"WITHIN MEASURABLE DISTANCE"
_January 22, 1900._
Twelve weeks to-day since Black Monday, when our isolation really began!
A heliogram came from Buller to say all was going well, and in this
evening's Orders we were officially informed that relief is "within
measurable distance." I don't know about time, but in space that
measurable distance is hardly more than fifteen miles. From Observation
Hill I again watched the British shells breaking over the ridge above
the ford. The Boers had moved one of their waggon laagers a little
further back, but the main camps were unchanged. With a telescope I
could make out where their hospital was--in a cottage by a wood--and I
followed an ambulance waggon driving at a trot to three or four points
on ridge and plain, gathering up the sick or wounded, and returning to
hospital.
The mass of Boers appeared to be lying under the shelter of Taba Nyama
(or Intaba Mnyama--Black Mountain). It is a nine-mile range of hills
running east and west, nearly parallel to the Tugela, and having
Potgieter's Drift on its left. The left extremity, looking over the
Drift, rises into double peaks, and is called Mabedhlane, or the Paps,
by Zulus. The main Boer position appears to be halfway up these peaks
and along the range to their right. To-day it is said that the relieving
force intends to approach the mountain by parallels, sapping and mining
as it goes, and treating the positions like a mediæval fortress, or one
of those ramparted and turreted cities which "Uncle Toby" used to
besiege on the bowling green.
One's only fear is about the delay. The population at Intombi is now
approaching 4,000, nearly 3,000 being sick. I doubt if we could put
4,000 men in the field to-day. Men and horses crawl feebly about, shaken
with every form of internal pain and weakness. Women suffer even more.
The terror of the shells has caused thirty-two premature births since
the siege began. It is true a heliogram to-day tells us there are
seventy-four big waggons waiting at Frere for our relief--milk,
vegetables, forage, eleven waggons of rum, fifty cases of whisky, 5,000
cigarettes, and so on. But all depends upon those parallels, so slowly
advancing against Taba Nyama, and our insides are being sapped and mined
far more quickly.
Towards noon a disaster occurred, which has depressed the whole town.
Two of the _Powerful's_ bluejackets have lately been making what they
called a good thing by emptying unexploded Boer shells of their charges,
so that the owners might display them with safety and pride when the
siege is over. For this service they generally received 10s. each. It is
only two days since they were in my cottage--chiselling out the melinite
from a complete "Long Tom" shell which alighted in my old Scot's garden.
I watched them accomplish that task safely, and this morning they set to
work upon a similar shell by order of the Wesleyan minister, who wished
to keep it in his window as a symbol of Christianity. One of the men was
holding it between his knees, while the other was quietly chipping away,
when suddenly it exploded. Fragments of one of the men strewed the
minister's house--the other lay wondering upon the ground, but
without his legs. Whilst I write he is still nominally alive, and keeps
asking for his mate. One of his legs has been picked up near the Town
Hall--about 150 yards away.
[Illustration: SPECIMENS OF BOER SHELLS]
A lesser disaster this morning befel Captain Jennings Bramley, of the
19th Hussars. Whilst on picket he felt something slide over his legs,
and looking up he saw it was a snake over 5ft. long. The creature at
once raised its head also, and deliberately spat in his face, filling
both eyes with poison. That is the invariable defence of the "Spitting
Snake" (_Rinkholz_ in Dutch, and _Mbamba Twan_ or child catcher in
Zulu). The pain is agonising. The eye turns red and appears to run with
blood, but after a day or two the poison passes off and sight returns.
The snake is not otherwise poisonous, but apparently can count on
success in its shots at men, leopards, or dogs.
_January 23, 1900._
Soon after dawn our own guns along the northern defences from Tunnel
Hill to King's Post woke me with an extraordinary din. They could not
have made more noise about another general attack, but there was no
rifle fire. Getting up very unwillingly at 4.30 a.m., I climbed up
Junction Hill and looked up the Broad valley, but not a single Boer was
in sight. The firing went on till about six, and then abruptly ceased. I
heard afterwards that Buller had asked us to keep as many Boers here as
possible. I suppose we expended about 200 rounds of our precious
ammunition. A cool and cloudy sky made the heliograph useless, but in
the night the clouds had served to reflect the brilliance of Buller's
searchlight.
So far the Boers have passed us all round in strategy, but in
searchlights they are nowhere, though Bulwan makes a grand attempt. All
day from King's Post or Waggon Hill I watched the Great Plain of Taba
Nyama as usual. Now and then we could see the shells bursting, but the
Boer camps have not moved.
The ration coffee has come to an end, except a reserve of 3 cwt, which
would hardly last a day. The tea ration is again reduced. The flour
mixed with mealy meal makes a very sour bread. The big 5th Lancers
horses are so hungry that at night they eat not only their picket ropes
but each other's manes and tails. They are so weak that they fall three
or four times in an hour if the men ride them. Enteric is not quite so
bad as it was, but dysentery increases. The numbers of military sick
alone at Intombi, not counting all the sick in the camps and hospitals
here, are 2,040 to-day.
