FLASHES FROM BULLER
_December 1, 1899._
A kaffir came in to-day, bringing the strange story that the old "Long
Tom" of Pepworth Hill was hit full in the muzzle by "Lady Anne," that
the charge inside him burst, the gun was shattered, and five gunners
killed. The Kaffir swore he himself had been employed to bury them, and
that the thing he said was true. If so, our "Lady Anne" has made the
great shot of the war. The authorities are inclined to believe the
story. The new gun on Gun Hill is perhaps too vigorous for our old
friend, and the rifling on his shells is too clean. Whatever the truth
may be, he gave us a lively time morning and afternoon. I think he was
trying to destroy the Star bakery, about one hundred yards below my
cottage. The shells pitched on every side of it in succession. They
destroyed three houses. A Natal Mounted Rifle riding down the street was
killed, and so was his horse. In the afternoon shrapnel came raining
through our eucalyptus trees and rattling on the roof, so I accepted an
invitation to tea in a beautiful hole in the ground, and learnt the joys
spoken of by the poet of the new _Ladysmith Lyre_:--
"A pipe of Boer tobacco 'neath the blue,
A tin of meat, a bottle, and a few
Choice magazines like _Harmsworth's_ or the _Strand_--
sometimes think war has its blessings too."
But one wearies of the safest rabbit-hole in an afternoon tea-time, and
I rode to the other end of the town trying to induce my tenth or twelfth
runner to start. So far, three have gone and not returned, one did not
start, but lay drunk for ten days, the rest have been driven back by
Boers or terror.
As I rode, the shells followed me, turning first upon Headquarters and
then on the Gordons' camp by the Iron Bridge, where they killed two
privates in their tents. I think nothing else of importance happened
during the day, but I was so illusioned with fever that I cannot be
sure. Except "Long Tom," the guns were not so active as yesterday, but
some of them devoted much attention to the grazing cattle and the
slaughter-houses. We are to be harried and starved out.
_December 2, 1899._
To me the day has been a wild vision of prodigious guns spouting fire
and smoke from uplifted muzzles on every hill, of mounted Boers, thick
as ants, galloping round and round the town in opposite directions, of
flashing stars upon a low horizon, and of troops massed at night, to no
purpose, along an endless road. But I am inspired by fever just now, and
in duller moments I am still conscious that we have really had a fairly
quiet day, as these days go.
"Long Tom" occupied the morning in shelling the camp of the Imperial
Light Horse. He threw twelve great shells in rapid succession into their
midst, but as I watched not a single horse or man was even scratched.
The narrowest escape was when a great fragment flew through an open door
and cut the leg clean off a table where Mr. Maud, of the _Graphic_, sat
at work. Two shells pitched in the river, which half encircles the camp,
and for a moment a grand Trafalgar Square fountain of yellow water shot
into the air. A house near the gaol was destroyed, but no damage to man
or beast resulted.
Soon afterwards, from the highest point of the Convent Hill, looking
south-west over the Maritzburg road by Bluebank, I saw several hundred
Boers cantering in two streams that met and passed in opposite
directions. They were apparently on the move between Colenso and Van
Reenen's Pass; perhaps their movements implied visits to lovers, and a
pleasant Sunday. They looked just like ants hurrying to and fro upon a
garden track.
The reality of the day was a flash of brilliant light far away beyond
the low gorge, where the river turns southward. My old Scot was the
first to see it. It was about half-past three. The message came through
fairly well, though I am told it is not very important. The important
thing is that communication with the relieving force is at last
established.
About 8.30 p.m. there was a great movement of troops, the artillery
massing in the main street, the cavalry moving up in advance, the
infantry forming up. Being ill, I fell asleep for a couple of hours, and
when I turned out again all the troops had gone back to camp.
_Sunday, December 3, 1899._
Long before sunrise I went up to the examining post on the Newcastle
road, now held by the Gloucesters instead of the Liverpools. The
positions of many regiments have been changed, certain battalions being
now kept always ready as a flying column to co-operate with the
relieving force. Last night's movement appears to have been a kind of
rehearsal for that. It was also partly a feint to puzzle the Boers and
confuse the spies in the town.
