_Week ending 20th January, 1900_
It was an illustration of the people's enduring pluck, this dogged
resolution of no surrender. Not that they felt conscious of any
particular heroism; the thought of capitulation as a means of escape
from discomfort suggested itself to nobody. In moments of mental
depression it might have crossed an ultra-pessimistic mind and been
brooded over as a consummation that no Spartan bravery could enable us
to avert. But to the masses the notion was unthinkable; the idea of
surrender would not bear discussion; it was never discussed. Against
Martial Law as such we did not so much complain; it was an evil, but to
some extent a necessary evil; and however prone we were to find fault,
however scathingly we condemned the machinations of the "Law," or the
stern "will" of its maker, the possibility of yielding to the _other_
enemy was never entertained for one moment. No proposal of the kind was
ever made.
And when it is remembered that the nature and extent of the things they
endured had at this period increased beyond the mere inconveniences of
Siege life, it will be conceded that the citizens of Kimberley played a
worthy part. They saw disease and death busy in their midst; they saw
the natives succumbing to the ravages of scurvy and kindred ills; they
saw sickness playing havoc with the white population; they saw their
families in sore need of the necessities of existence, and young
children--hardest of all--dying from want of nourishment. The infant
mortality was truly heart-rending. It is recorded that thirteen babes
were buried in one day. The authorities had adopted measures to conserve
milk for the young and the invalided, but with only partial success.
When matters were at their worst a further effort was made to induce the
privileged few who could still call their cows their own to send milk to
a central depot for distribution among the children of the poor and
middle classes. And the appeal was not a vain one; the response was
generous; it lessened the mortality. To-day, the men of the Diamond
Fields can look back and laugh at their harsh judgments, their not too
sweet reasonableness towards the "Law" of the land. They acquitted
themselves well on the whole; for an imperturbable spirit covers a
multitude of foibles. The citizens held Kimberley in spite of
everything, and never swerved from the fulfilment of what they felt to
be a sacred duty.
Sunday brought a dreary repetition of a siege Sunday's monotony. The
situation had been discussed threadbare, and there was little else to
converse about. The dust outdoors was blinding, and the people for the
most part dozed over books. That was the cardinal mercy vouchsafed us;
we had books to read, and never were they so ravenously devoured.
Reading was much in vogue; it was a siege innovation--a very good one,
too. Persons who had never hitherto believed in the pleasure to be
derived from books were disillusioned, and driven, as it were, to
cultivate a taste for literature--as men in gaol often are. It may
therefore be set down as portion of the good resulting from evil, this
teaching of people to value mental nourishment. The importance of the
physical variety was only too well understood.
On Monday many shells fell into the west end of the town. Our West End
was not like London's; there were few houses in it, and they were
unoccupied. Mafeking, it was said, had driven back the besiegers, and,
it was added, had "possibly" been relieved from the north ("possibly"
was thought distinctly good). It may have been so; but we did not
believe it. There had all along been a great deal of chopping and
changing anent the position of the Mafeking garrison. We were at one
time told that Mafeking "fell" before our Siege began. We could, and
always did, take a more dispassionate view of Baden-Powell's plight than
we could or would take of our own.
Tuesday morning brought the 'signal sound of strife'; no day brought any
more. The belching of the guns sounded nearer than on the Monday, but
that was small consolation, for it had sounded near and afar off
alternately for many days. There is a modernised game of blind man's
buff in which the blind one is set to find a hidden ping-pong ball, and
is aided in the search by a _fugue_ played on the piano. The nearer she
(or he) approaches the object of her (or his) search the louder grows
the music (the _fugue_) and _vice versa_. It seemed to us that Methuen
not only knew the game but was passionately fond of it. It was our
privilege in the afternoon to behold the twinkling of a balloon. It
being broad daylight the stars were not visible. Still, sceptical
wiseacres refused to come outside to see the sight; they guessed it was
"the sun." A variety of colours were to be seen about the balloon; the
sceptics said it was a rainbow. But there was no mistaking it in the
light of day; the thing was really a balloon. The rumour-monger seized
his opportunity and circulated all over the city that portion of the
Column were visible, or had halted, rather, at Kraalkop, where they
ought to be visible. Kraalkop accordingly was watched intently for eight
and forty hours, but no sign of a human presence rewarded the vigil. The
Boers, meanwhile, evinced no signs of scenting danger from any quarter,
and with their usual nonchalance kept leisurely shying shells at
Kimberley. These missiles were intended probably for the redoubts, as
they fell mainly on the outskirts of the town. They exploded on the hard
roads, and suggested plenty of melancholy speculation as to the precise
number of them that would be needed to double up for ever the entire
population. Fever continued to play havoc with both natives and
Europeans. The Siege was growing warm, insufferably warm, and the
weather that nature gave us was in all conscience hot enough. In our
fourteenth week of hunger and thirst matters were as bad as they could
be--until the meat Directorate proceeded scientifically to confound the
fallacy in their own peculiar way.
