_Week ending 13th January, 1900_
The rumour-monger and the quidnunc--to whom only brief allusion has so
far been made--had come to be regarded as distinct public nuisances. I
have hitherto refrained from commenting often on the actions and the
utterances of these monomaniacs in our midst. Any attempt to summarise
their mendacities would be foredoomed to failure; the output of rumours
would exceed the limits of an ordinary tome. There were indeed some
enterprising spirits who did embark upon the task of collecting these
rumours, but they dropped it in despair, before economy in foolscap was
even thought of. These fanciful canards grew more nauseating as the
Siege advanced in seriousness, until anything in the nature of news was
deemed of necessity a lie. A local scribe, "The Lad," took the romancers
severely to task in a series of pithy articles, which the _Diamond
Fields' Advertiser_--domiciled though it was in a _glass_ house--did not
scruple to publish. The "lovely liar" was hanged, drawn, and quartered.
The "Military critic" was satirised, too; he was the lynx-eyed gentleman
who had detected the Lancers approaching Kimberley at a fast gallop two
hours after the Column had departed from Orange River. We had strained
our eyes for weeks on the strength of that man's eyesight, for 'hope
springs eternal in the human breast.'
But all these far-seeing mortals had fallen discredited from their high
estate; and it was at this pregnant turning point in our fortunes that
the need of a little originality (for their credit's sake) appeared to
strike them. They set themselves to weave a romance as weird, as
diabolical, as their perverted ingenuity could suggest. And a
masterpiece it proved to be.
They began to tell us of horseflesh, to recite legends of how under
conditions similar to ours it had been eaten, positively eaten, in the
past by human beings, who without it would have died, and who _did not_
die when they ate it! For our part, we should have elected to die
first--but I must not anticipate. Gradually and tentatively--just as a
man who saw virtue in cannibalism would hem and haw before he advocated
its practice--the subject of horseflesh was furtively discussed in
whispers, which ultimately developed into audible commentaries in regard
to its odour, taste, and general nutritiousness. A plea for cannibalism
could scarcely encounter fiercer opposition or evoke greater disgust
than did the mere suggestion of horseflesh, even as a last resort, a
possible infliction, an alternative to surrender. In no circumstances
would we tolerate it. The very name of such a diet was revolting to our
conservative tastes, and filled us with horror; it was bad form to
mention it. If the British army ever brought us to such a pass terrible
things would happen; loyalty would be a memory of the digestive past;
wholesale forswearing of allegiance to the Queen would be the patriotism
of the day. Horseflesh indeed! The dish was hounded down as something
too utterly inconsonant with the culinary decencies of civilisation.
So strong and bitter was the feeling against the horseflesh fable--for
fable, our anger notwithstanding, we insisted it was--that thinking
meat-eaters began to look upon it as a bad omen, and to wonder why a
baseless rumour should stir up so much indignation. Tales of this kind,
whether or not they tallied with probability, had come to be
pooh-poohed, to be treated with disdain. Hence it was rather odd that an
anecdote so racy should excite so much ferocity.
Meanwhile, the enemy, unaware of our internal troubles, had placed three
new guns on Wimbleton Ridge. This was ominous; it brought about an
armistice; that is, a cessation of hostilities in the war of words
against Gorle and his hippophagous designs. A bombardment was expected;
and as we might easily have our teeth incapacitated by the shells, the
absurdity of bidding the hoofed gentleman good-day before we met him
gave us pause in our campaign against his friends. But the assault was
directed to Kenilworth; the cannon rattled all day with a view to
killing the cattle sheltered there. Our guns, after a while, took part
in the firing, and when the smoke cleared away the kine were still
there--on their feet. A second contingent of Basutos had taken their
departure in the morning, and as they did not return we presumed they
had passed in safety through the Boer lines. This accommodating spirit,
while their policy of exhaustion was doing so well, must have gone
against the Boer's grain; but then Lerothodi was a sleeping dog; it was
important that he should be let lie.