Signalling from lighted windows has become so common among the traitors
that to-day a curfew was proclaimed--all lights out at half-past eight.
Rumours about the hanging and shooting of spies still go the round, but
my own belief is the authorities would not hurt a fly, much less a spy,
if they could possibly help it.
Nearly all day the heliograph was flashing to us from that far-off hill.
There is some suspicion that the Boers are working it as a decoy. We
lost three copies of our code at Dundee, and it is significant that it
was a runner brought the good news of Methuen's successes on Modder
River to-night. But at Headquarters the flash signals are now taken as
genuine, and the sight of that star from the outer world cheers us up.
At noon I rode out to see the new home of the 24th Field Ambulance from
India. It is down by the river, near Range Post, and the silent Hindoos
have constructed for it a marvel of shelter and defence. A great rampart
conceals the tents, and through a winding passage fenced with massive
walls of turf you enter a chamber large enough for twenty patients, and
protected by an impenetrable roof of iron pipes, rocks, and mounds of
earth. As I admired, the Major came out from a tent, wiping his hands.
He had just cut off the leg of an 18th Hussar, whose unconscious head,
still on the operating table, projected from the flaps of the tent door.
The man had been sitting on a rock by the river, washing his feet, while
"Long Tom" was shelling the Imperial Light Horse, as I described
yesterday. Suddenly a splinter ricocheted far up the valley, and now,
even if he recovers, he will have only one foot to wash.
A civilian was killed yesterday, working in the old camp. The men on
each side of him were unhurt. So yesterday's shelling was not so
harmless as I supposed.
Early in the afternoon I met Mr. Lynch, known as one of the _Daily
Chronicle_ correspondents in Cuba last year. He was riding his famous
white horse, "Kruger," which we captured after the fight at Elands
Laagte. One side of this bony animal is dyed khaki colour with Condy's
fluid, as is the fashion with white horses. But the other side is left
white for want of material. Mr. Lynch showed me with pride a great white
umbrella he had secured. Round it he had written, "Advt. Dept.
_Ladysmith Lyre_" In his pocket was a bottle of whisky--a present for
Joubert. And so he rode away, proposing to exchange our paper for any
news the Boers might have. Eluding the examining posts, he vanished into
the Boer lines under Bulwan, and has not re-appeared. Perhaps the Boers
have not the humour to appreciate the finely Irish performance. They
have probably kept him prisoner or sent him to Pretoria. On hearing of
his disappearance, Mr. Hutton, of Reuter's, and I asked leave to go out
to the Boer camp to inquire after him. But the General was wroth, and
would not listen to the proposal.
_December 4, 1899._
This morning the General offered the use of the heliograph to all
correspondents in rotation by ballot. Messages were to be limited to
thirty words. One could say little more than that we are doing as well
as can be expected under the circumstances. But the sun did not come out
all day, and not a single word got through.
In the afternoon I rode out to Waggon Hill, south-west of our position,
to call upon the two howitzers. They are heavy squat guns about twenty
years old, their shells being marked 1880, though they are said in
reality to date from 1869. They were brought up from Port Elizabeth
where the Volunteers used them, and certainly they have done fine
service here. Concealed in the hollow of a hill, they are invisible to
the enemy, and after many trials have now exactly got the range of the
great 6 in. gun on Middle Hill. At any moment they can plump their
shells right into his sangar, and the Boer gunners are frightened to
work there. In fact, they have as effectually silenced that gun as if
they had smashed it to pieces. They are worked by the Royal Artillery,
two dismounted squadrons of the I.L.H. acting as escort or support. Them
I found on picket at the extreme end of the hill. They told me they had
seen large numbers of Boers moving slowly with cattle and waggons
towards the Free State passes. The Boers whom I saw were going in just
the opposite direction, towards Colenso. I counted twenty-seven waggons
with a large escort creeping steadily to the south along some invisible
road. They were carrying provisions or the ammunition to fight our
relieving column.
We hear to-day there will be no attempt to relieve us till the 15th, if
then. A Natal newspaper, with extracts from the Transvaal _Standard and
Diggers' News_, brought in yesterday, exaggerates our situation almost
as much as the Boers themselves. If all Englishmen now besieged were
asked why most they desired relief, there is hardly one would not reply,
"For the English mail!"