ELOFF'S DETERMINED ATTACK ON MAFEKING, AND THE RELIEF OF THE
TOWN--THE MAFEKING FUND
"War, war is still the cry--war even to the knife!"--BYRON.
"The Boers are in the stadt!" Such was the ominous message that was
quickly passed round from mouth to mouth on Saturday morning, May 12,
1900, as day was breaking. One had to be well acquainted with the
labyrinth of rocks, trees, huts, and cover generally, of the locality
aforementioned, all within a stone's-throw of our dwelling, to realize
the dread import of these words.
All the previous week things had been much as usual: inferior food, and
very little of it; divine weather; "bridge" in the afternoons; and one
day exactly like another. Since the departure of the big gun during the
previous month, we had left our bomb-proofs and lived above-ground. In
the early hours of the morning alluded to came the real event we had
been expecting ever since the beginning of the siege--namely, a Boer
attack under cover of darkness. The moon had just set, and it was
pitch-dark. A fierce fusillade first began from the east, and when I
opened the door on to the stoep the din was terrific, while swish,
swish, came the bullets just beyond the canvas blinds, nailed to the
edge of the verandah to keep off the sun. Now and then the boom of a
small gun varied the noise, but the rifles never ceased for an instant.
To this awe-inspiring tune I dressed, by the light of a carefully shaded
candle, to avoid giving any mark for our foes. The firing never abated,
and I had a sort of idea that any moment a Dutchman would look in at the
door, for one could not tell from what side the real attack might be. In
various stages of deshabille people were running round the house seeking
for rifles, fowling-pieces, and even sticks, as weapons of defence.
Meanwhile the gloom was still unbroken, but for the starlight, and it
was very cold. The Cockney waiter, who was such a fund of amusement to
me, had dashed off with his rifle to his redoubt, taking the keys of the
house in his pocket, so no one could get into the dining-room to have
coffee, except through the kitchen window. The two hours of darkness
that had to elapse were the longest I have ever spent. Hurried footsteps
passed to and fro, dark lanterns flashed for an instant, intensifying
the blackness, and all of a sudden the sound I had been waiting for
added to the weird horror of the situation, an alarm bugle, winding out
its tale, clear and true to the farthest byways and the most remote
shanties, followed by our tocsin, the deep-toned Roman Catholic Church
bell, which was the signal that a general attack was in progress. We
caught dim glimpses of the town guard going to their appointed places in
the most orderly manner, and I remember thinking that where there was no
panic there could be but little danger. An officer of this guard came
down the road and told us all his men had turned out without exception,
including an old fellow of seventy, and stone-deaf, who had been roused
by the rifle-fire, and one minus several fingers recently blown off by a
shell. I went out to the front of the house facing the stadt, and
therefore sheltered from the hail of bullets coming from the east; and
just as we were noticing that objects could be discerned on the road,
that before were invisible, forked tongues of lurid light shot up into
the sky in the direction where, snug and low by the Malopo River, lay
the natives' habitations. Even then one did not realize what was
burning, and someone said: "What a big grass fire! It must have
commenced yesterday." At the same moment faint cries, unmistakable for
Kaffir ejaculations, were borne to us by the breeze, along with the
smell of burning thatch and wood, and the dread sentence with which I
commenced this chapter seemed to grow in volume, till to one's excited
fancy it became a sort of chant, to which the yells of the blacks, the
unceasing rattle of musketry, formed an unholy accompaniment. "Hark,
what is that?" was a universal exclamation from the few folk, mostly
women, standing in front of Mr. Weil's house, as a curious hoarse cheer
arose--not in the stadt, half a mile away, but nearer, close by, only
the other side of the station, where was situated the B.S.A.P. fort, the
headquarters of the officer commanding the Protectorate Regiment. This
so-called fort was in reality an obsolete old work of the time of Sir
Charles Warren's 1884 expedition, and was but slightly fortified.
