and brickfields. I went down to the brickfields to see Captain Brown,
Cape Police, who is in charge and was in charge when he occupied the
Boer advanced trench. Since then he has been wounded, but is now back
at duty again. He told me that the idea of the Boers was apparently
that we should not enter the trench until the morning after they had
vacated it, but our doing so the night before and cutting the wire had
frustrated their amiable intention of blowing up our men and presumably
rushing the brickfields in the confusion. The other day, a Cape
policeman met a Transvaal policeman with a white flag (between these
forces in times of peace a very good feeling prevails) and chaffed him,
saying, "Why don't you blow your mine up." "Ah!" said the latter, "you
were too slim for us there." Houndsditch, the old Boer trench, has now
been converted into a strong fortification for ourselves, and the
brickfields generally are a far more desirable place for residence, the
several Boer trenches now being nine hundred to one thousand two hundred
yards away. They have some very good marksmen in their trenches
however, and make things very warm for our advanced trenches. A Cape
Boy exposed himself for a moment two or three days ago and was picked
off through the head by a Martini at once, and in the very few open
spaces which of course they have got accurately ranged they shoot
remarkably close. The brickfields are now garrisoned by the Cape Police
and Cape Boys under Captain Brown and Lieutenants Murray and Currie.
The big gun is still conspicuous by its absence, and it is reported to
have gone to Pretoria. If that be so it is the greatest sign so far
that the Boers feel hopeless about taking the town and the point may be
fairly scored off against any point they may have scored against us yet.
There was a wedding this morning between a private of the Bechuanaland
Rifles and a Dutch girl, he cannot talk Dutch nor she English. Let us
hope that it is a good omen of the future settlement of South Africa
with the British as "Boss."
This morning, too, three ambulances were seen coming in from the North,
and an ambulance and five waggons went in that direction, so Plumer may
have had a successful "scrap," at any rate, we all hope so.
These high velocity guns seem beautiful weapons, I must confess that in
common with the rest of the garrison I should dearly like to see them
tried on the Boer. It is all very well to be an expert in artillery,
but ours is not the most agreeable way of gaining the experience.
17th, Tuesday. The question of firewood and indeed all fuel has of late
been a somewhat serious one to Mafeking, and as the cold season is
coming on or rather is beginning, increases in importance daily,
consequently Mafeking has had to sacrifice its scanty supply of trees.
Probably the residents in their vicinity wish, if they had to be cut
down, it had been done at the commencement of the siege, for it seems as
if the Boer artillery when having no mark in particular but the town in
general had mainly aimed at the trees, at any rate, when they were
merely idly shelling the majority of shells fell in their neighbourhood.
It will, I fear, put the general appearance of the town back for some
years.
With the exception of perfunctory shelling in the brickfields, we have
had a quiet day and the big gun is still absent. Indeed, now so far
have our outlying trenches been pushed that except from the big gun and
quick-firers, we experience but little annoyance in the town itself.
During the last week our runners have been most successfully stopped,
but before this we have been fortunate enough to get London papers three
months old, and the Court House has been turned into a reading-room,
where the papers are daily eagerly devoured by all conditions of men and
women too. Everybody at home seems very pleased with Mafeking, and we
here feel really proud of the way our fellows are fighting in the South
and the way everybody is turning up to fight. It should be a fine
object-lesson to the Continentals. In many ways they must have had a
more amusing time than we have had and fighting on a much larger scale,
for this sort of fighting after the first two months is about the
dullest sort of entertainment you can well imagine: they so hopelessly
overwhelm us in artillery that we cannot get out to have a go at them.
Indeed, any sortie must resolve itself into storming one of their forts
which we are not strong enough to do, and so the forts on either side
face each other, fire at each other, but otherwise leave each other
severely alone; and outside their zone of fire their artillery takes up
whatever position it thinks fit and shells whatever portion of defences
or town it feels inclined to. One advantage in a long dragging
performance like this is that neither side seems in any particular hurry
and a very wet day generally means a certain immunity from fire.
Yesterday we had a heavy thunderstorm, and the first flash of lightening
exploded one of our mines in front of the brickfields simultaneously
with the thunderclap. I felt the ground shake and thought it was a
particularly heavy clap of thunder. The mine which was charged with ten
pounds of captured nitro-glycerine blew a tremendous hole in the ground,
and was, generally speaking, a great success, so what would have
happened had their carefully prepared two hundred and fifty pound mine
gone off, or what would have been left of Mafeking, I do not like to
think. The mine is now recharged and repaired, but I am afraid the
Boers have a nasty suspicious disposition which will prevent them from
sampling it.
The Cadet Corps have been lately doing their messages mounted on donkeys
captured from the Boers. Like the other mounted corps, however, their
ranks are gradually being depleted for the soup kitchen. This corps is
formed of all the boys of Mafeking, ranging from nine years upwards. It
does all the foot orderly work, thereby sparing several more men for the
trenches, and is dressed in khaki with "smasher" hats and a yellow
puggarree. It is commanded by a youth, Sergeant-Major Goodyear, the son
of Captain Goodyear, who was wounded in the brickfields, and is directly
supervised by Lord Edward Cecil. It drills regularly, and the boys are
wonderfully smart.
Our acetylene search lights on the principle of the duplex heliograph
repeat the signals from a central station to the stations all round the
outposts, and answer very well. These and all the signalling
arrangements are under the charge of Sergeant-Major Moffatt, late
Carbineers, who has been very successful on several occasions in tapping
the Boers' helio messages. He has also invented a new acetylene
signalling lamp, which he has patented, and which he claims can be
worked (instead of the helio) on a cloudy day as well as at night. From
what I have seen of the lamp I think his claims are well founded.
18th, Wednesday. Desultory shelling. Last night eleven native women
tried to get out, nine were killed and two were wounded. This, in spite
of repeated protests of Colonel Baden-Powell, who has pointed out that
Snyman continually shells the native village, and that when the women
try to escape they are flogged by day and shot by night. Botha, on
hearing of the occurrence, expressed his great regret and promised to
look after the wounded. Last night, too, the Boers were blowing up the
line to the south, about five miles out.
19th, Thursday. The Boers are continually blowing up the line
southward, and great activity prevails around all the laagers, more
particularly at McMullins's. Straws show which way the wind blows, and
we hope this renewed liveliness portends the approach of relief. A
quiet day. The recent heavy rains have caused a lot of fever here, but
in spite of that the health of the garrison is on the whole good.