The half and half regulation had been in operation some days--a few
eating all they got--others only half of it--more again touching no meat
at all lest they should (horrible thought!) mistake one half for the
other. This state of things did not satisfy the Authorities, and they
proceeded to push the horse--practically down our throats. The feelings
of the civilised citizens of the Diamond City can be better imagined
than described when they read in the daily _bulletin_ at the Washington
Market that they would get--not _all_ horse indeed, but, in the words of
the song, "it was near it." It was decreed that our ration should
henceforth consist of four-fifths horse-flesh and one-fifth meat proper.
This reduced our allowance of solid (familiar) food to less than one
ounce, or in other words to the dimensions of a small cake of tobacco
_minus_ several pipefuls! It may well be doubted whether Gilbert has
ever conceived anything so quaint. I will not dwell on its whimsical
side, nor on the feelings its realism stirred in the breasts of the
suffering multitude. In effect it caused a serious secession from the
ranks of the party who had abstained altogether from horseflesh. For
when it came to a choice between no meat at all on the one side, and
Boer bread and porridge _exclusively_ on the other, it occurred to the
seceders that even horse blood is thicker than water; so they passed
under the yoke of hippophagy with perfect composure. Still the party
that suffered this defection lost neither _prestige_ nor numerical
strength, for the four-fifths' standard made vegetarians of many who had
tolerated--while it lasted--the principle of equal rights, or two ounces
of each animal. A transposition of parties occurred. But none abstained
from opening the floodgates of their wrath on the authors of the latest
_menu_. The authors' apologists, for--tell it not in Gath!--they had
apologists still, argued that there were restaurants in Paris where
cooked horse was a speciality. But special pleading so palpable only
aggravated the prevailing resentment to the dish. There were a great
many customs in Paris equally foreign to our, shall I say, Imperial
ways; together with a plethora of scientific _chefs_ who could
metamorphose anything--rats as well as horses. There were
revolutionaries in France in sufficient numbers to make traffic in
gruesome dietary pay; and plenty of fodder, besides, with which to
"fatten" beasts. All this gammon respecting Continental precedent and
taste was beside the question; it only invited gratuitous vituperation
of the French nation. An ugly feature of the traffic was suggested by
the fact that horses were dying from sheer starvation. The Sanitary
Authorities had become experts in the use of the revolvers with which
they expedited the demise of the poor beasts. Everybody has doubtless
known of the repulsion one feels against partaking of the flesh of a cow
that dies a _natural_ death. All of us, perhaps, have unconsciously
relished it at one time or another, when butchers were above suspicion.
But when it was a question of a horse--well, I will not conjure up the
horror of the situation. The horses used for food were all
_slaughtered_; but the suspicion existed that they might not have been,
and to lay the bogey in minds governing old-fashioned stomachs was not
easy. These old Whigs argued that the meat we ate was "dead" meat, from
"dead" animals (which was indisputable). All this apart, however, it was
manifest even to the devil-may-care fellows who are usually satisfied
with _enough_ of a thing, that the horses were "too thin." The
Authorities kept inviting owners to sell their beasts for "slaughtering
purposes"; good prices were offered for "fat horses." Advertisements
(in huge capitals) to this effect disfigured our newspaper for a long
while, and though we did not regard it as such it was a nice piece of
humour. The "fat" horses were all too few for fighting, and were
reserved for fighting. The artfulness of "slaughtering purposes" can be
appreciated accordingly.
