quarters, and taking the Intelligence officer with him, made straight
for the hub of Hopetown's universe. The hotel and the telegraph-office
stood close together. Outside the former a little scarlet flaglet
fluttered, its double point showing that the general officer who
sported it claimed divisional rank,--a quaint claim at this period of
the war, when lieutenant-generals were parading the theatre at the
head of little _paarde kommandos_[38] three to four hundred strong.
The brigadier spotted the flag, and then edged off to the
telegraph-office. "We will first make things straight with K. Then we
will consult this new horror with the oriflamme that we have stumbled
into!" Three tired clerks, two soldiers and a civilian, were trying to
cope with the telegraphic efforts of five columns. The brigadier
dictated his message to the Intelligence officer. It was a bare
announcement of arrival, duplicated to Pretoria and De Aar.
_Telegraph Operator._ "There is no chance of any private wires going
through for at least forty-eight hours; post would be quicker!"
_Brigadier._ "Then you will just have to clear the line."
_T. O._ "Can only do that for general officers."
_B._ "That is all I ask you to do,--so here you are!"
_T. O._ "Beg pardon, sir; but are you a general,--you are not like
most generals. Yes, sir, it's nice and short. I can get this off in
about five minutes. They clear the line, of course, at De Aar; we are
only working to De Aar. I have quite a lot of messages for you, sir;
they have been coming all last night." (The operator handed out the
bundle of telegraphic jetsam.)
The telegrams contained the usual proportion of hysterical nonsense
from the De Wet expert and various intelligence and departmental
centres; also a direct order from the general at De Aar to proceed
without delay to Orange River Station and there entrain for
Jagersfontein Road in the Orange River Colony. This at least was
satisfactory, as it meant without fail good-bye to the hated Karoo.
The news telegram was interesting reading, though a little indefinite
in its wording. In the light of subsequent knowledge the information
which it conveyed was much as the brigadier had anticipated. De Wet,
after the sack of Strydenburg, had doubled north,--in fact, had almost
retraced his original line. He had thrown a feint up in the direction
of Mark's Drift, and thus drawn the pursuit temporarily off the true
line, but had as suddenly swung to the east. Here he had again been
struck by the indefatigable Plumer, temporarily renovated and with
sufficient steam up to take him a short spurt. That spurt was
sufficient to rob De Wet of his last impedimenta, to cause him to
bifurcate in his flight. Part of the pursued rabble went north, half
hurled itself across the Cape Government Railway in the vicinity of
Paauwpan. Plumer's spurt was just too short to bring about the
definite result required, and he crawled into Hopetown to further
revive his energy. In the meantime it was learned from prisoners and
other sources that the group of fugitives trying to cross the Orange
River north of Hopetown was Judge Hertzog's and Pretorius's party.
Brand had made the passage at Mark's Drift, while De Wet, with the
ex-President, was still in the Colony heading for Philipstown. Then
hope ran high. The Orange River was in flood, while stops were in
front of and south of the harried guerilla. Thorneycroft and Henry in
the vicinity of Colesburg; Crabbe and Henniker on his tail; Grenfell,
Murray, and others strung out in an ever-decreasing circle! Swollen
river in front, desperate Englishmen behind, what chance had the
residue of the invaders now! But the brigadier shook his head as he
pricked out the positions on the map. "There is no mention of troops
moving down from the north. What does Napoleon say about rivers as
barriers in war?--he classes them as negotiable obstacles, after
deserts and mountains, right low down on the scale. Flood or no flood,
ole man De Wet will cross that river just wherever and whenever he
pleases; and if we have no one north of it either to pick him up or to
head him while crossing, he will get clear away, and we shall have let
slip another opportunity, by crass stupidity and failure to make use
of the very signal advantages which circumstances have placed in our
way. Plumer and my brigands get to Orange River Station to-night. Even
if they have truckage waiting for us, we shall not march clear of
Jagersfontein Road until the day after to-morrow. That will give ole
man De Wet twenty-four hours' clear lead. I must say that I cannot see
the hand of genius in the fitting of this plan to the map. This is the
line that both Plumer and I should take--Orange River Station, Ramah,
Luckhoff, Fauresmith. One of us halt at Luckhoff; Kimberley send a
column to Koffyfontein; Bloemfontein another to Petrusburg and
Abramskraal; while Fauresmith and Jagersfontein form bases for
columns sent to them from Springfontein; and then with a consistent
and strong line of outposts we might have stopped his main road north,
although we should be too late to man the river. But, anyhow, I'll
have a try at convincing them at headquarters that I am a better man
outside than inside a cattle-truck. So here goes. Mr Intelligence,
paper and ink and take it down, and mind it is to go in cipher!" The
brigadier then roughly drew a comparison in the saving of time
involved by a direct march upon Fauresmith from Orange River Station
and transport by rail, closing the message with a promise to be in
Fauresmith the second day after leaving the railway.