20th, Friday. Runners arrived with papers and a letter giving an
account of the murder of young Dennison at Vryburg. He, it appears, was
wounded, and the Boers shot him in cold blood. In the same papers we
read accounts of the excellent treatment received by Cronje and the
other Boer prisoners, and the infamous treatment accorded to Colonial
prisoners of war by the Boers. Having contravened every known law of
war, except perhaps poisoning wells, it would seem only reasonable that
they should be treated judicially, as they claim to be a civilized race,
and given a chance of explaining their breaches of the Geneva
Convention. Failing to do this they should be accorded the justice for
which they are always clamouring. It appears to me less important to
conciliate the rebel Dutch than to avoid stirring up the indignation
which is expressing itself very freely amongst the loyal Colonials at
the ridiculously lenient way in which the rebels are treated, and as the
Bond Attorney-General cannot see his way to proceed against them, it
would surely be possible to replace him by an official who was not an
avowed sympathiser of theirs. The rebels, so far, apparently have had
really a very good time of it. They have looted their loyal neighbours'
property, and harried their cattle and farms, murdering them, when so
inclined, to their hearts' content, and now are apparently neither going
to be asked to pay for their amusement or even disgorge their plunder.
You do not as a rule expect the conquered to be satisfied with the
victor's settlement of a war, but apparently in our case we are going to
pacify our enemies at the expense of our friends. However, I suppose
the matter will square itself, and the Colonial troops will not trouble
to take prisoners to undergo a farce of a trial.
21st, Saturday. Lord Roberts's message was received yesterday, stating
that owing to unforeseen delays the relief column would not be able to
reach us by May 18th as originally promised, and asking us to husband
our provisions beyond that date. The news had no depressing effect on
the town or garrison, and everybody is resolved to undergo anything
sooner than surrender. As regards the healthy portion of the garrison
the task is a fairly easy one, but for the sick (which are daily
increasing in number), the women and children, and the native population
to subsist on gradually decreasing rations is indeed hard. Luxuries
are, of course, a thing of the past, and it is only with the utmost
economy of the necessities of life that our supplies will be equal to
the task. However, by the time you get this, the matter will be settled
one way or another, but as long as the Union Jack is still flying, any
privations will be cheerfully welcomed. The rations now are a
quarter-pound of bread, half-pound of meat, supplemented with horseflesh
and "sowen" porridge. It is due to the care of the authorities, and
mostly so to Captain Ryan, A.S.C., whose skilful, painstaking, and
unwearied manipulation of supplies in the way of calculation, storage,
development, and their issue, that we are able even now to live in
comparative comfort. He has organised his butcheries and bakeries most
admirably. I went round the stores the other day, and paid a visit to
his sieving-room, where he has constructed large sieves to sift the fine
oatmeal for bread purposes from the husks which are used for making
"sowen" porridge, (one hundred pounds of oats producing twenty pounds of
fine meal). There I found a dozen or so coal-black individuals under
the superintendence of an Englishman, sifting whilst grinning through
their covering of flour, and constituting an interesting and very
comical spectacle. There is nothing wasted. We eat the fine meal and
the "sowen" porridge, the horses eat the refuse from the "sowen"
porridge, while we again eat the horses. As a local poet remarks--
"Till the Queen shall have her own again, for the flag
we have always flown,
If we cannot live on the fat of the land, we'll fight on
the horse and 'sowen.'"
To-day Mrs. Winter and her little boy, aged six, walked to the edge of
the town, where recently it has been quiet, but the sight of a petticoat
in fancied security was too much for the Boers, for they immediately
sniped at her, fortunately, however, without effect.
They were shelling the brickfields to-day, but were otherwise quiet.
They, however, nearly hit Colonel Baden-Powell with a shell when he was
in that quarter.
22nd, Sunday. A quiet day. The concert in the afternoon was a great
success, and Colonel Baden-Powell as usual "brought down the house" in
his musical sketches. On reading some old papers I see the Boers have
the consummate impudence to protest against our conduct of the war. Now
I wish clearly to point out that I do not try to saddle the whole Boer
nation with the conduct of some of their worst characters, but the lower
class Boer is, in many cases, no better than a savage and sometimes, in
the case of educated Kaffirs, considerably worse. I am not trying to
pile up atrocities against them, but _a propos_ of the subject
generally, the following facts are somewhat interesting. George Umfazwi,
the head Fingoe, a Christian, is a leading member of the Rev. W. H.
Weekes's congregation in the native location. One night he went out
cattle-raiding, in charge of a mixed party of Fingoes and Baralongs.
These parties, as I have said before, go out on their own initiative,
and sell their plunder to the Government. Soon after starting they came
upon the body of a Baralong woman, who, when endeavouring to escape, had
had her throat cut. Naturally the Baralongs were more than annoyed, and
vowed to kill all the Dutch women they might come across. Umfazwi,
however, told them that if they persisted in their intentions he and the
Fingoes would have nothing more to do with them. In the course of their
raid they occupied a Dutch homestead, from which they were fired upon by
Dutchmen. In the house were three Dutch women, whom the natives did not
touch, only taking the cattle and returning to Mafeking. In the next
raid, Umfazwi and his Fingoes were surrounded, as I told you in a former
account, and, after a hard fight, were all killed--no quarter being
given. I was talking yesterday to Major Anderson, E.A.M.C., and he
said, in the course of the conversation, that he preferred a savage
warfare, for then you knew what to expect, and that if he had to go out
again, he would sooner not take a Red Cross flag, as on each occasion on
which he had done so, it had drawn the fire; whereas, when he went out
without, he only took his chance with the rest.
23rd, Monday. To-day they shelled the town, doing no damage. They
employed a new sort of nine-pounder shell, which will make a nice lamp
stand. Two deaths from fever last night, and I fear there will be
another death to-day. These late rains have brought out a sort of
typhoid malaria.
A most interesting account, from a private soldier's point of view, has
been contributed by Private G. Hyslop, Bechuanaland Rifles, to _The
Glasgow Weekly Herald_, and though his sources of accurate information
are naturally somewhat limited, it is a most fair and intelligent
account of the siege.
24th, Tuesday. We received glorious news last night, but it seems
almost too good to be true, namely, that Lord Roberts had surrounded the
Boers at Kronstadt, and had given them twenty-four hours to surrender,
and that Lord Methuen had reached Klerksdorp. It is quite possible, but
still one does not like to believe it before it is verified, and it is
after all a rumour. On the face of it, it seems probable, and that it
is a continuation of his turning movement. If so, the Boers in these
parts are nicely out-manoeuvred, and we look for our Relief Column
following Methuen's tract as far as Border Siding, and then coming up
the line. Automatic relief, so glibly talked about in some papers, will
not be of much use to us, for what we most require is provisions. I saw
it stated in an article in _The Times_ that Kimberley and ourselves were
of no strategical importance in the campaign, but I totally disagree
with this idea. Had Mafeking and Kimberley fallen at first, or had
Cronje been able to disregard these two isolated places and swept down
south, the Colony, to a great extent, would have fallen into his hands.
