A PAUSE AND A RENEWAL
_January 8, 1900._
All was ready to receive another attack, but the Boers made no sign
beyond the usual bombardment. One of the wounded--a Harrismith man--says
there is a strong party in favour of peace, men who want to get back to
their farms and their families. We have heard that tale before, but
still, here the Boers are fighting for freedom and existence if ever men
did.
To-day's bombardment nearly destroyed the tents and dhoolies of our
field hospital, but did little else save beheading and mangling some
corpses. The troops were changed about a good deal, half the K.R.R.
being sent to the old Devon post on Helpmakaar road; half the Liverpools
to King's Post, and the Rifle Brigade to Waggon Hill.
At night there was a thanksgiving service in the Anglican Church. I
ought to have mentioned earlier that on the night before the attack the
Dutch held a solemn supplication, calling on God to bless their efforts.
_January 9, 1900._
One long blank of drenching rain unrelieved by shells, till at sunset a
stormy light broke in the west, and a few shots were fired.
_January 10, 1900._
In the night the authorities expected an attack on Observation Hill.
They hurried out two guns of the 69th Battery to a position outside
King's Post. The guns were dragged through the heavy slush, but when
they arrived it was found no guns could live in such a place, fully
exposed to all fire, and unsupported by infantry. So back came the weary
men and horses through the slush again, getting to their camp between 2
and 3 a.m.
At intervals in the night the two mountain guns on Observation Hill kept
firing star-shell to reveal any possible attack. But none came, and the
rest of the day was very quiet. My time was occupied in getting off a
brief heliogram, and sending out another Kaffir with news of Saturday's
defence. Two have been driven back. The Boers now stretch wires with
bells across the paths, and it goes hard with any runner caught.
_January 11, 1900._
The enemy was ominously quiet. Bulwan did not fire all day. From King's
Post, whilst visiting the new fortifications and the guns in their new
positions all about it, I watched the Boers dragging two field guns
hastily southward along the western track, perhaps to Springfield Drift,
over the Tugela. Then a large body--500 or 600--galloped hurriedly in
the same direction.
A sadness was thrown over the day by Lord Ava's death early in the
afternoon. If he could have recovered the doctors say he would have been
paralysed or have lost his memory. He was the best type of
Englishman--Irish-English, if you will--excellently made, delighting in
his strength and all kinds of sport, his eye full of light, his voice
singularly beautiful and attractive. His courage was extraordinary, and
did not come of ignorance. At Elands Laagte I saw him with a rifle
fighting side by side with the Gordons. He went through the battle in
their firing line, but he told me afterwards that the horror of the
field had sickened him of war. In manner he was peculiarly frank and
courteous. I can imagine no one speaking ill of him. His best epitaph
perhaps is the saying of the Irish sergeant's which I have already
quoted.
The ration of sugar was increased by one ounce to-day, the mealies by
two ounces, so as to give the men porridge in the morning. For a
fortnight past all the milk has been under military control, and can
only be obtained on a doctor's certificate. We began eating trek-oxen
three days ago. Some battalions prefer horse-flesh, and get it.
Dysentery and enteric are as bad as ever, but do not increase in
proportion to the length of siege. There are 1,700 soldiers at Intombi
sick camp now. A great many horses die every day, but not of the
"horse-sickness." Their bodies are thrown on waste ground along the
Helpmakaar road, and poison the air for the Liverpools and Rifles there.
To-night the varied smell all over the town is hardly endurable.
_January 12, 1900._
A quiet day again. Hardly a gun was fired. Wild rumours flew--the Boers
were trekking north in crowds--they were moving the gun on Bulwan--all
lies!
I spent the whole day trying to induce a Kaffir to risk his life for
£15. A Kaffir lives on mealie-pap, varied by an occasional cow's head.
He drinks nothing but slightly fermented barley-water. Yet he will not
risk death for £15! After four false starts, my message remains where it
was. The last Kaffir who tried to get through the Boers with it was shot
in the thigh by our pickets as he was returning. That does not encourage
the rest.
_January 13, 1900._
Between seven and eight in the morning the Bulwan gun hurled three
shells into our midst, and repeated the exploit in the afternoon. But
somehow he seemed to have lost form. He was not the Puffing Billy whom
we knew. We greeted him as one greets an enemy who has come down in the
world--with considerate indulgence. The sailors think that his carriage
is strained.
A British heliograph began flashing to us from Schwarz Kop, a hill only
one and a half miles over Potgieter's or Springfield Drift on the
Tugela. It is that way we have always expected Buller's main advance.
