_Week ending 6th January, 1900_
The last day of the year and the distant thunder of artillery burst upon
us simultaneously. That the peace of the Sabbath should be broken by
music not exactly sacred (or melodious) was strange. The old year would
be rung out in a few hours, in company with our Utopian expectations.
All our hopes of a rare New Year were, like our Christmas phantasies,
dashed to the ground. The morrow promised to be rare enough in a
melancholy sense, but it would not be New Year's Day. There was but one
ray of comfort to sustain us, namely, the approach of the hero of
Candahar; for although a certain period of waiting had yet to be
endured--ere _another_ famous march could be accomplished--the coming of
Roberts disposed us to think kindly of Job. At the same time we prayed
that the need for patience would not last too long. Any nonentity--be he
General or Private--who could bring relief to Kimberley would eclipse
the fame of a bigger man than "Bobs."
Passing by the Town Hall one could not fail to be struck by the contrast
between its desolate appearance on Sunday afternoon and the bustle of
its precincts on week days. The building had only recently been erected
and was situated in the centre of the Market Square. The Square itself
was an exceptionally spacious one, and the Hall added an ornament to
the city, which was the more imposing and conspicuous in that it
practically stood alone as such. It was a magnificent structure, quite
new, as I have stated; but it probably saw more wear and tear during the
Siege than it would otherwise have seen in the course of half a century.
A few days prior to our investment the building had been completed, and,
immediately after, a two days' holiday had been proclaimed by the
Municipal Authorities--dear old servants of the people! No Czar's writ
ran in Kimberley then. Amid the plaudits of the democracy the Hall had
been duly declared "open." The Mayor, in the blazing dignity of his
Magisterial robes, surrounded by the wealth and intelligence of the
city, had delivered an historical address. The Councillors had followed,
and the several ex-Mayors since the year of one had expatiated
felicitously on the architecture of the "Ornament," the merits of the
architect, and the enterprise of the contractors. "There was a sound of
revelry by night"--for two consecutive nights. Two awfully fancy dress
balls were given; and had the shade of the Duchess of Richmond waltzed
from the heavens to the waxed floor of the hall, it would have assumed
flesh and blood again on beholding the picturesque costumes of every age
and court presented to its spectral view. I will not prolong a
description of those halcyon days of Municipal splendour in these of
common khaki. Let it suffice to add that the "lamps shone o'er fair
women and brave men." The "cannon's opening roar" was soon to be heard
in the land; but all unmindful of the nation of farmers the
"shopkeepers" tripped it on the toe.
Well, we were besieged; and the great Hall was adapted to very
different uses. It was made headquarters. Within its walls the Town
Guard were formally "sworn in," and supplied with hats, rifles,
bandoliers, and ammunition. Hundreds of distressed refugees congregated
there, for one of the Offices of the building had been transformed into
a benevolent grocery shop, presided over by benevolent ladies. There
also did mass some thousands of natives to gather their picks and
shovels and pay. The Town Hall was the pivot round which revolved all
sorts and conditions of men. Overrun inside and outside by roadmakers,
citizen soldiers, and municipal officers (whose military dignity had
raised their souls above scavenging), it was bad enough. But when the
rich and poor of all classes and sexes were forced to join in the
scramble for a bit to eat, it was worse. Until the "permit" system had
come into vogue, money could buy much (of what was going); but the
"permit" system lowered mammon to his rightful level. Money for the
moment had lost its value; a "permit" was all-important--even Croesus
himself would have starved without one. To procure these useful scrips
all sorts of formalities had to be entered into, and the amount of time
lost in waiting to prove one's right to live was provocative of many an
oath, at the expense of the British army. Kafirs, coolies, Europeans of
all nations, the wealthy the poor, and the lowly--all struggled to
procure the precious "permit," as if they were at all hazards determined
to gain one week's respite before finally succumbing to hunger's pangs.