The Boers, after setting fire to the stadt, had rushed it, surprising
the occupants; and the horrible noise of their cheering arose again and
again. Then a terrific fusillade broke out from this new direction,
rendering the roadway a place of the greatest danger. My quarters were
evidently getting too hot, and I knew that Weil's house and store would
be the first objective of the Boers. I bethought me even novices might
be useful in the hospital, so I decided to proceed there in one way or
another. Although the rifle-fire was slackening towards the east, from
the fort, on the west it was continuing unabated; and the way to the
hospital lay through the most open part of the town. Calling to our
soldier servant of the Royal Horse Guards to accompany me, I snatched up
a few things of value and started off. "You will be shot, to a
certainty," said Mr. Weil. But it was no use waiting, as one could not
tell what would happen next. The bullets were fortunately flying high;
all the same, we had twice to stop under a wall and wait for a lull
before proceeding. Then I saw a native boy fall in front of me, and at
the same moment I stumbled and fell heavily, the servant thinking I was
hit; and all the while we could hear frightened cries continuing to
emanate from the flaming stadt.
The day had fully broken, and never had the roads appeared so white and
wide, the sheltering houses so few and far between. At length we reached
the hospital trench, and the last 500 yards of the journey were
accomplished in perfect safety. My dangerous experiences ended for the
rest of that dreadful day, which I spent in the haven of those walls,
sheltering so much suffering, and that were, alas! by evening crammed to
their fullest capacity. It was a gruesome sight seeing the wounded
brought in, and the blood-stained stretchers carried away empty, when
the occupants had been deposited in the operating-room. Sometimes an
ambulance waggon would arrive with four or five inmates; at others we
descried a stretcher-party moving cautiously across the
recreation-ground towards us with a melancholy load. It is easy to
imagine our feelings of dread and anxiety as we scanned the features of
the new arrivals, never knowing who might be the next. During the
morning three wounded Boers were brought in--the first prisoners
Mafeking could claim; then a native with his arm shattered to the
shoulder. All were skilfully and carefully attended to by the army
surgeon and his staff in a marvellously short space of time, and
comfortably installed in bed. But the Boers begged not to have sheets,
as they had never seen such things before. Among the English casualties,
one case was a very sad one. A young man, named Hazelrigg, of an old
Leicestershire family, was badly shot in the region of the heart when
taking a message to the B.S.A.P. fort, not knowing the Boers were in
possession. Smart and good-looking, he had only just been promoted to
the post of orderly from being a private in the Cape Police, into which
corps he had previously enlisted, having failed in his army examination.
When brought to the hospital, Hazelrigg had nearly bled to death, and
was dreadfully weak, his case being evidently hopeless. I sat with him
several hours, putting eau-de-Cologne on his head and brushing away the
flies. In the evening, just before he passed into unconsciousness, he
repeated more than once: "Tell the Colonel, Lady Sarah, I did my best
to give the message, but they got me first." He died at dawn.
All through the weary hours of that perfect summer's day the rifles
never ceased firing. Sometimes a regular fusillade for ten minutes or
so; then, as if tired out, sinking down to a few single shots, while the
siren-like whistle and sharp explosion of the shells from the
high-velocity gun continued intermittently, and added to the dangers of
the streets. So the hours dragged on. All the time the wildest rumours
pervaded the air. Now the Boers had possession of the whole stadt;
again, as soon as night fell, large reinforcements were to force their
way in. Of course we knew the Colonel was all the while maturing his
plans to rid the town of the unbidden guests, but what these were no one
could tell. About 8 p.m., when we were in the depth of despair, we got
an official message to say that the Boers in the stadt had been
surrounded and taken prisoners, and also that the fort had surrendered
to Colonel Hore, who, with some of his officers, had been all day in the
curious position of captives in their own barracks. Of course our
delight and thankfulness knew no bounds. In spite of the dead and dying
patients, those who were slightly wounded or convalescent gave a feeble
cheer, which was a pathetic sound. We further heard that the prisoners,
in number about a hundred, including Commandant Eloff, their leader,
were then being marched through the town to the Masonic Hall, followed
by a large crowd of jeering and delighted natives. Two of the nurses and
myself ran over to look at them, and I never saw a more motley crew. In
the dim light of a few oil-lamps they represented many nationalities,
the greater part laughing, joking, and even singing, the burghers
holding themselves somewhat aloof, but the whole community giving one
the idea of a body of men who knew they had got out of a tight place,
and were devoutly thankful still to have whole skins. Eloff and three
principal officers were accommodated at Mr. Weil's house, having
previously dined with the Colonel and Staff. At 6 a.m. Sunday morning we
were awakened by three shells bursting close by, one after the other. I
believe no one was more frightened than Eloff; but he told us that it
was a preconcerted signal, and that, if they had been in possession of
the town, they were to have answered by rifle-fire, when the Boers would
have marched in. These proved to be the last shells that were fired into
Mafeking.