It then became a question of a square meal at the caravanserai. The
concentration of five columns had taxed the capabilities of the little
hostel beyond endurance. All that they could furnish was milk and
butter. But they were prepared to cook any food that was brought, so
with an effort it was possible to arrive at a meal. There was no lack
of entertainment, however. One of the columns had sent out 300 men and
a pompom in pursuit of Hertzog's fugitives, and the force had just
returned with quite a haul of prisoners. They had come across the
rearmost of them as they were in the act of crossing the river in a
rickety punt, which vessel had been scientifically rendered
unseaworthy by a well-directed belt of pompom-shells. Examination of
the bushes on the near bank of the river showed that dozens of Boers
had literally gone to earth. The river approach was full of
rain-fissures and water-cracks, and the men spent the whole morning
actually bolting burghers from cover, much in the same manner as a
pack of beagles is well used to aid sportsmen to shoot a
rabbit-covert.
It was not until you found opportunity to see these prisoners that you
realised what this war meant to these farmer guerillas, and the
influence which the failure of De Wet's invasion must have made on the
subsequent operations. Amongst the whole 200 prisoners that were
brought in that day, there was only one man--a man who called himself
Hertzog's secretary--who was completely dressed. The majority had
neither coats nor boots; and their remaining costume was in the last
stage of decay. Nor had the inner man been nurtured any better than
the outer. They were emaciated and drawn with hunger and hardship.
They rose out of their holes with their hands above their heads like
great gaunt ghosts with saucer eyes. They were in such a state that
surrender brought to them no pangs of remorse. They welcomed it as a
means to live, and their ravenous supplication for food was not the
least pathetic setting to the scene. They are a strange paradox these
people. One could not help admiring the patriotism--or is it magnetic
power of their leaders?--which kept in the field, in spite of all its
dismal horrors of death and suffering, men who had but to surrender to
return to their share of the comfort of living. If it is true
patriotism, then you feel inclined to raise your hat. But if it is
only fear of the knout, then hanging is the best end you could wish
the leaders, who are able to control such suffering, and who, in the
hope of personal advancement, refuse to alleviate it. But what is more
humiliating than anything else, is the realisation that these
miserable creatures are an enemy able to keep the flower of England's
army in check, to levy a tax of six millions a-month upon this
country, and render abortive a military reputation built upon
unparalleled traditions. This is indeed a bitter reflection, a painful
reminder that the advance of science has placed the athlete and the
cripple almost upon an equality in armed encounter.
It was an interesting gathering that partook of dinner in the quaintly
boarded little dining-room of the Hopetown tavern. Four column
commanders and their staffs filled the tables, which betimes were the
mess-boards of the bank clerks and shop-walkers of the village. The
soldiers, however, had some right to be in temporary possession, since
the viands were their own. The two little serving-maids, daughters of
a Dutch proprietress, were alive to the unusual importance of their
duties, and had carefully prepared for the part. Print dresses were
dispensed with, and they stood arrayed in their Sabbath frocks,
covered with the becoming apron-pinafore which the country affects,
and with carefully braided hair. Quaint little maids--why should we
quiz them?--they were there dressed and determined to do their best.
