_Week ending 30th December, 1899_
Christmas Eve--a memorable day in its own way--dawned in due course. It
was not the siege alone, with its attendant inconveniences, that made it
memorable. It was not that the season accentuated the want of _enough_
to eat; nor was it the absence of the time-honoured turkey that tried us
most. There was something else besides, namely, the capers of the sun.
Thermal phenomena are of course not strictly pertinent to my story. But
I feel impelled to digress for a little and warm, as it were, to this
new element of discomfort, provided doubtless as a Christmas Box by the
thoughtful clerk of the weather. To those of us who were enjoying our
first taste of a sunny southern summer the heat of the day was
excruciating; it literally took one's breath away. A man could not even
read; he tried to, in the hope of falling asleep incidentally. But in
vain. 'Nature's soft nurse' was not to be cajoled by artifice. There was
no air, no breeze to fan her softness. The thermometer registered on its
imperturbable face one hundred and seven in the shade, at which experts
who had passed the whole of their summers in the furnace of the Diamond
City inveighed against the slowness of the instrument and its lapse from
the path of rectitude. The cant of the day ordained the twenty-fifth of
December the "hottest day of the year." Well, the newcomers felt that
if it were to be redder than the twenty-fourth they might jump into the
Kimberley mine, without danger of landing on their feet, and enjoy a
better pudding in a better and (perhaps) cooler world. It was a day to
make one fed in all seriousness that life is not worth living; and to a
man fresh from over-sea the association of Christmas with such
weather--to say nothing of the victuals!--was the acme of satire. There
is no whiteness in the African Christmas, and for the first time in
their lives the newcomers sighed for a "green" one! A "green" one would
cool the atmosphere, and a cooler atmosphere would content us. We would
gladly let the turkey and the pudding pass if the Turkish Bath would go
too. Had the shade of _Santa Claus_, or the flesh and blood of anybody,
come loaded with poultry for our "stockings," we should not have said,
thank you. Our appetites were gone. They were gone, and all we asked was
that they should be restored for Christmas Day--just as if _Claus_ had
indeed made amends for the cruel kindness of the "Clerk!" It was kind of
Sir Alfred Milner to arrange a congratulatory flash of compliments (by
signal from Modder River) and to wish us all sorts of luck. One sort
would have sufficed: the kind contained in a record output of rain.
Would it come? First it would--and then it would not. A duststorm
intervened by way of compromise; it was a breeze--hot, choking,
blinding, but still a breeze. We got thunder and lightning, too; but the
rain hesitated--as if it knew there was little left to soak in
Kimberley. It ultimately relented, however, and came down in torrents
through the night.
Christmas Day itself! It had come, cool, delicious; the change, the
metamorphosis in the weather, the disappearance of the azure sky was
strange and lovely. Those shifting, hustling clouds, how pleasant they
were to look at. The day was the antithesis of its predecessor--the
mildest we had had for a long, long time. It was a relief to find that
the "hottest day of the year" was a figurative expression used to denote
the middle of summer. Our fears of cremation were entirely
dissipated--as sometimes happens in the case of passengers to the Cape
who, sweltering in a broiling sun _outside_ the tropics, marvel how they
are to toe the _Line_.
It thus came to pass that our interest in breakfast was after all
considerable. I shall confine my congratulations to the genius of one
resourceful landlady who furnished, in addition to "mealie-pap" allowed
by "Law," some illicit tit-bits of meat, as a surprise! But she did not
cease staggering humanity until a small dish of butter was produced.
Real butter!--the lady's character made her word sacred. It was an
astounding phenomenon in itself, but the sharing of it in a season of
famine with poor relations like her boarders was the kindest cut of all.
Butter it was; we remembered the taste, and there was the circumstantial
evidence of our eyes. We had once been taken in by dripping; but there
was no mistaking the species in the dish on Christmas morning. There it
was in all its luscious sallowness, and the smacking of our lips
betokened an appreciation of all that we had lost in the weeks gone by.