Wednesday was interesting, Colonel Chamier having persuaded Kekewich to
let him off on a little expedition. He took with him a small battery of
guns, a picked force of mounted men (on "fat" horses), and wended his
way towards Alexandersfontein. On the journey he divided his force and
left half of it with a Maxim at a Mr. Fenn's farm. The jolly Boers had
evidently, and not unnaturally, assumed that they had cured us of our
weakness for meanderings. An attack was the last thing they looked for,
and Chamier got well within range of the great camp unobserved. And then
the battle began. The enemy, taken by surprise, suffered much in their
efforts to regain their trenches. In the meantime a large party of Boers
from a neighbouring arc of the circle that encompassed Kimberley were
endeavouring to cut off Chamier's retreat. But it was with tactics of
this sort that the men at Fenn's were instructed to deal; and they did
deal with them, effectually. Unconscious of hidden danger, the
unsuspecting Boers in the course of their operations drew near to the
farm. And it was then, and not till then, that into their midst came a
shower of bullets that spoiled their plans. In the _melee_ a Boer horse
(a plump one) was triumphantly captured and preserved for dissection.
The men shortly afterwards returned to town, having learnt all that they
wanted to learn, and inflicted more damage than they had hoped to
inflict. They were bombarded on the journey home, but their casualities
were nil.
On their entrance into Kimberley they met an enthusiastic baker (with
his breadcart), who was not in a position to confer V.C.'s all round;
but he bombarded each member of the force with something quite as
precious, namely, a loaf of bread. The "regulation" allowance was only a
paltry fourteen ounces, which the lightest of Light Horsemen was capable
of demolishing for breakfast. The generous baker--Martial Law and
proclamations notwithstanding--could not resist the opportunity of
throwing the beam of a good deed on this naughty world; and when he
found he had not sufficient loaves to go round, so far from regretting
his quixotic rashness, he galloped back to his bakehouse for more. It
was a graceful act--reckless, heroic--and the recipients of the dough
were not lacking in gratitude. But, alas! the _Commissariat_ were; they
bristled with anger! How dare a baker be generous in the teeth of the
penalties attached to kindness and such weaknesses. How dare he flout so
outrageously the canons of Martial Law. Who was Czar! Was Kekewich king!
Was Cæsar (_Imperial_ Cæsar) dead and turned to--flour! The offence was
unprecedented in its heinousness. Threats of prosecution followed; but
the offending baker apologised; and though the more rigid of our
disciplinarians, given their way, would have roasted him in his own
oven, the flexible ones deemed shooting too good for him, and accepted
his apology by way of compromise.
But Wednesday will be remembered for more than a sortie, and the
baker's rebellion that ensued. On that day was formally established our
celebrated "Soup Kitchen." Among the sheaves of suggestive letters to
the Editor, for the better management, economy, and distribution of
supplies, the epistles relating to the need of a soup department had
attracted most attention. The idea was not a bad one; it was
practicable, and had much to commend it. But still the feeling of the
people was that so long as they were allowed an _unmixed_ ration of the
roast beef of old England or young Australia (same Empire) it was
preferable that they should be permitted to make their own soup--a poor
thing, perhaps; but their own.
The advent of a joint more accustomed to shafts than to skewers,
however, was a horse of a different colour; so different, in fact, that
all the virtues of a great common kitchen, the saving it would effect,
and the good side of Collectivism generally, dawned simultaneously upon
everybody by some magical inspiration. The advantages of a Soup-house
were at once recognised, and the wisdom of such a creation was
immediately acclaimed by a host of astute correspondents. The idea took
root, germinated, "caught on," so to say, as the one and only panacea
for our ills. So strongly was the scheme approved that arrangements for
the flotation of a semi-philanthropic, semi-military company were
settled forthwith. All the best names available (for reasons which will
be more obvious in due time) were placed on the list of Directors. Mr.
Rhodes, the millionaire, would not lend his name for inscription on a
_prospectus_ that was not _bona fide_; and such respected signatories as
Mr. and Mrs. Maguire, Doctor Smartt (who also was "well," bedad), and
other public personages of high character and probity were a good
guarantee for the quality and purity of the State Soup; while the skill
of Captain Tyson (who undertook the duties of honorary _chef_) was
incontestable. All these names were easily procured. It was laid down
with solemn emphasis, as a primary article of faith, that the soup was
to be made from oxflesh, and nothing but oxflesh. The horse was to be
banned! That was the cardinal condition of the success anticipated for
the venture; and the guarantees on this head were, in view of the
_status_ of the guarantors, accepted unreservedly. Mr. Rhodes, indeed,
went a step further than the rest; he guaranteed a contribution of
vegetables from the De Beers garden; and the Colonel, not to be outdone,
permitted the soup to be thickened with mealie meal. The allowance was
to be at the rate of one pint per adult, at three-pence per pint. That
the value given for the humble "tickey" was good the success of the
scheme proved beyond contention. Hundreds of pints were disposed of--the
Directors in person superintending the sale and wielding the ladles. The
supply did not at first correspond with the demand; thousands who had
assembled with their jugs were turned away disappointed. The great
things expected from the Kitchen were realised; the excellence and the
flavour of the broth surpassed expectations. The ordinary meat ticket
sufficed, and its presentation at the Kitchen entitled the holder to as
many pints of soup as (and in lieu of) the number of meat rations for
which the ticket was good. The fame of the broth travelled far.