_January 24, 1900._
The entire interest of the day was centred on Taba Nyama--that black
mountain, commanding the famous drift in its front and the stretch of
plain behind. It is fifteen miles away. From Observation Hill one could
see the British shells bursting along this ridge all morning, as well as
in the midst of the Boer tents half-way down the double peaks, and at
the foot of the hill. The firing began at 3 a.m., and lasted with
extreme severity till noon, the average of audible shells being at least
five a minute. We could also see the white bursts of shrapnel from our
field artillery. In the afternoon I went to Waggon Hill, and with the
help of a telescope made out a large body of men--about 1,000 I
suppose--creeping up the distant crest and spreading along the summit. I
could only conjecture them to be English from their presence on the
exposed ridge, and from their regular though widely extended formation.
They were hardly visible except as a series of black points.
Thunderclouds hung over the Drakensberg behind, and the sun was
obscured. Yet I had no doubt in my own mind that the position was won.
It was five o'clock, or a little later.
Others saw large parties of Boers fleeing for life up dongas and over
plains, the phantom carriage-and-four driving hastily north-westward
after an urgent warning, and other such melodramatic incidents, which
escaped my notice. The position of the falling shells, and the movement
of those minute black specks were to me enough of drama for one day's
life.
In the evening, I am told, the General received a signal from Buller:
"Have taken hill. Fight went well." No one thought or talked of anything
but the prospect of near relief. Yet (besides old Bulwan's violent
bombardment of the station) there was one other event in the day
deserving record. Hearing an unhappy case of an officer's widow left
destitute, Colonel Knox, commanding the Divisional Troops, has offered
twelve bottles of whisky for auction to-morrow, and hopes to make £100
by the sale. I think he will succeed, unless Buller shakes the market.
_January 25, 1900._
Before 6 a.m. I was on Observation Hill again, watching. One hopeful
sign was at once obvious. The Boer waggon-laagers were breaking up. The
two great lines of waggons between the plantations near Pinkney's farm
were gone. By 6.30 they were all creeping away with their oxen up a road
that runs north-west among the hills in the direction of Tintwa Pass. It
was the most hopeful movement we had yet seen, but one large laager was
still left at the foot of Fos Kop, or Mount Moriah.
The early morning was bright, but a mist soon covered the sun. Rain
fell, and though the air afterwards was strangely clear, the heliograph
could not be used till the afternoon. We were left in uncertainty.
Shells were bursting along the ridge of Taba Nyama, on the double peaks
and the Boer tents below. Only on the highest point in the centre we
could see no firing, and that in itself was hopeful. About 8 a.m. the
fire slackened and ceased. We conjectured an armistice. Through a
telescope we could see little black specks on the centre of the hill;
they appeared to be building sangars. The Naval Cone Redoubt, having the
best telescope, report that the walls are facing this way. In that case
the black specks were probably British, and yet not even in the morning
sun did we get a word of certainty. We hardly know what to think.
In the afternoon the situation was rather worse. We saw the shelling
begin again, but no progress seemed to be made. About 4 p.m. we
witnessed a miserable sight. Along the main track which crosses the
Great Plain and passes round the end of Telegraph Hill, almost within
range of our guns, came a large party of men tramping through the dust.
They were in khaki uniforms, marched in fours, and kept step.
Undoubtedly they were British prisoners on their way to Pretoria. Their
numbers were estimated at fifty, ninety, and 150 by different look-out
stations. In front and rear trudged an unorganised gang of Boers,
evidently acting as escort. It was a miserable and depressing thing to
see.
At last a cipher message began to come through on the heliograph. There
was immense excitement at the Signal Station. The figures were taken
down. Colonel Duff buttoned the precious paper in his pocket. Off he
galloped to Headquarters. Major De Courcy Hamilton was called to
decipher the news. It ran as follows: "Kaffir deserter from Boer lines
reports guns on Bulwan and Telegraph Hills removed!"
It was dated a day or two back. To-day both guns mentioned have been
unusually active. Their shells have been bursting thick among us, and
the sound of their firing must have been quite audible below. Yet this
was the message.
Eggs to-night fetched 30s. 6d. per dozen; a sucking pig 35s.; a chicken
20s. In little over a week we shall have to begin killing our horses
because they will have nothing to eat.
_January 26, 1900._
Full of hopes and fears, I rode early up to Observation Hill as usual,
and saw at once that the Boer waggon-laagers, which I watched departing
yesterday, had returned in the night. Perhaps there were not quite so
many waggons, and the site had been shifted a few hundred yards. But
still there they stood again. Their presence is not hopeful, but it does
not imply disaster. They may have gone in haste, and been recalled at
leisure. Buller may have demanded their return under the conditions of a
possible armistice. They may even have found the passes blocked by our
men. Anyhow, there they are, and their return is the only important news
of the day.