Many, alas! missed more than their butter. Speaking generally, the 'Xmas
breakfast consisted of black tea, khaki bread, and golden syrup--an
appetising rainbow on a "merry" morning. The _menu_ at dinner was little
better; it stirred up sad recollections of the past. Pudding (worthy of
the name) was nowhere. We had imitations; apologies for puddings,
plain--and hard--as a pikestaff, were everywhere. They were not
essentially cheap, because eggs, the chief ingredient, were fabulously
fresh. As for the geese that laid not, well, they did not cackle either;
their bones had long since been mumbled. But there were self-denying
citizens who actually preserved some beer and stout for Christmas Day!
These good stoics--stoical only to be epicurean--were proud of their
will-power. Indeed they ostentatiously affected intoxication and
horrified everybody--with their bad acting.
For the men who were obliged to spend the day in camp there was not much
to live for in the eating line. So everyone thought, at least, when the
fight for leave of absence had begun. But Mr. Rhodes, with
characteristic thoughtfulness, sent a lot of nice things to the camps,
which changed the situation and made men regret their anxiety to spend
Christmas at home. The quantity of what was styled Cape brandy consumed
in camp baffles computation. The effects of the swim were bad, too--not
because there were so many drunk--Christmas comes but once a year--but
because of the awful aftermath. Numbers were ill, very ill, indeed; and
it was a blessing, all things considered, that none were dead. In the
camps, life, although boisterous, was not exactly merry; but it was a
Christmas, as was afterwards declared with chivalrous unanimity, than
which nobody had ever spent a better. Nobody had ever felt so sick the
next morning, and that was most likely the standard by which the measure
of the merriment was gauged.
His Excellency's congratulations were the innocent cause of a little
friction. Had it not been for _his_ example the "compliments of the
season" might have been left unsaid; good taste and good sense would
have conspired to let them lapse. There was something incongruous about
wishing a man a happy Christmas. Let a man be ever so sympathetic and
cordial; let him mean--not wisely but too well; let his accents ring
true as steel: it was still difficult to convince one that there was no
suggestion of sarcasm in the greeting. But the Governor had changed the
situation; he had set the fashion--had reminded us that the fashion with
its conventions and courtesies was an element, a blessing, of our
civilisation; and that we were not permanently outside the pale. It was
nevertheless trying to be taken by the hand and wished "a merry
Christmas" by every brazen Napper Tandy in the town. It was, as I have
said, all the fault of the Governor; the custom was adhered to in
deference to His Excellency rather than with _malice prepense_ on the
part of a friend to indulge in wanton candour. There _were_ monsters who
out of sheer, crass good nature did offend; but even they took care to
couple with their "remarks" an apologetic laugh, which was intended to
convey that the joke, though carried far, was just a joke. The wags--the
species was not yet extinct--were especially felicitous. They treated
the subject as a very original piece of humour indeed. Their treatment
of it gained them an occasional cuff in the ear, and they had to be
discriminative in their choice of victims. Everybody was not to be
wished "returns of the day" with impunity.
The happiest people in the world on Christmas Day were the wise and
simple natives. They foregathered in the streets and revelled to their
hearts' content. All day long they sang, danced, and laughed; they held
orgies (in honour of the Colonel) and _corroborees_ of the kind
described by _de Rougemont_--the Washington of France. The antics of our
dusky tragedians and comedians made a striking spectacle, and were quite
as entertaining as the performances of the highly rated Harrys, Irving
and Lauder. There was a moral in the orgies--though we did not draw it.
The natives were happy; short commons did not trouble them or mar their
enjoyment in the slightest. With us it was far otherwise; _we_ had
anticipated a different Yuletide; the natives had not. The natives made
the most of theirs; we the least of ours. Some of us had dreamt of
dining in Europe. Others of us had visions of beer drinking at the
coast. A great many would fain have taken the waters of Modder River.
But all were disappointed, dour, and sorrowful--all save our true
philosopher, the native.