It must be owned that the work was carried on more smoothly when the
black sheep were separated from the white, and when different days were
assigned for attending to the residents of each of the respective wards
into which the town was divided. The incompetence of the military in
civil affairs added to the grievances of the people; complaint against
the administration of the "Law" was as loud as the clamour against the
"Law" itself. The bother entailed in the procuring of authority to
purchase food, and in the purchase of it, was extreme. The food was not
worth it; but life is precious (or was then), and one had in a very
literal sense to live. A man had sometimes to stand from six to eight
o'clock in the morning to buy his paltry bit of offal, hoof, or fat, as
the case might be, and after he had rested on his feet for two hours his
turn would come to draw his miserable allowance--if somebody else had
not drawn it for him. Such accidents happened often enough to make a
good many foreswear meat altogether. Usually, however, the unfortunate
would be consoled with a "precedence ticket"--for next day! so that he
could live on the certainty of a succulent morrow. From ten o'clock to
four might be passed in waiting for one's grocery ticket; and, finally,
from four to six could be whiled away at the crowded store in a frantic
effort to catch the State assistant's eye. Oh, it was a happy epoch in
our lives--an epoch during which vows were registered against being "let
in" for such happiness again, or against living it through while a 'bare
bodkin' was left unconfiscated.
It was the last day of the year, with nothing to elate us but the coming
of Bobs. Hope deferred maketh the heart sick; ours were so ill that but
for Bobs they must have ceased to beat. It was disconcerting to learn
that Warren was in Natal, for it had been stated that Methuen was merely
waiting Sir Charles to join him ere again attempting to fight his way to
Kimberley.
New Year's Day! New Year's Day, indeed! Our Scotchmen sighed. Black tea
for breakfast on New Year's Day was too much for them, and not a few of
them (and others) felt constrained to take kopje dew instead. They drank
brandy--so labelled in the tavern, but more widely notorious as
"lyddite" in the town. Brandy had crimes committed in its name, and
lyddite was a happy and appropriate appellation. Even _vinegar_ could
not counteract the effects of lyddite (i.e. bottled lyddite). As for the
materials used in the manufacture of this explosive, well--necessity is
the mother of invention; and the invention was well protected. It was
only noted that methylated spirits and certain chemicals were scarce;
and a suspicion prevailed that these were lyddite ingredients--a
suspicion which afterwards proved to be well-founded when publicans were
prosecuted for using them as such. One of the peculiarly lamentable
features of the Siege was a certain tendency on the part of men, who
drank little or nothing in normal times, to dissipate in desperation on
this unique brand of brandy.
It was dry bread with many on New Year's Day. Even syrup was extinct.
Nothing remained, to be taken or left (they were generally left), but a
few jars of treacle. Dripping graced the table, but nobody touched it;
it was too ghastly pale for a substitute, too unctuous for anything. The
poor Native's breakfast was of "mealie-pap" exclusively; and from a
hygienic standpoint he was perhaps better off than any of us.
Many things occurred to make the day interesting, or say, rather, out of
the common; but the palm was easily carried off by the Colonel's "gift."
I have had occasion to allude to the parsimonious action of the military
in curtailing the allowances paid to natives for captured cattle and
thereby paralysing the incentive that usually induces humanity (black or
white) to face danger. This untimely experiment in economics had
discouraged the Natives and practically sent them out on strike. There
were no cattle coming in, and so the Colonel thought it would be a good
thing to reduce our meat ration from half a pound to a _quarter_, and
that of little boys and girls with capacious stomachs to two ounces! I
must leave to the imagination of the reader the effect of this
proceeding on the part of the man who made and administered Martial Law.
The promulgation of the half-pound regulation had been resented as an
injustice; but now the "Military Situation" demanded a still more
drastic fast. The Military _regime_ became more and more unpopular; it
was declaimed against with finer gusto and eloquence. The new enactment
was too much even for the "Law's" apologists; it alienated their
sympathies, and afforded them excuse and opportunity to associate
themselves at last with the rightful indignation of their
fellow-citizens. As for Kekewich, we--or as many of us as might survive
his snacks--determined that he should be made explain himself to the
Queen. It was a glad New Year altogether, with every probability of its
gladness continuing "all the year round."
