When we reached Reitz, on our way to Bethlehem, another young
Transvaaler and myself obtained permission to try and reach the
Transvaal. The enemy's columns were traversing the intervening country
in all directions, but we determined that the attempt was worth making.
Bidding good-bye to our Free State colleagues, we left the little
village that was later to become famous as the scene of the capture of
the Free State Government, and retraced our way to Frankfort. The
send-off given us took the form of a little reunion in the parlour of
the modest hotel. Here there were gathered together some dozen young
Free Staters, and an impromptu smoking concert was held. Everyone
present was compelled to give a song or recite something. The first on
the programme was Byron's "When we two parted," which was sung with fine
effect by a blushing young burgher. Next came the old camp favourite,
"The Spanish Cavalier." The sentimental recollections induced by these
two songs were speedily dissipated by a rattling comic song in Dutch,
"_Op haar hot oog zit'n fratje_" A few recitations followed. One of the
reciters had just enunciated the lines--
"Within the circle of your incantation
No blight nor mildew falls,
No fierce unrest, nor lust, nor lost ambition,
Passes those airy walls"--
when a mocking voice came floating in at the window--
"Are you referring to Downing Street?" It was a captured British
officer, who, roaming about the village, had been attracted by our
revelry. He was evidently no follower of the expand-or-burst policy of
the British Cabinet.
This appropriate interpellation put an end to the proceedings. We set
off, unarmed, as we had sent our Mausers back to the Transvaal some time
before, and mounted on a pair of nags that were plainly unfit to make
the journey. Long before we reached Frankfort, in fact, my companion's
horse gave in. We rode to a farmer's house near the road to try and find
another mount. A boy of thirteen was the only male person on the farm.
Yes, he had a pony. Would he exchange it for ours, and take something to
boot? No fear, what he wanted was cash. How much? Thirteen pounds. But
thirteen is an unlucky number; better take twelve. In that case, he
would prefer to take fourteen. The pony was worth the price, the cash
changed hands, and we continued our journey. Some miles from Frankfort
we met two Boers, who told us that they had also meant to return to the
Transvaal, but had heard that the enemy were so close to Frankfort that
they had decided to turn back. We determined to continue, however, and
shortly after dark we cautiously entered the village. The enemy had not
yet arrived, but were expected early the next morning. We consulted one
of our friends in the village, who advised us to try and cross the
railway near Standerton. We decided to follow his advice, and left early
the next morning. A few miles out of town we observed several horsemen
to our left. Fearing these were British, we swerved to the right,
cutting across country. Keeping a good look-out, we continued our way
till evening, when we were overtaken by a farmer driving a cart. He was
lame and had never been on commando, but on the approach of the British
columns had left his home to their mercy. He conducted us to the modest
cottage of his brother-in-law, where we found a bed for ourselves and
stabling for our horses. Before sunrise the next morning we were again
on our way. Through the thick mist we saw several horsemen approach a
house standing solitary in the veld. They dismounted and entered the
dwelling. Anxious to know whether these were friends or foes, we rode
thither. Making as little noise as possible, we managed to gain the spot
unobserved, and found that they were Boers. They gave us each a cup of
steaming coffee, black and bitter, but none the less acceptable,
directed us on our way, and wished us good luck. Towards noon we reached
a hamlet named Cornelia, where we introduced ourselves to the leading
inhabitant, with whom we lunched. Here my horse refused to feed, showing
strong symptoms of _papies_. There was no help for it, however; he had
to carry me, sick or well. Some miles further we reached the house of an
English farmer. He had the consideration to conceal his satisfaction at
the approach of his countrymen and the kindness to doctor my horse for
me. The poor animal was in such a pitiable state that it could hardly
stand. After swallowing a dose of strychnine, however, it improved
wonderfully, and we were enabled to continue, but naturally at a very
slow pace. That evening we slept at a farmer's house near the Vaal
River. Here we heard that there was a Boer commando lying near
Greylingstad, and thither we directed our way. As we rode through the
Vaal the next morning we felt a genuine thrill of joy at setting our
feet once more upon our own soil. That afternoon Greylingstad came in
sight, but what a bitter disappointment! Instead of finding our own
commandoes here, we found the place occupied by a large British force.
We reined in on the veld, gazed at the British camp, and then at each
other. To our left lay Heidelberg, to our right Standerton, both held by
the enemy, and in front of us stood the tents of a British column at
least five thousand strong!
Whilst we were still discussing the situation a Bushman mounted on a
scraggy pony and seated on a sheepskin saddle came riding along. We
hailed him and asked him where he was off to. He told us he belonged to
a party of half a dozen Boers, who, hidden just over the hill, had sent
him to see what we were. We ordered him to lead us thither. When we
approached the spot it was to find the men all on their feet, rifles
loaded and cocked, ready to lay us low should we prove to be Englishmen.
