THE STATE OF THE GAME
Cape Town: November 1, 1899.
The long-drawn voyage came to an end at last. On the afternoon of
October 30 we sighted land, and looking westward I perceived what looked
like a dark wave of water breaking the smooth rim of the horizon. A
short time developed the wave into the rocks and slopes of Robben
Island--a barren spot inhabited by lepers, poisonous serpents, and dogs
undergoing quarantine. Then with the darkness we entered Table Bay, and,
steaming slowly, reached the anchorage at ten o'clock. Another hour of
waiting followed until the tugboat obeyed the signal; but at last she
ran alongside, and there stepped on board a Man Who Knew. Others with
despatches pushed roughly through the crowd of soldiers, officers,
passengers, and war correspondents to the General's cabin. We caught the
Man Who Knew, however, and, setting him half way up the ladder to the
hurricane deck, required him forthwith to tell us of the war. Doubtless
you have been well informed of all, or at any rate of much, that has
passed. The man told his story quickly, with an odd quiver of excitement
in his voice, and the audience--perhaps we were 300--listened
breathless. Then for the first time we heard of Elandslaagte, of
Glencoe, of Rietfontein, a tale of stubborn, well-fought fights with
honour for both sides, triumph for neither. 'Tell us about the
losses--who are killed and wounded?' we asked this wonderful man. I
think he was a passage agent or something like that.
So he told us--and among the group of officers gathered above him on the
hurricane deck I saw now one, now another, turn away, and hurry out of
the throng. A gentleman I had met on the voyage--Captain Weldonasked
questions. 'Do you know any names of killed in the Leicesters?' The man
reflected. He could not be sure: he thought there was an officer named
Weldon killed--oh, yes! he remembered there were two Weldons--one
killed, one wounded, but he did not know which was in the Leicesters.
'Tell us about Mafeking,' said someone else. Then we heard about
Mafeking--the armoured trains, the bombardment, the sorties, the
dynamite wagons--all, in fact, that is yet known of what may become an
historic defence. 'And how many Boers are killed?' cried a private
soldier from the back. The man hesitated, but the desire to please was
strong within him. 'More than two thousand,' he said, and a fierce shout
of joy answered him. The crowd of brown uniforms under the electric
clusters broke up into loud-voiced groups; some hastened to search for
newspapers, some to repeat what they had heard to others; only a few
leaned against the bulwarks and looked long and silently towards the
land, where the lights of Cape Town, its streets, its quays, and its
houses gleamed from the night like diamonds on black velvet.
It is along casualty list of officers--of the best officers in the
world. The brave and accomplished General of Glencoe; Colonel Chisholme,
who brought the 9th Lancers out of action in Afghanistan; Sherston, who
managed the Indian Polo Association; Haldane, Sir William Lockhart's
brilliant aide-de-camp; Barnes, adjutant of the 4th Hussars, who played
back of our team and went with me to Cuba; Brooke, who had tempted
fortune more often than anyone else in the last four years--Chitral,
Matabeleland, Samana, Tira, Atbara, and Omdurman--and fifty others who
are only names to me, but are dear and precious to many, all lying under
the stony soil or filling the hospitals at Pietermaritzburg and Durban.
Two thousand Boers killed! I wish I could believe there were.
Next morning Sir Redvers Buller landed in state. Sir F. Forestier-Walker
and his staff came to meet him. The ship was decked out in bunting from
end to end. A guard of honour of the Duke of Edinburgh's Volunteers
lined the quay; a mounted escort attended the carriage; an enormous
crowd gathered outside the docks. At nine o'clock precisely the General
stepped on to the gangway. The crew and stokers of the 'Dunottar Castle'
gave three hearty cheers; the cinematograph buzzed loudly; forty cameras
clicked; the guard presented arms, and the harbour batteries thundered
the salute. Then the carriage drove briskly off into the town through
streets bright with waving flags and black with cheering people. So Sir
Redvers Buller came back again to South Africa, the land where his first
military reputation was made, where he won his Victoria Cross, the land
which--let us pray--he will leave having successfully discharged the
heavy task confided to him by the Imperial Government.
Now, what is the situation which confronts the General and the army? I
will adventure an explanation, though the picture of war moves very
swiftly. In their dealing with the military republics which had become
so formidable a power throughout the Cape, the Ministers who were
responsible for the security of our South African possessions were
compelled to reckon with two volumes of public opinion--British and
colonial. The colonial opinion was at its best (from our point of view)
about three months ago. But the British opinion was still unformed. The
delays and diplomatic disputes which have gradually roused the nation to
a sense of its responsibilities and perils, and which were absolutely
necessary if we were to embark on the struggle united, have had an
opposite effect out here. The attempts to satisfy the conscientious
public by giving the republics every possible opportunity to accept our
terms and the delays in the despatch of troops which were an expensive
tribute to the argument 'Do not seek peace with a sword,' have been
misinterpreted in South Africa. The situation in the Cape Colony has
become much graver. We have always been told of the wonderful loyalty of
the Dutch. It is possible that had war broken out three months ago that
loyalty would have been demonstrated for all time. War after three
months of hesitation--for such it was considered--has proved too severe
a test, and it is no exaggeration to say that a considerable part of the
Colony trembles on the verge of rebellion. On such a state of public
opinion the effect of any important military reverse would be
lamentable.