As if he had got wind of the Colonel's _coup_, and looked on it as a
menace to the success of _his own_ starvation policy, the Boer (on
Tuesday) by way of expediting things opened fire on the cattle at
Kenilworth. A supreme effort was made to wipe them out. The effort was
futile; the cows chewed the cud under fire with inimitable nonchalance,
while the goats, our whiskered pandoors, with fine satire sagaciously
cocked their horns. Not that we cared. The non-success of the
bombardment was if anything disappointing (I say it advisedly). What
substantial difference was there between four ounces of ox's "neck" and
nothing at all. None to speak of. Besides, we suspected the law-givers,
who doubtless deemed themselves, like royalty, above the "Law." Did not
the Colonel represent the Queen? Nay, more; could he not exclaim with
the great Imari in the play, "It is the 'Law,' _I_ made it so." In short
we had a notion that the Colonel and his staff did not _weigh_ their
_own_ rations. So that if the Boers had succeeded in slaughtering the
cattle there would have been satisfaction in the thought that the
military had had to suffer with the rest and been served right indeed.
Eggs were too expensive, to be thought of; two shillings each (egg) was
their market value in the New Year. They were fresh of course, beyond
yea or nay they were fresh (since none could be imported); and to be
_sure_, absolutely sure, of that was delightful--to millionaires and
roost-keepers. The exactions of the local egglers formed the subject of
much adverse criticism, but they excused their medicinal charges on the
plea that they had nothing save eggs to sell.
Soon after the issue of the new four ounce edict a learned doctor
delivered a public lecture and eloquently assured us that we ate _too
much_ meat! He urged us to eat less of it, for our health's sake. Now,
the doctors of the Diamond City were hard worked during the Siege; so
much so that they were still allowed (by special arrangement) the
half-pound ration. This was right and proper. But there was none the
less a piquant irony in the principles of a propagandist who was eating
twice as much beef as anyone else and could stand up to utter precepts
so strikingly at variance with his practice! The good doctor no doubt
knew that new-laid missiles were too costly, and too _fresh_, to be
thrown away; but he deserved them; the audience did not say so; but
their eyes blazed kindly.
On Wednesday sports were held at Beaconsfield to cheer up the children
of the township. Sweets, ginger-beer, and tea (neat) were served out,
and were relished by the little ones who were too young to be
particular. It may be said that cricket, football, and smoking concerts
went on as usual, though how the players and the comic songsters managed
to spare wind (on the diet) for such strenuous recreation is a mystery.
Football on four ounces of fat was a strain. No doubt our open air life
did some of us a world of good, and in many instances it was not easy to
recognise in a bronzed civilian soldier the erstwhile sallow clerk or
shop-assistant.
It was at this stage of our travail that the Basuto Chief (Lerothodi)
followed up the fashion of the day by launching a proclamation of his
own which commanded all his people to return at once to Basutoland. Now,
we had shut up with us in Kimberley some thousands of this worthy
tribe. They received their Chief's command and set about preparing for
instant departure, with the Colonel's blessing. We white folk were not
at all sure that the Boers would be so gracious with _their_ blessing.
The process of starving us into submission was in full swing (and
succeeding, alas! but too well). It was thus obvious that a reduction so
substantial in the gross total of stomachs to be catered for would not
tend to starve us the sooner. But the enemy did not deem it politic to
attempt the task of driving Basutos and Britons to the sea together. The
sympathies of the powerful Basuto chief were not on their side, and it
would have been unwise to have risked offending him. So it was that the
natives were permitted to pass unmolested to the kraals of their
childhood. The enemy did not like it--any more than did King John when
he signed the Great Charter--but it had to be.
In the meantime some news had come in to which the Colonel was pleased
to give publicity. It was astonishing all the trifling tit-bits we did
hear; and they occasionally excited interest--until discovered to be of
home manufacture--the distinctive work of local genius. On this
occasion, however, the tit-bit was "Official," and to the effect that
the rebels at Douglas had been routed by the Canadian volunteers. This
was gratifying; we blamed the rebels for our own beleagured state, and
the moral lesson of the rout at Douglas might hasten the discomfiture of
the gentlemen who surrounded us. I have yet to learn that it did in any
shape or form.