The troops in the South would have had a far greater extent of country
to reconquer, and Mafeking at any rate must have eventually fallen. The
natives would have lost confidence, the Boers would have retained
possession of the line and the rolling stock from the Vaal River to the
north, Rhodesia would have been open to attack, and the whole conditions
of the war entirely changed, and not changed in our favour. I suppose
this also holds good of Ladysmith, but there, of course, the Boers would
have left a considerable force in their rear. I think it was the
half-heartedness of the Boers in only partially invading the Colony and
Natal and remaining to nibble at the tempting baits of apparently two
unprotected towns, which gave the troops coming out an advantage which
they never would have had had the Boers made one dash for Capetown. And
even now, though in a very much less degree, I consider this town of
strategical importance. We keep a large number of Boers in our
proximity, and the Boers in the neighbouring districts are more
concerned about preventing our relief than in opposing the force from
which the really imminent danger threatens. And if it be true that Lord
Methuen is at Klerksdorp, the Boers in these parts will have no earthly
weight in the decisive portion of the campaign. Why they should wish to
take Mafeking except to score one trick, as all other advantages they
have gained they have since lost, it is hard to say. Their chance of
invading Rhodesia is gone, the crossings of the Vaal River are in our
hands. There are no stores now in Mafeking and beyond the bare temporary
possession, they would gain nothing at all, added to which I should have
thought that by this time they might have learnt that they were not
going to have even a temporary possession.
The verdict of the court martial which tried Lieutenant Murchison for
the murder of Mr. Parslow and sentenced him to death, has come back
confirmed by Lord Roberts, who, however, has commuted the sentence to
one of penal servitude for life. Murchison was at one time a major in
the Royal Artillery, and so far as I know him personally, I do not
consider him responsible for his actions.
The Rhodesian postal authorities notified us to-day that press telegrams
(owing to the congestion of the lines) would be taken off the wires at
Umtali, sent by train to Beira, and then be re-telegraphed to London
_via_ Lorenzo Marques. The press has naturally protested strongly, as
their course of action will probably entail a delay of a week. The
postal arrangements throughout the campaign have been most infamous;
whether the fault lies at Cape Town or Bulawayo I know not, but in any
case some abominably careless official should be hauled over the coals.
We have consistently got letters out from here which have been received
at home, and it simply means total imbecility or inexcusable idleness on
the part of responsible authorities if we are unable to receive letters
in the same way. Most people here naturally say it is the fault of the
Bond Government, and though they have deserved hanging many times over,
I do not think this particular crime can be laid at their door, though
the absence of our guns certainly may. Mr. Schreiner has, I see,
protested against the Boers being sent to St. Helena. I am unaware if he
has protested against our being detained here. He also states that
people misjudge him and he seems annoyed. He has only been judged by his
actions, which here, as well as elsewhere, are deplored. However, this
savours of politics, and is therefore somewhat out of my province.
[Illustration: TOPOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF MAFEKING.]
25th, Wednesday. Last night we received warning from native sources
that the Boers intended to make an attack on the town to-day, and that
it was to be a personally conducted tour by young Eloff, who had been
sent from Pretoria to take Mafeking or die in the attempt. He is, or
ought to be, very much alive, for his operations were conducted from a
safe distance and the town is much as usual. Of late we have been so
dull here, that a considerable amount of fictitious enthusiasm was
boiled up over this impending attack. Mr. Hamilton of _The Times_
thought it was good enough to sleep in the advanced trench, but the more
wary and possibly less enthusiastic, amongst which I include myself,
considered a good bed was preferable to an indifferent one. However, I
looked out cartridges and laid out weapons when I went to bed, but
didn't wake any earlier next morning, and was roused by Ronny Moncreiffe
shouting out, "Get up, there is a battle going on." I vainly tried to
persuade him to allow me to remain in bed until the enemy were near
enough to be dangerous, but he insisted that I should get up and look
on. I decided there was no immediate necessity for weapons, and rode off
to the nearest telescope to find the enemy. At the B.S.A.P. fort I
found the officers of the Protectorate Regiment just coming off the
roof, yawning and looking very bored. They told me what had happened up
till my arrival, and I went and looked through the telescope for a bit
at our friends the enemy whom we could clearly see. They were firing
their guns and maintaining a heavy musketry fire, though in somewhat
purposeless manner about one thousand five hundred yards from our
advanced trench. A gentleman on horseback, presumably the dashing
Eloff, galloped out from the western laager, and with many
gesticulations and fruitless haranguing endeavoured to get them to
advance, but they were obdurate. They pitched one or two shells up by
the fort, which were promptly annexed by piccaninnies, as the majority
did not burst, and they killed a nigger, and a ricochet hit old
Whitfield in the stomach, but, owing to the width of his figure, the
bullet did not penetrate. I think what put them off most was our
absolute silence. We did not fire at all except some twenty rounds at
some Boers that had been ambushed in the culvert, which had the effect
of driving them into some bushes, where they hid for a couple of hours.
I really think the people surrounding us here have honestly had enough
of it, and it will take a better man than young Eloff to bring them up
to the scratch, though there are certainly more Boers about here than
there have been for some time. The object of this particular attack was
to draw our fire and make us disclose our positions on the western
front, and the result was a most conspicuous failure. We refused to be
drawn by the feint, and so the real attack, which was supposed to be
concealed elsewhere, was never able to develop. Apparently the plan was
good, like General Trochu's, but it has at any rate so tired them that
they have been unable to do anything since.
26th, Thursday. Received my first letters since this abominable
isolation commenced. One from Weston-Jarvis and another from Smitheman.
Weston is very cheerful. Smitheman, extravagant as regards paper, and
rather sparing of words and ink; I also received some _Morning Posts_,
and see that I have successfully established communication, which is
satisfactory.
27th, Friday. More runners, but thanks to the usual breakdown of the
Beira-Salisbury line, dates and news are so mixed, and the contending
forces seem so extraordinarily and intricately involved with each other,
that we have given up trying to understand how things really are going.
It doesn't very much matter, as the result is a foregone conclusion, and
at the worst can only be shortly delayed. One thing is amusing, and
that is to see the various reasons different countries give for not
offering to mediate.
28th, Saturday. Nothing doing. Preparing for the tournament to-morrow.
My Kaffir wishes to go and join Plumer. He doesn't approve of the food
supply of Mafeking. I thought I should never get rid of him. Thank
goodness the brute has gone now. He has been a sort of "old man of the
sea" to me. I only kept him because he appeared generally in small
health, but when he flung his rations into the middle of the square
yesterday, I thought it was high time for him to be off. The last few
days the enemy has been more busy on the north-eastern front, and
established themselves in a sniping trench seven hundred yards from our
advanced trench, and made themselves rather a nuisance. We, however,
made it so warm for them that they are concluded to have withdrawn, but
everywhere else, since the 25th, they have been fairly quiet.
29th, Sunday. A most successful tournament, and almost up to
Agricultural Hall form. Most regiments in the service represented, and
the sword mounted and bayonet dismounted both particularly good. It was
trying work judging on half rations, but well worth it to see such good
sport.
