MAFEKING IN DECEMBER AND JANUARY
Christmas Day, in deference to warlike etiquette, was observed as a
holiday; but, in spite of the pacific nature of the occasion, the man
who was the brain of Mafeking was organising a plan by which the cordon
around the town might be broken. He was deciding that there must be a
big fight on the morrow, and that a desperate effort must be made to
change the cramped vista of affairs. Waiting was a weary game, and it
was felt that some one must make a move. The Boers certainly, had they
chosen, might have carried the town by assault, but for such activity
they had no appetite. This was no boy's job, and, as they themselves
confessed, they went out to shoot, not to be shot. Not so the gentle
civilians, who, while incarcerated in this little hamlet of the veldt,
had developed into valiant campaigners. They were always ready to be up
and doing, and gladly fell in with the Colonel's plans. Frequent
reconnaissances had disclosed the fact that the enemy's position, though
strong on the western face, was fairly vulnerable at a point on the
east, and at this point it was decided an attack on the morning of the
26th should be directed.
The plan of attack was as follows:--Captain R. Vernon, King's Royal
Rifles, with C Squadron, and Captain FitzClarence and D Squadron, to
lead; Captain Lord Charles Bentinck, with A Squadron, to hold the
reserve upon the left, which was under the command of Colonel Hore.
Major Panzera and the artillery were to take up a position upon the
extreme left of the line. The railway running to within a few hundred
yards of Game Tree had been repaired, in order that the armoured train,
under Captain Williams and twenty men of the British South Africa
Police, with one-pounder Hotchkiss and Maxim, from a point parallel with
Game Tree, might protect the right flank. This flank was to be further
supported by Captain Cowan and seventy men of the Bechuanaland Rifles.
The entire operations from this side were to be under the command of
Major Godley, while Colonel Baden-Powell and his staff, Major Lord
Edward Cecil (Chief Staff Officer), Captain Wilson, A.D.C., and
Lieutenant Hanbury Tracy watched the direction of events from Dummie
Fort.
[Illustration: CRONJE'S FORCE ON THEIR MARCH SOUTH.
Drawing by Sidney Paget, from a Sketch made 8 Miles South of Paardeberg
by W. B. Wollen, R.I.]
It must be remembered that at that time the character of the fort they
intended to assail was barely known. In reality, it rose some seven
feet above a ditch deep and wide, which almost defied assault. However,
it was decided that Game Tree, from which had poured voluble rifle and
artillery fire for many weeks, must at all hazards be silenced. It was
most important that communication with the north should be, if possible,
re-established, and there was every hope that a successful fight might
make it easier for Colonel Plumer to eventually join hands with the
besieged.
The night passed. As the grey dawn broke over the veldt, a flash weirdly
orange and a golden puff of smoke showed that the preconcerted plan had
begun to be put in operation. Major Panzera with his seven-pounders had
started the programme. Presently the Maxim rapped out in chorus, while
on the right the great dusty crocodile, the armoured train, slunk along
to its destination. Its whistle shrieked. It was Captain Vernon's signal
for action. On the instant a thin line of moving kharki broke from
cover, bayonets glittered among the scrub, cheers and the rattle of
musketry filled the air. Officers and men were dashing, as only Britons
can dash, each striving to outrush the other towards the lair of the
enemy. Quick as thought they had plunged into the scrub that girdled the
sandbags, and excitedly, jubilantly, some one on Dummie Fort sang out,
"They are swarming over the bags--the position is ours!"
