ACROSS THE TRANSVAAL TO PRETORIA DURING THE WAR
"There never was a good war or a bad peace."--BENJAMIN
FRANKLIN.
On Sunday morning, June 4, we packed into a Cape cart, with four siege
horses in fair condition, and started to drive to Zeerust. It was a
glorious day of blue skies and bright sun, with just enough breeze to
prevent the noonday from being too hot. As we left Mafeking and its
outworks behind, I had a curious feeling of regret and of gratitude to
the gallant little town and its stout citizens: to the former for having
been a haven in the midst of fierce storms during all these months; to
the latter for their stout arms and their brave hearts, which had warded
off the outbursts of the same tempests, whose clouds had hung dark and
lowering on our horizon since the previous October. We also experienced
a wonderful feeling of relief and freedom at being able to drive at will
over the very roads which we had seen covered by Boer waggons,
burghers, and guns, and, needless to say, we marked with interest the
lines of their forts, so terribly near our little town. We noted the
farmhouse lately the headquarters of General Snyman, standing naked and
alone. Formerly surrounded by a flourishing orchard and a carefully
tended garden, it was now the picture of desolation. The ground was
trampled by many feet of men and horses; straw, forage, packing-cases,
and rubbish of all kinds, were strewn about, and absolutely hid the soil
from view. Away on the hill beyond I spied the tiny house and hospital
where I had spent six weary nights and days; and between these two
buildings a patch of bare ground nearly half a mile square,
indescribably filthy, had been the site of the white-hooded waggons and
ragged tents of the laager itself. The road was of no interest, merely
rolling veldt with a very few scattered farmhouses, apparently deserted;
but one noticed that rough attempts had been made in the way of
irrigation, and that, as one approached the Transvaal, pools of water
were frequently to be seen.
A shallow ditch was pointed out to us by the driver, as the boundary
between Her Majesty's colony and the South African Republic, and after
another eight or ten miles we saw a few white roofs and trees, which
proved to be Otto's Hoep, in the Malmani Gold District, from which
locality great things had been hoped in bygone days, before the Rand
was ever thought of. At the tiny hotel we found several officers and men
of the Imperial Light Horse, who, warned by a telephone message from
Mafeking, had ordered us an excellent hot lunch. The proprietor, of
German origin, could do nothing but stare at us while we were eating the
meal, apparently amazed at finding his house reopened after so many
months of inactivity, and that people were actually prepared to pay for
what they had. We soon pushed on again, and just after leaving the hotel
a sharp turn brought us to a really wide river, close to where the
Imperial Light Horse were encamped. Our driver turned the horses' heads
towards it, and without any misgivings we plunged in. The water grew
deeper and deeper, and our thoughts flew to our portmanteaus, tied on
behind, which were practically submerged. Just then the leaders took it
into their heads they preferred not to go any farther, and forthwith
turned round and faced us. The black coachman, however, did not lose his
head, but pulled the wheelers round also, and we soon found ourselves
again on the same bank from which we had started. Had it not been for a
kind trooper of the Imperial Light Horse, our chances of getting across
would have been nil. This friend in need mounted a loose horse, and
succeeded in coaxing and dragging our recalcitrant leaders, and forcing
them to face the rushing stream. Once again our portmanteaus had a cold
bath, but this time we made a successful crossing, and went gaily on our
way. The road was now much improved and the country exceedingly pretty.
Many snug little houses, sheltered by rows of cypress, tall eucalyptus
and huge orange-trees laden with yellow fruit, their gardens intersected
by running brooks, appeared on all sides; while in the distance rose a
range of blue hills, at the foot of which we could perceive the roofs of
Zeerust.
As the sun was almost sinking, clouds of dust arose on the road in
front, denoting a large body of men or waggons moving. A few weeks--nay,
days--ago these would have been a burgher commando; now we knew they
were our friends, and presently we met Major Weston Jarvis and his
dust-begrimed squadron of the Rhodesian Regiment, followed by a large
number of transport waggons, driven cattle, and donkeys. This living
testimony that war was still present in the land only disturbed the
peaceful evening landscape till the long line of dust had disappeared;
then all was stillness and beauty once more. The young moon came out,
the stars twinkled in the dark blue heavens, and suddenly, below the dim
range of hills, shone first one light and then another; while away to
the left, on higher ground, camp-fires, softened by a halo of white
smoke, came into view. The scene was very picturesque. No cloud
obscured the star-bespangled sky or the crescent of the Queen of the
Night. Still far away, the lights of the little town were a beacon to
guide us. The noise and cries of the camp were carried to us on the
gentlest of night breezes, and, to complete the calm beauty of the
surroundings, the deep, slow chime of a church-bell struck our ears.
