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[Illustration: General Ben Viljoen and his Secretary (Mr. J.
Visser).]
MY REMINISCENCES OF THE ANGLO-BOER WAR
BY
GENERAL BEN VILJOEN
(ASSISTANT COMMANDANT-GENERAL OF THE TRANSVAAL BURGHER FORCES
AND MEMBER FOR JOHANNESBURG IN THE TRANSVAAL VOLKSRAAD)
Maps from Drawings by P. Van Breda
LONDON:
HOOD, DOUGLAS, & HOWARD,
11, CLIFFORD'S INN, E.C.
1902.
PREFACE.
General Ben Viljoen, while engaged on this work, requested me to write
a short introduction to it. This request I gladly comply with.
General Viljoen was a prisoner-of-war at Broadbottom Camp, St. Helena,
where, after two years' service in South Africa, I was stationed with
my regiment. It was at the General's further request that I conveyed
this work to Europe for publication.
The qualities which particularly endeared this brave and justly-famous
Boer officer to us were his straightforwardness and unostentatious
manner, his truthfulness, and the utter absence of affectation that
distinguishes him. I am certain that he has written his simple
narrative with candour and impartiality, and I feel equally certain,
from what I know of him, that this most popular of our late opponents
has reviewed the exciting episodes of the War with an honesty, an
intelligence, and a humour which many previous publications on the War
have lacked.
During his stay at St. Helena I became deeply attached to General
Viljoen; and in conclusion I trust that this work, which entailed many
hours of labour, will yield him a handsome recompense.
THEODORE BRINCKMAN, C.B.
_Colonel Commanding_,
_3rd, The Buffs (East Kent Regt.)_
Tarbert,
Loch Fyne,
Scotland.
_September, 1902_
INDEX TO CONTENTS.
Page
PREFACE BY COL. THEODORE BRINCKMAN, C.B. 5
THE AUTHOR TO THE READER 9
CHAPTER
I. THE WAR CLOUDS GATHER 19
II. AND THE WAR STORM BREAKS 24
III. THE INVASION OF NATAL 30
IV. DEFEATED AT ELANDSLAAGTE 40
V. PURSUED BY THE LANCERS 44
VI. RISKING JOUBERT'S ANGER 59
VII. THE BOER GENERAL'S SUPERSTITIONS 68
VIII. "GREAT POWERS" TO INTERVENE 72
IX. COLENSO AND SPION KOP FIGHTS 78
X. THE BATTLE OF VAALKRANTZ 88
XI. THE TURN OF THE TIDE 100
XII. THE GREAT BOER RETREAT 110
XIII. DRIVEN FROM THE BIGGARSBERGEN 124
XIV. DISPIRITED AND DEMORALISED 133
XV. OCCUPATION OF PRETORIA 145
XVI. BATTLE OF DONKERHOEK ("DIAMOND HILL") 150
XVII. I BECOME A GENERAL 161
XVIII. OUR CAMP BURNED OUT 175
XIX. BATTLE OF BERGENDAL (MACHADODORP) 181
XX. TWO THOUSAND BRITISH PRISONERS RELEASED 185
XXI. A GOVERNMENT IN FLIGHT 193
XXII. AN IGNOMINIOUS DISPERSAL 204
XXIII. A DREARY TREK THROUGH FEVERLAND 212
XIV. PAINS AND PLEASURES OF COMMANDEERING 237
XXV. PUNISHING THE PRO-BRITISH 246
XXVI. BATTLE OF RHENOSTERKOP 258
XXVII. THE SECOND CHRISTMAS AT WAR 278
XXVIII. CAPTURE OF "LADY ROBERTS" 285
XXIX. A DISMAL "HAPPY NEW YEAR" 302
XXX. GENERAL ATTACK ON BRITISH FORTS 307
XXXI. A "BLUFF" AND A BATTLE 322
XXXII. EXECUTION OF A TRAITOR 333
XXXIII. IN A TIGHT CORNER 339
XXXIV. ELUDING THE BRITISH CORDON 348
XXXV. BOER GOVERNMENT'S NARROW ESCAPE 358
XXXVI. A GOVERNMENT ON HORSEBACK 377
XXXVII. BLOWING UP AN ARMOURED TRAIN 382
XXXVIII. TRAPPING PRO-BRITISH BOERS 388
XXXIX. BRUTAL KAFFIRS' MURDER TRAIL 402
XL. CAPTURING A FREEBOOTER'S LAIR 411
XLI. AMBUSHING THE HUSSARS 416
XLII. I TALK WITH GENERAL BLOOD 421
XLIII. MRS. BOTHA'S BABY AND THE "TOMMY" 425
XLIV. THE LAST CHRISTMAS OF THE WAR 435
XLV. MY LAST DAYS ON THE VELDT 442
XLVI. I AM AMBUSHED AND CAPTURED 449
XLVII. SHIPPED TO ST. HELENA 462
XLVIII. LIFE IN BONAPARTE'S PRISON 471
XLIX. HOW WE BLEW UP AND CAPTURED TRAINS 485
L. HOW WE FED AND CLOTHED COMMANDOS 496
LI. OUR FRIEND THE ENEMY 506
LII. THE FIGHTING BOER AND HIS OFFICER 515
APPENDIX 523
THE AUTHOR TO THE READER.