All waited anxiously, almost breathlessly. The moments grew and grew,
seconds became years. The sputtering of rifles continued, and swelled
into a vast hum, and then some one--the same some one, only in a very
different voice from that which spoke last, said hoarsely, "Our men are
coming back!"... Yes. They were indeed coming back--the remnant--firing
sullenly their parting shots ere they receded. The enemy's position had
been proved impregnable! Their parapet was loopholed in triple tiers and
roofed with a bomb-proof protection. It had but a single opening, large
enough to admit one man at a time. It was in firing his revolver into
one of the loopholes and endeavouring to pull out a sandbag with his
left hand that Lieutenant Paton was killed. Captain FitzClarence, far
ahead of his men, was shot in the thigh within 150 yards of the fort,
and both Captains Sandford and Vernon were laid low almost within a
stone's throw of the rifles of the enemy. Lieutenant Swinburne, who,
directly Captain FitzClarence was wounded, led his men forward with
dauntless energy, escaped unhurt. But few were equally lucky. Out of a
storming party of eighty, twenty-one were killed and thirty-three
wounded. It was when he saw this useless sacrifice of life that Major
Godley sent a message to headquarters by the aide-de-camp. "Captain
Vernon, sir, has been repulsed," he said, "and Major Godley does not
think it worth while trying again." Nor was it. All that could be done
was to send the ambulance to perform its grim duty.
In describing the tragic affair, Mr. Angus Hamilton, in _Black and
White_, said: "Indeed, from the armoured train it could be seen that the
progress of the men towards the fort was like the Charge of the Six
Hundred into the Valley of Death--a conviction which became more and
more apparent as our men gallantly held to their course. Within 300
yards of the fort it was almost impossible for any living thing to
exist, and the rush of the bullets across the zone of fire was like the
hum of myriads of locusts before the wind. The gallantry of the effort,
the admirable steadiness and precision with which the attack was
delivered, has been compared by our commanding officers to deeds which
rank among the foremost of our martial chronicles."
It was veritably a charge of heroes. Scarcely one man could be singled
out as the bravest of the brave where all showed such magnificent
courage. Captain Sandford, Indian Staff Corps, though wounded mortally
by a bullet in the spine, with his last breath ordered his men to
continue their advance and leave him to his fate. Captain FitzClarence,
wounded in the leg, bleeding, exhausted, was seen sitting up and
directing the charge. Elsewhere was Captain Vernon, with a bullet
through him, rushing on and on in company with the heroic youth, Paton,
whose effort to scale the inaccessible rampart brought about his death.
This splendid fellow was shot through the heart; while Captain Vernon,
who had again been hit, and still pursued his onward course into the
teeth of the foe, was struck on the head and killed. The only other
officer that escaped uninjured was Lieutenant Bridges, and he hurt his
ankle while assisting a wounded comrade. The details of the killed and
wounded were as follows:--Officers killed, three; wounded, one. Men
killed, eighteen; wounded, thirty-two; missing, thirteen. Thus ended a
superb effort, which, failure though it was, was vastly superior to many
a meaner martial success.
So the garrison had to go on in the old, old way, though many popular
and beloved members were now missing, and the hospital was full of cases
that threatened to end seriously. Owing to the commendable forethought
of Lord Edward Cecil and the enterprise of Messrs. Julius Weil, the
garrison was provided with the wherewithal to make what resistance they
did. Lord Edward Cecil's work was ceaseless; as Chief Staff Officer he
came in for both the external fights and the internal discords. He
smoothed down quarrels, dispensed justice, allayed "siege fever" in all
its intermittent phases, and in fact performed the tasks of ten men,
with unfailing courtesy and inexhaustible patience. The pinch of the
siege had gradually become more painful, and luxuries for some time had
been commandeered for the use of the sick. Luckily, some Chinamen among
the besieged contrived to grow vegetables in small quantities for the
use of the inhabitants, and by force of good management in the disposal
of the food supplies, which had been stocked by Messrs. Weil before the
outbreak of the war, a fixed scale of rations for every man, woman, and
child was secured. Conversation grew monotonous. It circled round the
positions of the guns, the chance of relief, and question of stores,
till it produced a mental giddiness that verged on the idiotic. Few
grumbled, few swore. In this matter the Boers acted as a safety-valve.
When people felt in the "something's too bad of somebody" mood, they
could go out and snipe, and vent their spleen usefully and to the honour
of their country! Sundays were more than ever flat. There was not the
excitement attendant on dodging shells in the open. Speculation on the
subject of food languished round the limitations of Hobson's choice. Mr.
