great icy blast swept up the valley, driving a broad belt of stinging
dust before it, and the bivouac was smitten through and through by a
South African dust-storm. Five minutes of fierce gale, with lightning
that momentarily dispelled the night, then a pause--the herald of
coming rain. A few great ice-cold drops smote like hail on the
tarpaulin shelter that served headquarters for a mess-tent. Then
followed five minutes of a deluge such as you in England cannot
conceive. A deluge against which the stoutest oil-skin is as
blotting-paper. A rain which seems also to entice fountains from the
earth beneath you. In ten minutes all is over. The stars are again
demurely winking above you, and all that you know of the storm is that
you see the vast diminishing cloud, revealed in the west by the fading
lightning-flashes, and that you have not a dry possession either in
your kit or on your person.
"Not much fear of sleeping sentries to-night," said the chief of the
staff as we cowered round a fire under the waggon-sail.
"No; and it is just as well: it is on these sleepless nights that
'brother'[16] is fond of showing himself," answered the brigadier. "I
don't like all these Free Staters about. They may be able to stir up
the new crop of rebels into doing something desperate. Raw guerillas,
with a leaven of hard-bitten cases, are always a source of danger. But
I think that we worked our own salvation in the skirmish this morning.
They would hardly believe that we should have such a small force with
so many guns. No; our luck was in to-day, when they discovered us
instead of Twine's squadron. We shall make something out of the 20th.
They are the right stuff: that squadron went for that rise to-day in
splendid style. The Boer cannot stand galloping. I may be a
crank--they believe that I am one at Pretoria--but I am convinced that
I have discovered the true Mounted Infantry formation for the sort of
fighting that we are now experiencing out here. If you find your enemy
in any position that you can gallop over, without riding your horse to
a standstill, go for him in extended order. You will get more results
from an enterprise of this kind than from a week of artillery and
dismounted attack. I hear that D. claims to have originated this
formation. Why, I was practising it with my fellows in Natal before
D. was born, or rather when he was an infant in the knowledge of war.
I am as convinced that I am right as I am that the rifle is the
cavalry-man's arm. It is not for shock tactics that you require to
mount men nowadays: the use of a horse is to get into the best
fire-position in the shortest possible time. The battles of the future
will be decided by rifles and machine-guns, not by lance and sabre.
There's heresy for you; but it's my honest conviction!"
FOOTNOTES:
[13] Scoundrel.
[14] The double report made by a small-bore rifle.
[15] The major commanding the battery R.H.A.
[16] _I.e._, Brother Boer.
IV.
THE FIRST CHECK.
The first lesson brought home to the Englishman in South Africa is,
that he must not judge the country by any European standard, for as
long as he continues so to do he will find himself at sea. To show
surprise is to declare ignorance--and the British and Dutch South
Africans, after the manner of all superlatively ignorant races, have
the profoundest contempt for those in whom they themselves can discern
ignorance. Thus when the kindly eminence of a hill gives you a
ten-mile view of some tiny townlet--a view conveying no inkling of the
importance of the centre which you are about to approach--it is well
to be silent. For the Colonial is surely more imaginative than the
phlegmatic Englishman--and the sorry collection of tin shanties and
flimsy villas, which at so great a distance appear to you of little
more significance than a farm with straggling outhouses--represent to
his mind a town, and he will resent a less appreciative rating of
them. This may appear unreasonable: it is, but it is none the less
true; and in a great measure the variance of focus between the English
and the Colonial mind has been responsible for the girth-galling which
at the beginning of the war marked our efforts in harness with our
colonial _confrères_. We have heard all the defects of the British
officer, because the Colonial thinks quickly and lightly, and wastes
no time in giving expression to his thoughts; we have not heard so
much of the defects of the Colonial, because the British officer,
while focussing his opinions less rapidly, though more seriously than
the majority of Colonials, reserves his criticisms. But they are an
easy people to manage if you can preserve your silence without
offending their vanity. They admire in the Englishman the qualities
which they themselves have not yet fully developed; but it cuts them
to the quick if the evidence of superiority is thrust upon them. Thus,
when the officer commanding the advance-guard, looking down the great
straight road leading into Britstown,--a track which would have done
credit to the Roman Road at Baynards,--commented unkindly upon the
township, the Tiger was hurt, and thought unpleasant things about
British cavalry subalterns in general, and the officer in command of
the advance-guard in particular. But then Britstown had been a town to
the Tiger ever since he could remember. Until he had arrived at man's
estate and visited Kimberley and Cape Town, Britstown had been the
town of his imagination and Beaufort West his metropolis. To the
officer commanding the advance-guard, Britstown and Beaufort West, if
rolled into one, would hardly have earned the dignified classification
of a village. The mental focus of the two men was at variance, and the
Tiger felt that the subaltern possessed the stronger lens. Yet man for
man, on horse or foot, clothed or naked, to the outward eye he was not
a better man. It is here that the feeling lies.
