SHIPPED TO ST. HELENA.
We were kept at Lydenburg until about the 30th of January, 1902, and
during our stay there I obtained leave to write a letter to my
burghers. In this I acquainted them and my brother with what had
occurred, and exhorted them to keep up their hearts and persevere.
Although kindly treated at Lydenberg, I cannot adequately describe the
feeling of disappointment and sorrow which my enforced inaction caused
me. I would have given anything to have been able to return to my
commando, and felt that I would rather have been killed than have
fallen into the enemy's hands. Being thus rendered impotent I could
but curse my fate.
Friendships which are formed on the veldt are strong indeed, and the
men who have lived together through all the vicissitudes of war for
twenty-eight months--through sunshine and rain, happiness and sorrow,
prosperity and adversity--become attached one to another with lasting
affections. My sufferings hit me very keenly. Besides the sadness
which separation from my companions caused me, I acutely felt my
position as, having been before in the habit of commanding and of
being obeyed by others, I was now subject to the humiliation of having
to obey the orders of British privates.
We prisoners were conveyed from Lydenburg to Machadodorp under the
charge of Colonel Urenston, of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders,
with an escort of 2,000 men. I was at a loss to know why so large a
force should have been sent to guard me, but this seemingly
exaggerated precaution was soon explained when I was told that Lord
Kitchener had given special orders that great care was to be taken to
prevent my commando from rescuing me. I must say that there was not
much chance of that occurring. Colonel Urenston was a very courteous
soldier, and treated me as well as could be expected.
Reaching Machadodorp four days later, I was handed over at Dalmanutha
Station to Captain Pearson, a staff officer, who subsequently
conducted me and my fellow prisoners to Pretoria. Some days after my
arrival there I was taken before Lord Kitchener, and was received very
courteously by him at his office. My interview with this great General
lasted about half an hour. The Commander-in-Chief of the British Army
in South Africa impressed me as being a real soldier, a man possessed
of a strong will not marred by arrogance.
I did not know what the British military authorities proposed to do
with me, and felt quite indifferent as to the matter. At dawn on the
third day after my arrival I was awakened by a soldier and informed
that I was to be taken to the station. The train was in readiness when
I arrived, and the officer in charge invited me to take a seat in his
compartment. I was then told that we were to proceed to Durban, but no
information was given me as to my ultimate destination.
On the train we prisoners were treated with great courtesy, but on
reaching Durban a different experience awaited us. Here I was placed
under the charge of Colonel Ellet, a very irascible person. This
Colonel greeted me with the information that he was quite delighted
that I had been captured. He repeated this gratuitous insult three
times, and, my patience being exhausted, I asked him to be kind enough
to tell me where he was instructed to convey me, and not to cause me
unnecessary pain by his taunts. He apologised lamely and told me that
I was to proceed on board ship. This very much surprised me, and I
remarked that I had already been taken from home and hearth 500 miles.
This ill-tempered creature then lent back arrogantly in his armchair,
puffing at his cigar, and said: "Well, ah, you are banished, don't you
know. You are to be sent to St. Helena, or as we call it, 'The Rock.'
You will shortly embark. It is a large ship you are going in; it is
called--ah, let me see, oh, yes, the _Britannica_. I will proceed to
the station and order your kit, and in the meantime you must sign this
parole and report yourself forthwith at the docks." I said in Dutch,
which the Colonel did not understand, "Lord deliver me from this evil
person."
On arriving on board ship I found several other Boer prisoners-of-war,
amongst them my old friend Erasmus, who masqueraded as a general in
the early stages of the War. Never having been before upon the sea I
was soon in the throes of _mal de mer_, and the prospect was certainly
not encouraging. There was no help for it, however. Colonel Curtis, of
the Royal Artillery, who was in charge of the troops on board, was a
very polite and pleasant person, and very welcome after that
extraordinary creature, Ellet. We were provided with good cabins and
the food was excellent. Before leaving the Bay General Lyttelton
visited me and showed himself very friendly. I soon found out that
Mrs. Lyttelton was proceeding on the same boat to England. My company
must have been rather unattractive, seeing that I was only well for
one day during the whole voyage.
The steamer was ordered to call at Cape Town, and when we neared this
port the guard kept over us was strengthened. An officer remained with
us continually and counted us every two hours to make sure that none
of us had escaped. One day two young Boers conspired to make a fool
of the officer, and concealed themselves in the lavatory. Their
absence was discovered the next time we were counted, and the officer
in charge, in a great state of perturbation, demanded of us what had
become of them. We took up the joke at once, and replied that they had
gone on shore to be shaved and would return at 7 o'clock. This
entirely took his breath away. But the absurdity of the situation so
got the better of us that we burst out into ironical laughter, and
finally set our custodian at ease by producing the two fugitives. We
were punished for our little joke, however, by having our paroles
withdrawn.
On the 19th of February the ship, with its sorrowful freight, steamed
away from Cape Town. We prisoners, assembled on the upper deck, bade a
very sorrowful farewell to the shores of our dear Fatherland. Long and
sadly did we gaze upon the fast receding land from which we expected
to be alienated for ever. Notwithstanding our depressing
circumstances, however, we attempted pluckily to keep up our spirits,
and with laughter and frivolity to cheer each other. Most of us had
never been on a ship before, and only one of our number had ever
voyaged away from South Africa. Ours was a very cheerless prospect,
for, although we did not know our exact fate, banishment for life
loomed over us. The ship's officers were urbanity itself, and did
everything in their power for our comfort. I shall always remember
their kindness, but it would have required much more than human effort
to have made our voyage enjoyable owing to the fact that we suffered
so intensely from sea-sickness.
After a very cheerless and discomforting voyage, we dropped anchor on
the 24th of February in St. Helena Harbour. "The Rock" rose out of the
ocean, bare and rugged, and imprisonment upon it offered a gloomy
prospect. No animal was visible, and foliage was wanting, I never saw
a less attractive place than Jamestown, the port at which we landed.
The houses seemed to be tumbling over one another in a "kloof." We
were all gloomily impressed, and somebody near me said, "This will be
our living graves." I answered, "No wonder that Napoleon broke his
heart upon this God-forsaken rock." I must confess that the feeling
grew upon us that we were to be treated as ordinary criminals, since
only murderers and dangerous people are banished to such places to be
forgotten by mankind.
An English officer came to me and asked what I thought of the Island.
My feelings got the better of me, and I replied--"It seems a suitable
place for England's felons, but it is very spiteful of England to
deport here men whose only crime has been to fight for their country.
It would have been much more merciful to have killed us at once than
to make us drag out an existence in a manner so dreary."
We were soon taken ashore by boats to Jamestown, and there learned to
our great disgust that we were all to be put in quarantine for bubonic
plague, and to be isolated at Lemon Valley, a valley in which I
afterwards found that lemons were conspicuous by their absence. No
greenery was to be seen in this desolate place. While our debarkation
was proceeding one of the boats capsized, but, happily, everybody
escaped with nothing worse than a ducking.
Quarantine regulations were enforced for six days at Lemon Valley. The
accommodation was very inadequate, and our culinary utensils, though
not primitive, were very bad, the food being such as might have been
the portion of criminals.
Luckily for us a British Censor named Baron von Ahlenfeldt, and a
doctor named Casey had accompanied us, and owing to their
instrumentality we were allowed better food and treatment. At the end
of our detention in the quarantine camp some of our number were
removed to Broadbottom Camp, while the others were quartered at
Deadwood Camp. Lieutenant Bathurst, who now assumed the position of
our custodian, was a good prototype of friend Ellet at Durban, and he
was at pains to treat us as felons rather than as prisoners-of-war.