Neilly in the _Pall Mall Gazette_ gave a sorry outline of the scanty
fare. "I will attempt to give you an idea of what this scarcity of diet
means. You are in a trench. In the early morning you have handed to you
a piece of bread as big as a breakfast roll and a little tin of 'bully'
sufficient for one average meal. You have some of it for breakfast, and
if you have not an iron will you will eat the lot there and then, and go
hungry for the rest of the twenty-four hours. What you leave is kept in
the broiling sun until luncheon-time, when you find the beef reduced to
an oily mess that does not look very appetising. You eat more and
tighten your belt a hole or two to delude yourself into the belief that
you have had a satisfying meal. You roast away again until dinner-time,
when you gather up the last crumb and sigh for a few hours in the
Adelaide Gallery or even in an East-End cookshop. But this is not all;
you are for guard duty from midnight until 3 A.M. You have no sleep
before you go on, and the slumber you fall into when relieved is
destroyed an hour after you have entered upon it by the morning order to
stand to arms. You thus get a schoolboy's luncheon to keep you alive for
twenty-four hours. It is made unpalatable by the sun, and if a Mafeking
shower falls, the odds are that it will be flooded over and buried in
the mud at the bottom of the trench."
At this time Cronje, by way of recreation, returned to Mafeking, a
fleeting visit, possibly to test some novel plans for the purpose of
subduing the town. He came armed with incendiary shells, which were
supposed to hit and blaze up and cause an inspiriting conflagration. But
they did not succeed. They caused a conflagration certainly, but its
duration was limited. At the end of it, Mafeking smiled still, but
smiled with the curled lip of scorn. The convent, notwithstanding its
symbol of the Red Cross, had been hit, and crushed, and wrecked; the
hospital had been assailed; the sacred claim of humanity had been
outraged; women and children had been subjected to terrors of fact and
terrors of dread. These atrocities continued, and Her Majesty's
long-suffering subjects looked on and waited; they believed that
deliverance must soon come. If they had not had that belief to help
them, they would have died or surrendered. They believed that a day of
reckoning would arrive, and that then Cronje and his diabolical
hirelings would come by their deserts. If only they could have skipped
six weeks and looked into the mirror of Fate, the drama at Paardeberg
Drift would have reassured them. As it was, they had to live in faith.
The series of atrocities that marked the Boer assaults had scarcely a
counterpart in modern history, and it grew doubtful, if ever their turn
should come, whether the besieged would be prevailed upon to emit one
spark of that "magnanimity" with which their countrymen had been so
lavish, and which the Boer had grown to account as a natural weakness of
these "verdomde rooineks."
Siege life was now becoming painfully irksome. A blazing sun, a
drenching rain, a gust of wind through the pepper trees, this was all
the variety at hand. The inhabitants of the town began to feel like
ghosts of themselves, ghouls walking the earth, yet out of touch with
those who spoke of them as a memory, and nothing more. To them it was
the quiet of the grave. They waited like some enchanted princess of a
fairy tale for the time when the magic wand should wave and their pulses
throb with joy and excitation, with laughter and zest for the good
things of the hour. Now they walked as in a dream to the accompaniment
of shot and shell, surrounded by devilish ogres and looters of the dead,
while somewhere within a few miles of them, kith and kin, living and
breathing kith and kin, seemed as phantoms in a nightmare to pass by and
to ignore! A speechless, soundless asphyxia of the soul seemed to be
creeping over these tired patient heroes! They still waited and hoped,
but hoping and waiting had now grown monotonous, almost mechanical, as
the tickings of an eight-day clock.
Rumours many and fantastic were brought in by the natives. It was
believed that a new year's gift of three waggon loads of ammunition had
been received by the Boers from Pretoria, and also a new gun. This
weapon it was afterwards discovered was provided with more combustible
bombs, horrible missiles that disgorge a chemical liquid which ignites
in contact with the air. Here was a continual horror, and one that was
only combated by extreme precautions. Though Colonel Baden-Powell in his
nook on the stoep of his house continued to whistle his insouciant
notes, his busy brains needed to be Machiavellian in their ingenuity.