What a funny little Frenchman that Prince Henri d'Orleans must be? His
compliments to a French comic paper on caricatures of the English would
almost entitle him to a prominent position on its staff, where, at any
rate, he would score a greater success than posing as an unemployed
patriot. By the bye, was he not once attached to the British Army, and
if so, whence this venom? But of tea-table tacticians and sofa
strategists you must, indeed, have more than enough. Reading the papers
from home one sees excellent persons with presumably nothing to do,
recommending people generally to turn the other cheek to the smiter;
personally, I and, indeed, most of my neighbours, think that the smiter
has had quite sufficient chances at our entire carcasses during the last
few months, and if they feel themselves so imbued with an overflowing
Christian spirit, I should suggest their taking a turn themselves. I do
not love the Boer, and I don't think I shall until the Boer loves me.
There is only one way to obtain his respect and even toleration, and
that is by proving yourself the better man. There will then be peace in
the country which, at the present moment, there is not. I do think,
too, that people at home should not be so free in their comments upon
intelligence from this part of the world. For many years I have read
Mr. Baillie Grohmann's letters on big game shooting with much interest.
I have also tried to shoot big game and Boers with about equally
moderate success. I do assert most emphatically that the Boers use
explosive bullets. I have seen the bullets, heard the bullets, and
picked up the base of bullets with fulminate caps in them. They were
not Mauser bullets, they were not expanding bullets, they were explosive
bullets pure and simple, and the Boers have confessed to their use.
Therefore, I think it would only have been fair had Mr. Baillie Grohmann
waited to know on what grounds people out here have made these
assertions, before writing a somewhat conclusive letter in which the
main point appeared to be that there was no such thing as an explosive
Mauser bullet. It is rather hard on some hundreds of thousands of
Englishmen who happen to be serving their country out here, that because
they are on that service they should be immediately considered to be
destitute of that sense of fair play with which the race generally is
credited, and I am sure that Mr. Baillie Grohmann himself, would be the
first to admit it. We don't expect much more from a Boer than a bullet,
and as far as we know have not particularly grumbled at their using
explosive ones, but it is hard lines to be told they didn't when we
mention the fact. I personally felt a sense of great disappointment that
I was not reading Mr. Baillie Grohmann's usual letters to _The Field_,
instead of this one in _The Morning Post_.
We are threatened with another attack to-morrow. I hope it will be more
productive of bloodshed than the last, because we can then clear them
off a bit, and I hate feeling hungry, as do most of us.
Colonel Baden-Powell has just received a missive from young Eloff, in
which he states that he sees in a _Bulawayo Chronicle_ that we have
concerts, balls, tournaments, and cricket matches on Sundays, and it
will be very agreeable to his men to come in and participate as they
find it dull outside. Colonel Baden-Powell has answered that he thinks
perhaps the return match should be postponed until we have finished the
present one and that as we are now two hundred not out, and Snyman,
Cronje, &c., have not been successful he would suggest a further change
of bowling. With such mild japes we pass the time away, but we shot a
Dutchman this morning all the same. A bad joke in these times is worth
more than a good pint of porridge, as the former will go round whereas
the latter will certainly not. It is very edifying work trying to get
fat on laughter and sleep, but hunger is not a very amusing form of
entertainment. They have recently manufactured brawn of horse hide. It
doesn't sound very appetising but the stock disappeared with marvellous
rapidity. One cannot help thinking that after all even though we be
hungry out here, yet we have the glamour of war over us, whereas at home
in the Metropolis one knows hundreds of men are worse off than
ourselves. It is to be hoped that our impotent sympathisers will feed
the people they can reach, who, after all, want it just as much as we
do.
30th, Monday. Very tired and stiff after the tournament. I feel as if
all the competitors had been beating me with big sticks. Talking of
sticks and Doctor Leyds, which always seem associated in my mind, I
bought half a dozen very nice ones yesterday, I hope Dr. Leyds is having
a good time now. I fancy he will have a moderate one when the war is
over, as most people directly blame him for any discomforts they may
have undergone. It is only natural for a Dutchman to fight, but for the
man who pulls the strings and risks other people's skins with the utmost
heroism seven thousand miles off, you do not feel a great amount of
affection or respect, more particularly when he is living on the fat of
the land and you are rather hungry. Besides, the fellow is an infernal
thief; he has battened on these unfortunate peasants for many years, and
at the first pinch of fighting flies and leaves them. I have no use for
a creature like that. I was rather amused to hear Sergeant Cooke, of
the Bechuanaland Rifles, report having slain a Dutchman this morning.
He wasn't in the least elated, and in a shamefaced sort of way said he
was afraid it wasn't a sporting shot. He couldn't have been more upset
if he had shot a hen pheasant sitting, but to anyone else the episode
was distinctly amusing.
1st May, Tuesday. We expect a mail to-day, and this dashing fellow
Eloff promised us another attack. He has made it. It was the usual
sort of performance, and they blazed away for two or three hours and
didn't hit anybody. I got up and looked on, because I felt I ought to,
but I was rather cross and very bored. If the fools want to fight, why
don't they do it? They are doing themselves no good, and not attaining
any object whatsoever. Colonel Baden-Powell told them some months ago
they would not take Mafeking "by sitting and looking at the place," but
even now, if they would sacrifice two or three thousand men, they might
get in, but I am afraid they will never try. They make me quite angry,
they are so stupid. Here they are, daily losing one or two men, and the
greatest success they can show is a few stolen cows, whereas if they
would come on and fight properly they wouldn't lose very many more men
than they have already, and we should have a chance of a show.
Seriously speaking though, it is their duty to take this place, and it
is very disheartening waiting for them to try to. We got our pigeon
mails to-day; unfortunately, no news whatsoever. We have not received
any decisive news or had any optimistic rumour confirmed for weeks, and
in fact our last good news is Cronje's mop up. Isn't there an old
figure in some square dance or other called the _chassez croissee_? It
seems to be fashionable out here. I don't like square dances or slow
generals. As I telegraphed to you this morning my general sensation is
that of an aching void. The only satisfaction I can derive therefrom is
the certainty that most of my friends and acquaintances will be much
amused at my being kept quiet anywhere on short commons. Tom Greenfield
is looking terribly hungry, but then with his length he naturally takes
more filling up than ordinary mortals. Godley, too, looks as if he could
do with a bit more, but he always is thin. We have got a very tall lot
of men here, Cecil, Tom Greenfield, Godley, Fitzclarence, Bentinck, all
make an ordinary six-foot individual feel small, and McKenna isn't
exactly short. If we have length represented we also have breadth,
which even our present rations are unable to reduce. I am certainly not
going to quote a nominal roll of these individuals, as they are fine
strong men and I can't get away.
2nd, Wednesday. This morning firing is going on. I suppose another
attack. I will go out and see. One rather funny incident in connection
with the Boer attack took place yesterday. As a rule they knock off for
breakfast, but yesterday they kept it up till some time past 8 o'clock,
so at 8 o'clock punctually the natives left their trenches with their
tins to draw their porridge, absolutely disregarding the Boer fire which
was renewed at intervals all day. It is perfectly incredible how we
have pushed them back, for within the area where our advanced trenches
now are I recollect seeing a horse-battery of theirs in action during
the first few days of the siege. They take particular care not to play
those games now. I only wish they would. This sort of drivel relieves
one's feelings, even if one can't see relief.