Egg-cup-fuls of the liquid were exultingly passed round to the wary,
suspicious ones; and these proud sceptics by extending to it the charity
of their silence most eloquently admitted the groundlessness of their
horsey apprehensions.
The visit of an envoy from the Boer camp aroused a good deal of
curiosity. What did he want? The Colonel would never tell. But there was
much sinister speculation abroad which, taken in conjunction with the
unabating activity of the Boers, was the reverse of comforting. The
unconditional surrender of the town had, it was whispered, been demanded
in explicit terms, and with equal explicitness refused. The consequence
of this refusal was the thought uppermost in every mind. The gentlemen
outside were numerically stronger than ever, and more at ease, too. They
had--if report ever spoke truly--intimated to the "Volunteer" camp, in
some way not explained, that they had just returned from their Christmas
holidays; that their absence accounted for the "quiet time" we had been
enjoying; but that they would presently be giving us "beans." They
certainly know how many make _five_; and their facetiousness in close
proximity to a large British Column was beyond us.
There was yet another pronouncement to complete the eventfulness of the
day, and to cause a lull in the domestic warfare waged against the
Colonel and his Ironsides. By dint of hard work day and night the great
thirty-pound gun constructed by De Beers was finished at last. Big
things were expected from it; the surprise and consternation it was
likely to create was a pleasing reflection. The construction of such a
piece of ordnance in the middle of a desert was considered something to
be proud of, and that reflected credit on the genius of Mr. Labram, who
had planned it. Long Cecil (as it was called), in all its pristine
perfection, was submitted to the public gaze, and was at once the
cynosure of all eyes. On Friday it was tested, with complete success.
The boom, at close quarters, was loud and alarming; and it required the
despatch of a second shell to satisfy non-spectators that the gun had
not been blown to pieces by the first. A few missiles were sent into the
Intermediate Station, a couple of miles distant. Whether anyone was hurt
did not transpire, but the moral effect produced was unmistakable. A
panic appeared to ensue, and vehicles of all sorts were hurriedly
requisitioned to enable the Boers to get away with their goods and
chattels from the Intermediate to a more healthy station. Private
letters were afterwards unearthed in which no attempt was made to
conceal the alarm occasioned by this unexpected visitation.
But the new gun was only a diversion, while the stream of invective
against horseflesh went on like the brook for ever. It is an ill wind
that blows nobody good; the truth of this was well exemplified in the
luck of the dogs. The poor animals looked shockingly thin and wasted,
and had for a long time been unable to move about with their wonted
agility in pursuit of locusts and mosquitoes. The mongrels that had any
fight or vitality left in them would engage in a terrific struggle on
the streets at night for the contents of the refuse buckets which our
primitive sanitation laws permitted to obstruct the pathways until
morning. It need hardly be said that there was not much in the way of
crusts, scraps, or bones to appease canine hunger, and the resultant
keenness of the competition made the night extremely hideous. This
snarling struggle for existence had gone on night after night to the
supreme annoyance of martyrs who would fain have slept, and who urged
(in letters to the Editor) the wholesale destruction of the snarlers as
a work at once humane, essential, and congenial. This was in pre-horse
food days, when the ox was paramount on our tables.
But now all was changed, and every dog had his day indeed! The
brutes--not knowing the difference--revelled in horseflesh. The people
who could not look at it gave it _all_ to their dogs; while the most
enthusiastic equine meat-eater invariably left a trifle behind him.
Canine gluttony was a source of much amusement, envy, or disgust
(according to the individual temperament); and the ubiquitous cynic
reminded one of a good time coming when the horse would be locally
extinct and "fat dog" the daintiest of diets. The irony of it all was
that there were still at Kenilworth some hundreds of oxen, in perpetual
danger of being "sniped "; and the populace argued (not unreasonably)
that to force on us irrational rations was in the circumstances a
callous thing. There were doubtless considerations to palliate this
procedure on the part of the Protector, but we would not see them. The
cattle were there in sufficient numbers to feed us until relief arrived.