Some declared he slept with one eye open; others, that he never slept at
all. Certain it was that when all were hushed in slumber he was "on the
prowl," either on the roof or in the open, reading from the heavens
above or the earth beneath the enemy's approaching machinations. Some
find sermons in stones; B.-P. found inspiration in sand and sky.
[Illustration: THE MARKET SQUARE, MAFEKING.]
The Boers continued their bombardment, the sun continued to blaze, to
smite the tin roofs and glaring sandy roads. After persistently
directing shells on the women's laager the ruffians succeeded in
murdering three little children. These were of Dutch nationality, and it
was hoped that their loss might possibly awaken a feeling of humanity
and remorse in the breast of those who had prompted the assault on the
defenceless position. But their conduct was rendering those within the
town exasperated almost to madness. They panted for a chance to mete out
annihilation to the blood-lusting rascals and untamed savages who were
harassing them. They did their best, and sat down to the business of
clearing off as many as possible of the polyglot horde who worked the
guns.
The work done by the Bechuanaland Rifles and the British South Africa
Police was prodigious. They shrunk from no toil and no exposure so that
they might reduce the number of the besiegers. Early in the New Year the
Rifles entrenched themselves within 900 yards of the enemy's big guns,
and spent days and nights in the trenches, relieved at intervals by the
Police. From nine on one night till nine the next they would occupy
their unenviable position, carrying with them their day's food and
water, and employing themselves during the hours of light by keeping up
a persistent fire on the Boer siege gun. On occasions their fire was so
accurate that the Dutchmen had entirely to abandon the work of loading
and training the gun. So smart, at last, grew the British sharpshooters,
that during each Sabbath the gun was shifted farther and farther away.
Colonel Baden-Powell's resourcefulness was again put to the test, and
was again triumphant. The Boers were somewhat nonplussed by the
discovery that he had a new weapon of defence. They put their heads
together and concluded that the weapon must have sprung from the bowels
of the earth. It so happened that in some long-forgotten stores in the
town an old ship's gun was suddenly discovered. Quickly it was brought
into action. But the ways of this old muzzle-loading 16-pounder were not
as the ways of the modern "Long Toms," whose tricks were "understanded"
of the Boer people. It had curious and distinctive virtues of its own.
This gun threw solid shot, which, unlike a shell that bursts and is done
with for better or for worse, gallivanted along the ground according to
its own sweet will, and produced little surprises that caused the
Colonel much amusement and not a little satisfaction.
[Illustration: GUN MADE IN MAFEKING. Photo by D. Taylor, Mafeking.]
The biography of the treasure-trove was written by Mr. Angus Hamilton
of _Black and White_, who declared that there was quite a flutter of
excitement at the appearance of the antiquated weapon. "It would seem,"
he said, "to have been made about 1770, and is identical with those
which up till very recently adorned the quay at Portsmouth. Its weight
is 8 cwt. 2 qr. 10 lbs., and it was made by B. P. & Co. It is a naval
gun, and is stamped 'No. 6 port.' How it came here is uncertain, and its
origin unknown; but one gathers that it must have been intended more for
privateering than for use in any Government ship of war, since it is
wanting in all official superscription. This weapon, which we have now
christened 'B. P.' out of a compliment to the Colonel, has been lying
upon the farm of an Englishman whose interests are very closely united
with the native tribe whose headquarters are in Mafeking Stadt. Mr.
Rowlands can recall the gun passing this way in charge of two Germans
nearly forty years ago. He remembers to have seen it in the possession
of Linchwe's tribe, and upon his return to the Baralongs, after one of
his trading journeys, he urged the old chief to secure it for use in
defence of the Stadt against the attacks of Dutch freebooters. The chief
then visited Linchwe and bought the gun for twenty-two oxen, bringing it
down to Mafeking upon his waggon. In those days it had three hundred
rounds of ammunition, which were utilised in tribal fights. With the
exception of visits which the gun made to local tribes, it has remained
here, and is now in the possession of Mr. Rowlands. It has recently
been mounted, and is in active operation against our enemies. We have
made balls for it, and are intending to manufacture shells, in the hope
we shall at least be able to reach the emplacement of Big Ben. The first
trial of 'B. P.' in its new career gave very satisfactory results. With
two pounds of powder it threw a ball of ten pounds more than two
thousand yards. The power of the charge was increased by half pounds
until a charge of three pounds threw a ball of the same weight as the
first rather more than two miles. We, therefore, have pinned our hopes
upon it, and commend to the responsible authorities the reflections
which may be derived from the fact that our chief and most efficient
means of defence lie in such a weapon."