The same morning at breakfast I sat opposite to Commandant Eloff, who
was the President's grandson, and had on my right a most polite French
officer, who could not speak a word of English, Dutch, or German, so it
was difficult to understand how he made himself understood by his then
companions-in-arms. In strong contrast to this affable and courteous
gentleman was Eloff, of whom we had heard so much as a promising
Transvaal General. A typical Boer of the modern school, with curiously
unkempt hair literally standing on end, light sandy whiskers, and a
small moustache, he was wearing a sullen and dejected expression on his
by no means stupid, but discontented and unprepossessing, face. This
scion of the Kruger family did not scruple to air his grievances or
disclose his plans with regard to the struggle of the previous day. That
he was brilliantly assisted by the French and German freelances was as
surely demonstrated as the fact of his having been left more or less in
the lurch by his countrymen when they saw that to get into Mafeking was
one thing, but to stay there or get out of it again was quite a
different matter. In a few words he told us, in fairly good English, how
it had been posted up in the laager, "We leave for Mafeking to-night: we
will breakfast at Dixon's Hotel to-morrow morning"; how he had sent back
to instruct Reuter's agent to cable the news that Mafeking had been
taken as soon as the fort was in their hands; how he had left his camp
with 400 volunteers, and how, when he had counted them by the light of
the blazing stadt, only 240 remained; moreover, that the 500 additional
men who were to push in when the fort was taken absolutely failed
him.[34] He was also betrayed in that the arranged forward movement all
round the town, which was to have taken place simultaneously with his
attack, was never made. The burghers instead contented themselves by
merely firing senseless volleys from their trenches, which constituted
all the assistance he actually received. This, and much more, he told us
with bitter emphasis, while the French officer conversed unconcernedly
in the intervals of his discourse about the African climate, the
weather, and the Paris Exhibition; finally observing with heart-felt
emphasis that he wished himself back once more in "La Belle France,"
which he had only left two short months ago. The Dutchman, not
understanding what he was saying, kept on the thread of his story,
interrupting him without any compunction. It was one of the most curious
meals at which I have ever assisted. That afternoon these officers were
removed to safer quarters in gaol while a house was being prepared for
their reception.
As after-events proved, Eloff's attack was the
Boers' last card, which they had played when they heard of the
approaching relief column under Colonel Mahon,[35] and of his intention
to join hands with Colonel Plumer, coming from the North. After lunch,
two days later, we saw clouds of dust to the south, and, from
information to hand, we knew it must be our relievers. The whole of
Mafeking spent hours on the roofs of the houses. In the meantime the
Boers were very uneasy, with many horsemen coming and going, but the
laagers were not being shifted. In the late afternoon a desultory action
commenced, which to us was desperately exciting. We could see little but
shells bursting and columns of dust. One thing was certain: the Boers
were not running away, although the Colonel declared that our troops had
gained possession of the position the Boers had held, the latter having
fallen a little farther back. As the sun set came a helio-message:
"Diamond Fields Horse.--All well. Good-night." We went to dinner at
seven, and just as we were sitting down I heard some feeble cheers.