In offering my readers my reminiscences of the late War, I feel that
it is necessary to ask their indulgence and to plead extenuating
circumstances for many obvious shortcomings.
It should be pointed out that the preparation of this work was
attended with many difficulties and disabilities, of which the
following were only a few:--
(1) This is my first attempt at writing a book, and as a
simple Afrikander I lay no claim to any literary ability.
(2) When captured by the British forces I was deprived of
all my notes, and have been compelled to consult and depend
largely upon my memory for my facts and data. I would wish
to add, however, that the notes and minutiae they took from
me referred only to events and incidents covering six months
of the War. Twice before my capture, various diaries I had
compiled fell into British hands; and on a third occasion,
when our camp at Dalmanutha was burned out by a
"grass-fire," other notes were destroyed.
(3) I wrote this book while a prisoner-of-war, fettered, as
it were, by the strong chains with which a British "parole"
is circumscribed. I was, so to say, bound hand and foot, and
always made to feel sensibly the humiliating position to
which we, as prisoners-of-war on this island, were reduced.
Our unhappy lot was rendered unnecessarily unpleasant by the
insulting treatment offered us by Colonel Price, who
appeared to me an excellent prototype of Napoleon's
custodian, Sir Hudson Lowe. One has only to read Lord
Rosebery's work, "The Last Phase of Napoleon," to realise
the insults and indignities Sir Hudson Lowe heaped upon a
gallant enemy.
We Boers experienced similar treatment from our custodian, Colonel
Price, who appeared to be possessed with the very demon of distrust
and who conjured up about us the same fantastic and mythical plans of
escape as Sir Hudson Lowe attributed to Napoleon. It is to his absurd
suspicions about our safe custody that I trace the bitterly offensive
regulations enforced on us.
While engaged upon this work, Colonel Price could have pounced down
upon me at any moment, and, having discovered the manuscript, would
certainly have promptly pronounced the writing of it in conflict with
the terms of my "parole."
I have striven as far as possible to refrain from criticism, except
when compelled to do so, and to give a coherent story, so that the
reader may easily follow the episodes I have sketched. I have also
endeavoured to be impartial, or, at least, so impartial as an erring
human being can be who has just quitted the bloody battlefields of a
bitter struggle.
But the sword is still wet, and the wound is not yet healed.
I would assure my readers that it has not been without hesitation that
I launch this work upon the world. There have been many amateur and
professional writers who have preceded me in overloading the reading
public with what purport to be "true histories" of the War. But having
been approached by friends to add my little effort to the ponderous
tomes of War literature, I have written down that which I saw with my
own eyes, and that which I personally experienced. If seeing is
believing, the reader may lend credence to my recital of every
incident I have herein recounted.
During the last stages of the struggle, when we were isolated from the
outside world, we read in newspapers and other printed matter captured
from the British so many romantic and fabulous stories about
ourselves, that we were sometimes in doubt whether people in Europe
and elsewhere would really believe that we were ordinary human beings
and not legendary monsters. On these occasions I read circumstantial
reports of my death, and once a long, and by no means flattering,
obituary (extending over several columns of a newspaper) in which I
was compared to Garibaldi, "Jack the Ripper," and Aguinaldo. On
another occasion I learned from British newspapers of my capture,
conviction, and execution in the Cape Colony for wearing the insignia
of the Red Cross. I read that I had been brought before a military
court at De Aar and sentenced to be shot, and what was worse, the
sentence was duly confirmed and carried out. A very lurid picture was
drawn of the execution. Bound to a chair, and placed near my open
grave, I had met my doom with "rare stoicism and fortitude." "At
last," concluded my amiable biographer, "this scoundrel, robber, and
guerilla leader, Viljoen, has been safely removed, and will trouble
the British Army no longer." I also learned with mingled feelings of
amazement and pride that, being imprisoned at Mafeking at the
commencement of hostilities, General Baden-Powell had kindly
exchanged me for Lady Sarah Wilson.
To be honest, none of the above-mentioned reports were strictly
accurate. I can assure the reader that I was never killed in action or
executed at De Aar, I was never in Mafeking or any other prison in my
life (save here at St. Helena), nor was I in the Cape Colony during
the War. I never masqueraded with a Red Cross, and I was never
exchanged for Lady Sarah Wilson. Her ladyship's friends would have
found me a very poor exchange.
It is also quite inaccurate and unfair to describe me as a "thief" and
"a scoundrel". It was, indeed, not an heroic thing to do, seeing that
the chivalrous gentlemen of the South African Press who employed the
epithets were safely beyond my view and reach, and I had no chance of
correcting their quite erroneous impressions. I could neither refute
nor defend myself against their infamous libels, and for the rest, my
friend "Mr. Atkins" kept us all exceedingly busy.