The vindication of the _fama_ was completed on Monday when horseflesh in
all its naked iniquity was offered for sale, as horseflesh, at the
Washington Market. Its virtual effect was to reduce our meat ration by a
quarter; the authorities with rare consideration refrained from
extremities, and started us with small doses of _one_ ounce added to
three of ox-flesh. Perhaps some credit was due to the military for
horse-feeding us by degrees; but certain it is, they never got it. The
people generally declined to intermix their curtailed rations with
"strange food" of any kind; and the strange food accordingly remained in
the shambles to do service another day--when means could be employed, if
need be, to exorcise the demon of fastidiousness that had taken
possession of us.
Our historians, our booky men, were on Tuesday glib to inform us that
the Siege had now extended to eighty-seven days--the exact duration of
the Siege of Lucknow. The tribulations of Lucknow were comparatively
short and sweet; for our troubles, horseflesh made us feel, were only
about to begin. Our clamour for relief had abated, and, except for an
occasional spasmodic outburst, Methuen was left in peace. Agitation in
the wilderness was futile; it could not hasten emancipation from the
thraldom of Martial Law. We developed a lethargy on the broader
(Imperial) issue. The guns still threshed the air, but with an
increasing feebleness suggestive of the Column's return by easy stages
to Orange River. Our disappointments had been manifold, and whispers
with reference to the ultimate terms of surrender were not uncommon. Not
that there was in any mind a disposition to give in until it was humanly
impossible to hold the fort. But it was coming to that stage. Horseflesh
on the top of other trials had implanted the canker of despair in more
than one sensitive soul. We had a great deal of horseflesh of the tram
and cab kind, and much as the obligations of Empire might induce us to
perform, it was _too_ much to expect us to rise to the occasion on
foreign food. The physical needs of the moment demanded something less
repulsive to the palate. No wonder the gloomy picture of digging
trenches for the Boers obtruded itself on our mental vision. Opinions
conflicted as to the aggregate quantity of meal and flour in the
military stores; most people held the view that it was much less than
was actually the fact. The scarcity of fodder, too, was felt acutely,
and necessitated the curtailment of the tram and cab services. More
horses had to be unharnessed and sent out to graze on the veld!--to
live, as it were, on their wits. It was even rumoured that some Indian
members of the community were inviting tenders for a supply of cats, and
were prepared to pay for them as much as two shillings per puss. No
evidence, however, in support of this tale from the Hills was
forthcoming; nor was it in any event likely to prove a remunerative
venture, since _rabbit pie_--ever a convertible term--would be the last
delicacy to inspire trust where _all_ animal food was suspect.
In the afternoon, two visitors entered the city. One had little to tell,
but the other made amends for his companion's taciturnity with a
graphic, Othellonian description of the dangers he had passed, and his
wondrous experiences for many days and nights. He had, it appeared, a
regard for Mr. Rhodes, (who is less popular in the Free State than in
Kimberley), and the Government across the border had arraigned him on
the charge of being "a Rhodes man" (whatever that is). For this high
crime and misdemeanour he had been sentenced to three years'
imprisonment. But the Rhodes man resented the injustice, and, with his
friend, contrived to escape. After a series of peripatetic adventures
they were more dead than alive when the head-gear of De Beers burst upon
their view. The spectacle revivified them, and with a desperate rally
they crawled undetected through the Boer lines, to an asylum in which
they were glad to find even horseflesh to eat.
Wednesday was in no way eventful; lassitude had gripped the people. This
was the more noticeable in that our friends outside appeared to be
uncommonly vigorous. They devoted great attention to their redoubts, to
strengthening them, and conducted themselves like men who were sanguine
of the fall of Kimberley. They bombarded us lightly in the afternoon, on
the chance of stretching _hors-de-combat_ a unit of the garrison--not
more than one or two, as they had no special desire to prejudice the
appeal they felt sure we must soon make for food. They did not want that
consummation delayed a moment longer than was necessary. It would leave
them free to establish railway communication between Kimberley and
Bloemfontein; they had such a scheme in contemplation.