Nor is the military position such as to exclude anxiety. The swift flame
of war ran in a few days around the whole circle of the republican
frontiers. Far away to the north there was a skirmish at Tuli. On the
west Khama's territories are threatened with invasion. Mafeking is
surrounded, isolated, and manfully defending itself against continual
attack. Vryburg has been treacherously surrendered by its rebel
inhabitants to the enemy. Kimberley offers a serene front to a
hesitating attack, and even retaliates with armoured trains and other
enterprises. The southern frontier is armed, and menaced, and the
expectation of collision is strong. But it is on the eastern side that
the Boers have concentrated their greatest energies. They have gone Nap
on Natal. The configuration of the country favours an invader. The
reader has scarcely to look at the map, with which he is already
familiar, to realise how strategically powerful the Boer position was
and is. The long tongue of plain running up into the mountains could be
entered from both sides. The communications of the advanced garrisons
would be assailed: their retreat imperilled. The Boers seemed bound to
clear northern Natal of the troops. If, on the other hand, they were, or
should now be, suddenly driven back on their own country, they have only
to retire up the tongue of plain, with their exposed front narrowing
every mile between the mountains, and await their pursuers on the almost
inexpugnable position of Laing's Nek. Appreciating all this, their
leaders have wisely resolved to put forth their main strength against
the force in Natal, and by crushing it to rouse their sympathisers
within the Cape Colony. Should they succeed either on this front or on
any other to a serious extent, though the disaffection would not take a
very violent form, for all the bravoes have already joined the enemy,
the general insecurity would demand the employment of an army corps in
addition to that already on the seas.
A democratic Government cannot go to war unless the country is behind
it, and until it has general support must not place itself in a position
whence, without fighting, there is no retreat. The difficulty of
rallying public opinion in the face of the efforts of Mr. Morley, Mr.
Courtney, Sir William Harcourt, and others have caused a most dangerous
delay in the despatch of reinforcements. War has been aggravated by the
Peace Party; and thus these humanitarian gentlemen are personally--for
they occupy no official position--responsible for the great loss of
life. They will find their several consolations: Mr. Morley will rejoice
that he has faithfully pursued Mr. Gladstone's policy in South Africa;
Mr. Courtney that he has been consistent at all costs; Sir William
Harcourt that he has hampered the Government. But for those who lose
their sons and brothers in a quarrel thus unnecessarily extended, there
will only remain vain regrets, and to the eyewitness only a bitter
anger.
For the last three months the Imperial Government has been in the
unpleasant position of watching its adversaries grow continually
stronger without being able to make adequate counter-preparations.
But when once this initial disability has been stated, it must also be
admitted that the course of the military operations has been--apart from
their success or failure--very lucky. The Boers had the advantage of
drawing first blood, and the destruction of the armoured train near
Mafeking was magnified by them, as by the sensational Press in Great
Britain, into a serious disaster. A very bad effect was produced in the
undecided districts--it is perhaps wiser not to specify them at this
moment. But a few days later another armoured train ran out from
Kimberley, and its Maxim guns killed five Boers without any loss to the
troops. The magnifying process was also applied to this incident with
equal though opposite results. Then came the news of the battle of
Glencoe. The first accounts, which were very properly controlled--for we
are at war with the pen as well as the sword--told only of the bravery
of the troops, of the storming of the Boer position, and of the capture
of prisoners. That the troops had suffered the heavier loss, that the
Boers had retired to further positions in rear of the first, drawing
their artillery with them, and that General Yule had retreated by forced
marches to Ladysmith after the victory--for tactical victory it
undoubtedly was--leaked into Cape Colony very gradually; nor was it
until a week later that it was known that the wounded had been left
behind, and that the camp with all stores and baggage, except
ammunition, had fallen into the enemy's hands. Before that happened the
news of Elandslaagte had arrived, and this brilliant action, which
reflects no less credit on Generals French and Hamilton who fought it
than on Sir George White who ordered it, dazzled all eyes, so that the
sequel to Glencoe was unnoticed, or at any rate produced little effect
on public opinion.
The Natal Field Force is now concentrated at Ladysmith, and confronts
in daily opposition the bulk of the Boer Army. Though the numbers of the
enemy are superior and their courage claims the respect of their
professional antagonists, it is difficult to believe that any serious
reverse can take place in that quarter, and meanwhile many thousand
soldiers are on the seas. But the fact is now abundantly plain to those
who are acquainted with the local conditions and with the Boer
character, that a fierce, certainly bloody, possibly prolonged struggle
lies before the army of South Africa. The telegrams, however, which we
receive from Great Britain of the national feeling, of the bye-election,
of Lord Rosebery's speech, are full of encouragement and confidence. 'At
last,' says the British colonist, as he shoulders his rifle and marches
out to fight, no less bravely than any soldier (witness the casualty
lists), for the ties which bind South Africa to the Empire--'at last
they have made up their minds at home.'