No message or tidings came through. The day was cloudy, and ended in
quiet rain. We saw a few shells fall on the plain at the foot of Taba
Nyama, and what looked like a few on the summit. But nothing else could
be made out, except that the Boer ambulances were very busy driving
round.
Among ourselves the chief event was the feverish activity of the
Telegraph Hill big gun. Undeterred by our howitzers, he continued nearly
all morning throwing shells at every point within sight. By one supreme
effort, tilting his nose high up into the air, he threw one sheer up to
the Manchesters on Cæsar's Camp--a range of some 12,000 yards, the
gunners say. Perhaps he was trying to make up for the silence of his
Bulwan brother. It is rumoured that Pepworth Hill is to have a successor
to the "Long Tom" of earlier and happier days. Six empty waggons with
double spans of oxen were seen yesterday wending towards Bulwan.
Our hunger is increasing. Men and horses suffer horribly from weakness
and disease. About fifteen horses die a day, and the survivors gasp and
cough at every step, or fall helpless.
Biscuits are to be issued to-night instead of bread, because flour is
running short. It is believed that not 500 men could be got together
capable of marching five miles under arms, so prevalent are all diseases
of the bowels. As to luxuries, even the cavalry are smoking the used
tea-leaves out of the breakfast kettles. "They give you a kind of hot
taste," they say.
_January 27, 1900._
I was again on Observation Hill, watching. Nothing had changed, and
there was no sign of movement. The Boers rode to and fro as usual, and
their cattle grazed in scattered herds. Now and then a big gun fired,
but I could see no bursting shells, and the sound seemed further away. I
crossed the broad valley to Leicester Post. Our cattle and horses were
trying to pick up a little grass there, while the howitzer and automatic
"pom-pom" shelled them from Surprise Hill. "Pom-poms" are elegant little
shells, about five inches long, and some with pointed heads were
designed for the British Navy, but rejected. The cattle sniff at them
inquisitively, and Kaffirs rush for a perfect specimen, which fetches
from 10s. to 30s. For they are suitable presents for ladies, but
unhappily all that fell near me to-day exploded into fragments.
The telescope on Leicester Post showed me nothing new. Not a single man
was now to be seen on Spion Kop or the rest of Taba Nyama. At two
o'clock the evil news reached us. The heliograph briefly told the
story; the central hill captured by the British on Wednesday afternoon,
recaptured at night by the Boers, and held by them ever since. Our loss
about five hundred and some prisoners.
It was the worst news we have yet received, all the harder to bear
because our hopes had been raised to confidence. It is harder to face
disappointment now than six weeks ago. Even on biscuit and trek-oxen we
can only live for thirty-two days longer, and nearly all the horses must
die. The worst is that in their sickness and pain the men could hardly
resist another assault. The sickness of the garrison is not to be
measured by hospital returns, for nearly every one on duty is ill,
though he may refuse to "go sick." The record of Intombi Camp is not
cheering. The total of military sick to-day is 1,861, including 828
cases of enteric, 259 cases of dysentery, and 312 wounded. The numbers
have slightly diminished lately because an average of fourteen a day
have been dying, and all convalescents are hurried back to Ladysmith.
The number of graves down there now is 282 for men and five for
officers, but deaths increase so fast that long trenches are dug, and
the bodies laid in two rows, one above the other. "You see," said the
gravedigger, "I'm goin' to put Patrick O'Connor here with Daniel
Murphy."
_Sunday, January 28, 1900._
From my station on Observation Hill I could see a new Boer laager drawn
up, about six miles away, at the far end of the Long Valley. Otherwise
all remains quiet and unmoved. Three or four distant guns were heard in
the afternoon, but that was all.
On the whole the spirit of the garrison was much more cheerful. We began
to talk again of possible relief within a week. The heliograph brought a
message of thanks from Lord Roberts for our "heroic, splendid defence."
Every one felt proud and happy. The words were worth a fresh brigade.
In the morning a consultation was held on the condition of the cavalry
horses. At first it was determined to kill three hundred, so as to save
food for the rest, but afterwards the orders were to turn them out on
the flat beyond the racecourse, and let them survive if they could. The
artillery horses must be fed as long as possible. The unfortunate walers
of the 19th Hussars will probably be among the first to go. Coming
straight from India, they were put to terribly hard work on landing,
and have never recovered. Walers cannot do on grass which keeps local
horses and even Arabs fat enough. What the average horse is chiefly
suffering from now is a kind of influenza, accompanied by a frightful
cough. My own talking horse kept trying to lie down to-day, and said he
felt languid and queer. When he endeavoured to trot or canter a cough
took him fit to break his mother's heart.