At the first table sat a middle-aged major-general, a man of kindly
face and habit. As a soldier--a fierce, intrepid leader--can you not
remember the day when he lay amongst the scrub of the Modder bank with
his chest laid bare by a raking bullet, and refused to be carried to
hospital,--even entreated the doctors to let him carry out the mad
effort, worthy of a Marshal Ney, which had been intrusted to him, and
which all but cost him his life. Yet, so strange is the complex nature
of the Englishman, this man, whom the breath of war could rouse to a
courage almost superhuman, spent his leisure in the toils of artistic
photography, and evinced more demonstrative pleasure over a successful
plate than in a battlement of arms made sweet in victory.
At the next table sat a leader of another kind, or rather a different
development of the same type of quiet unassuming English
gentleman,--the gallant, thrusting, never-tiring Plumer. Small spare
man of dainty gait and finish, yet moulded in a clay which hitherto
has shown no flaw in the rougher elements of the soldier. It is no
inconsiderable tribute to his sterling qualities as a leader that he
gained both the confidence and devotion of the rough Bushboys from the
Antipodes, with whom he was associated. But however dainty and
unassuming the shell, it is the spirit which fashions the man, and he
who would continue in the shade of Plumer's banner must ride with all
the cunning he may possess to prove himself worthy of the lead he
follows. At another table sits Pilcher, the man on wires. Hot-headed
he may be, yet withal crafty in war: worthy representative of the race
of young soldiers which the Nile has bred. Then there was our own
brigadier, as buoyant in spirit and as light of heart as any of his
ancestors who played the gallant in the Court of Versailles, yet
possessing beneath the veneer of gaiety a steadfast tenacity of
purpose, which favoured the quartering added from the north of the
Tweed. The room was full of men--men who for eighteen solid months had
been engaging in the stern realities of war. The leaders who had
exercised the balance of life and death, the juniors who had looked a
thousand dangers squarely in the face. If success in war was only made
up in the excellence of fighting men, then England could stand out
pre-eminent. Unfortunately, success lies in business-soldiers _plus_
fighting men. It is in her business-soldiers that England's weakness
lies.
It is only when the intention is to do something desperate that one is
able to appreciate the obstructive temperament of military
officialdom. The whole system teems with "wait-a-bit" thorns; and in
such rare cases when difficulties do not exist, some jack-in-office is
certain to arrive with the sole object and intention of inventing
them. Now, the brigadier had put forward a simple and rational
plan,--so simple and rational that the lieutenant-general at De Aar
had willingly acquiesced, for this general was at least a man to whom
his juniors might look and be certain of support. But after the
general there arose a pack of snarling juniors, whose only energy
seemed to be expended in an endeavour to frustrate the plans of
others. The brigade had orders to march by night the six miles which
separate Hopetown from Orange River Station, but long before it took
the road the departmental spirit of opposition had commenced to make
itself felt.
First came a "clear-the-line" message from the transport officer,
ordering the brigadier to hand over his mule-transport to another
column commander. It is true that he promised to re-equip him with
mule-transport at the destination of his railway journey; but the
brigadier had had experience of the director of transport's promises.
This was an impediment which it was possible to ignore; but it was
followed by another more serious. The supply people appeared to have
been hurt on the score of the short notice which had been given to
them, and raised a host of difficulties. But the climax was reached
when the Intelligence Department volunteered the information that it
would be useless for the brigade to apply for maps, as they had none
in stock; but they added, "As a substitute we are sending the best
local guide procurable."
The brigadier had met the first of these hindrances with equanimity,
but the last burden upset the camel's load. "Did you ever see such
fellows? they are bent on thwarting me every time. I shall ignore them
right through; the only attention the man who has the audacity to
offer me a low horse-thieving local expert as the substitute for a
gross of maps deserves is to be court-martialled and stamped out of
existence on sight. You need not telegraph all that, Mr Intelligence;
but you may send a message to the general in De Aar to inform him
that, having received his orders, I shall leave no stone unturned to
carry out the scheme he has sanctioned, in spite of local obstruction.