The brigadier halted the advance-guard upon the rise. He wanted to
know something about Britstown. The ugly rumour of Brand's intention
to storm and sack it was still with us. As yet there had been no news
of Lieutenant Meadows and his patrol. Three hundred yards to the right
front was a tiny farm. A solitary upstart on the bare veldt. An
architectural nightmare in red brick. Already a patrol from the
advance screen of dragoons was edging towards it, lured by that
magnetism irresistible to every British soldier. A magnetism prompted
from beneath the belt, and which no military precaution, or
experience, or solicitude for personal safety will eradicate from the
canteen-bred soldier. If our scouts had been as farm-shy as so many of
them have proved gun-shy, it would have made an appreciable difference
in the casualty lists of the campaign. The brigadier looked upon the
farm. It cannot be said that he found it fair, within the artistic
meaning of the phrase. But there was a pan,[17] which meant water for
the horses, and doubtless there was a hen-house and a buttery.
"Mr Intelligence, we will have breakfast at that farm. Let the
advance-guard move on another half-mile, then Freddy will be able to
water his horses in comfort. Here, who is commanding the
advance-guard? Have you told your men to rally on that farm?"
"No, sir."
"Then you had better look after them."
Away the youth went at a gallop, and it was about time, as the right
flank had evidently divined success in the attitude of the first
patrol, which had stopped at the farm, and the ungainly red edifice
was exercising its magnetic effect upon the whole advance-guard. When
the officer commanding the advance-guard arrived, dragoon No. 1
already had his head buried in a bucketful of milk, while dragoon No.
2 was indiscriminately stuffing as many eggs and pats of butter into a
square of red handkerchief as the said square would contain.
The brigadier moved up to the homestead, and threw his reins to his
orderly. The family paraded on the stoep, as all Dutch families do on
similar occasions. And, as is the custom of the country, the brigadier
shook hands with them all with great dignity. But he had no eyes for
Oom Jan of the massive head and bushy beard, no eyes for the stout
madam his _frau_, nor for his six solid and lumpy daughters, for he
was busy breaking the tenth commandment. In front of the house, on the
beaten clay clearing, stood a truly magnificent carriage--a
four-wheeled family spring-cart, rich in upholstered cover,
electroplated bits, and cut-glass finishings. The brigadier examined
it carefully, and then sent his orderly to fetch the commandeering
officer. In this case it was the supply officer, a quick-witted boy,
who at the moment believed that he was a subaltern, but who really was
the youngest brevet-major in the British army.[18]
_Brigadier._ "Look here, Mr Supply; I want you to value this
_sham-a-dan_."[19]
_Supply Officer._ "Very good, sir; it looks a good cart."
_B._ "Do you know your Shakespeare?"
_S. O._ "No, sir. I was a militiaman; but I'm becoming educated in the
matter of South African carts, and I have found that even with fair
usage and good drifts paint will sometimes come off."
_B._ "Quite so; you have made my point, in spite of your modesty with
regard to your upbringing. What is the full limit at which you may
requisition a spring cart?"
_S. O._ "Forty pounds, sir."
_B._ "What would you think is the value of this one?"
_S. O._ "Thirty-nine pounds ten shillings, sir!"
_B._ "I think that you are right to within a few pence. Make out a
receipt for it, and then come and have breakfast. Here, Mr
Intelligence, tell my servant to put the ponies into this cart. Now I
call that a suitable conveyance for a general officer. I have never
had a decent cart since I've commanded a column. In fact, I have
almost been ashamed to sign myself as O.C. of a brigade, when my sole
possession has been a broken-down Cape cart with only one spring.