Can this be the herald of it? Most of us have agreed never to mention
the word "Buller," but it is hard to keep that pledge.
In the afternoon I was able to accompany Colonel Stoneman (A.S.C.) over
the scene of battle on Cæsar's Camp. His duties in organising the food
supply keep him so tied to his office--one of the best shelled places in
the town--that he has never been up there before. All was quiet--the
mountains silent in the sunset. The Boers had been moving steadily
westward and south. They had taken some of their guns on carts covered
with brushwood. We had not more than half a dozen shots fired at us all
round that ridge which had blazed with death a week ago. In his tent on
the summit we found General Ian Hamilton. It was to his energy and
personal knowledge of his men that last Saturday's success was
ultimately due. Not a day passes but he visits every point in his
brigade's defences.
All in camp were saddened by the condition of Mr. Steevens, of the
_Daily Mail_. Yesterday he was convalescent. To-day his life hangs by a
thread. That is the way of enteric.
_Sunday, January 14, 1900._
Absolute silence still from the Tugela. On a low black hill beyond its
banks I could see the British heliograph flashing. On a spur beside it
I was told a British outpost was stationed. In the afternoon we thought
we heard guns again, but it was only thunder. With a telescope on
Observation Hill I saw the Boers riding about their camps. On the Great
Plain they were digging long trenches and stretching barbed wire
entanglements. To-day all was peaceful. The sun set amid crimson
thunder-clouds behind the Drakensberg; there was no sign of war save the
whistle of a persistent sniper's bullet over my head. Our weather-beaten
soldiers were trying to make themselves comfortable for the night in
their little heaps of stones.
_January 15, 1900._
This is the day I had fixed upon long ago for our relief. There were
rumours of fighting by the Tugela, and some said they had seen squadrons
of our cavalry and even Staff officers galloping on the further limits
of the Great Plain. But beyond the wish, there is no need to believe
what they said.
In the morning Steevens, of the _Daily Mail_, was so much worse that we
sent off a warning message to Mrs. Steevens by heliograph. At least I
climbed to all the new signal stations in turn, trying to get it sent,
but found the instruments full up with official despatches. Major
Donegan (R.A.M.C.) was called in to consult with Major Davis, of the
Imperial Light Horse, who has treated the case with the utmost patience
and skill. Strychnine was injected, and about noon we recovered hope. A
galloper was sent to stop the message, and succeeded. Steevens became
conscious for a time, and Maud, of the _Graphic_, explained to him that
now it was a fight for life. "All right," he answered, "let's have a
drink, then." Some champagne was given him, and he seemed better. When
warned against talking, he said, "Well, you are in command. I'll do what
you like. We are going to pull through." Maud then went to sleep at
last, and between four and five Steevens passed quietly from sleep into
death.
Everything that could possibly be done for him had been done. For five
weeks Maud had nursed him with a devotion that no woman could surpass.
Two days ago we thought him almost well. He talked of what it would be
best to do when the siege was raised, so as to complete his recovery.
And now he is dead. He was only thirty. What is to most distinguished
men the best part of life was still before him. In eight working years
he had already made a name known to all the Army and to thousands
beyond its limits. Beyond question he had the touch of genius. The
individuality of his power perhaps lay in a clear perception transfused
with an imaginative wit that never failed him. The promise of that
genius was not fulfilled, but it was felt in all he said and wrote. And
beyond this power of mind he possessed the attractiveness of courtesy
and straightforward dealing. No one ever knew him descend to the tricks
and dodges of the trade. There was not a touch of "smartness" in his
disposition. On the field he was too reckless of his life. I saw him
often during the fighting at Elands Laagte, Tinta Inyoni, and Lombard's
Kop. He was usually walking about close to the firing line, leading his
grey horse, a conspicuous mark for every bullet. Veteran officers used
to marvel that he was not hit. In the midst of it all he would stand
quite unconcerned, and speak in his usual voice--slow, trenchant,
restrained by a cynicism that came partly from youth and an English
horror of fuss. How different from the voice of unconsciousness which I
heard raving in his room only this morning!
To-night we buried him. The coffin was not ready till half-past eleven.
All the London correspondents came, and a few officers, Colonel
Stoneman (A.S.C.) and Major Henderson, of the Intelligence Department,
representing the Staff. Many more would have come, but nearly the whole
garrison was warned for duty. About twenty-five of us, all mounted,
followed the little glass hearse with its black and white
embellishments. The few soldiers and sentries whom we passed halted and
gave the last salute. There was a full moon, covered with clouds, that
let the light through at their misty edges. A soft rain fell as we
lowered the coffin by thin ropes into the grave. The Boer searchlight on
Bulwan was sweeping the half circle of the English defences from end to
end, and now and then it opened its full white eye upon us, as though
the enemy wondered what we were doing there. We were laying to rest a
man of assured, though unaccomplished genius, whose heart had still been
full of hopes and generosity. One who had not lost the affections and
charm of youth, nor been dulled either by success or disappointment.
