PREPARATIONS FOR WAR--MAFEKING, AND DEPARTURE THEREFROM
"War seldom enters, but where wealth allures."
DRYDEN.
In August we left Cape Town, and I went to Bulawayo, where I spent two
months. Gordon[15] had been appointed A.D.C. to Colonel Baden-Powell,
and during this time was with his chief on the western borders. The
latter was engaged in raising two regiments of irregular horse, which
were later known as the Protectorate Regiments, and were recruited
principally from the district between Mafeking and Bulawayo. At the
latter town was also another English lady, Mrs. Godley, whose husband
was second in command of one of these regiments. It can easily be
imagined that there was little else discussed then but warlike subjects,
and these were two dreary and anxious months. We had little reliable
news; the local newspapers had no special cables, and only published
rumours that were current in the town. Mr. Rochfort Maguire, who was
then staying with Mr. Rhodes at Cape Town, used frequently to telegraph
us news from there. One day he would report President Kruger was
climbing down; the next, that he had once more hardened his heart. And
so this modern Pharaoh kept us all on tenterhooks. The drilling and
exercising of the newly recruited troops were the excitements of the
day. Soon Colonel Plumer[16] arrived, and assumed command of one of the
regiments, which was encamped on the racecourse just outside the town;
the other regiment had its headquarters at Mafeking. Colonel
Baden-Powell and his Staff used to dash up and down between the two
towns. Nearly all the business men in Bulawayo enlisted, and amongst the
officers were some experienced soldiers, who had seen all the
Matabeleland fighting, and some of whom had even participated in the
Raid. Others who used to drop in for a game of bridge were Lord Timmy
Paulet,[17] Mr. Geoffrey Glyn, and Dr. Jameson. To while away the time,
I took a course of ambulance lessons, learning how to bandage by
experiments on the lanky arms and legs of a little black boy. We also
made expeditions to the various mining districts. I was always struck
with the hospitality shown us in these out-of-the-way localities, and
with the cosiness of the houses belonging to the married mine-managers.
Only Kaffirs were available as servants, but, in spite of this, an
excellent repast was always produced, and the dwellings were full of
their home treasures. Prints of the present King and Queen abounded, and
among the portraits of beautiful Englishwomen, either photographs or
merely reproductions cut out of an illustrated newspaper, I found those
of Lady de Grey,[18] Georgiana, Lady Dudley, and Mrs. Langtry,[19] most
frequently adorning the walls of those lonely homes.
At last, at the end of September, a wire informed us that hostilities
were expected to begin in Natal the following week, and I left for
Mafeking, intending to proceed to Cape Town and home. On arrival at
Mafeking everyone told us an attack on the town was imminent, and we
found the inhabitants in a state of serious alarm. However,
Baden-Powell's advent reassured them, and preparations for war proceeded
apace; the townspeople flocked in to be enrolled in the town guard,
spending the days in being drilled; the soldiers were busy throwing up
such fortifications as were possible under the circumstances. On October
3 the armoured train arrived from the South, and took its first trip on
the rails, which had been hastily flung down round the circumference of
the town. This train proved afterwards to be absolutely useless when the
Boers brought up their artillery. Night alarms occurred frequently;
bells would ring, and the inhabitants, who mostly slept in their
clothes, had to rush to their various stations. I must admit that these
nocturnal incidents were somewhat unpleasant. Still war was not
declared, and the large body of Boers, rumoured as awaiting the signal
to advance on Mafeking, gave no sign of approaching any nearer.
We were, indeed, as jolly as the proverbial sandboys during those few
days in Mafeking before the war commenced. If Colonel Baden-Powell had
forebodings, he kept them to himself. Next to him in importance came
Lord Edward Cecil, Grenadier Guards, C.S.O. I have often heard it said
that if Lord Edward had been a member of any other family but that of
the gifted Cecils he would have been marked as a genius, and that if he
had not been a soldier he would surely have been a politician of note.
Then there was Major Hanbury Tracy, Royal Horse Guards, who occupied the
position of Director of Military Intelligence. This officer was always
devising some amusing if wild-cat schemes, which were to annihilate or
checkmate the Boers, and prove eventually the source of fame to himself.
Mr. Ronald Moncrieff,[20] an extra A.D.C., was, as usual, not blest
with a superabundance of this world's goods, but had an unending supply
of animal spirits, and he was looking forward to a siege as a means of
economizing. Another of our circle was Major Hamilton Gould Adams,[21]
Resident Commissioner of the Bechuanaland Protectorate, who commanded
the town guard, representing the civil as opposed to the military
interests. In contrast to the usual practice, these departments worked
perfectly smoothly together at Mafeking.
Colonel Baden-Powell did not look on my presence with great favour,
neither did he order me to leave, and I had a sort of presentiment that
I might be useful, considering that there were but three trained nurses
in the Victoria Hospital to minister to the needs of the whole garrison.