That is to be the sense of the message, and it ought to cover any
subsequent act of disobedience which we undertake. Don't make answers
to any of these subordinate fry; we will just march at nine o'clock
to-night to Orange River Station, raid the place of such rations as we
can lay hands on, and then, maps or no maps, take off our caps to Cape
Colony for ever."
* * * * *
It was just as well that the brigadier had made his own arrangements,
for both Plumer and Pilcher forgathered at Orange River that night,
and the stationmaster, with the bonhomie bred of a long period spent
in disappointing everybody with whom he came in contact, informed each
column commander in rotation that the best he could promise them was
truckage sufficient for one squadron on the following day, two
squadrons perhaps on the second day, and the whole of the mounted
troops ordered by rail certainly not before a week or ten days. We
just ask you to make a short study of this situation. The episode
which is here related was not a farce--far from it: it was a serious
endeavour on the part of the British army in South Africa to capture
or destroy a noted brigand called De Wet. A possibility of bringing
about this desired result was certainly within view, and the British
army was straining every nerve to avail itself of a unique
opportunity. To the humble subaltern, who was but a microscopic atom
of that huge British army, this herculean effort partook rather of the
nature of burlesque than of serious war. But it was nothing to the
burlesque which was shortly to be enacted on Orange River Station
platform.
As day broke other columns concentrated on the station buildings,
until the inartistic surroundings of the little centre became black
with men and animals. In appearance it might well be likened to a
swarm of bees in temporary possession of a window-frame. Amongst the
troops waiting for rolling stock was a wild company of over-sea
Colonials--men of independent character and fine physique, who had
already done their year in the country, and to whom the sight of a
permanent way and the smell of a station-yard brought memories of
homes in a distant land, and transports tossing on Table Bay, and a
promise that had been made to them by some one, that they should
return home the next time they touched the railway. Their dash after
De Wet had been undertaken rather in the spirit of a favour. And now
they were on the line again, rumour had it that their belated truckage
had been ordered to convey them back to the Orange River Colony. They
accepted this rumour as a breach of faith, and feeling ran high in the
contingent--ran so high that it overlapped and swamped the tiny pillar
of discipline which thirteen months of campaigning had built into the
constitution of the corps. The climax was reached on the morning of
the concentration at Orange River Station. The colonel commanding the
over-sea Colonials stood chatting with our brigadier. We were waiting
for the shoddy platform buffet to open its hospitable doors, when
suddenly we were aware of the whole of the Colonial contingent
marching in correct files on to the platform. A full private was in
command. He issued his orders clearly. "Halt!"--"Pile arms!"--"Stand
clear!"--"Fall out!" And then a deputation of three advanced towards
us. They saluted their colonel with all military punctiliousness, and
stood as stiffly to attention as is possible with the irregular.
_Colonial Colonel._ "What does this mean, men?"
_Spokesman._ "If you please, sir, we have mutinied" (_the supporting
deputation gravely nodded their assent_).
_C. C._ "The devil you have!--but do you realise what it means when
you mutiny on active service?"
_S._ "Well, you see, sir, it is putting it rather strongly, perhaps,
to say that we _have_ mutinied. But you see, sir, our time is up, and
we have determined not to go on the trek any more. Our last trek was a
favour. We were promised that we should be sent home the next time we
struck the railway, and we hold by this promise."
_C. C._ "Men, don't be fools. Go back to your camp. You have no need
to believe that faith will be broken with you. But think of the
example you are setting to the rest of the troops here! Think of what
the people at home will say! You don't realise what you are liable to
for mutiny."
_S._ "Well, sir, we don't exactly mean this as mutiny. This is just a
protest against being kept out here against our will and agreement.
You will accept it, sir, in the spirit that it is given--a protest,
sir!"
_C. C._ "Very good. Go back to your lines!"
The deputation saluted, returned to the fallen-out contingent, which
gravely unpiled its arms and marched back to its lines, amid a little
desultory cheering from some few by-standers who realised what was
taking place.