Thinking something must have happened, I ran to the market-square, and,
seeing a dusty khaki-clad figure whose appearance was unfamiliar to me,
I touched him on the shoulder, and said: "Has anyone come in?" "We have
come in," he answered--"Major Karri-Davis and eight men of the Imperial
Light Horse." Then I saw that officer himself, and he told us that,
profiting by an hour's dusk, they had ridden straight in before the moon
rose, and that they were now sending back two troopers to tell the
column the way was clear. Their having thus pushed on at once was a
lucky inspiration, for, had they waited for daylight, they would
probably have had a hard fight, even if they had got in at all. This
plucky column of 1,100 men had marched nearly 300 miles in twelve days,
absolutely confounding the Boers by their rapidity.
We heard weeks afterwards how that same day of the relief of Mafeking
was celebrated in London with jubilation past belief, everyone going mad
with delight. The original event in the town itself was a very tame if
impressive affair--merely a score or so of people, singing "Rule,
Britannia," surrounding eight or nine dust-begrimed figures, each
holding a tired and jaded horse, and a few women on the outskirts of the
circle with tears of joy in their eyes. Needless to say, no one thought
of sleep that night. At 3.30 a.m. someone came and fetched me in a
pony-cart, and we drove out to the polo-ground, where, by brilliant
moonlight, we saw the column come into camp. Strings and strings of
waggons were soon drawn up; next to them black masses, which were the
guns; and beyond these, men, lying down anywhere, dead-tired, beside
their horses. The rest of the night I spent at the hospital, where they
were bringing in those wounded in the action of the previous afternoon.
At eight o'clock we were having breakfast with Colonel Mahon, Prince
Alexander of Teck, Sir John Willoughby, and Colonel Frank Rhodes, as
additional guests. We had not seen a strange face for eight months, and
could do nothing but stare at them, and I think each one of us felt as
if he or she were in a dream. Our friends told of their wonderful march,
and how they had encamped one night at Setlagoli, where they had been
taken care of by Mrs. Fraser and Metelka, who had spent the night in
cooking for the officers, which fact had specially delighted Colonel
Rhodes, who told me my maid was a "charming creature." But this pleasant
conversation was interrupted by a message, saying that, as the Boer
laagers were as intact as yesterday, the artillery were going to bombard
them at once. Those of us who had leisure repaired at once to the
convent, and from there the sight that followed was worth waiting all
these many months to see. First came the splendid batteries of the Royal
Horse Artillery trotting into action, all the gunners bronzed and
bearded. They were followed by the Canadian Artillery, who had joined
Colonel Plumer's force, and who were that day horsed with mules out of
the Bulawayo coach. These were galloping, and, considering the distance
all had come, both horses and mules looked wonderfully fit and well.
Most of the former, with the appearance of short-tailed English hunters,
were stepping gaily out. The Imperial Light Horse and the Diamond Fields
Horse, the latter distinguished by feathers in their felt hats, brought
up the procession. Everybody cheered, and not a few were deeply
affected. Personally, ever since, when I see galloping artillery, that
momentous morning is brought back to my mind, and I feel a choking
sensation in my throat.
About a quarter of a mile from town the guns unlimbered, and we could
not help feeling satisfaction at watching the shells exploding in the
laager--that laager we had watched for so many months, and had never
been able to touch. The Boers had evidently never expected the column to
be in the town, or they would have cleared off. We had a last glimpse of
the tarpaulined waggons, and then the dust hid further developments from
sight. After about thirty minutes the artillery ceased firing, and as
the atmosphere cleared we saw the laager was a desert. Waggons, horses,
and cattle, all had vanished.
After their exertions of the past fortnight, Colonel Mahon did not
consider it wise to pursue the retreating Boers; but later in the
afternoon I went out with others in a cart to where the laager had
been--the first time since December that I had driven beyond our lines.