That which is left of Ben Viljoen after the several "coups de grace"
in the field and the tragic execution at De Aar, still "pans" out at a
fairly robust young person--quite an ordinary young fellow, indeed,
thirty-four years of age, of middle height and build. Somewhere in the
Marais Quartier of Paris--where the French Huguenots came from--there
was an ancestral Viljoen from whom I am descended. In the War just
concluded I played no great part of my own seeking. I met many
compatriots who were better soldiers than myself; but on occasions I
was happily of some small service to my Cause and to my people.
The chapters I append are, like myself, simple in form. If I have
become notorious it is not my fault; it is the fault of the newspaper
paragraphist, the snap-shooter, and the autograph fiend; and in these
pages I have endeavoured, as far as possible, to leave the stage to
more prominent actors, merely offering myself as guide to the many
battlefields on which we have waged our unhappy struggle.
I shall not disappoint the reader by promising him sensational or
thrilling episodes. He will find none such in these pages; he will
find only a naked and unembellished story.
BEN J. VILJOEN.
(_Assistant Commandant-General
of the Republican Forces._)
St. Helena,
_June, 1902_
[Illustration: 8 Maps of Nicholsons Nek & Modderspruit, Monte Christo,
Colenso, Spioen Kop, Vaalkrantz, Pieter's Hill, Stromberg and
Abramskraal.]
MY REMINISCENCES
OF THE
ANGLO-BOER WAR
CHAPTER I.
THE WAR CLOUDS GATHER.
In 1895 the political clouds gathered thickly and grew threatening.
They were unmistakable in their portent. War was meant, and we heard
the martial thunder rumbling over our heads.
The storm broke in the shape of an invasion from Rhodesia on our
Western frontiers, a raid planned by soldiers of a friendly power.
However one may endeavour to argue the chief cause of the South
African war to other issues, it remains an irrebuttable fact that the
Jameson Raid was primarily responsible for the hostilities which
eventually took place between Great Britain and the Boer Republics.
Mr. Rhodes, the sponsor and _deus ex machina_ of the Raid, could not
agree with Mr. Paul Kruger, and had failed in his efforts to establish
friendly relations with him. Mr. Kruger, quite as stubborn and
ambitious as Mr. Rhodes, placed no faith in the latter's amiable
proposals, and the result was that fierce hatred was engendered
between the two Gideons, a racial rancour spreading to fanatical
lengths.
Dr. Jameson's stupid raid is now a matter of history; but from that
fateful New Year's Day of 1896 we Boers date the terrible trials and
sufferings to which our poor country has been exposed. To that
mischievous incident, indeed, we directly trace the struggle now
terminated.
This invasion, which was synchronous with an armed rebellion at
Johannesburg, was followed by the arrest and imprisonment of the
so-called gold magnates of the Witwatersrand. Whether these
exceedingly wealthy but extremely degenerate sons of Albion and
Germania deserved the death sentence pronounced upon their leaders at
Pretoria for high treason it is not for me to judge.
I do recall, however, what an appeal for mercy there went up, how
piteously the Transvaal Government was petitioned and supplicated, and
finally moved "to forgive and forget." The same faction who now press
so obdurately for "no mercy" upon the Colonial Afrikanders who joined
us, then supplicated all the Boer gods for forgiveness.
Meantime the Republic was plagued by the rinderpest scourge, which
wrought untold havoc throughout the country. This scourge was preceded
by the dynamite disaster at Vrededorp (near Johannesburg) and the
railway disaster at Glencoe in Natal. It was succeeded by a smallpox
epidemic, which, in spite of medical efforts, grew from sporadic to
epidemic and visited all classes of the Rand, exacting victims
wherever it travelled. During the same period difficulties occurred in
Swaziland necessitating the despatch of a strong commando to the
disaffected district and the maintenance of a garrison at Bremersdorp.
The following year hostilities were commenced against the Magato
tribe in the north of the Republic.
After an expensive expedition, lasting six months, the rebellion was
quelled. There was little doubt that the administration of unfaithful
native commissioners was in part responsible for the difficulties, but
there is less doubt that external influences also contributed to the
rebellion. This is not the time, however, to tear open old wounds.
Mr. Rhodes has disappeared from the stage for ever; he died as he had
lived. His relentless enemy Mr. Kruger, who was pulling the strings at
the other end, is still alive. Perhaps the old man may be spared to
see the end of the bloody drama; it was undoubtedly he and Mr. Rhodes
who played the leading parts in the prologue.
Which of these two "Big Men" took the greatest share in bringing about
the Disaster which has drenched South Africa with blood and draped it
in mourning, it would be improper for me at this period to suggest.
Mr. Rhodes has been summoned before a Higher Tribunal; Mr. Kruger has
still to come up for judgment before the people whose fate, and very
existence as a nation, are, at the time of writing, wavering in the
balance.
We have been at one another's throats, and for this we have to thank
our "statesmen." It is to be hoped that our leaders of the future will
attach more value to human lives, and that Boer and Briton will be
enabled to live amicably side by side.
A calm and statesmanlike government by men free from ambition and
racial rancour, by men of unblemished reputation, will be the only
means of pacifying South Africa and keeping South Africa pacified.