The battle of Machadodorp was expected to A take place at any moment,
and the general feeling was that this fight should decide the campaign,
the more so as the issue was confidently awaited by us. On the second
day after Steyn's arrival at Waterval Onder the British attacked. Never
before in the history of the war had such a furious bombardment been
known. Only those who have witnessed the fierce storms of the tropics
can form an idea of the awful unending roar of the lyddite guns as they
belched forth one continuous shrieking mass of projectiles into the
defenders' trenches. At Waterval Onder the two Governments listened in
silent suspense as the sonorous reverberations rolled through the
mountains, louder and fiercer yet, till the firm earth shook beneath the
shock.
At last came the appalling message that the British were victorious, and
our men in full retreat! High hopes had been built on this combat; no
wonder if for a while we felt disheartened. The end of regular warfare
had been reached; it was imperative that an entire change of tactics be
adopted. Steyn was for beginning the guerilla system immediately, in
which he was supported by Gravett, Pienaar, and Kemp; Kruger, however,
determined to defend the railway to the last. The British lost no time
in following up their success. It had been said that they would never
venture down these precipitous heights, but, like all other prophecies
about this surprising war--except Kruger's, that he would stagger
humanity--it turned out false, for down into the infernal mountain pits
the enemy thronged after us, with a courage that made us marvel.
The Governments retreated by train to Nelspruit, and thence to
Hectorspruit, the commandoes following by rail and road.
Here the forces were divided, those without horses being sent to
entrench Komatipoort, while the rest made ready to slip past the
approaching enemy's outstretched arms. It was decided that President
Kruger should leave for Holland, Schalk Burger acting in his place. Most
of the burghers still fighting are Progressives, and therefore
politically opposed to Paul Kruger, but there were few who did not feel
a sincere sympathy for the venerable President in this, well-nigh the
bitterest hour of his stormy life. I say nearly every man still
fighting is as fervent a Progressive as the world could wish, and as
much opposed to Paul Kruger's policy as the British themselves! Then
what are they fighting for? you ask. For independence! Let us gain that,
and in one year's time you will see the Transvaal merged into the model
Free State, the Switzerland of South Africa!
After Kruger's departure Steyn took leave of the Transvaal Government.
His last interview with Botha took place in the open air, in full sight
of the burghers. The two conversed in low, earnest tones. Botha looked
ill and haggard, he had aged since he had gained his spurs at Colenso;
the weight of his responsibility lay heavy upon him.
Louis Botha is idolised by his men--perhaps he has not an enemy in the
world--but it is to Steyn, and Steyn alone, that the honour belongs of
the resistance still being offered by the Boers. Let not this detract
from the merits of those other and equally gallant spirits, leaders or
men, who have nobly breasted the waves of adversity; who shall blame
them if at times they felt the current overwhelming?
Steyn utters a last cheering word, then shakes Botha's hand, mounts, and
rides away at the head of his little escort.
The scene around the station resembles nothing so much as a cattle
fair. Near the line stands a policeman, his gaze fixed upon a large box
lying at his feet. The box is filled with gold. Ben Viljoen, standing on
a waggon, addresses the men, explaining to them what guerilla warfare
means. On the other side hats, shirts, and what not are being dealt out
with a lavish hand. Some burghers wander off into the bush in search of
game, others lie lazily stretched out beneath the trees. Trains crammed
with men arrive from the rear, discharge their freights of assorted
humanity, and are immediately boarded by the dismounted men destined for
Komatipoort. The line is blocked with traffic, trains run anyhow, and it
will be some days before everything is ready for our trek to begin.
There being no longer any need for officials, my colleagues volunteered
to form themselves into a fighting corps, and did me the honour of
selecting me as their leader. The corps, however, lacked accoutrements.
I went down to Delagoa Bay. Upon returning, with two other officers, we
were arrested at the Portuguese station Moveni.
Although armed with passports signed by the District Governor, we were
informed that we would under no circumstances be allowed to recross the
frontier. Nor could we obtain permission to return to Lourengo Marques
by train. The young Portuguese commandant, a mirror of courtesy,
explained that we had either to await further orders there or walk back
to the Bay, a distance of fifty miles.
After waiting for several hours we quietly boarded a train coming from
Komatipoort, and managed to reach Lourengo Marques unobserved. We still
believed that we would contrive to get back somehow sooner or later, but
were soon cruelly undeceived. President Kruger, who was the guest of the
District Governor, wrote to General Coetser at Komatipoort, asking him
not to destroy the bridge and advising him to take refuge in Portuguese
territory. Coetser himself, with the few of his men who had fairly
decent horses, preferred to follow Botha, who by this time had begun his
trek from Hectorspruit, and left General Pienaar in charge of
Komatipoort.
Influenced by the arguments of the Portuguese--one of which was that,
should the British cross the Portuguese frontier and take the Boers in
the rear, Portugal would not be able to prevent it--and by the fact that
the positions first chosen for the entrenchments lay within a mile of
the frontier and therefore could not be occupied, a _Krÿgsraad_ resolved
to follow the President's advice. The bridge had already been mined, the
guns placed in position, and everything made ready to give Pole-Carew
and the Guards a worthy reception; but fate decided otherwise, and
General Pienaar, with some two thousand men, crossed the
frontier,--needless to say with what deep regret--thus reducing by
one-fifth our forces in the field, a loss which would have been avoided
had Steyn's advice been taken and guerilla warfare begun after
Machadodorp.
There was thenceforth nothing for us poor ship-wrecked wretches to do
than to gaze impotently on our heroic brethren still struggling against
the storm. The waves run high, but it is their duty to continue.
And they will continue. Not because they are sure of success, but
because it is their duty.