Self-respect is half the battle in the success of life. With a cart
like that I shall be able to insult with a light heart every column
commander with whom I am told to co-operate. Look here, Mr
Intelligence; I am going to be a real live brigadier in future. Just
you get me the regalia in Britstown--a pink flag and red lantern. I
don't see why--but what do you want----?"
A howl had set up in chorus from the family on the verandah of the
farm, and old Oom Jan came sidling up to the brigadier hat in hand.
_Oom Jan._ "But the commandant won't take my cart?"
_Brigadier._ "Dear me! no--no commandant will take your cart."
_O. J._ "But see, they are putting the horses in!"
_B._ "You will get a receipt."
_O. J._ "For how much?"
_B._ "Forty pounds."
_O. J._ "No, no. Only last year I gave £120 for it."
_B._ "I would gladly give £120; but I am not allowed. Besides, you are
getting full value, and I will leave you my old cart."
How much longer the altercation might have lasted would have depended
on the duration of the general's good-humour, had not another issue of
more moment prejudiced Oom Jan's case. A dragoon had cantered up from
the rear-guard, with the two little square inches of paper torn from a
notebook which mean so much in war.
"A party of about six mounted men are hanging on my rear. If they
approach any closer I shall fire upon them. They seem very persistent,
and do not mind exposing themselves."
As the brigadier handed the note to the chief of the staff, the
threatened firing broke out in the rear. Breakfast was declared ready
at the same moment. The brigadier listened. Two more shots were fired,
and then silence.
"That," said the brigadier, "is a very one-sided battle. It can wait
until we have had our food. I am not going to allow six men to play
'Old Harry' with my digestion."
As the meal progressed, in came another fleet orderly.
"Regret to say that party reported on my rear was Lieutenant Meadows,
who should have been in Britstown this morning. He lost his way in the
night. I am sending him in to you to explain. I regret that we have
shot one of his horses."
_Brigadier._ "I thought it was a one-sided battle. I don't know which
is the bigger fool, the officer commanding the rear-guard or the youth
who has lost his way in the dark. Did you give him a guide, Mr
Intelligence?"
_Intelligence Officer._ "Yes, sir; I gave him the tame burgher
Stephanus whom we roped in at Richmond Road."
_B._ "Those crimped men are no good. He slipped them in the dark, I
bet. Hullo! here is the boy. His peace of mind, I fancy, wouldn't be
worth much at a public auction."
A smart-looking, though travel-stained, little dragoon subaltern
cantered up, dismounted, and saluted. The brigadier was right; he did
not look particularly happy. There was a moment of silence while the
brigadier took a spoonful of marmalade, then he turned to the boy.
"Well, my pocket Ulysses, what is the extent of your adventure?"
_Meadows._ "Got lost, sir!"
_Brigadier._ "And your guide?"
_M._ "Had to leave him behind, sir!"
_B._ "Which means he left you!"
_M._ "He tried to, sir; but he didn't get far!"
_B._ "What happened?"
_M._ "First he took us wrong--took us back along the road we had come
by. Then when I talked to him he tried to bolt, and I had to shoot
him!"
_B._ (_suddenly becoming interested_) "The devil you did! Have you had
anything to eat? Sit down and have some food. Did you kill him?"
_M._ "No, sir; I left him with that other wounded Boer in the mud hut
near the last camp. But he is very sick. We did what we could for
him."
_B._ "Evidently! Are you sure that he was leading you wrongly?"
_M._ "Yes, sir. He was taking us back along the road by which we had
come from Richmond Road. We stumbled upon one of my own men's
water-bottles which he had dropped earlier in the day. As soon as the
guide saw what it was, he tried to do a bolt."
_B._ "Circumstantial evidence, I think; verdict and sentence in one.
Well, you at least have the satisfaction of knowing that you have
brought your man down. But next time don't hit a refractory guide so
hard. I have an idea that if you shot less straight you might have
been able to carry out your orders even with a refractory guide. Where
are the telegrams? Hand them over to your colonel, and tell him to
send another officer on with them at once. No; give them to me. Here,
Mr Intelligence, off you go. Just get into Britstown as quickly as you
can. As we haven't seen any smoke curling up over the landscape, I
take it that Brand and Co. have postponed their good offices. But if
anything is wrong, mind you manage to get one of your party back to me
with the information."
* * * * *
The Intelligence officer and the Tiger had not left the column a mile
behind them when they met a Cape cart coming along the dusty road from
Britstown. It was driven by a youth of some eighteen summers, who
stopped his pair of mules with the greatest unconcern to the signal
from the Tiger.