The twenty-sixth of December is proverbially a sad day. It was so with
us, but not sadder than the day before. A few shells were sent out among
the Boers to ascertain how they got Christmas over them; and they by way
of reply made some good practice on the Premier Mine. A water-pipe was
mutilated, and a man standing near had the pipe knocked out of his mouth
by a piece of shell. A good deal of desultory firing went on for
several hours. The enemy's guns were obviously handled by men who knew
what they were about, and we soon afterwards definitely learned (what we
had long suspected) that there were French and German experts behind
them. The remainder of the day was dusty, stormy, and uninteresting.
Lord Methuen's guns made a noise on Wednesday. Their booming, with
intervals of silence, went on all day; from Kimberley shell after shell
could be seen bursting in all directions. Our confidence began to
revive; indeed it had never waned so far as the capabilities of the
Column were concerned; and we were satisfied that a second assault on
Magersfontein would be crowned with success. The excuses advanced on
behalf of those most responsible for the failure of the first attack
were legion. That they had not been given half enough men for the job
was a favourite plea; and Buller (who had his hands full in Natal) was
reviled for not supplying more. The indications of a renewal of active
hostilities, however, which Wednesday brought, enkindled hope again and
promised a happy New Year. It was still a sore point with us to see the
exchange of signals going on night after night; to think that we--the
people!--should be kept in ignorance of their meaning. But it was in
harmony with the Military methods in general; and some people vowed that
if ever the hat went round for the Colonel they would not put a cent in
it, so help them! How much the Colonel was perturbed by this dire threat
there was no evidence to show. But a Proclamation was soon
forthcoming--which would certainly not conduce to the filling of the
hat. His (the Colonel's) proclamations had for the most part made us
swear by him; the one of which I now speak made us swear _at_ him! And
our language will be pardoned when I explain that the decree struck at
the one commodity it was in our power to get enough of. There _was_ such
a commodity, and that was bread. Until this atrocious edict saw the
light it had been our privilege to, enjoy _carte blanche_ in bread. It
was the last of our privileges--too simple and sacred, one would have
thought, for even an autocrat to have dared to trample on.
Flour, meal, Kafir corn, mealies, etc., were also to be controlled by
the socialists (they had red flags up); but the main insult, added to
the injury already inflicted by the quality of the State loaf, lay in
the suggestion that we ate too much bread, and that we were in future to
be limited to _fourteen ounces per diem_! Already limited to nothing at
all in vegetables and to a glorified _bite_ of beef, it was not
surprising that an angry chorus of protest was raised against the
Government. People asked, in their indignation, if they really lived in
a British Colony? Could such an interference with the freedom of the
subject be brooked for five minutes? Of course the query was beside the
question, but everybody was beside himself with rage. Where was the
Military despotism to stop? In the meantime, while men in the street
raved, shrewd housewives were acting. At the first note of alarm they
had started scouring up their pans and determined to encourage thrift by
baking their own bread. They would thus supplement their allowance of
the readymade article, and by the same token snap their fingers at that
"ass" _in excelsis_--Martial Law. But they reckoned without their host;
there is nothing asinine about _Martial_ Law; a closer perusal of the
proclamation would have taught them that Kekewich and Gorle were old
soldiers; that anybody buying meal or flour could not buy bread, and
_vice versa_. Even "mealie-pap," _ad lib._, we had perforce to forego;
the "Law" allowed it but once a day. Then there was a worse feature than
this limitation indicated. "Mealie-pap" without milk was bad enough;
minus sugar it was unthinkable. But the "Law" would not permit us to
sweeten the "pap" any more--that is to say, the reduced allowance of
sugar was all too little for neutralising the insipidity of black tea.