It was triumphantly proclaimed in the afternoon that our patrols had
brought in a host of Republican cattle; and when almost simultaneously
with this announcement _two_ proclamations were issued from Lennox
Street, it was more than hoped, it was assumed, that the meat ordinance
was to be relaxed. But it was not so. The first of these monuments to
circumlocution had a final rap at the canteen. There were a few bars and
canteens outside the barriers of the town; the Colonel said they should
be closed, and closed they were--the proprietors, strange to say,
assenting with a will. This alacrity was not consistent with their
earlier diatribes against military despotism; but the fact was that
since "lyddite" had been found out the experts were chary of making it,
and the public still more chary of drinking it. There was some risk in
selling it, too, so--clear the course for the "Law."
The second proclamation was all of wax and tallow. It commanded that all
lights must in future be extinguished at half-past nine. We were thus
considerately given half an hour to undress and lie reading books in bed
after having been turned away from a perusal of the stars. We might have
liked a little time for supper--but what am I saying!--there were no
suppers; at least nobody was expected to commit a capital offence. But
such miscreants existed, and kept their heads. It must in fairness be
explained that they were for the most part possessors of obstinate hens
that _would not_ lay eggs. Eggs were firm at twenty-five shillings a
dozen, and the hen that remained so contemptuous of mammon, so
unredeemed by cupidity, so unmoved by the "golden" opportunity, most
certainly deserved death. Therefore it was that an odd tough member of
the feathered tribe was now and then discussed in secret. There was
little conviviality about these gatherings assembled in back rooms where
the light could burn with impunity. The unsuspecting night-patrol would
pass blindly by, oblivious of the illegally illuminated junket within.
But indeed it must be confessed that few people took seriously the wax
and tallow proclamation. The boarding-house keepers, of course,
championed it and its author's wisdom (for reasons)--with a zeal that
contrasted strangely with their condemnation of grander enactments.
Landladies apart, however, the populace pooh-poohed the Gilbertian
decree. Some regarded it as a mere precaution against a surprise visit
from the Boers. But this was wrong, for the proclamation permitted the
use of electric and acetylene lights at all hours. It was purely an
economic question with the Colonel. Cynics opined that we should later
on be offered the tallow to eat; and that the prohibition of the use of
starch in our linen would be the precursor of some _stiff_ emergency
rations. The public, I say, disregarded the candle law, and the night
patrol was kept busy dotting down in the light of the moon the numbers
of a thousand houses. Unfortunately for the ends of Justice (!) the
transgressors were so outrageously numerous that the heavy undertaking
of arraigning half the city was not thought feasible. Only a few
particularly refulgent "criminals" were hauled up and fined. Where
sickness darkened a house the "Law" allowed a candle to light it, the
whole night, if necessary, and invalids were accordingly as thick as
leaves in Vallombrosa! An epidemic of all the ills that flesh is heir
to raged in the land. Hypochondriacs moaned with their tongues in their
cheeks in the presence of the prying night-patrol. Fevers flourished;
multitudes were prostrated by influenza; the _pleura_ played the devil
with innumerable lungs. Anybody who was not a malingerer was voted a
fool, an altruist. A magistrate, commenting on the great plague and the
manner in which the majesty of the "Law" (the majesty of Martial Law!)
was being outraged, averred that from his own doorstep every night at
eleven o'clock he gazed at hundreds of illuminated houses. It was true;
and we used to wonder which his worship was--an invalid, an altruist, or
an owl!
We held a position at Otto's Kopje from which our men occasionally made
things unpleasant for the Kamfers Dam Laager. The Boers, naturally, did
not like this, and they in turn sometimes harassed the defenders of the
kopje. But Kamfers Dam was shortly to be made quake, for it had just
leaked out that a gigantic gun was in course of construction at the De
Beers workshops; that men who knew their business were sweating at it
day and night. Opinions were much divided as to the probable utility of
this instrument. Some were disposed to pity the poor Boers when it was
ready for action, while others were not less inclined to lament the fate
of the poor Briton who would sit behind it, to get blown to pieces by a
botched piece of mechanism. The withering criticisms passed on this
prospective product of De Beers were anything but re-assuring. It was
useless to try to impress on the morbid critic that there were skilled
Woolwich men engaged in the manufacture of the gun. The argument would
be crushed by that expressive figure, "rats!" The scorn with which
these rodents were slung by the tail in the face of anyone who believed
in "Long Cecil" (the gun had been so named out of compliment to Mr.