_Tiger._ "Good morning. What is your name?"
_Driver._ "Good morning. Naude."
_T._ "Where have you come from?"
_D._ "Britstown!"
_T._ (_who was now close up to the cart and busy in examination of
it_) "What have you been doing in Britstown, and how long have you
been there?"
_D._ "I have been there about ten days: my wife has been confined
there!"
_T._ "So you have taken her out for a drive to-day?"
_D._ "No. How could I?"
_T._ "Then you have been driving another lady?"
_D._ "No."
_T._ "What have you got those two cushions on the seat for? What's the
good of lying? Where are you going now?"
_D._ "Back to my home!"
_T._ "Where is that?"
_D._ "Drieputs, two hours[20] on."
_T._ (_decidedly_) "Now, look here; it is no use lying any more. I
will tell you what you have been doing and who you are. You are the
son of old Pretorius of Richmond Road. Yesterday you were on commando
with Lotter; your brother was shot and taken by us. I don't know where
you slept last night; but this I do know, that yesterday you drove a
wounded man into Britstown, and probably a lady as well. The lady came
from Nieuwjaarsfontein. For you see those cushions you have on your
front seat came out of the Nieuwjaarsfontein _sitkomer_.[21] I have
got a similar one, which I took myself from the farm. So don't lie any
more. Tell me who is in Britstown?"
_D._ (_who had lost his air of stolid indifference, and was beginning
to move uncomfortably_) "Britstown is full of Kharkis; they are coming
in now fast."
_Intelligence Officer._ "Is this road clear into the _dorp_?"[22]
_D._ (_with polite sarcasm_) "You may ride along this road in perfect
safety."
_T._ (_cheerily_) "That is more than you can, my friend. (_Turning to
Intelligence Officer._) This man has evidently, sir, carried
information to Brand's people and a wounded man into Britstown; see
the blood on the back of the seat. I should keep him a prisoner,
sir--send him back to the column with a man. Besides, if I am to stay
with you, sir, I should like his cart and mules. They are good mules,
you see. They have been into the town and back, and have scarcely
turned a hair!"...
There was no doubt as to the occupation of Britstown when the
Intelligence officer and his escort crossed the vlei, which is the
principal outlying feature of that typical little South African
township. The De Aar road was one block of moving transport, and the
usually quiet main street of the village was alive with troops. Of a
truth a concentration was taking place, and the Dutch were not amiss
in their simile when they likened a British concentration to a flight
of locusts.
Very few of you will have ever heard of Britstown. Yet, like so many
other obscure South African townships, this war has brought it a
history. Nor is the historical record which has been built up for it
of extraordinary merit. There will be many in the ranks of a certain
favoured corps who will scarcely treasure the memory of that little
wayside asylum. We remember when the papers were full of the exploits
and valour of this returning corps--then Britstown found no mention.
Yet its associations, pleasant though they may not be, are closely
interwoven with its short-lived history. The story is told to-day over
the hotel-bars of the little township by gleeful Colonials. Told how
in open fight, a handful of rebel farmers--perhaps our friends the
brothers Pretorius and Stephanus were amongst them--drove two
companies of England's _élite_ every mile of the twenty-two which lie
between Houwater and Britstown. The Colonial, clinking his
glass,--shallow in his taste and appreciation,--glories in the story,
which is writ large in rebel little Britstown to this day, and will be
for all time.
A militia picket is astride the road. None--at least by the main
highway--may pass into the confines of the town without permission.
The stolid country lout of a sentry views all new-comers with
suspicion. But the deadlock is saved by the arrival of a dapper,
chubby-faced youth, clean of person, well groomed in habiliments and
gear.
"I am the staff officer of the town commandant. What can I do for
you?"
_Intelligence Officer._ "What I want is the telegraph-office."
_Staff Officer._ "Certainly, sir; but what do you belong to? Are you
with the main column?"
_I. O._ "Dear me, no. I have just come in from the New Cavalry
Brigade!"
_S. O._ "Yes; we are expecting you. You are to camp on the south side
of the town. Just under the parapet of those defences. Those are our
southern defences. What do you think? Brand had the impertinence to
send in last night and demand our immediate surrender. That we,
Britstown, should surrender----!"