"From the contagion of the world's slow stain
He is secure; and now can never mourn
A heart grown old, a head grown grey, in vain--
Nor when the spirit's self has ceased to burn
With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn."
_January 16, 1900_.
A day of unfulfilled expectation, unrelieved even by lies and rumours.
From the top of Observation Hill I again watched the Dutch in their
clustered camps, fourteen miles away across the great plain, whilst our
heliograph flashed to us from the dark hill beyond them. But there was
no sound of the expected guns, and every one lost heart a little.
At the market, eggs were a guinea a dozen. Four pounds of oatmeal sold
for 11s. 6d. A four-ounce tin of English tobacco fetched 30s. Out of our
original numbers of about 12,000 nearly 3,000 are now sick or wounded at
Intombi, and there are over 200 graves there. More helpers are wanted,
and to-day Colonel Stoneman summoned 150 loafers from their holes in the
river-bank, and called for twenty volunteers. No one came, so he has
stopped their rations till they can agree among themselves to produce
the twenty ready to start.
_January 17, 1900._
The far-off mutter of Buller's guns began at half-past five a.m., and
lasted nearly all day. From King's Post I watched the stretch of
plain--Six Mile Flats, the official map calls it--leading away to
Potgieter's Drift, where his troops are probably crossing. I could see
three of the little Dutch camps, and here and there bodies of Boers
moving over the country. Suddenly in the midst of the plain, just our
side of the camp near "Wesse's Plantation," a great cloud of smoke and
dust arose, and slowly drifted away. Beyond doubt, it was the bursting
of a British shell. Aimed at the camp it overshot the mark, and landed
on the empty plain. As a messenger of hope to us all it was not lost.
The distance was only fourteen miles from where I stood--a morning's
walk--less than an hour and a half's ride. Yet our relief may take many
days yet, and it will cost hundreds of lives to cross that little space.
The Boers have placed a new gun on the Bluebank ridge. It is disputed
whether it faces us or Buller's line of approach over the Great Plain.
The whole ridge is now covered from end to end with walls, traverses,
and sangars.
_January 18, 1900._
In the early morning the welcome sound of Buller's guns was not so
frequent as yesterday. But it continued steadily, and between four and
five increased to an almost unbroken thunder. From the extremity of
Waggon Hill, I watched the great cloud of dust and smoke which rose from
the distant plain as each shell burst. The Dutch camps were still in
position, and we could only conjecture that the British were trying to
clear the river-bank and the hills commanding it, so as to secure the
passage of the ford.
While I was there the enemy threw several shrapnel over the Rifle
Brigade outpost. Major Brodiewald, Brigade Major to the Natal Volunteers
under Colonel Royston, was sitting on the rocks watching Buller's shells
like myself. A shrapnel bullet struck him in the mouth and passed out at
the back of his neck. He was carried down the hill, his blood dripping
upon the stones along the track. In the afternoon one of the bluejackets
was also seriously wounded by shrapnel. The bombardment was heavy all
day, the Bulwan gun firing right over Convent Hill and plunging shells
into the Naval Camp, the Leicesters, and the open ground near
Headquarters. It looks as if a spy had told where the General and Staff
are to be found.
The market quotations at this evening's auction were fluctuating. Eggs
sprang up from a guinea to 30s. a dozen. Jam started at 30s. the 6lb.
jar. Maizena was 5s. a pound. On the other hand, tobacco fell. Egyptian
cigarettes were only 1s. each, and Navy Cut went for 4s. an ounce.
During a siege one realises how much more than bread, meat, and water is
required for health. Flour and trek-ox still hold out, and we receive
the regulation short rations. Yet there is hardly one of us who is not
tortured by some internal complaint, and many die simply for want of
common little luxuries. In nearly all cases where I have been able to
try the experiment I have cured a man with any little variety I had in
store or could procure--rice, chocolate, cake, tinned fruit, or soups. I
wonder how the enemy are getting on with the biltong and biscuit.