We were also restricted to a fixed complement per unit of tea and
coffee--as much as we required in any circumstances, but, ironically
enough, a little more than we required of the stimulants in their
undiluted nastiness. An elaborate system was set up garnished with red
tape, and a large clerical staff filled the Town Hall for the purpose of
receiving affidavits, affirmations, and of issuing "permits" to all and
sundry who might feel averse from succumbing to a sudden, in
contra-distinction to a slow, starvation. The possession of a "permit"
entitled the holder to purchase the "regulation" quantity of provisions
for one week, at the expiry of which period he or she would be required
to have his or her "permit" renewed, if he or she desired a renewed
lease of life. The tumult at the Town Hall was remarkable; the people
swarmed there like locusts; the ordeal one had to undergo for a "permit"
involved cruelty to corns. Matters improved when the excited multitude
were at length persuaded that one representative of each family
sufficed to conduct negotiations in respect of their right to vegetate.
No storekeeper could supply more than the exact quantity specified in a
"permit," nor dare he refuse to sell on a false plea.
All these drastic changes were the outcome of the Colonel's
proclamation. His action was pronounced grossly unconstitutional. What
our Rulers meant by it, what such arbitrary interference with the
liberty of the stomach portended, we could not tell. Some ascribed it to
pure "khaki cussedness"; others maintained that the Military aimed at
stretching the duration of the Siege to six months--that they might be
lifted by a short cut to promotion. Such were our views of collectivism;
and if the Military left ear did not tingle it must have been
frost-bitten.
Mr. Rhodes liked the latest inscription on the Statute book as little as
anybody else. On Thursday he contributed one thousand pounds to the
Widows' and Orphans' Fund. We liked this liberality, and there was a
consensus of opinion that the _Colossus was_ a "wonder." During the day
a Despatch Rider brought him a bundle of newspapers, which he rather
indiscreetly handed to the _Advertiser_, to dole out at retail rates on
sheets of notepaper. Thus 'news much older than our ale went round'--but
no; the papers were dated only three weeks back, and we had had no ale
for at least a month. Any intelligence of the outside world, however,
was interesting (save what we read of Belmont). The details of Buller's
repulse at the Tugela did not make good reading. What we read of streams
of transports laden with troops was better; as also was the item that
Warren--who knew much of Boer wiles--was steering through the Karoo. We
took it that he was to join Methuen, but were afterwards annoyed to
learn that his destination was Natal. The situation in Natal appeared to
be serious. Still, our opinions of our spoonfeeders remained unaltered;
we still assumed that they suppressed or minimised the seriousness of
things in Kimberley. Our attitude was perhaps uncharitable, and
deserving of the rope--of half-hanging at least; but the weather was so
hot; we felt so hungry and thirsty. There was no need to starve us, to
deny us bread; we believed that we might be safely granted a slice or
two more--until the British flag was hoisted in Pretoria. We had, it is
true, rather hugged the delusion that it would have been up for
Christmas Day. But even in the light of that error of judgment we could
appreciate the puerility of conserving supplies as if the dogs of war
were to go on barking until doomsday.
A special meeting of the City Council was held in the afternoon; and
although opinions were divided as to the precise form its protest
against the new order of things should take, nobody doubted that it was
for such a purpose the meeting was convened. We were all wrong. It was
simply resolved at the Town House to wish the Queen a Happy New Year;
and thereby demonstrate not only the unswerving loyalty of her distant
subjects, but their _sang froid_ also in days of stress and danger. It
was an excellent idea; the taking off of hats to the Queen was general.
The Colonel signalled to Lord Methuen; that gentleman communicated with
Sir Alfred Milner; and he in turn cabled Kimberley's sentiments to Her
Majesty. There was no mention of the bread; it was an omission; but it
might have sounded "conditional," irrelevant, or even have detracted
from the value of our good wishes; and it was hardly worth risking being
suspected of loyalty to one's bread--unbuttered! Besides, our friend the
enemy (the Colonel, not the Boer) personally supervised the despatch of
messages, and he was quite artful enough to suppress reference to eating
matters if he thereby served the "Military Situation."