All these things, however, were now of secondary interest; it was the
horseflesh peril that held the field. The masses were still determined
never to submit to such an ordinance on the eve of the twentieth
century; the innovation was too horrible. But the military, undaunted
by popular opposition, were bent on making the horse acceptable; and
their next move was to _equalise_ the proportions of the two species
that constituted a ration. The effect of this little twist of the screw
was to reduce our meat ration (nobody allowed that horseflesh was meat!)
to two ounces. The ounces from the ribs of the tougher animal were left
severely alone--by the majority of the people. On the other hand,
controversialists of strong anti-vegetarian views were forced to
experiment. Their verdicts differed. Some of them knew a _little_ about
cooking, and _they_ were "not surprised." Others, who knew nothing of
cooking, re-harnessed the horse at once; while a third school, expert in
the culinary art, triumphantly overcame their prejudices, but were
afraid openly to smack their lips. Unanimous approval or toleration was
never forthcoming, and, for myself, I am most inclined to respect the
judgment of the heretics who pronounced the equine dish "as good as the
_meat_ that was going." It was certainly not better, and to make it
universally acceptable it would require to have been very much better.
On one "point" agreement obtained; it was admitted on all sides that the
horse tasted sweet. One might suppose the adjective to be a
recommendation; but it was not so; quite the contrary (the nearer the
bone, etc. does not apply to a saddle of horseflesh). And yet there were
people who liked their _porridge_ sweet! who, after wasting their
allowance of sugar in it, would go running about the streets to borrow a
little sugar for their tea. Had it been practicable to utilise a little
horse-essence for the tea, all would be well. But it would hardly do.
Nobody ventured even to hint at the adoption of such a course to a
neighbour; with borrowing rampant it was undesirable to be on other than
amicable terms with the lady next door.
Time passed, and our antipathy to horseflesh abated not a jot. It did
not improve on acquaintance, we were told by those who tried it, while
the self-respecting persons who would not so demean themselves were no
less bitter in their diatribes. It was useless to argue that the horse
was a "clean" animal. He was deemed too useful, too tough, too sinewy,
too hard-working to be digestible. We could not connect a horse-chop
with what was fit for human consumption. Most of us indulgently spared
the butcher the trouble of weighing it; we preferred--with an air of
dignity--to take the two ounces that civilisation sanctioned, and to
forego the rest. And there were numbers who did not consider it worth
while enduring a certain jostling for the _right_ half of their ration;
it was not worth it--and they might get the _wrong_ half! The meat man
did not like the boycott at all; he wanted to get rid of his surplus
sirloins, and the asceticism of those who preferred to thrive on black
tea enabled him to invite the unparticular people to pick and choose the
rib--the equine rib--they liked best. The authorities, to do them
justice, had acted straightforwardly in differentiating between the two
animals; no deception in the way of palming off the one for the other
was permitted. But in the confusion things got mixed; and the poor
butcher, who was only human, succumbed in spite of himself to strong
temptation. Whether he was governed by the motive of doing a little
wrong for sake of a great right is beside the question. The great right
was done. In veterinary circles the meat dispenser was relished as a
rather daring "perverter," while hundreds of smart people began to enjoy
their _pseudo_-beef. And when afterwards informed of the "mistake" they
did not seem to care, but went on serenely pandering to the butcher's
genial ambidextrousness.
On Thursday a good many shells fell in the neighbourhood of Scholtz's
Nek. With an energy which few had hitherto been disposed to give him
credit for possessing, the enemy continued to engross himself in
establishing, as it were, a fixity of tenure. This growing feeling of
security which animated our friends was most depressing. True, it was
something to hear that the Boers at Ladysmith had been repulsed with
heavy loss--if it were true. It was something; but it was not much.
Privations had developed our bumps of Provincialism; the claims of
Empire took a secondary place, as also did the fortunes of Ladysmith.