We had reached our destination, and were in a few minutes driving
through the quiet little street, pulling up in front of the Central
Hotel, kept by a colonial Englishman and his wife. The former had been
commandeered twice during the war, but he hastened to assure us that,
though he had been at the laager, and even in the trenches before
Mafeking, he had never let off his rifle, and had given it up with great
pleasure to the English only the day before. This old-fashioned hostelry
was very comfortable and commodious, with excellent cooking, but it was
not till the next day that we realized how pretty was the town of
Zeerust, and how charmingly situated. The houses, standing back from the
wide road, were surrounded by neat little gardens and rows of cypresses.
Looking down the main street, in either direction, were purple,
tree-covered hills. A stream wound its way across one end of the
highway, and teams of sleepy fat oxen with bells completed the illusion
that we had suddenly been transported into a town of Northern Italy or
of the Lower Engadine. However, other circumstances contributed to give
it an air of depression and sadness. On the stoeps of the houses were
gathered groups of Dutch women and girls, many of them in deep mourning,
and all looking very miserable, gazing at us with unfriendly eyes.
Fine-looking but shabbily-clad men were to be met carrying their rifles
and bandoliers to the Landrost's late office, now occupied by Colonel
Plumer and his Staff. Sometimes they were leading a rough-coated,
ill-fed pony, in many cases their one ewe lamb, which might or might not
be required for Her Majesty's troops. They walked slowly and dejectedly,
though some took off their hats and gave one a rough "Good-day." Most of
them had their eyes on the ground and a look of mute despair. Others,
again, looked quite jolly and friendly, calling out a cheery greeting,
for all at that time thought the war was really over. I was told that
what caused them surprise and despair was the fact of their animals
being required by the English: "requisitioned" was the term used when
the owner was on his farm, which meant that he would receive payment for
the property, and was given a receipt to that effect; "confiscated,"
when the burgher was found absent, which signified he was still on
commando. Even in the former case he gave up his property sadly and
reluctantly, amid the tears and groans of his wife and children, for,
judging by the ways of his own Government, they never expected the paper
receipt would produce any recognition. Many of the cases of these poor
burghers seemed indeed very hard, for it must be remembered that during
the past months of the war all their things had been used by their own
Government for the patriotic cause, and what still remained to them was
then being appropriated by the English. All along they had been misled
and misinformed, for none of their leaders ever hinted there could be
but one end to the war--namely, the decisive success of the Transvaal
Republic. It made it easy to realize the enormous difficulties that were
connected with what was airily talked of as the "pacification of the
country," and that those English officers who laboured then, and for
many months afterwards, at this task had just as colossal and arduous an
undertaking as the soldiers under Lord Roberts, who had gloriously cut
their way to Johannesburg and Pretoria. Someone said to me in Zeerust:
"When the English have reached Pretoria their difficulties will only
begin." In the heyday of our Relief, and with news of English victories
constantly coming to hand, I thought this gentleman a pessimist; but the
subsequent history of the war, and the many weary months following the
conclusion of peace, proved there was much truth in the above statement.
Two days later we heard that Lord Roberts had made his formal entry into
Pretoria on June 5, but our journey thither did not proceed as smoothly
as we had hoped. We chartered a Cape cart and an excellent pair of grey
horses, and made our first attempt to reach Pretoria via the lead-mines,
the same route taken by Dr. Jameson and the Raiders. Here we received a
check in the shape of a letter from General Baden-Powell requesting us
not to proceed, as he had received information that Lord Roberts's line
of communication had been temporarily interrupted. The weather had
turned exceedingly wet and cold, like an English March or late autumn,
and after two days of inactivity in a damp and gloomy Dutch farmhouse we
were perforce obliged to return to our original starting-point, Zeerust.