I had the new experience of seeing a "loot" in progress. First we met
two soldiers driving a cow; then some more with bulged-out pockets full
of live fowls; natives were staggering under huge loads of food-stuffs,
and eating even as they walked. I was also interested in going into the
very room where General Snyman had treated me so scurvily, and where
everything was in terrible confusion: the floor was littered with
rifles, ammunition, food-stuffs of all sorts, clothes, and letters. Among
the latter some interesting telegrams were found, including one from the
President, of a date three days previously, informing Snyman that things
were most critical, and that the enemy had occupied Kroonstadt. We were
just going on to the hospital, where I had spent those weary days of
imprisonment, when an officer galloped up and begged me to return to
Mafeking, as some skirmishing was going to commence. It turned out that
500 Boers had stopped just over the ridge to cover their retreating
waggons, but they made no stand, and by evening were miles away.
On Friday, May 18, the whole garrison turned out to attend a
thanksgiving service in an open space close to the cemetery. They were
drawn up in a three-sided square, which looked pathetically small.
After the service Colonel Baden-Powell walked round and said a few words
to each corps; then three volleys were fired over the graves of fallen
comrades, and the "Last Post" was played by the buglers, followed by the
National Anthem, in which all joined. It was a simple ceremony, but a
very touching one. The same afternoon Colonel Plumer's force was
inspected by the Colonel, prior to their departure for the North to
repair the railway-line from Bulawayo. They were striking-looking men in
their campaigning kit, having been in the field since last August. Some
wore shabby khaki jackets and trousers, others flannel shirts and long
boots or putties. However attired, they were eager once more for the
fray, and, moreover, looked fit for any emergency.
The next few days were a period of intense excitement, and we were
constantly stumbling against friends who had formed part of the relief
column, but of whose presence we were totally unaware. Letters began to
arrive in bulky batches, and one morning I received no less than 100,
some of which bore the date of September of the year before. My time was
divided between eagerly devouring these missives from home, sending and
answering cables (a telegraph-line to the nearest telephone-office had
been installed), and helping to organize a new hospital in the
school-house, to accommodate the sick and wounded belonging to Colonel
Mahon's force. All the while my thoughts were occupied by my return to
England and by the question of the surest route to Cape Town. The
railway to the South could not be relaid for weeks, and, as an
alternative, my eyes turned longingly towards the Transvaal and
Pretoria. It must be remembered that we shared the general opinion that,
once Lord Roberts had reached the latter town, the war would be
practically over. How wrong we all were after-events were to prove, but
at the end of May, 1900, it appeared to many that to drive the 200 miles
to Pretoria would be very little longer, and much more interesting, than
to trek to Kimberley, with Cape Town as the destination. Mrs. Godley (to
whom I have before alluded) had arrived at Mafeking from Bulawayo, and
we agreed to make the attempt, especially as the Boers in the
intervening country were reported to be giving up their arms and
returning to their farms. In the meantime it had been decided that
Colonel Plumer should occupy Zeerust in the Transvaal, twenty-eight
miles from the border, while Colonel Baden-Powell and his force pushed
on to Rustenburg. On May 28 Colonel Mahon and the relief column all
departed to rejoin General Hunter in or near Lichtenburg, and Mafeking
was left with a small garrison to look after the sick and wounded. This
town, so long a theatre of excitement to itself and of interest to the
world at large, then resumed by degrees the sleepy, even tenor of its
ways, which had been so rudely disturbed eight months before.
FOOTNOTES:
[34] Later on, when I was at Zeerust, I met a telegraph clerk who had
then been in the employ of the Boers, and he told me how indignant all
were with General Snyman for deserting Eloff on that occasion. When one
of the _Veldtcornets_ went and begged his permission to collect
volunteers as reinforcements, all the General did was to scratch his
head and murmur in Dutch, "Morro is nocher dag" (To-morrow is another
day).
[35] Now Major-General Mahon.