The mosquito tactics of the wily Colonel proceeded as usual, but the
Boer was hard to checkmate. On the 15th of January an attack was made by
the sharpshooters against the enemy's big gun battery, with the pleasing
result that on the following day the 94-pounder and high-velocity Krupp
evacuated their positions, and retired to a more distant one on the east
side of the town, whence their command of the place was comparatively
limited. In this quarter, now that the foe was pushed out of rifle
range, it was possible to open grazing for cattle, a very desirable
movement, for the poor lean beasts were waning rapidly. At this time
Captain FitzClarence was reported among the convalescents, the wound
received on the 26th of December having almost healed.
Preparations were set on foot for the purpose of routing the enemy with
dynamite, failing all other means of ridding the town of his too
intimate proximity. Colonel Baden-Powell's motto, unlike that of British
Governments, was to take time by the forelock. He left nothing to
chance. In order to avert any risk of running short of supplies, rations
were reduced, and oats which had previously belonged to the beasts were
promoted to the use of their owners. Very stringent laws existed for the
economising of everything. Matches and tinned milk were commandeered,
and the theft of a matchbox was now viewed as a heinous crime. Tobacco
in small quantities remained, but wines and spirits were fast running
out. There were pathetic leave-takings as each quart of whisky
disappeared from the stores; there was no knowing when would arrive the
hour for a fond and a last farewell. Conversation grew still more
monotonous. It mostly consisted of how the inner man should be
sustained, and of anecdotes of agility in avoiding shot and shell.
[Illustration: WEST YORKSHIRE REGIMENT (Colour-Sergeant).
YORKSHIRE REGIMENT (Sergeant).
Photo by Gregory & Co., London.]
Still, considerable interest was taken in the performances of the old
16-pounder, which had been rigged up and christened by some "Skipping
Polly," on account of its skittish habits and its propensity to
ricochet. This, though erratic in its proceedings, did good work, and
struck the parapet of the enemy's fort. On the 10th of January violent
rains came down, and rendered most of the trenches in front of the town
uninhabitable, and life in general almost unendurable. Never was there
greater need for the inestimable virtues of pluck and patience, and if
medals had been awarded for these united qualities, the inhabitants of
Mafeking would all have possessed them.
The pinch of siege life now became terribly evident, for the Kaffirs
were reduced to eating mules. The British feared their turn at this diet
would come directly. But the garrison was still cheery, and their
entrenchments were considerably improved. In these Colonel Baden-Powell
took a just pride, and his activity in promoting the safety and comfort
of the inhabitants was boundless. They declared that they could feed
themselves for another three months, but the nature of the form of
provision was not divulged. Hardships and privations were endured by the
little force with really amazing pluck. Beds they had scarcely enjoyed
since the commencement of the siege; baths were almost as foreign, few
had had a chance to remove their clothes; and news--the stimulus of the
outside world--was entirely lacking. Letters now and then were passed
out, but the real truth could never be trusted to black and white.
The office of censor was undertaken by the Hon. A. H. Hanbury Tracy
(Royal Horse Guards). His occupation was a hard and a thankless one, for
constant vigilance had to be exercised lest reports concerning the inner
state of Mafeking--reports most ardently craved by those interested at
home--might fall into the hands of the enemy, and thus cramp the
operations of Colonel Baden-Powell and those who helped him to present a
bold and fearless front to the hovering hordes who were waiting smugly
for what they believed to be the inevitable.