_January 19, 1900._
Before noon, as I rode round the outposts, I found the good news flying
that good news had come. It was thought best not to tell us what, lest,
like children, we should cry if disappointed. But it is confidently said
that Buller's force has crossed the Tugela in three places--Wright's
Drift eastward, Potgieter's Drift in the centre, and at a point further
west, perhaps Klein waterfall, where there is a nine-mile plain leading
to Acton Homes. The names of the brigades are even stated, and the
number of losses. It is said the Boers have been driven from two
positions. But there may not be one word of truth in the whole story.
I was early on Observation Hill, watching that strip of plain to the
south-west. No shells were bursting on it to-day, and the sound of guns
was not so frequent. Our heliograph flashed from the far-off Zwartz Kop,
and high above it, looking hardly bigger than a vulture against the pale
blue of the Drakensberg precipices, rose Buller's balloon, showing just
a point of lustre on its skin.
The view from Observation Hill is far the finest, but the whiz of
bullets over the rocks scarcely ever stops, and now and again a shell
comes screaming into the rank grass at one's feet.
To-day we enjoyed a further variety, well worth the risk. At the foot of
Surprise Hill, hardly 1,500 yards from our position, the Boers have
placed a mortar. Now and then it throws a huge column of smoke straight
up into the air. The first I thought was a dynamite explosion, but after
a few seconds I heard a growing whisper high above my head, as though a
falling star had lost its way, and plump came a great shell into the
grass, making a 3ft. hole in the reddish earth, and bursting with no end
of a bang. We collected nearly all the bits and fitted them together.
It was an eight or nine-inch globe, reminding one of those "bomb-shells"
which heroes of old used to catch up in their hands and plunge into
water-buckets. The most amusing part of it was the fuse--a thick plug of
wood running through the shell and pierced with the flash-channel down
its centre. It was burnt to charcoal, but we could still make out the
holes bored in its side at intervals to convert it into a time-fuse.
This is the "one mortar" catalogued in our Intelligence book. It was
satisfactory to have located it. Two guns of the 69th Battery threw
shrapnel over its head all morning; then the Naval guns had a turn and
seem to have reduced it to silence.
In the afternoon there was an auction of Steevens's horses and camp
equipment. Many officers came, and the usual knot of greedy civilians on
the look-out for a bargain. As auctioneer I had great satisfaction in
running the prices up beyond their calculation. But in another way they
got the best of the old country to-day. Colonel Stoneman, having
discovered a hidden store of sugar, was selling it at the fair price of
4d. a pound to any one who pledged his word he was sick and in need of
it. Round clustered the innocent local dealers with sick and sorry
looks, swearing by any god they could remember that sugar alone would
save their lives, paid their fourpences, and then sold the stuff for 2s.
outside the door.
_January 20, 1900._
Again I was on Observation Hill two or three times in the day. It is
impossible to keep away from it long. The rumble of the British guns was
loud but intermittent, but the Boer camps remain where they were. With
us the bombardment continued pretty steadily. After a silence of two
days "Puffing Billy," of Bulwan, threw one shell into the town and six
among the Devons. His usual answer to the report that he has worn
himself out or been carried away. Whilst he was firing I tried to get
sight of a small mocking bird, which has learnt to imitate the warning
whistle of the sentries. In the Gordons the Hindoo, Purriboo Singh, from
Benares, stands on a huge heap of sacks under an umbrella all day and
screams when he sees the big gun flash. But in the other camps, as I
have mentioned, a sentry gives warning by blowing a whistle. The mocking
bird now sounds that whistle at all times of the day, and what is even
more perplexing, he is learning to imitate the scream and buzzle of the
shell through the air. He may learn the explosion next. I mention this
peculiar fact for the benefit of future ornithologists, who might
otherwise be puzzled at his form of song.
Another interesting event in natural history occurred a short time ago
up the Port road. A Bulwan shell, missing the top of Convent Hill,
lobbed over and burst at random with its usual din and circumstance.
People rushed up to see what damage it had done, but they only found two
little dead birds--one with a tiny hole in her breast, the other with an
eye knocked out. Ninety-six pounds of iron, brass, and melinite, hurled
four miles through the air, at unknown cost, just to deal a true-lovers'
death to two sparrows, five of which are sold for one farthing!
_Sunday, January 21, 1900._
After varying my trek-ox rations by catching a kind of barbel with a
worm in the yellow Klip, I went again to Observation Hill, and with the
greater interest because every one was saying two of the Boer camps were
in flames. Of course it was a lie. The camps stood in their usual places
quite undisturbed. But I saw one of our great shells burst high up the
mountain side of Taba Nyama (Black Mountain) instead of on the plain at
its foot, and with that sign of forward movement I was obliged to be
content.