Therefore, though I talked of going South every day by one of the
overcrowded trains to Cape Town, in which the Government was offering
free tickets to any who wished to avail themselves of the opportunity, I
secretly hoped to be allowed to remain. We had taken a tiny cottage in
the town, and we had all our meals at Dixon's Hotel, where the food was
weird, but where certainly no depression of spirits reigned. I even
bought a white pony, called Dop,[22] from a Johannesburg polo-player,
and this pony, one of the best I have ever ridden, had later on some
curious experiences. One day Dr. Jameson arrived on his way to Rhodesia,
but he was hustled away with more haste than courtesy by General
Baden-Powell, who bluntly told him that if he meant to stay in the town
a battery of artillery would be required to defend it; and of
field-guns, in spite of urgent representations, not one had reached us
from Cape Town. We used to ride morning and evening on the flat country
which surrounds Mafeking, where no tree or hill obscures the view for
miles; and one then realized what a tiny place the seat of government of
the Bechuanaland Protectorate really was, a mere speck of corrugated
iron roofs on the brown expanse of the burnt-up veldt, far away from
everywhere. I think it was this very isolation that created the interest
in the siege at home, and one of the reasons why the Boers were so
anxious to reduce it was that this town was practically the jumping-off
place for the Jameson Raid. So passed the days till October 13, and then
the sword, which had been suspended by a hair, suddenly fell.
On that day Major Gould Adams received a wire from the High Commissioner
at Cape Town to the effect that the South African Republic had sent an
ultimatum to Her Majesty's Government, in which it demanded the removal
of all troops from the Transvaal borders, fixing five o'clock the
following evening as a limit for their withdrawal. I had delayed my
departure too long; it was extremely doubtful whether another train
would be allowed to pass South, and, even when started, it would stand a
great chance of being wrecked by the Boers tearing up the rails. Under
these circumstances I was allotted comparatively safe quarters at the
house of Mr. Benjamin Weil, of the firm of the well-known South African
merchants. His residence stood in the centre of the little town,
adjacent to the railway-station. At that time bomb-proof underground
shelters, with which Mafeking afterwards abounded, had not been thought
of, or time had not sufficed for their construction. On all sides one
heard reproaches levelled at the Cape Government, and especially at
General Sir William Butler, until lately commanding the troops in Cape
Colony, for having so long withheld the modest reinforcements which had
been persistently asked for, and, above all, the very necessary
artillery.
At that date the Mafeking garrison consisted of about seven or eight
hundred trained troops. The artillery, under Major Panzera, comprised
four old muzzle-loading seven-pounder guns with a short range, a
one-pound Hotchkiss, one Nordenfeldt, and about seven ^{.}303 Maxims--in
fact, no large modern pieces whatever. The town guard, hastily
enrolled, amounted to 441 defenders, among whom nationalities were
curiously mixed, as the following table shows:
British 378
Germans 4
Americans 4
Russians 6
Dutch 27
Norwegians 5
Swedes 2
Arabs and Indians 15
____
Total 441[23]
This force did not appear sufficiently strong to resist the three or
four thousand Boers, with field-guns, who were advancing to its attack
under one of their best Generals--namely Cronje--but everyone remained
wonderfully calm, and the townspeople rose to the occasion in a most
creditable manner.
Very late that same evening, just as I was going to bed, I received a
message from Colonel Baden-Powell, through one of his Staff, to say he
had just been informed, on trustworthy authority, that no less than
8,000 burghers composed the force likely to arrive on the morrow, that
it was probable they would rush the town, and that the garrison would be
obliged to fight its way out. He concluded by begging me to leave at
once by road for the nearest point of safety. Naturally I had to obey. I
shall never forget that night: it was cold and gusty after a hot day,
with frequent clouds obscuring the moon, as we walked round to Major
Gould Adams's house to secure a Cape cart and some Government mules, in
order that I might depart at dawn. At first I was ordered to Kanya, a
mission-station some seventy miles away, an oasis in the Kalahari
Desert. This plan gave rise to a paragraph which I afterwards saw in
some of the daily papers, that I had left Mafeking under the escort of a
missionary, and some cheery spirit made a sketch of my supposed
departure as reproduced here. Later on, however, it was thought
provisions might run short in that secluded spot, so I was told to
proceed to Setlagoli, a tiny store, or hotel as we should call it, with
a shop attached, thirty-five miles south in Bechuanaland, on the main
road to Kimberley, from which quarter eventually succour was expected.
My few preparations completed, I simply had to sit down and wait for
daybreak, sleep being entirely out of the question. In the night the
wind increased, and howled mournfully round the house. At four o'clock,
when day was about to break, I was ready to start, and some farewells
had to be said. These were calm, but not cheerful, for it was my firm
belief that, in all human probability, I should never see the familiar
faces again, knowing well they would sell their lives dearly.