True, relief appeared to be remote, but our view was that (if a calamity
were to be averted) it _must_ come within a month at the outside. And
what a pretty _denouement_ it would be, we said, if, through thrusting
"strange food" upon us until the Column came in, there were left a
monster herd of jubilant bullocks to swell the chorus of welcome! And,
if I mistake not, they did actually swell it. At any rate, General
French was reported to have been highly indignant when informed of how
much more useful than palatable the horse was, and to have ordered its
exclusion from the abattoir forthwith. We had to continue vegetating on
Siege rations for two weeks after the arrival of French; but from the
first moment of his entry the nightmare of horseflesh troubled us no
more.
Those dark days were not without their humours withal; and there was a
piquancy in the very imperviousness of our risible faculties to their
correct appreciation. Asses and mules--it was said--were butchered in
common with horses, and discussion was wont to be rife on the relative
merits of the three animals in their new sphere of usefulness. The
difficulty involved in distinguishing a steak of one from a steak of
another was no small one; but donkey was reputed to taste sweeter than
common horse--a questionable recommendation!--and the advocates of this
theory were called cannibals. The mule had its backers, too; it was the
gentler animal, they contended in sustainment of their preference. But
all three beasts had acquired a fresh interest, notoriety, and dignity;
and it was edifying to watch men, not noted for their sporting
proclivities, eyeing an animal with the knowing look of a _connoisseur_
that seemed to say: "I wonder what he would taste like." Whether it was
that, being so cheap he might be regarded "gift horse," or for some less
occult reason, the points of a beast were never looked for in the mouth.
His age, for example, might strike a thinking person as an important
factor to be remembered in the summing up of a horse's fitness for the
grill. But the people generally never thought of that, and were mainly
influenced in their judgments by the spareness or fleshiness of the
animal's hindquarters. On Saturday the atmosphere was thick with rumours
of imminent trouble. The precise terms of the Boer ultimatum we did not
know, but that an ultimatum had been received was not denied. We heard
of a fifty-pound gun (bigger than ours!) being put into position on the
Free State border--with a view to instilling in us the wisdom of
recognising the inevitable. The less formidable instruments of torture
nearer home were also being augmented. There was a feeling that events
of an uncommon character were on the march. People talked of
presentiments--one being that the Baralongs outside Kimberley were being
armed to assist in our annihilation. The much debated topic anent the
likelihood of the Sixth Division being sent to join Methuen was settled
at last--to our chagrin. It had gone off at a tangent somewhere else.
Who knew that the Seventh Division would not follow suit? In any case,
weeks had to pass before the Seventh (being still at sea) could get
anywhere. Our prospects of speedy liberation were therefore none too
excellent. The Empire was passing through a crisis, and if Kekewich had
had only the statesmanship to make known to us the truth, the plain
unvarnished truth, we might have been less captious in our criticisms of
things both local and Imperial. Even the new gun, in common with the
times, was out of joint and undergoing repairs at the workshop.
Nutritious food of any sort was now a rarity in real earnest. Eggs were
hard at a price per dozen that purchased a _gross_ in the not too cheap
days of peace; while ducks and drakes, no bigger than crows, but worth
their weight in diamonds, were too heavy for the patrons of paste. The
military people had an extensive variety of precious birds stuffed away
_in_ their own selected aviaries. They had also seized upon all the
cigarettes in town. Now, this was held up as a well-grounded and
specific grievance against the military. It was conceded that the sick
and wounded had first claim on our humanity; and the chicken monopoly,
had it stood alone, would not have invited criticism. But the cigarette
appropriation was reckoned a scandal. There was an abundance of matches
in the military stores--but nowhere else. The tobacconists were selling
off, at quadrupled rates, quantities of ancient, nasty-smelling
"safety-matches," which but yesterday, alas! they would have paid us to
bury somewhere! Of course there were wide possibilities of economy in
this direction--the one match often putting the kettles to boil in half
a street. The waste in the matter of pipe-kindling had to be modified,
and the mediæval makeshift of flint and steel restored. The fierce rays
of _Sol_, through the _media_ of our monocles, were also utilised to
light cigars. What else on Saturday? Yes, Mafeking, they said, was
fighting on still; and Generals Buller and Warren had forded the Tugela,
_en route_ to Ladysmith. That their plunge might stimulate Methuen to
burn his boots and brave the turgid waters of the Modder, was the
fervent wish of Kimberley at the end of fourteen weeks of irksome,
emaciating duress.