3rd, Thursday. Firing yesterday and to-day was not of any value; they
kept it up off and on all day. I sat on the roof with the officers of
the Bechuanaland Rifles, and looked on till we got bored. The operation
of getting on to and off the roof again was far more dangerous than the
ordinary Boer battle. This evening I rode round the guards with Major
Panzera. It would take a more enterprising Boer than we have run up
against to get in. Major Panzera has a theory that he can't be hit; I
haven't, however. Both our theories are good enough viewed from the
light of experience.
The Germans participating in the defence of the town are going to be
photographed. I feel sorry for the German Emperor not being here. He
would enjoy this war thoroughly.
I heard from Weston-Jarvis this morning. He wrote a very cheery letter.
At last they appear to be making some effort to relieve us. Why on earth
they didn't try before, Heaven only knows! It seems a perfectly simple
operation for any man of any ordinary sense, but really it doesn't much
matter in the long run whether it is a month or two sooner or later. I
also see the "Baron" is coming down to relieve us. I hope he won't fall
on his head and get stretched out as he usually persists in doing. We
are always meeting each other in some old ship or other, or in some out
of the way continent, but certainly I never expected to be relieved by
the "Baron" in the middle of Africa; however, the more pals that roll up
the better.
4th, Friday. Absolute quiet. My last letters have fallen into the
Dutchmen's hands. They will be nice light reading for them, as they were
barely complimentary. I do not expect to be popular after this war.
When one is tired and bored out here, it is very refreshing to be able
to abuse all and sundry, and think that one need not settle up for
another two or three months.
5th, Saturday. Life is short, but temper is shorter. Runners in but no
news. This morning a funeral party of the Bechuanaland Rifles marched
from the hospital to the cemetery to bury the remains, I say advisedly
remains, of Lance-Corporal Ironside, who, after having been wounded some
two months ago, had recently had his leg amputated, and had at last died
from sheer weakness. He bore his extreme sufferings with remarkable
fortitude, pluck, and cheeriness. He was a Scotchman, from Aberdeen,
and one of the best shots in the garrison. It is satisfactory to think
that he had already avenged his death before he was wounded.
6th, Sunday. To-day the Boers most deliberately violated the tacit
Sunday truce which, at their own instigation and request, we have always
observed. The whole proceedings were very peculiar. It was a fine
morning, and the Sabbath calm pervading the town and the surrounding
forts was manifest in the way we were all strolling about the market
square. As regards myself, I had just purchased some bases of shells at
Platnauer's auction mart, where the weekly auction was proceeding. The
firing began, and nobody paid much attention except the officers and men
belonging to the quarter at which it was apparently directed. They, on
foot, horseback, and bicycle, dispersed headlong to their various posts.
One, Mr. McKenzie, on a bicycle, striking the railway line, reached his
post in four minutes and fifteen seconds, fifteen seconds too quick for
the Boer he was enabled to bag. The Boers, who on previous Sundays had
displayed an inclination to loot our cattle, had crept up to the dead
ground east of Cannon Kopje, and hastily shot one of our cattle guard
and stolen the horses and mules under his charge. It was the more
annoying that they should have been successful as we were well prepared
for them, and had rather anticipated this attack, having a Maxim in
ambush within one hundred and fifty yards, which unfortunately jammed,
and failed to polish off the lot, as it certainly ought to have done.
If we had had any luck it would have been a very different story.
Directly the Maxim began the Boers nipped off their horses and running
alongside of them for protection reached the cover in the fold of the
ground. Unfortunately they killed poor Francis of the B.S.A.P. (the
second brother who has fallen here since the fighting began) and took
all the horses. It was very annoying, but a smart bit of work and I
congratulate the Dutchmen, whoever they may be, who conducted it. Still
it was a breach of our Sunday truce, and if all is fair in love and war
the many irate spectators will have their pound of flesh to ask for
later on. It really was a curious sight: lines of men impotently
watching the raid and behind them the shouts of the unmoved auctioneer
of "Going at fifteen bob." "Last time." "Going." "Going." "Gone," and
gone they were undoubtedly, but they were our horses and he was
referring to some scrap iron. To cover this nefarious procedure they
opened a heavy fire on various outlying forts. We were lucky enough in
the interchange of courtesies to secure a Dutchman on the railway line,
and as they had practically violated the white flag our advanced posts
had great shooting all the afternoon at his friends who came to try to
pick him up. We buried Francis this evening. The concert was put off.
A certain amount of endurance has been shown by the inhabitants and a
certain amount of pluck by the defenders of the town, but prior to the
Boers starting fooling (successful fooling and neatly carried out), I
and several more were standing in the market square gossiping about
things we did know, and things we didn't, when we happened to notice a
very weak-looking child, apparently as near death as any living creature
could be. It transpired on inquiry that this infant was a Dutch one,
Graaf by name. His father, a refugee, died of fever; his brother was in
hospital, and he had been offered admission, which he refused, because
he said that he must look after his mother. Even then, though scarcely
able to cross the road, the kid was going to draw his rations. He was
taken to hospital, but I think that this is about the pluckiest
individual that has come under my notice, and nobody can take exception
to the child, though his mother is probably one of those amiable ladies
who eat our rations, betray our plans, and are always expressing a
whole-hearted wish for our extermination.
15th, Tuesday. News has arrived that our troops are within striking
distance; "Sister Ann" performance has begun again. We are now
beginning to recover from our exciting Saturday. As I wired home, it
was the best day that I ever saw, and I must now try and describe it.
Just before four o'clock in the morning we were roused by heavy firing.
The garrison turned out and manned the various works. We all turned up,
and I went to the headquarters. Everybody got their horses ready, armed
themselves as best they could, and awaited the real attack. Colonel
Baden-Powell said at once the real attack would be on the stadt. We
have had a good many attacks and don't attach much importance to them,
but we did not any one of us anticipate the day's work that was in store
for us. When I say anticipate, every possible preparation had been made.
Well, we hung about in the cold. After about an hour and a half the
firing on the eastern front began to slacken. Trooper Waterson of the
Blues, as usual, had coffee and cocoa ready at once, and we felt we
could last a bit. Jokes were freely bandied, and we kept saying, "When
are they going to begin?" Suddenly on the west a conflagration was
seen, and betting began as to how far out it was. I got on to the roof
of a house, and with Mr. Arnold, of Dixon's Hotel, saw a very
magnificent sight. Apparently the whole stadt was on fire, and with the
sunrise behind us and the stadt in flames in front, the combination of
effects was truly magnificent, if not exactly reassuring. However,
nobody seemed to mind much. Our guns, followed by the Bechuanaland
Rifles, hurried across the square, men laughing and joking and saying,
"we were going to have a good fight." Then came the news that the
B.S.A.P. fort, garrisoned by the Protectorate Regiment, had fallen into
the enemy's hands. Personally I did not believe it to be true, and
started with a carbine to assure myself of the fact. I got close up to
the fort, met a squadron running obliquely across its front, and though
the bullets were coming from that direction could not believe but that
they were our own men who were strolling about outside it. That is the
worst of being educated under black powder. I saw poor Hazelrigg, who
was a personal friend of mine, and whom I knew at home, shot, but did
not realise who he was. Both sides were inextricably mixed, but having
ridden about, and got the hang of things, I am certain that within
twenty minutes, order and confidence were absolutely restored on our
side. You saw bodies of men, individuals, everybody armed with what they
could get, guns of any sort, running towards the firing. A smile on
every man's face, and the usual remark was, "Now we've got the beggars."