Friday was quiet--in the cannonading line; the wind and dust were
bellicose enough. Fodder was scarce, and the animal creation was sharing
with us the privations of a siege. Hundreds of horses were turned out to
"grass." To be reduced to dependence on Karoo grass was a sad fate for
the poor quadrupeds. On a billiard table they could have feasted their
eyes at least on green; but the veld could not offer even that ocular
consolation. Hay and straw were at a premium; the "fighting" horses had
first call, and they were numerous enough to make hard the lot of the
steeds of peace. The poor cart horses were sadly neglected; it was
pitiful to behold their protruding ribs, their forlorn looks. Every sort
of garbage was raked up to keep them alive--second-hand straw hat mashes
being the most notable repasts in vogue. Cab-men were obliged to descend
from their boxes and face the dignity of labour with a pick and shovel.
The dearth of fodder brought down the prices of beasts, and
thenceforward they were sold for songs--ditties to the tune of thirty
shillings. Half-a-dozen horses were on one occasion sold for seven
pounds--animals that were worth a great deal more each. The purchasers
took risks of course. But the booming of cannon was still to be heard in
the land--it boomed all the afternoon--and the possibility of keeping
the quadrupeds alive until the Column came to the rescue was not yet
despaired of.
Saturday was the seventy-seventh day of our investment, with relief not
yet in sight. True, it was within hearing; but so it had been three
weeks before, on Magersfontein day. We were weary of this interminable
thunder, which showed us no results. Colonel Kekewich was as reticent as
ever. Of guesswork there was plenty. Had Methuen not had time
sufficiently to augment his forces to cut his way through. The troops
were in the country; we were placated with the information that they
were "falling over one another in Cape Town." This comforting gem
glittered less in our minds as the days sped past, and the prospects of
a speedy liberation receded correspondingly. The delay was to us
incomprehensible. We fell back on our old theory, that the more
protracted the Siege the greater the fame and honour for the men to
whose 'prentice hands had been committed the destinies of a free
community. It was hard to believe that these armed martinets could play
with their responsibilities in such a crisis. Did they realise its
gravity? Were facts being witheld? Was the true and actual condition of
the city as regards provisions and the contingencies to which their
scarcity might lead--were these things being properly represented to the
public and to Sir Redvers Buller? In our wisdom we feared not.
Scepticism and suspicion, born of disappointment, were in our hearts.
Our conclusions may not have been sound; we lacked a proper knowledge of
the difficulties confronting the army; but we _did_ feel that if the
real state of affairs had been explicitly indicated to the
Commander-in-Chief, a column would have reached Kimberley sooner. We
were not so far away from Orange River, where thousands of troops had
been massing for weeks. We were not so far _out_ of the way as Mafeking.
Nor were we like the defenders of Ladysmith entombed within towering
kopjes. No; to snap _our_ bonds was a relatively easy task. Little
provision had been made for a prolonged investment, and we had fifty
thousand stomachs to cater for. So much was plain. If Kimberley were to
be sacrificed to the "interests," forsooth, of the campaign, British
honour would be tarnished. Such a procedure would be not only brutal,
but a tactical blunder as well. We felt strongly that the relief of
Kimberley was an indispensable preliminary to success, and, by reason of
our proximity to the Free State border, the way that would soonest bring
the war to a successful issue--
But hark! Wherefore that wild halloo. Ah, there was news, charming news.
Lord Roberts had set sail for South Africa, to take over supreme
command. Hurrah for good old "Bobs!" We felt instinctively, or somehow,
that the little General could be trusted to dig for diamonds. The news
of "Bobs" made a chink in the cloud and disclosed its silver lining.
Kitchener, who accompanied Lord Roberts as Chief of Staff, had shown in
his generation some skill as a pioneer of deserts; the Karoo would be
child's play to him. The Soudan was a region in which our interest was
rather academic; but the killing of the Khalifa was announced and
applauded with the rest. Oom Paul's political extinction would soon
follow, and Kimberley would emerge with a whoop from captivity.