A few days later we heard that Colonel Baden-Powell had occupied
Rustenburg, and that the country between there and Pretoria
was clear; so we decided to make a fresh start, and this time to take
the northern and more mountainous route. We drove through a very pretty
country, with many trees and groves of splendid oranges, and we crossed
highly cultivated valleys, with numerous farms dotted about. All those
we met described themselves as delighted at what they termed the close
of the war, and gave us a rough salutation as we went on our way, after
a friendly chat. Presently we passed an open trolley with a huge
red-cross flag flying, but which appeared to contain nothing but private
luggage, and was followed by a man, evidently a doctor, driving a
one-horse buggy, and wearing an enormous red-cross badge on his hat. At
midday we outspanned to rest the horses and eat our lunch, and in the
afternoon we crossed the great Marico River, where was situated a
deserted and ruined hotel and store. The road then became so bad that
the pace of our horses scarcely reached five miles an hour, and to
obtain shelter we had to reach Eland's River before it became quite
dark. A very steep hill had to be climbed, which took us over the
shoulder of the chain of hills, and rumbling slowly down the other side,
with groaning brake and stumbling steeds, we met a typical Dutch family,
evidently trekking back from the laager in a heavy ox waggon. The
sad-looking mother, with three or four children in ragged clothes, was
sitting inside; the father and the eldest boy were walking beside the
oxen. Their apparent misery was depressing, added to which the day,
which all along had been cold and dismal, now began to close in, and,
what was worse, rain began to fall, which soon grew to be a regular
downpour. At last we could hardly see our grey horses, and every moment
I expected we should drive into one of the many pitfalls in the shape of
big black holes with which the roads in this part of the Transvaal
abounded, and a near acquaintance with any one of these would certainly
have upset the cart. At last we saw twinkling lights, but we first had
to plunge down another river-bed and ascend a precipitous incline up the
opposite bank. Our horses were by now very tired, and for one moment it
seemed to hang in the balance whether we should roll back into the water
or gain the top. The good animals, however, responded to the whip,
plunged forward, and finally pulled up at a house dimly outlined in the
gloom. In response to our call, a dripping sentry peered out, and told
us it was, as we hoped, Wolhuter's store, and that he would call the
proprietor. Many minutes elapsed, during which intense stillness
prevailed, seeming to emphasize how desolate a spot we had reached, and
broken only by the splash of the heavy rain. Then the door opened, and a
man appeared to be coming at last, only to disappear again in order to
fetch coat and umbrella. Eventually it turned out the owner of the house
was a miller, by birth a German, and this gentleman very kindly gave us
a night's hospitality. He certainly had not expected visitors, and it
took some time to allay his suspicions as to who we were and what was
our business. Accustomed to the universal hospitality in South Africa,
I was somewhat surprised at the hesitation he showed in asking us into
his house, and when we were admitted he claimed indulgence for any
shortcomings by saying his children were ill. We assured him we should
give no trouble, and we were so wet and cold that any roof and shelter
were a godsend. Just as I was going to bed, my maid came and told me
that, from a conversation she had had with the Kaffir girl, who seemed
to be the only domestic, she gathered that two children were suffering
from an infectious disease, which, in the absence of any medical man,
they had diagnosed as smallpox. To proceed on our journey was out of the
question, but it may be imagined that we left next morning at the very
earliest hour possible.
This very district round Eland's River was later the scene of much
fighting, and it was there a few months afterwards that De la Rey
surrounded an English force, who were only rescued in the nick of time
by the arrival of Lord Kitchener. At the date of our visit, however, all
was peaceful, and, but for a few burghers riding in haste to surrender
their arms, not a trace of the enemy was to be seen.
The next day we reached Rustenburg, where we stayed the night, and
learnt that General Baden-Powell and his Staff had left there for
Pretoria, to confer with Lord Roberts. Our gallant grey horses were
standing the strain well, and the worst roads as well as the most
mountainous country were then behind us; so, without delay, we continued
on the morrow, spending the third night at a storekeeper's house at
Sterkstrom. Towards the evening of the fourth day after leaving Zeerust,
we entered a long wide valley, and by degrees overtook vehicles of many
lands, wearied pedestrians, and horsemen--in fact, the inevitable
stragglers denoting the vicinity of a vast army. The valley was enclosed
by moderately high hills, and from their summits we watched helio
messages passing to and fro during all that beautiful afternoon, while
we slowly accomplished the last, but seemingly endless, miles of our
tedious drive. At 5 p.m. we crawled into the suburbs of the Boer
capital, having driven 135 miles with the same horses. The description
of Pretoria under British occupation, and the friends we met there, I
must leave to another chapter.