The "beggars" in question were under the impression that they had got us
and no doubt had a certain amount of ground for their belief. The fight
then began. At least we began to fight, for up till then no return had
been made to the very heavy fusillade to which we had been subjected. I
have soldiered for some years and I have never seen anything smarter or
better than the way the Bechuanaland Rifles, our Artillery and the
Protectorate Regiment ran down and got between the Boers and their final
objective. The Boers then sent a message through the telephone to say
they had got Colonel Hore and his force prisoners and that we could not
touch them. Campbell, our operator, returned a few remarks of his own
not perhaps wholly complimentary and the telephone was disconnected and
re-connected with Major Godley. Our main telephone wire runs through the
B.S.A.P. fort. McLeod, the man in charge of the wires, commenced
careering about armed with a stick and a rifle, and followed by his
staff of black men with the idea of directly connecting Major Godley's
fort and the headquarters. I may mention McLeod is a sailor and conducts
his horse on the principle of a ship. He is perhaps the worst horseman
I have ever seen and it says much for the honour of the horse flesh of
Mafeking that he is still alive. However, be that as it may, his pawky
humour and absolute disregard of danger has made him one of the most
amusing features of the siege. You always hear him in broad Scotch and
remarkable places, but he is always where he is wanted. By this time we
were settling down a bit, so were they. They looted everything they
possibly could. A Frenchman got on to the roof of the fort with a
bottle of Burgundy belonging to the officers' mess to drink to
"Fashoda." He got hit in the stomach and his pals drank the bottle.
Our men were very funny. When the Frenchmen yelled "Fashoda," they said
"silly beggars, their geography is wrong." I was very pleased with the
whole day. I have never heard more or worse jokes made, and, no doubt,
had I been umpiring, I should have put some of us out of action or at
any rate given them a slight advantage. Every townsman otherwise
unoccupied, who had possibly never contemplated the prospect of a fight
to the finish, now turned out. Mr. Weil (and too much cannot be said
for his resource through every feature of the siege) broke open his
boxes, served out every species of firearms he could to every person who
wanted them.
[Illustration: BOERS FIRING THE NATIVE STADT.]
A very deaf old soldier, late of the 24th Regiment, Masters by name,
asked where they were, and then proceeded to investigate in a most
practical fashion. I went down to the jail which more or less commands
the B.S.A.P. fort and buildings, and had a look, and as we saw that no
attack was imminent or at any rate likely to prove successful, we
knocked off by parties and had our breakfast. We were beginning to kill
them very nicely. Jail prisoners had all been released. Murchison, who
shot Parslow, Lonie, the greatest criminal of the town, were both armed
and doing their duty. We were all shooting with the greatest
deliberation and effect whenever they showed themselves, and perhaps I
was better pleased with being an Englishman from a sightseer's point of
view than on any day since the Jubilee. The quaint part of the whole
thing was that we were shooting at our own people unwittingly. I had a
cousin there, and we laughed consumedly in the evening when we exchanged
notes and found that we had been shooting close to him amongst others.
I don't think that any man who was in that fight will ever think ill of
his neighbour from the highest to the lowest; from our General--or, at
least, he ought to be a General--to the ordinary civilian, everybody was
cheerful and confident of victory. We had had a long seven months'
wait, and at last we were having our decisive fight. After breakfast
(like giants refreshed) we began shooting again. I cannot tell you who
did well, but I can assure you that no man did badly. Besides the men
there were ladies. Mrs. Buchan and Miss Crawford worked most calmly and
bravely under fire. All the other ladies did their duty too. Whilst the
fight was developing, Mrs. Winter was running about getting us coffee.
Her small son, aged six, was extremely wroth with me because I ordered
him under shelter. Then commenced what you may call the next phase of
the fight. Captain Fitzclarence and his squadron, with Mr. Swinburne
and Mr. Bridges, came down through the town to join hands with Captain
Marsh's squadron, and then with Lord Charles Bentinck's squadron and the
Baralongs, the whole under Major Godley, were now going to commence to
capture the Boers. I must endeavour to describe the situation. Eloff's
attack was clever and determined. He had seven hundred men and had
advanced up the bed of the Molopo. Into Mafeking he had got, but like
many previous attacks had proved--it was easy to get in, but quite
another matter to get out. The Baralongs and our outlying forts had
allowed some three hundred men to enter, and had then commenced a heavy
fire upon their supports. This discomfited the supports, and they
incontinently fled. Silas Moleno and Lekoko, the Baralong leaders, had
decided that it was better to kraal them up like cattle. One Dutchman
was overheard to shout, "Mafeking is ours," when suddenly his friends
yelled, "My God, we are surrounded." This species of fighting
particularly appeals to the Baralong. He is better than the Boer at the
Boer's own game, and never will I hear a word against the Baralong.
However, Silas was then engaged in conjunction with our own men in
collecting them. He collected them where they had no water, and then
the question resolved itself into the Boer showing himself and getting
shot or gradually starving. If the Baralongs had been fighting the
fight and time had been no particular object, they would probably still
be shooting odd Boers, but it is obvious that those dilatory measures
could not be pursued by ourselves, and that we had to finish the fight
by nightfall. Our men were accordingly sent down to round them up;
there were thus in all three parties of Boers in the town, one, nearly
three hundred strong, in the B.S.A.P. fort, sundry in a kraal by Mr.