We lost no time in dissipating their fears. They explained that they
belonged to the commando which had been lying here, and which only the
day before had retired on the approach of the enemy. They themselves,
having been on a visit to their farms near by, had got left behind. I
at once suspected that they meant to lay down their arms, but it would
never have done to say so, so I contented myself with demanding their
advice as to the best way of rejoining the aforesaid commando. They were
not very anxious to rejoin it themselves, and consequently represented
the matter as being extremely difficult. At length they showed us a farm
near the British camp, and recommended our going thither, as the people
there would be able to give us all possible help. We reached the farm
just after sunset to the accompaniment of barking dogs and hissing
geese. The door was opened by a feeble old man, who, with his equally
aged wife, were apparently the only occupants of the place. As soon as
it was evident that we were friends, however, two strapping sons made
their appearance from a kopje behind the house, where the clatter of our
horses' hoofs had caused them to take refuge. They informed us that they
had followed the enemy's movements throughout the day, and that the line
was so well guarded that our getting through was extremely unlikely. But
we could sleep there that night, and the next morning we could see what
was to be done.
During the evening the old father recounted, with much humour, his
experience of Theron's merry band. How they had come there in the
middle of the night, knocked him up, stabled their horses in his yard,
asked for bread, _brod_, _brood_; eggs, _eiers_, _ejers_, in all the
dialects under the sun, how they had actually plucked the oranges from
his trees, until he was forced to ask Theron to station a guard in the
orchard! But the next morning they had paid for everything, and ridden
away, singing and shouting.
Nothing in the old gentleman's manner to show that the enemy were camped
only four miles away, although he knew very well that they would visit
him the next day, and probably deprive him sooner or later of all he
possessed. Only down the face of his white-haired wife rolled silent
tears as she gazed at the bearded faces of her stalwart sons and thought
of the long farewell that they would bid her on the morrow!
When we rose the next morning we lost no time in making for the high,
boulder-strewn kopje behind the house. Here we found the farmer's sons,
armed, their horses at hand, gazing through a large telescope at the
British camp, which could be plainly distinguished with the naked eye.
Presently a small party of scouts left the camp and came in our
direction, riding slowly, and eyeing every little rise or depression in
the ground with the utmost distrust. They reached a farmhouse lying
between their camp and ourselves, and after a while we saw a cart leave
the farm and drive towards the camp. Another Boer laying down his arms,
beguiled by Buller's blarney! Then the scouts came nearer and nearer.
When within a thousand yards or so they encountered a troop of mares
grazing on the veld. Round and round these they rode, plainly intending
to annex any that might suit them. My friends were strongly tempted to
fire on these cattle thieves. Only the thought of their aged parents
restrained them, for they well knew the result would be the burning down
of their home.
It was plain that the scouts were making for this farm. We hurried down
to the house, saddled our horses--mine still suffering and hardly able
to go at a trot, and went to say good-bye to our hosts.
"Yes, my children," said the old lady, "it is better to go, for should
the British find you here they would only treat us the worse for it. And
we have sorrow enough, God knows. Come and see my son, my sick and
suffering son, who perhaps will never rise from his bed again!"
She conducted us into a bed-chamber, where, pallid and worn, his wife
seated by his side, lay the wreck of a once splendid specimen of
manhood, now, alas! in the last stage of some wasting disease--the
result of privations endured on commando. All that we could do was to
speak a few weak but well-meant words of comfort to the afflicted
family, and then leave them to their fate.
The sons promised to follow us later, as they wished to remain in the
neighbourhood to see what became of their home. My friend and myself
rode to another farm in the neighbourhood, undecided as yet whether to
make the attempt to get through the enemy's lines or to turn back;
crossing Roberts' lines of communication in the Free State was easy
enough, but here we had Buller to deal with. Upon reaching this farm we
found the occupants greatly excited. A Hottentot had just arrived from a
farm already visited by the enemy, bearing Buller's proclamation,
printed in Dutch and English, and promising protection, compensation,
and I know not what all, to those who came in and surrendered. The
entire household and several armed Boers from the vicinity gathered
round the farmer. No one dared to read the proclamation aloud. It was
handed from one to the other, shamefacedly, as if there were something
vile in the very touch of the document.
I anxiously watched the varying expression of their features, as
interest struggled with patriotism. Wearied of strife and fearful of
losing the result of years of hard work, the assembled men felt a strong
inclination to accept the enemy's offer. But no one dared give utterance
to his feelings. Eye met eye, and glanced away. It was easy to see what
the result would be. It was plainly my duty to protest, but what could I
do, a stranger, a mere youth? What could I say to these men, who had
already given proof of their devotion on many a bloody field, and who
only recoiled now when brought face to face with the supreme test--the
sacrifice of their hearths and homes? I ventured to point out, however,
that those who had already surrendered now bitterly regretted it, and
added that the very nature of the case made it impossible for the
British to carry out their promises. They listened in silence. My words
may have had some slight effect; in any case, the Hottentot was sent
back without a definite reply. It was useless to expect any aid from
these men. Leaving them to decide their own fate, we started back for
the Free State.