_I. O._ (_brutally_) "And did you? Look here; you will have to wait
until the general comes in for your camping arrangements. All I want
is the telegraph-office."
_S. O._ "Of course we did not surrender. Why, we have made this place
impregnable. There are three companies of my regiment here, to say
nothing of the local town-guard."
_I. O._ "Oh, hang the town-guard! You trot along and find the chief of
our staff. I have other things to think about. By the way, has the
rest of the New Cavalry Brigade come in here? The Mount Nelson Light
Horse--they are marching from Hanover Road?"
_S. O._ "No; but there is some ox-transport for you with the Supply
column. How far back is your general?"
_I. O._ "About three miles. Thanks." (_Intelligence Officer and the
Tiger canter on._)
_Tiger._ "Please, sir, did he say that the De Aar column was in?"
_I. O._ "Yes. Why?"
_T._ "Only the bulk of Rimington's--that is, Damant's--Guides are with
it, and I should like to go and see them as soon as I have shown you
the telegraph-office. I will also try and find out what young
Pretorius was doing in here last night."
In five minutes a "clear-the-line" message was on its way to "Chief,
Pretoria," to tell him that the concentration ordered two days ago had
taken place. To us, following the fortunes of one small unit in the
great move, it will appear that in our forty-eight hours' association
with the New Cavalry Brigade everything has proceeded as could have
been desired by the master-mind. But it was not so. Almost before the
last of the horses had been detrained at Richmond Road, the whole
nature of, and necessity for, the movement had changed. In short,
everything had turned out as the brigadier had anticipated. Plumer,
with the tenacity for which he is famous, had clung to the rear-guard
of De Wet's column, snatching a waggon here and a tumbril there, until
he himself could move no farther. De Wet had outlasted him, and had,
moreover, seen that it would be useless to carry out his original
programme. So he doubled and doubled again, with the result that the
cleverly devised scheme of relays of driving columns was out of joint,
and a dozen units were uselessly spread out over the veldt a hundred
miles from the place in which the invader was catching his breath,
within jeering distance of the column which had ran itself stone-cold
in his pursuit. So within forty-eight hours of the start the whole
plan had to be reconstructed. This reconstruction was explained to
the New Cavalry Brigade through the medium of one hundred and four
telegrams which were awaiting its arrival at Britstown. As the
majority conveyed contradictory instructions, the piecing together of
the real meaning partook of the nature of one of those drawing-room
after-dinner games with which yawning guests at winter house-parties
are beguiled. The first cover that was opened deprived the brigadier
of his chief of the staff. That officer was ordered to proceed without
delay to take up the command of a mobile column to be formed at
Volksrust, the other end of the world--that is, the world with which
we are at present concerned.
"Don't open any more till we have fed," said the brigadier. "A man
with an empty stomach has no mind. We will have a fat high tea at the
local Carlton, and then devise strategy."
A general in the field is a great man. But a general in a town at
which half-a-dozen Colonial Corps have concentrated is of no account.
In the street men pass him by without recognition, and in hotels
private swashbucklers in smasher hats literally hustle him.
"This table is reserved for the commandant," said the ample hostess of
the Britstown Carlton.
"Who is the commandant?" queried the brigadier.
"Major Jones," came the answer.
"Well, I'm----! this beats cock-fighting. This is the result of
martial law and the control of the liquor licence!--a well-fed major
reserves seats, while a hungry general stands!" and the general and
staff of the New Cavalry Brigade occupied the reserved table, and
became guests of the hotel in common with thirty dishevelled troopers,
who had passed into the hotel, representing themselves to the dazed
militia sentry at the door as officers. The food may not have been of
the best, but it was in abundance; and in a quarter of an hour the
brigadier was prepared to study his instructions.
_B._ "Now, Mr Intelligence, since they see fit to remove my chief of
the staff, you have got to be maid-of-all-work. You and I have got to
run this brigade until the brigade-major turns up. He must be a bit
of a 'slow-bird,' I think, or he would have been here with the rest of
my hoplites by this. Do you know anything about staff work?"
_Intelligence Officer._ "Nothing, sir!"
_B._ "So much the better; you will then have a mind ripe for tuition.
Now I will give you a lesson. You have two pockets in your tunic. The
right pocket will be the receptacle for 'business' telegrams, the left
for 'bunkum.' Now for the telegrams!"