It was reported amongst my friends at home that, in order to escape
from Mafeking, my maid and myself had ridden 200 miles. One newspaper
extract was sent me which said, concerning this fictitious ride, that it
"was all very well for Lady Sarah, who doubtless was accustomed to
violent exercise, but we commiserate her poor maid." Their pity was
wasted, for the departure of my German maid Metelka and myself took
place prosaically in that most vile of all vehicles, a Cape cart. Six
fine mules were harnessed to our conveyance, and our two small
portmanteaus were strapped on behind. The Jehu was a Cape boy, and, to
complete the cortege, my white pony Dop brought up the rear, ridden by a
Zulu called Vellum. This boy, formerly Dr. Jameson's servant, remained
my faithful attendant during the siege; beneath his dusky skin beat a
heart of gold, and to him I could safely have confided uncounted
treasures. As the daylight increased so did the wind in violence; it was
blowing a perfect gale, and the dust and sand were blinding. We
outspanned for breakfast twelve miles out, at the farm of a presumably
loyal Dutchman; then on again, the wind by now having become a
hurricane, aggravated by the intensely hot rays of a scorching sun. I
have never experienced such a miserable drive, and I almost began to
understand the feelings of people who commit suicide. However, the long
day wore to a close, and at length we reached Setlagoli store and
hotel, kept by a nice old Scotch couple, Mr. and Mrs. Fraser. The latter
was most kind, and showed us two nice clean rooms. Here, anyway, I
trusted to find a haven of rest. This hope was of short duration, for
Sergeant Matthews, in charge of the Mounted Police depôt, soon came and
told me natives reported several hundred Boers at Kraipann, only ten
miles away. He said they were lying in wait for the second armoured
train, which was expected to pass to Mafeking that very night, carrying
the howitzers so badly needed there, and some lyddite shells. The
sergeant opined the Boers would probably come on here if victorious, and
loot the store, and he added that such marauding bands were more to be
feared than the disciplined ones under Cronje. He even suggested my
leaving by moonlight that very night. The driver, however, was unwilling
to move, and we were all so exhausted that I decided to risk it and
remain, the faithful sergeant promising to send scouts out and warn us
should the enemy be approaching. I was fully determined that, having
left Mafeking, where I might have been of use, I would run no risks of
capture or impertinence from the burghers, who would also certainly
commandeer our cart, pony, and mules.
Then followed another endless night; the moon set at 1 a.m., and
occasionally I was roused by the loud and continuous barking of the
farm dogs. At four o'clock Vellum's dusky countenance peered into the
room, which opened on to the stoep, as do nearly all the apartments of
these hotels, to ask if the mules should be inspanned, for these natives
were all in wholesale dread of the Boers. Hearing all was quiet, I told
him to wait till the sergeant appeared. About an hour later I opened my
door to have a look at the weather: the wind had dropped completely, the
sky was cloudless, and a faint tinge of pink on the distant horizon
denoted where the east lay. I was about to shut it again and dress, when
a dull booming noise arrested my attention, then almost froze the blood
in my veins. There was no mistaking the firing of big guns at no very
great distance.
We are accustomed to such a sound when salutes are fired or on a
field-day, but I assure those who have not had a like experience, that
to hear the same in actual warfare, and to know that each detonation is
dealing death and destruction to human beings and property, sends a
shiver down the back akin to that produced by icy cold water. I counted
four or five; then there it was again and again and again, till
altogether I reckoned twenty shots, followed by impressive silence once
more, so intense in the quiet peace of the morning landscape. On the
farm, however, there was stir and bustle enough: alarmed natives
gathered in a group, weird figures with blankets round their
shoulders--for the air was exceedingly cold--all looking with straining
eyes in the direction of Kraipann, from where the firing evidently came.
I soon joined the people, white and back, in front of the store, and
before long a mounted Kaffir rode wildly up, and proceeded, with many
gesticulations, to impart information in his own tongue. His story took
some time, but at last a farmer turned round and told me the engagement
had been with the armoured train, as we anticipated, and that the latter
had "fallen down" (as the Kaffir expressed it) owing to the rails being
pulled up. What had been the fate of its occupants he did not know, as
he had left in terror when the big gun opened fire. Curiously enough, as
I afterwards learnt, these shots were the first fired during the war.