One authority stated that forty-five thousand Boers had been killed or
wounded in Natal. But these figures, to be correct, would necessarily
have embraced the warriors outside Kimberley--who were much alive! The
figures were afterwards reduced to four, and eventually to two. But
these important amendments were not proposed and carried for weeks after
the events to which they related, by which time we were so deep in the
slough of despond over something else that we could not sink deeper. We
were still in the dark as to the progress of the campaign. No accurate
accounts of the disasters, mishaps, and reverses that marked its opening
stages were placed before us. Brief and garbled references to
Stormberg, Colenso, and Nicholson's Nek were allowed by "Law" to
illumine the columns of the Press--getting lightly treated as trifles of
no consequence. There existed a small, astute minority who hazarded
unpleasant opinions of these "trifles." Our Teutonic friends candidly
expressed the view that England, to save her Empire, must shortly sue
for peace; but though they were just as anxious as anybody else to see
the Column come in, too much weight was not attached to what foreign
fellows said. The _Advertiser_, too, though ever sanguine in its
editorial columns, was sometimes indiscreet in its humour. It gave us,
for example, an anecdote anent the utterances of a certain prominent
Boer, which was in no wise calculated to allay the unrest prevalent
since Magersfontein. The Boers, he said, were willing to make peace at
their own price, and that price included a full recognition of their
Independence, an indemnity of twenty millions of money, and a perquisite
in the shape of Natal for the Transvaal. For the Free State it was
stipulated that the border should be widened to admit Kimberley back to
the fold. These were extravagant terms; they were amusing, as amusement
goes--or might go in the ordinary trend of things. But when coupled with
other symptoms--the misfortunes of the army, the reticence of the
authorities, the uncanny demureness of the fourth estate--they were not
conducive to peace of mind. Had there been aught that was good to tell
it would have been proclaimed with glowing candour; the "new diplomacy"
would have exercised its sway in riotous triumph. The Military, it was
conceded, knew everything. Unanimity obtained on that point. But it
stopped there. On the question of the Colonel's reticence, its cause,
effect, wisdom, or unwisdom, discord was rife. Acute ones had hit the
nail on the head, but they could not drive it home. Every man, or set of
men, had his or their own peculiar theory to expound. The army, some
said, was marching on Bloemfontein with a view to expediting our relief
by forcing the Boer back to defend his own State. Against this it was
maintained that Kimberley was outside the _ambit_ of the army's high and
mighty consideration. Others argued that the Colonel's policy of "mum"
was mainly intended as a protest against the traffic in "Specials." We
were all weary; the strain was weakening our mental faculties; the most
sensible and philosophic cherished the queerest thoughts. As a cynic
observed, one night at _souchong_, it took a siege to test one's
intelligence--and it tried the cynics as much as the non-intellectual.
All honour to those gentlemen--lay and clerical--who by dint of hard
work and in doing good preserved their equilibrium. We had, on Thursday,
an instance of their worth in the establishment of a cook-house to
supply the native population with _cooked_ rations. This was a
praiseworthy innovation, for wood and such fuel as _Mars_ permitted to
be combustible were extremely scarce. The native had been cured of his
weakness for the dismemberment of mahogany; indirectly the cooking-depot
warded off a "relapse," and was altogether an Institution creditable to
its founders.
Friday came and went unmarked by incident of note; but no; we were
told--it was something new to be told anything--that a Cape _dorp_
called Kuruman had thrown up the sponge. The place had been poorly
garrisoned, and the end was not unexpected--in Official quarters. We
protested against the military habit of publishing things we did not
want to know, while all knowledge of more important events was kept
hermetically sealed in one or half a dozen heads. We were not altogether
consistent in this, but--no matter. Saturday wound up the unlucky
thirteenth week of our sorrows. It saw us emaciated, thirsty, and filled
to satiety with the romance of isolation. It found us irascible,
contumacious, with an aptitude for fluent swearing at the tales (of how
light we had grown) unfolded by the weighing-machine. It found us in
lucid intervals conjuring up visions of a beer saturnalia when--alas!
when the barrels were full again. It heard us howling against horseflesh
and the devilish ingenuity of him who discovered a precedent for
roasting it; it heard the chorus, "where is the Column?" and the mocking
echo answering "where!" It heard many divergent opinions as to what the
Column was going to do; some contending that it was waiting to be
re-inforced by the "Sixth Division"; more dictating with fiery rancour
that it was for the "Seventh Division" the Column waited; another
insisting that the "Seventh Division" was operating a thousand miles
away--and _all_ of us knowing about as much of the Sixth or Seventh
Division's movements as Plato did of ping-pong! The need of Army reform
was much felt and talked of. But there was behind this conflict of
tongues a weary but firm determination to keep unfurled at all costs the
flag of no surrender.