On the 17th General Snyman bethought himself of a new way of starving
the garrison into surrender. He sent a party of natives to enjoy the
hospitality of the already sparsely fed town. It had not a mule to spare
for extra Kaffirs, and Colonel Baden-Powell sternly though regretfully
refused admittance to the new-comers. According to Boer usage, the
officer and orderly who conveyed the message, notwithstanding the fact
that they carried a white flag, were fired upon by the enemy while they
were returning. A dastardly trick this, and the garrison resented it.
At this time the news of the grand Ladysmith sortie was received with
rejoicings, and the bellicose youngsters of the community began to rack
fertile brains in hope to emulate the courage and dash of the sister
garrison. On this day a shell hit the shelter occupied by Major Baillie
and Mr. Stent, Reuter's correspondent, and portions crashed through
Dixon's Hotel, but fortunately without injuring any one.
News now reached the benighted villagers that Colonel Plumer, with three
armoured trains, had actually reached Gaberones, some three hundred
miles north of Mafeking. The troops had some sharp tussles with the
Boers, and drove them out of rifle range while the railway operatives
mended the line. Where Colonel Plumer's three trains came from was a
mystery. He was known to have _one_, but there was no saying of what
Rhodesia might not be capable in time of stress. Colonel Plumer had his
work cut out for him, but he was not a man to sheer off difficult tasks,
and there was intense hope that he might succeed. But there was always
the Boer artillery--a terrible barrier between the relieving force and
Mafeking--and in the face of this even the finest warriors, almost
gunless, could scarcely be expected to advance alive.
On the 19th of January the small community celebrated the 100th day of
the siege. All the corners of the square had been knocked off by the
ever-active Boers, but the village maintained a suitable air of
liveliness. Exhibitions were arranged, and some smart fighting showed
that the right arm of the British had lost none of its cunning.
There were fat days and lean days in Mafeking. Though for the most part
leanness prevailed, there was now and then to be found an oasis in the
desert of the commissariat. Occasionally some successful raid made by
the natives was productive of real meals--succulent beef _versus_ old
mule and husks. In the course of one daring foray the natives secured
two dozen head of cattle; in another they carried off prizes of fat kine
to the tune of a score. The excursions took place under cover of
darkness, and, like all raids, were pursued without the consent of the
Government. The natives had a process peculiarly their own in seducing
the fat kine to follow them home. Devoid of clothing, and crawling
snake-like over the veldt, they would approach the grazing cattle and
gradually draw off such beasts as appeared goodly in their eyes, and
which had been previously marked down with the acuteness of hungry
instinct. Noiselessly the animals were enticed on and on till they
reached the precincts of the staadt, where the raiders were anxiously
looked for by their Baralong friends. These famishing individuals
greeted the successful capture of the wherewithal to maintain life with
shouts and dances of joy.
The garrison was soon put on a scale of still more reduced rations.
These consisted of half a pound of meat and the same of bread daily. The
luxuries of life--the people in England looked on them as
necessaries!--tea, sugar, biscuits, jams, &c., were commandeered. In
January the following housekeeper's notes were made by the correspondent
of the _Times_:--"Meal and flour have jumped from 27s. per bag to 50s.;
potatoes, where they exist at all, are L2 per cwt.; fowls are 7s. 6d.
each; and eggs 12s. per dozen. Milk and vegetables can no longer be
obtained, and rice has taken the place of the latter upon the menus.
These figures mark the rise in the more important food-stuffs as sold
across the counter, but the hotels have, in sympathy, followed the
example, they upon their part attributing it to the increase which the
wholesale merchants have decreed. A peg of whisky is 1s. 6d., dop brandy
1s., gin 1s., large stout is 4s., small beer 2s. In ordinary times
whisky retails at 5s. per bottle. This rate has now advanced to 18s. per
bottle and 80s. per case. Dop, which is usually 1s. 4d., is now 12s. per
bottle; the difference upon beer is almost 200 per cent., and inferior
cigarettes are now 18s. per 100."