Minchin's house, others again in the kopje. The kraal was captured in
an exceedingly clever manner. Captain Fitzclarence and Captain Marsh
worked up to the walls, but knowing the pleasant nature of the Boer,
instead of storming the place or showing themselves, they bored
loopholes with their bayonets. The artillery under Lieutenant Daniels
also had come up to within forty yards. There was a slight hesitation
on the part of the Boers to surrender. The order was given to the gun
to commence fire. The lanyard broke, but before a fresh start could be
made the Boers hastily surrendered. Captain Marsh, known and respected
by the Baralongs, had great difficulty in restraining them from
finishing the fight their own way, and small blame to them for their
desire. They had had their stadt burned. Odd Boers had been bolting at
intervals, and had mostly been accounted for. The question next to be
settled was as to the possession of the B.S.A.P. fort. Our men who were
captive therein, and indeed the Boers and foreigners to whom I have
since talked describe our fire as extraordinarily accurate. Eloff had
great difficulty in keeping his men together, and as one man at least
was a deserter of ours, it can't altogether be wondered that they did
not wish to remain. Our firing, as we had more men to spare, became more
and more deadly, and at last now they decided to surrender. Some
hundred broke away and escaped from the fort, in spite of Eloff firing
on them, but their bodies have been coming in ever since and many will
never be accounted for, because the bodies of men with rifles may be
possibly put away by the Baralongs, who are always begging rifles we
have been unable to give them. Eloff accordingly surrendered to Colonel
Hore. The other party in the kopje had made several unsuccessful
attempts to break out, Bentinck and his squadron always successfully
heading them, but as it got dark, and our men had been fighting from
before four, it was decided to let them break out and just shoot what we
could. The Baralongs had some more shooting too. As each successive
batch of prisoners was marched into the town absolute silence was
maintained by the Britishers, except saluting brave men who had tried
and failed. They were brave men and I like them better now than I ever
did; the Kaffirs, however, hooted. As each batch marched up, their
arms, of which they had naturally been deprived, were handed over to the
Cadets, who had been under fire all day. These warriors range from nine
to fifteen years of age. They are the only smartly clad portion of the
garrison, for our victorious troops were the dirtiest and most vilely
robed lot of scarecrows I have ever seen, still it did one good to see
the escort to the prisoners, they were simply swelling like turkey cocks
and all round our long lines of defences we would hear cheers and "Rule
Britannia" and the "Anthem" being sung with the wildest enthusiasm. It
is impossible as I said before, to say who behaved best, but none
behaved badly. There was only one thing said afterwards, when all sorts
and conditions of men were shaking each other by the hand, and that was,
"This is a great day for England." Mafeking is still rather mad with
the Relief Column within shouting distance and it is likely to remain
so.
[Illustration: CAPTURED BOER PRISONERS]
We lost few men in our great success but I take it that no man
particularly wants to be lost. I really have seen brave men here, but
the man who says he wants to get shot is simply a liar. We know the
story of the Roman sentinel and the Highlander who fought in Athlone (or
was it Mullingar) against Hoche and many men that have died for their
country obstinately. Captain Singleton's servant, Trooper Muttershek,
may be added to their roll. He absolutely declined to surrender and
fought on till killed. It wasn't a case of dashing in and dashing out
and having your fun and a fight, it was a case of resolution to die
sooner than throw down your arms, the wisdom may be questionable, the
heroism undoubted. He wasn't taking any surrender. As far as I am
concerned, I have seen the British assert their superiority over
foreigners before now, but this man in my opinion, though I didn't see
him die, was the bravest man who fought on either side that day. It is
a good thing to be an Englishman. These foreigners start too quick and
finish quicker. They are good men, but we are better, and have proved
so for several hundred years. I had always wanted to see the Englishman
fight in a tight hole, and I know what he is worth now. He can outstay
the other chap. Well, you must be getting rather bored by the fighting,
and I will write more anon when I have collected some further
particulars. The Rev. W. H. Weekes, our parson, organized a thanksgiving
service on Sunday night. We were still rather mad, and it gave us a
pleasant feeling to sing nice fighting psalms and hymns, because which
ever way you look at it we are perfectly convinced out here that it is a
righteous war. He had rather a mixed congregation, which probably in
times of peace would be half the size, but he understands his
congregation and the congregation understand him.
Poor Hazelrigg died that night.
[Illustration: INTERVIEWING BOER PRISONERS ON MR. WEIL'S STOEP]
I went over and saw the prisoners this afternoon. They were very civil,
and so were we. I like a Frenchman, and was chaffing them more or less
at having left "La Patrie." They didn't seem to mind being prisoners;
they apparently enjoyed their fight, but they objected to their food. I
did what I could for them, and I couldn't help feeling that they were
absolutely uninvited guests. It wasn't their quarrel, and why they
wanted to shove their nose into it we all fail to understand. There is
really a very charming man amongst them, who asked me to procure him a
grammar as he wished to improve his mind by learning Dutch and English.
Of course, I got him a grammar, while I couldn't help suggesting that it
might have been as well to remain in comfort in France without
travelling all this way to learn the language, also remarking Dutch
seemed rather out of date. He rather agreed with me, and asked me for a
collection of siege stamps as he said he thought his girl would like
them. The funny part of these fellows is that they seem to think that
we haven't got homes or girls or anything else, but are a sort of
automatic "Aunt Sally," put up here for irresponsible foreigners to have
a shy at. Nobody bears any malice about the fight, but the Frenchman
calls the Boer "canaille," the Boer doesn't seem to like the Frenchman
or, indeed, any other foreigner, regarding him as an impetuous fool who
would probably lead him (the Boer) into some nasty dangerous place, and
the Englishman laughs at the lot; however, as I said before, the poor
devils can't help being foreigners. I always like a Frenchman, a good
many have been kind to me and they are invariably amusing. Their
stomachs, however, are at present proud, and they cannot swallow
"sowen," or horse flesh, or any local luxuries. However, as we pointed
out, it was rather their fault that we had not any rations in here. Some
of these men had only been in the country a week. It seems a long way
to come to get put in "quod," and live on horse flesh and "sowens." One
told me he passed a battery of our relieving column in harbour at Beira.
I suppose he thought he had put in a smart day's work when he got ahead
of it. He has, but he isn't working now. I never liked Eloff much, not
that I knew him personally, but now I like him better for his
performances. He very nearly did a big thing, but both sides have
apparently an ineradicable mutual contempt for each other, which has led
to some very pretty fighting through the whole war. There is no mistake
about it, he did insult the Queen, and I am glad we have had the wiping
out of that score, but he is a gallant fellow all the same. When we
look back on our discomfiture of Cronje, and the mopping up of Eloff, it
gives a pleasant finish to the siege. It wanted just a finishing touch
to make it satisfactory. There should be another fight within a few
hours, but I reckon that it will be the relief Column's turn, and though
everything is ready for us to assist them I honestly don't think we
could go far and do much. The men were dog tired on Saturday,
absolutely dog tired. I always thought the Boer was a bad bird to get
up to the gun, but he came up that day. I don't think he will again.
On Monday we saw the tail end of some Boer force arriving. We had hoped
it might be our own people, but they appear to be a few miles further
off. However, we know they are there or thereabouts now. Nobody minds
now, we know we are winning.
To return again to my story of the fighting, the foreigners did try
their best to stop the Boers looting, but loot they did most thoroughly.
They stole everything they could lay their hands on. Not one officer,
whose kit happened to be in the fort has recovered anything. One
"clumpy" of Boers galloped forth laden with food and drink. The food
belonged to themselves, the drink belonged to us. They happened to fall
in with the galloping Maxim, a piece of bad luck because they all died
and our people took the food and drink. One fellow had taken a pair of
brown boots and a horse, he had a few bullets through the boots, the
horse was killed and so was he.
Life had been very dull here, but that morning put everything all right.
