already, it will go hard with them. Overcome with the
horror of the thing, many good Scots have refused to take part in the
celebration of St. Andrew's Day, although the Gordons held some sort of
festival, and there was a drinking-concert at the Royal. But the dead
were in the minds of all.
About midnight we again observed flash-signaling over the star-lit sky.
It came from Colenso way, and was the attempt of our General to give us
news or instructions. It began by calling "Ladysmith" three times. The
message was in cipher, and the night before a very little of it was made
out. Both messages ended with the words "Buller, Maritzburg." It is said
one of the Mountain Battery is to be hanged in the night for signalling
to the enemy.