On the good management of the contractors, Messrs. Weil & Co., every one
depended for flesh and blood. On them rested the responsibility of
issuing daily rations--bread and meat for the garrison, forage for
horses, and food for natives--and very excellently they fulfilled their
difficult task.
On the 21st an unusual sort of show was held. The exhibits ranged from
foals to babies, Mr. Minchin (Bechuanaland Rifles) securing first prize
for the former, while Sergeant Brady, B.S.A.P., was the proud winner of
the prize for the latter.
Colonel Baden-Powell sent a despatch reporting his own doings at the end
of January to Colonel Nicholson. It ran as follows:--
"Inform the Commanding Staff Officer that we are well here. On
January 23 the enemy moved their north-east supporting laager
to within 4500 yards of the town. We pushed our advance works
in that direction, and mounted Lord Nelson, an old naval
smooth-bore gun, in an emplacement 3100 yards from the enemy.
On the evening of January 29 we unmasked our guns and shelled
the enemy's camp with complete success. Next morning the Boer
laager was moved back two miles.
"On the 31st we were busy on all sides of the town. On the
south the men in our advance works had a skirmish with three of
the enemy's Krupp and Maxim guns, the firing being very heavy.
A bombardment of our front on Cannon Kopje by the Boer
94-pounder followed. On the east front our four guns replied to
this by a concentrated fire on the brickfield entrenchments,
where the enemy poured in a musketry and artillery fire.
"On the north the enemy's 5-pounders kept up a steady fire.
They dropped one shell through the roof of the hospital, but
luckily it did not explode. On the west the enemy, from their
advanced works, opened a heavy rifle and Maxim fire on Fort
Ayr, which our fort eventually silenced by the well-aimed fire
of its guns. The enemy sent three big shells into the town
after dark, but they gained nothing during the day.
"Our casualties during the past two days from the enemy's shell
fire have been three killed and three wounded. Mr. Kiddy, of
the Railway Department, has died of fever.
"On February 2 General Snyman, in reply to my letter with
regard to his deliberately shelling the women and children's
laagers on the 27th ult., offered no excuse or apology, and by
a transparent falsehood practically admits that he ordered it.
I have told him that I have now established temporary premises
for the Boer prisoners in the women's laager and in the
hospital, in order to protect these places from deliberate
shelling."
General Snyman and Colonel Baden-Powell had also a correspondence
regarding Snyman's arming and raising of natives. In reply the old
commandant said that he had merely armed the natives as cattle-guards.
In his turn he complained that the British had been seen making
fortifications on Sunday. The Colonel, who only relaid some mine wires,
informed him that he had himself been entertained by watching the
building of new fortifications by the Boers on that day.
On the 25th of January a shell burst through the convent, which was used
as a convalescent hospital, and slightly wounded Lady Sarah Wilson, who
had taken upon herself the care of the invalids. On the following day
the women's laager was continuously shelled, but fortunately with small
result. There was general jubilation at reports received regarding the
success of Lord Roberts' operations. The news was an immense stimulus,
and speculation as to the date of relief was freely indulged in. The
besieged had learnt to gather hope from the smallest incidents. The
disappearance from time to time of the 5-pounder Krupp, the 1-pounder
Maxim, the 9-pounder quick-firing Creusot, which had a trick of making
weekly excursions somewhere--caused them to conjecture whether Colonel
Plumer had reached a point where these pieces could be made to come in
handy. The 100-pounder Creusot, however, was untiring. It engaged only
in shorter peregrinations, moving from one emplacement to another by way
of variety, and keeping up a system of torture which acted badly on the
nerves of the unhappy persons who were honoured with its attentions.
The following telegram, forwarded by runner from the Mayor of Mafeking
(Mr. Whiteley), was addressed to Queen Victoria: "Mafeking upon the
hundredth day of siege sends loyal devotion to your Majesty, and
assurance of continued resolve to maintain your Majesty's supremacy in
this town." The splendid little garrison had indeed a right to be proud
of itself for having for so long a period held at bay a puissant and
spiteful foe. It had fought, it had schemed, it had set its wits against
the wits of Cronje and his successors, and defied them magnificently.