Rhodes) was conclusive. Where was the necessary material to come from?
Oh, De Beers had the material, the optimist would reply. But optimists,
once so ubiquitous, were now as rare as radium. Our prophets had for
their reputations' sake altered their tactics. Experience had taught
them that the roseate view of things was the least likely to be sound,
and they now revelled in predictions of an otto--_not_ of roses. They
prepared us, with a vengeance, for the worst. "To-morrow" was ever to be
a day of tragic enormity for Kimberley. The local _Armageddon_ was to
begin (daily) at day-break; the enemy's guns were always being
augmented; the town was to be razed to the ground, and, unless surrender
was prompt, all its inhabitants with it. Thus did a spirit of
despondency continue to depress the people and the prospect of
emancipation grow dimmer and dimmer.
Besides the prophets of evil there was a set of cynics who sneered at
all things, the incapacity of the Town Guard, its Officers, etc. For a
long time the favourite boast of these gentlemen was that they had
refused commissions in the Town Guard. It was true; and it is worth
recalling why. At the beginning of the Siege little coteries were
formed, "rings" were established, private meetings held--at which
gatherings it was settled who was to be Captain of this Section, who
Lieutenant of that, and so forth. All these matters were amicably fixed
up, to the satisfaction of all concerned--including the vintner. It was
assumed that the scale of pay would, as in the Regular Army, be in
accordance with rank. The consideration was of course a minor one; but
still the disgust of the coteries was profound when it was announced
that the Imperial allowances to Town Guards were to be uniform; that a
Captain was to receive for his services no more and no less than a
Private. It was a disconcerting sequel to some skilful wire-pulling, and
the martial ardour of the wire-pullers dropped in a trice to _zero_.
Their dignity demanded their resignations, and their dignity's ruling
was bowed to. These injured people would not be led into action by a raw
volunteer; and they confided to every ear that would hear that the
citizen soldiers could be trusted in a crisis--to shoot each other! But
imagine the discomfiture of these veterans when at a later stage an army
order, retrospective in its operation, was issued which cancelled the
original monetary conditions of service for Officers and
non-commissioned Officers, and increased the rates of pay to which their
respective ranks entitled them. This order was only less effective than
a bombshell in crushing a dignity already injured; and the gusto with
which the Colonel and the Civil Commissioner were relegated to Connaught
was excusable.
A good deal of rumbling was heard on Friday; it might have been thunder,
or perchance artillery. Some said it was nature; others that it was
guns' work. But nobody seemed to think that it mattered a great deal. We
had grown tired of noise, nothing but noise. The whistle of the armoured
train, which kept patrolling the line (the bit that was left of it) was
more interesting, sometimes an innocent soul would allow his fancy to
beguile him into hoping that the whistle portended the approach of a
Cape Town train, with food and mail-bags, and he would march off to the
station on desperate speculation to meet it.
In pursuance of an idea which had long occupied his thoughts the Colonel
despatched a mounted force to cross the border into Free State
territory--at which we could look across with the naked eye. What good
purpose the visit was to serve was not obvious; but it was attributed to
a desire on the Colonel's part to win the distinction of being the
_first_ to invade the enemy's territory. At any rate, the distinction
_was_ won. The men had not far to travel; and they did not go far when
they crossed over, for the Oliphantsfontein camp blocked the way. The
Boers were awake, but the audacity of the raid would appear to have
deprived them for the moment of their visual senses. The Light Horse
drew quite close ere the propriety of halting was suggested to them. The
suggestion was naturally expected to issue in the first instance from
the cannon's mouth; but the guns said nothing, and their silence
emboldened our fellows to persist in their breach of etiquette until
they made a startling discovery, namely, that the guns had been removed.