Remembering the sergeant's warning, I decided to start at once for
Mosita, twenty-five miles farther away from the border, leaving Vellum
to bring on any further intelligence when the sergeant, who had been
away all night watching the Boers, returned. We now traversed a fine
open grassy country, very desolate, with no human habitation. The only
signs of life were various fine "pows"[24] stalking sedately along, or
"korans," starting up with their curious chuckle rather like the note
of a pheasant, or a covey of guinea-fowl scurrying across the road and
losing themselves in the waving grass. Meanwhile the driver kept up an
incessant conversation with the mules, and I found myself listening to
his varying epithets with stupefied curiosity. During that four hours'
drive we only met two natives and one huge herd of cattle, which were
being driven by mounted Kaffirs, armed with rifles, to Mosita, our
destination, where it was hoped they would be out of the way of
marauding Boers. At last we reached the native stadt of Mosita, where
our appearance created great excitement. Crowds of swarthy men and
youths rushed out to question our driver as to news. The latter waxed
eloquent in words and gestures, imitating even the noise of the big gun,
which seemed to produce great enthusiasm among these simple folk. Their
ruling passion, I afterwards found, was hatred and fear of the Boers,
and their dearest wish to possess guns and ammunition to join the
English in driving them back and to defend their cattle. In the distance
we could see the glimmering blue waters of a huge dam, beyond which was
the farm and homestead of a loyal colonial farmer named Keeley, whose
hospitality I had been told to seek. Close by were the barracks, with
seven or eight occupants, the same sort of depôt as at Setlagoli. I
asked to see Mrs. Keeley, and boldly announced we had come to beg for a
few nights' lodging. We were most warmly received and made welcome. The
kindness of the Keeleys is a bright spot in my recollections of those
dark weeks. Mrs. Keeley herself was in a dreadful state of anxiety, as
she had that very day received a letter from her husband in Mafeking,
whither he had proceeded on business, to say he found he must remain and
help defend the town; his assistance was urgently needed there in
obtaining information respecting the Boers from the natives, whose
language he talked like his own. She had five small children, and was
shortly expecting an addition to her family, so at last I had found
someone who was more to be pitied than myself. She, on the other hand,
told me our arrival was a godsend to her, as it took her thoughts off
her troubles.
Affairs in the neighbourhood seemed in a strange confusion. Mr. Keeley
was actually the _Veldtcornet_ of the district, an office which in times
of peace corresponded to that of a magistrate. In reality he was shut up
in Mafeking, siding against the Dutch. The surrounding country was
peopled entirely, if sparsely, by Dutch farmers and natives, the former
of whom at first and before our reverses professed sympathy with the
English; but no wonder the poor wife looked to the future with dread,
fearful lest British disasters would be followed by Boer reprisals.
Towards sunset Vellum appeared with a note from Sergeant Matthews. It
ran as follows:
"The armoured train captured; its fifteen occupants all killed.[25]
Boers opened fire on the train with field artillery."
In our isolation these words sank into our souls like lead, and were
intensified by the fact that we had that very morning been so near the
scene of the tragedy--"reverse" I would not allow it to be called, for
fifteen men had tried conclusions with 400 Boers, and had been merely
hopelessly outnumbered. The latter had, however, scored an initial
success, and the intelligence cast a gloom, even where all was blackest
night. Vellum brought a few more verbal details, to the effect that
Sergeant Matthews had actually succeeded in stopping the armoured train
after pursuing it on horseback for some way, expecting every moment to
be taken for a Boer and fired on. He asked to speak to the officer in
charge, and a young man put his head over the truck. Matthews then told
him that several hundred Boers were awaiting the train, strongly
entrenched, and that the metals were up for about three-quarters of a
mile. "Is that all?" was the answer; then, turning to the engine-driver,
"Go straight ahead." Here was a conspicuous instance of English
foolhardy pluck.
The evening was a lovely one. I took a walk along the road by which we
had come in the morning, and was soothed by the peaceful serenity of the
surrounding country.
It seemed to be impossible that men were killing each other only a few
short miles away. The herd of cattle we had passed came into view, and
caught sight of the water in the dam. It was curious to see the whole
herd, some five or six hundred beasts, break into a clumsy canter, and,
with a bellowing noise, dash helter-skelter to the water--big oxen with
huge branching horns, meek-eyed cows, young bullocks, and tiny calves,
all joining in the rush for a welcome drink after a long hot day on the
veldt.
The last news that came in that evening was that all the wires were cut
north and south of Mafeking, and the telegraphists fled, as their lives
had been threatened.
FOOTNOTES:
[15] Captain Gordon Wilson, Royal Horse Guards, now Lieutenant-Colonel
Wilson, M.V.O.
[16] Now Major-General Sir Herbert Plumer, K.C.B.
[17] Now Marquis of Winchester.
[18] Now Marchioness of Ripon.
[19] Now Lady de Bathe.
[20] Died in Africa, 1909.
[21] Now Sir Hamilton Gould Adams, Governor of the Orange River Colony.
[22] Dutch for a peculiar kind of cheap brandy very popular with the
Boers.
[23] This return was given me by Major Gould Adams.
[24] African wild-turkeys.
[25] This was incorrect. The officer in charge and two others were
severely wounded, the driver and stoker killed by the explosion of the
boiler.