"No surrender" was its motto, and the reply from the enemy was stamped
on every house of this minute town--so minute that it could have been
"stowed within the railings of St. James' Park"--and scribbled in large
black defacing lines wherever shot and shell could penetrate. Some idea
of life's daily accompaniment of artillery may be arrived at by reading
a description of his experiences recounted by Mr. Neilly of the _Pall
Mall Gazette_. He said:--"When the enemy's artillery began to send us
the heavy ration, those who knew most about the power of modern
long-range high-velocity arms dreaded most the consequences. At the
advice of our commander-in-chief, we went to earth, some into dug-outs,
I, with others, into the wine-cellar of the hotel, which I consider was
the most comfortable and luxurious place in the town. After breakfast a
twelve-pounder on the heights went 'Boom!' Where had the shell gone? Had
it struck a house? Had the building collapsed? Would the town be
flattened and set on fire when the whole battery came into action? We
speculated so until the second boom sounded, and the third quickly
followed. Himmel! We had got it, and what a crash it was! Something had
given way, and _debris_ and shrapnel scattered like a hailstorm across
the dining-room floor overhead. While some calmed the ladies, others of
us doubled up through the trapdoor, slid the panel that divides the bar
from the dining-room, and looked in. The dense smoke of the bursting
charge filled the place, but there was nothing to indicate that anything
was aflame. When the air cleared slightly we entered, to find the floor
and tables littered with brick-dust and scrap iron; but the area of
destruction was confined to the brickwork at the side of the window.
Nothing was stirred upon the tables, which were laid for luncheon. That
was enough. Had the house been built of good tough English brick, its
flank would have probably collapsed; the rottenness of the walls had
saved them; the rottenness of all the houses would bring about
comparative safety to the town. Solids struck by shell add to the
destruction wrought by the projectile through flying splinters; but
there is no use in trying to batter sand stuck together with water. The
concussion sends off the detonator, the burst makes a hole in the wall,
and the further results are an untidied room and a bad fright to anybody
who may be in it."
The writer, like the rest of the plucky crew, talked airily of the
ordeal that all passed through, without a single boast of the splendid
effect of the garrison's doughty resistance to the enemy in the early
phases of the war.
It is scarcely possible to exaggerate the full importance of this
magnificent defence at that time. As an object-lesson in British pluck,
and the marvellous celerity with which peace-loving citizens may become
glorious fighters, the defence as a whole stands without parallel. But
from a political point of view the initial stoutness of the resistance
was a _coup_ which had far-reaching results.
There is no doubt that at the outset of the war a conspiracy was on foot
between the Cape Dutch and the Federals, and that the capture of certain
towns was to be taken as a signal for the joining of the allies to drive
the British from South Africa. It was thought that the apparently
insignificant village of Mafeking would be among the first to fall, and
the conspirators congratulated themselves that once the place went
under, the door to Rhodesia would fly open. The gallant Cronje, with
nothing better to occupy him, could have worked his way north, attacked
Colonel Plumer and his small force, and without doubt defeated them. He
would then have proceeded on a triumphal march. Having intimidated the
natives, who invariably back the man with the visible biceps, and having
armed the Matabele and Mashonas, he would have completely swept and
devastated the fair country of the Colossus before our troops could have
had time to save it from ruin. How far the ruin would have spread it is
difficult to say. Like dynamite, it would have struck upwards and
downwards, north and south. The capture of Mafeking would have unhinged
the native population there, and forced them to side with the Boers; and
once the natives got under arms the situation would have become so
complicated that it might have taken years to unravel, if indeed the
Government had the patience to unravel it at all.
Then disaffection would have spread rapidly, even to Table Bay. Had
Cronje at the outset not been kept tied to the place, occupied in trying
to crack the nut which he eventually found too hard for his own teeth
and for the sledge-hammer weapons of his mercenaries, he would have gone
on from town to town gathering up adherents as he went, and causing
intimidation of such a kind that even the loyally disposed would in
sheer self-defence have thrown in their lot with him.