This unexpected slice of luck so inspired the invaders that they
advanced rapidly and drove out the enemy, whose resistance was feeble. A
general inspection followed; the pantries and cupboards of the houses
around were the objects of a special scrutiny, but not a bone, not an
egg, not a crust was found! In one house a Boer lance with a white rag
for pennon was picked up. This curio was carried back to town, and
ultimately became the property of an enterprising curiosity
shop-keeper, who cut artistic bullet holes in the pennon with his
scissors--thereby adding largely to its curiousness. The bullets that
made the holes were also a good line, and "sold" well (in fact,
everybody). Nothing else occurred to make Friday noteworthy.
Saturday completed the round dozen weeks of siege life. How many more
were to follow? Alas! our seers were discredited. They were silent; but
hollow though time had branded their vaticinations the silence of the
seers was not exactly golden. The prevailing pessimism was
heart-breaking. At a critical stage, when a cheerful optimism was almost
essential to the preservation of one's mental balance, we were
tactlessly stuffed with the "lone lorn" lamentations of a Mrs. Gummidge.
But Roberts was coming, and he was a "great" soldier--far greater than
Wellington, or even Napoleon (a mere Corsican!) We hungered for news of
his plans. Roberts, we took it, was not the man to sanction the alleged
intentions of his subordinates--the callous mediocrities who would let
Kimberley work out its own salvation. It was reported at this time--for
the better security of our peace of mind--that a grand march was to be
made on Bloemfontein, while Kimberley was to live on air and fight away.
In the afternoon a balloon appeared in the air. It attracted much
attention, and set everybody speculating on what its business in the air
precisely was. Our nautical experts (who had been at sea for three weeks
anyhow) opined that it was "steering" for the Diamond Fields. It must
have collided with a "Castle," for it never came into port.
Balloons, indeed, were seen very often, and a great deal of time was
devoted to the study of their movements. In the silence of the night a
practical joker would rush out with a field-glass in his hand and shout
"balloon!" at the top of his voice. The desired effect--of bringing the
whole street out of bed to see the balloon--was easily produced. The
star-gazers would thus spend an hour or so minutely examining all the
stars in the firmament in their endeavours to select the one that most
resembled a balloon. This was not easily done--the stars being much
alike to the stupid naked eye--but they would near the point of
agreement on the question; and then the confounded night-patrol would
come along with his gun, and the observers would have to rush for the
cover of their blankets. When it was thought that the patrol had passed
two thousand yards there would be a general sneak back to begin over
again the search for the needle in the great haggard of the heavens.
Everybody had his or her own particular planet to minimise. The
brightest planets were naturally the more general choice, albeit
distance might in the circumstances be expected to lend a dimness to the
view. _Venus_ was essentially a very nice balloon; numbers swore by
_Jupiter_; _Mercury_ had a heavy following. _Taurus_ was indeed a
"Bull"; and Mars! talk of _Mars_ being inhabited; we identified its
inhabitants as being necessarily British. There were _thirteen_ signs in
the _Zodiac_. Anybody who called a star a star was called an ass.
"_That's_ no star," your exasperated kinsman would retort, "do you take
me for a blind fool." And it only required a fixed, steady gaze of ten
minutes, without winking, to convince the most sceptical that it was
indeed "no star"; that it did "move"; that it was "too large" for a
star; that it was absurd to consider it _not_ a balloon. The _Milky Way_
(as per diverse opinions) was one vast creamery of balloons, undiluted
by the "poetry of heaven!" In fine, among all the things that twinkled
there were only some half dozen that hushed the voice of controversy. It
was certain there remained at least five luminaries, five unmistakable
stars, to wit, the Southern Cross. Paul Kruger once expressed
astonishment that the British had not annexed the moon, if it were
inhabited. Well, the moon, though there is a man in it, was, shall I
say, too large, too obviously itself, to deceive the Imperial eye. We
left the recluse in the moon alone, to smile in dreary solitude;
interference with him would spoil the moonshine.