The brigadier turned to the Colonial colonel and said, "Well, that is
the quaintest attitude that I have ever seen taken up by a body of
men. Do they often treat you to these protests?"
_C. C._ "Sometimes. They are children in many respects. I can tell you
they need gentle handling. They have made their protest, and for a
week or so will be quite satisfied. I even fancy that I shall be able
to get them to do yet another trek if the authorities insist; but it
makes it devilish hard for us to deal with these fellows, when faith
is so constantly broken with them. They are as quiet as mice when I
get them away from the railway. But once they see metals they smell
sea-water, and it upsets them. They are fine but quaint fellows!"
The brigadier acquiesced. He would have been just the man to have
commanded these men. And he would have improved a situation such as
the one we had just witnessed. Yet it would be impossible to overrate
the delicacy of that situation. A tactless man, full of the power
which long generations of military discipline has built round the
sanctity of a commission, in a few short sentences would have
converted the scene of incipient mutiny into open intractable
rebellion. As it was, the mutiny was taken in the spirit in which it
had been made, and terminated to the satisfaction of all
concerned.[39]
The New Cavalry Brigade became almost complete at Hopetown, as the
brigadier was able to collect his last missing squadron of the 21st
King's Dragoon Guards, which hitherto had been taking part in the De
Wet hunt with another column. A portion of the Mount Nelson Light
Horse, however, was still missing; but the brigadier did not worry
about them, and felt himself complete, as he took the precaution to
issue orders that he was about to proceed by rail to Jagersfontein
Road. But, as the narrative of the next forty-eight hours is to show,
the military system prevailing in South Africa was such that it was
only by a miracle that the most sagacious of leaders were able to
accomplish any exceptional result by strategy. The brigadier had
schemed to bring about a result which could only be arrived at by the
most rigid concealment of plan and direction.
It must be borne in mind that the Boers at this period of the campaign
had the most perfect system of intelligence. There was not a district
in the Transvaal or Orange River Colony which was not under the
command of a local commandant, who with a following of fifty to a
hundred men maintained a system of observation-posts throughout the
length and breadth of his district, and who apparently had the means
of conveying to some central organisation early intelligence of the
movement of every British column. This may appear to the casual
observer as an enormous undertaking, but in reality it was nothing of
the kind. It was absolutely essential to the Boer cause that a
considerable portion of their less valuable fighting material should
thus be distributed over the length and breadth of the guerilla area.
Owing to the great distances to be traversed in South Africa, every
Dutchman had a local knowledge of his own district which could never
be acquired in a country of rapid communication such as England. To
local men were apportioned the network of observation-hills in which
the country abounds. They lived upon the hill-tops all day, and
returned either to farms or other places of security during the night.
Their method of inter-communication was either by Kaffirs or mounted
messengers, and in this way news could travel by relay as easily and
rapidly as it is carried by a similar system amongst the natives of
India. Any Kaffir will dog-trot ten miles in two hours; consequently
without much effort Boer information would travel a hundred and twenty
miles in twenty-four hours. Added to this, every woman remaining upon
a farm was of the nature of an intelligence agent, and after the women
had been removed, for the most part to the concentration camps, the
majority of Kaffir kraals served the same purpose. It was this means
of information which made the Boer resistance possible: it was to this
system of espionage that De Wet owed the success of his meteor-like
career.
The Intelligence centre at De Aar being unable to furnish the
requisite maps, took upon itself to supply "the best local guide
procurable." It is mainly to the services rendered by this local guide
that De Wet owes his escape on this particular occasion. The brigadier
was fully alive to the existence of the Boer local espionage; but it
must be said with truth that he had not realised to what extent De
Wet's _clientèle_ included the men who possessed the confidence of
the De Wet expert and the intelligence faculty at De Aar. If he had
realised this he would have been content to have made his dash,
trusting to the almost supernatural instinct of the Tiger. As it was,
to the general regret, the Tiger was allowed to sever his connection
with the column, to be replaced by one of the many "sitters upon the
fence" who have for months conduced to the prolongation of the war.