We had never before seen a dead or wounded Boer or a prisoner, and it is
weary work to see your friends and neighbours shot and not see your own
bag too, but personally, except in the way of business, I hope I haven't
killed a Boer. In the fight in the morning, though everything had been
prepared for as far as we could tell, we had had to take up positions
which were absolutely enfiladed by the fresh development of affairs.
The trench occupied by the Bechuanaland Rifles, Protectorate Regiment,
and others on the spur of the moment, was directly enfiladed by the
enemy's quick-firer. Why we were not wiped out on that line I never
shall quite make out. They shot the jailor, Heale, who has done very
good work all through the siege, who I am afraid leaves a wife and
family. Then the prisoners took charge of themselves. Our gunner
prisoners ran down to the guns, one was shot, the others served the gun
all day. The others, armed with Martinis, commenced a heavy fire on the
enemy, or cautioned the Dutch prisoners, the suspects, as to their
behaviour, and put them down a hole. It was an exhilarating sight and
struck me as exceedingly quaint to see men who had committed every
crime, and were undergoing penal servitude, dismissing their past,
oblivious of anything except the fact that we were all of the same
crowd, and had got to keep the Dutchmen out. I hope Her Majesty will
exercise her clemency; they certainly deserve to regain their rights as
citizens.
We have had rather a dull day for some reason or other. A general idea
pervaded the town that relief was at hand, and when towards evening a
cloud of dust and troops were seen to the south-west, we most of us got
on the roofs and looked at them with some interest. It transpired
subsequently, however, that they were the enemy retiring before Mahon.
They passed round the south of the town, and opposed him later.
16th, Wednesday. A dull day, but towards evening our relief was really
seen. Everybody got on the roofs, and looked on at the Boers being
shelled; most refreshing, but as they were not apparently coming in,
people went to feed, and enthusiasm rather died away again, so much so
that when Major Karri Davis, and some eight men of the I.L.I. marched
in, he told one passer-by he was the advance guard relief force, the
other only murmured "Oh, yes, I heard you were knocking about," and went
to draw his rations, or whatever he was busily engaged in. However,
when it became generally known the crowd assembled and began to cheer,
and go mad again--so to bed.
17th, Thursday. Roused out this morning at some ungodly hour to be told
they had arrived, and strolled down to the I.L.I. to see Captain Barnes
of my old regiment. It appeared that Mahon and Plumer had effected a
masterly junction the day before, and that the former, following the
only true policy of South African warfare had, as usual, said he was
going to do one thing, and done something else, viz., camped out, and
then suddenly inspanned and marched into the town. I can't quite convey
the feelings of the townspeople, they were wild with delight, and
pleased as they were their _bonne bouche_ was to come later. Edwardes
and Barnes breakfasted with me and then went back (personally I borrowed
a horse from the I.L.I.). About 9 o'clock the guns moved out to the
waterworks, and then the fun really began. The Boers had been going to
intercept Mahon's entry, but he was a bit too previous. All the morning
their silly old five-pounder (locally known as "Gentle Annie") had been
popping away, when suddenly the R.H.A. Canadian Artillery and pom-poms
began, ably led by our old popguns, who had the honour of beginning the
ball. I rode well out, as I wanted to see the other people have a
treat, but literally in half an hour all there was left of the laager,
which has vexed our eyes and souls so much for long months, was a cloud
of dust on the horizon, except food-stuffs, &c., which we looted. I got
a Dutch Bible, and from its tidiness I was pleased to see its late owner
was a proficient in the Sunday school. So, quietly back to the town, and
after the march past of the relief column the relieved troops began.
And now, I suppose, after being bottled up for some eight lunar months,
I may effervesce. As I have said before, I have seen many tributes to
her Majesty and joined in them all, but dirty men in shirt sleeves, and
dirtier men in rags on scarecrows of horses touched me up most of all.
We were dirty, we were ragged, but we were most unmistakably loyal, and
we came from all parts of the world--Canadians, South Africans,
Australians, Englishmen, Indians, and our Cape Boys and various other
Africans, and there was not one of us who did not respect the other, and
know we were for one job, the Queen and Empire, not one.
[Illustration: MARCH PAST OF THE RELIEVING FORCE.]
I wonder how the prisoners felt, poor devils; they must have wished they
were not against us. The Boers had certainly executed the smartest
movement I had seen for some time; I had not believed it possible that a
laager could break up and disperse so rapidly. We all went back to
lunch, having recovered Captain McLaren, who, I am glad to say, is doing
very well. Then after lunch an alarm was raised that we had rounded up
old Snyman, and everybody started off to help in the operation; but,
alas, Snyman knows too much. They said that he and four hundred Boers
were surrounded and refused to surrender, and we all wanted as much
surrender as we could get--or the other thing. I am glad to say he was
hit on the head in the morning with a bit of shrapnel, but not
dangerously wounded, unfortunately, at least so they report. He seems
equally execrated by Dutch and English--Psalm-singing, sanctimonious
murderer of women and children and his son takes after him. I may
contradict my previous statements, but his actions have also varied
frequently. Well, we had a great dinner; old friends from all parts of
the world foregathered, and at our head was Smitheman. Many dinners
then combined, and more old friends were met--so to bed, still pleased
with England. Men of all sorts and conditions, trades, professions and
ranks, relievers and relieved, slept that night in and about Mafeking,
with a restless sleep, thinking of what England would think, and we knew
and were sorry we couldn't hear what they said.
The garrison in Mafeking hope to get some recognition or decoration, but
what they attach particular importance to is receiving the Queen's
chocolate.
Immediately after the relief column marched in our Baralongs under
Montsoia Wessels, Silas and Sekoko and Josiah, marched off on their own
to settle up Abraham Ralinti at Rietfontein, and bring in our trusty
ally, Saani. He had been utterly looted, and taken away from his own
stadt, and kept a prisoner at Rietfontein, his great notion being that
we should have a conference with the Boers, and then lay down what he
called "plenty polomite," and blow them up when they came to confer.
You cannot get very far ahead of a Baralong. I suppose this is the
first occasion on which one black man surrendered under a white flag to
another. These Rietfontein rebels have always been against the
remainder of the Baralongs, and have invariably fought for the Boers
since the disturbed relations between Briton and Boer have existed. I
hope they will shoot Abraham, as his people's invariable cunning in
stopping our runners has caused us great inconvenience, not to mention
the numbers they have killed.
18th, Friday. Did very little. Went round and helped our pals to shop,
get stamps, money, &c., &c.
19th, Saturday. The garrison held its solemn Thanksgiving Service at
the cemetery, at the termination of which three volleys were fired over
our dead. We had been unable to do this before owing to the certainty
of drawing fire, not that that really much mattered, as they usually
fired on all our funeral parties, though there could be no mistaking
them. Still they had this excuse that the cemetery is fortified. After
the last post had sounded we reformed and sang the National Anthem.
Then, after Colonel Baden-Powell had spoken personally to each
detachment, we cheered him, and then with heartfelt cheers for Her
Majesty, the siege of Mafeking closed.