DISTANT GUNS
Estcourt: November 10, 1899.
When I awoke yesterday morning there was a strange tremor in the air. A
gang of platelayers and navvies were making a new siding by the station,
and sounds of hammering also came from the engine shed. But this tremor
made itself felt above these and all the other noises of a waking camp,
a silent thudding, a vibration which scarcely seemed to constitute what
is called sound, yet which left an intense impression on the ear. I went
outside the tent to listen. Morning had just broken, and the air was
still and clear. What little wind there was came from the northwards,
from the direction of Ladysmith, and I knew that it carried to Estcourt
the sound of distant cannon. When once the sounds had been localised it
was possible to examine them more carefully. There were two kinds of
reports: one almost a boom, the explosion evidently of some very heavy
piece of ordnance; the other only a penetrating whisper, that of
ordinary field guns. A heavy cannonade was proceeding. The smaller
pieces fired at brief intervals, sometimes three or four shots followed
in quick succession. Every few minutes the heavier gun or guns
intervened. What was happening? We could only try to guess, nor do we
yet know whether our guesses were right. It seems to me, however, that
Sir George White must have made an attack at dawn on some persecuting
Boer battery, and so brought on a general action.
Later in the day we rode out to find some nearer listening point. The
whole force was making a reconnaissance towards Colenso, partly for
reasons of security, partly to exercise the horses and men. Galloping
over the beautiful grassy hills to the north of the town, I soon reached
a spot whence the column could be seen. First of all came a cyclist--a
Natal volunteer pedalling leisurely along with his rifle slung across
his back--then two more, then about twenty. Next, after an interval of a
quarter of a mile, rode the cavalry--the squadron of the Imperial Light
Horse, sixty Natal Carabineers, a company of mounted infantry, and about
forty of the Natal mounted police. That is the total cavalry force in
Natal, all the rest is bottled up in Ladysmith, and scarcely three
hundred horsemen are available for the defence of the colony against a
hostile army entirely composed of mounted men. Small were their numbers,
but the quality was good. The Imperial Light Horse have shown their
courage, and have only to display their discipline to equal advantage to
be considered first-class soldiers. The Natal Carabineers are excellent
volunteer cavalry: the police an alert and reliable troop. After the
horse the foot: the Dublin Fusiliers wound up the hill like a long brown
snake. This is a fine regiment, which distinguished itself at Glencoe,
and have since impressed all who have been brought in contact with it.
The cheery faces of the Irishmen wore a proud and confident expression.
They had seen war. The other battalion--the Border Regiment--had yet
their spurs to win. The volunteer battery was sandwiched between the two
British battalions, and the rear of the column was brought up by the
Durban volunteers. The force, when it had thus passed in review, looked
painfully small, and this impression was aggravated by the knowledge of
all that depended on it.
A high, flat-topped hill to the north-west promised a wide field of
vision and a nearer listening point for the Ladysmith cannonade, which
still throbbed and thudded dully. With my two companions I rode towards
it, and after an hour's climb reached the summit. The land lay spread
before us like a map. Estcourt, indeed, was hidden by its engulfing
hills, but Colenso was plainly visible, and the tin roofs of the houses
showed in squares and oblongs of pale blue against the brown background
of the mountain. Far away to the east the dark serrated range of the
Drakensberg rose in a mighty wall. But it was not on these features
that we turned our glasses. To the right of Colenso the hills were lower
and more broken, and the country behind, though misty and indistinct,
was exposed to view. First there was a region of low rocky hills rising
in strange confusion and falling away on the further side to a hollow.
Above this extensive depression clouds of smoke from grass and other
fires hung and drifted, like steam over a cauldron. At the
bottom--invisible in spite of our great elevation--stood the town and
camp of Ladysmith. Westward rose the long, black, hog-backed outline of
Bulwana Hill, and while we watched intently the ghost of a flash stabbed
its side and a white patch sprang into existence, spread thinner, and
vanished away. 'Long Tom' was at his business.
The owner of the nearest farm joined us while we were thus engaged--a
tall, red-bearded man of grave and intelligent mien. 'They've had heavy
fighting this morning,' he said. 'Not since Monday week' (the Black
Monday of the war) 'has there been such firing. But they are nearly
finished now for the day.' Absorbed by the distant drama, all the more
thrilling since its meaning was doubtful and mysterious, we had shown
ourselves against the sky-line, and our conversation was now suddenly
interrupted. Over the crest of the hill to the rear, two horsemen
trotted swiftly into view. A hundred yards away to the left three or
four more were dismounting among the rocks. Three other figures appeared
on the other side. We were surrounded--but by the Natal Carabineers.
'Got you, I think,' said the sergeant, who now arrived. 'Will you kindly
tell us all about who you are?' We introduced ourselves as President
Kruger and General Joubert, and presented the farmer as Mr. Schreiner,
who had come to a secret conference, and having produced our passes,
satisfied the patrol that we were not eligible for capture. The sergeant
looked disappointed. 'It took us half an hour to stalk you, but if you
had only been Dutchmen we'd have had you fixed up properly.' Indeed, the
whole manoeuvre had been neatly and cleverly executed, and showed the
smartness and efficiency of these irregular forces in all matters of
scouting and reconnaissance. The patrol was then appeased by being
photographed 'for the London papers,' and we hastened to accept the
farmer's invitation to lunch. 'Only plain fare,' said he, 'but perhaps
you are used to roughing it.'
The farm stood in a sheltered angle of the hill at no great distance
from its summit. It was a good-sized house, with stone walls and a
corrugated iron roof. A few sheds and outhouses surrounded it, four or
five blue gums afforded a little shade from the sun and a little relief
to the grassy smoothness of the landscape. Two women met us at the door,
one the wife, the other, I think, the sister of our host. Neither was
young, but their smiling faces showed the invigorating effects of this
delicious air. 'These are anxious times,' said the older; 'we hear the
cannonading every morning at breakfast. What will come of it all?' Over
a most excellent luncheon we discussed many things with these kind
people, and spoke of how the nation was this time resolved to make an
end of the long quarrel with the Boers, so that there should be no more
uncertainty and alarm among loyal subjects of the Queen. 'We have always
known,' said the farmer, 'that it must end in war, and I cannot say I am
sorry it has come at last. But it falls heavily on us. I am the only man
for twenty miles who has not left his farm. Of course we are defenceless
here. Any day the Dutchmen may come. They wouldn't kill us, but they
would burn or plunder everything, and it's all I've got in the world.
Fifteen years have I worked at this place, and I said to myself we may
as well stay and face it out, whatever happens.' Indeed, it was an
anxious time for such a man. He had bought the ground, built the house,
reclaimed waste tracts, enriched the land with corn and cattle, sunk all
his capital in the enterprise, and backed it with the best energies of
his life. Now everything might be wrecked in an hour by a wandering Boer
patrol. And this was happening to a loyal and law-abiding British
subject more than a hundred miles within the frontiers of her Majesty's
dominions! Now I felt the bitter need for soldiers--thousands of
soldiers--so that such a man as this might be assured. With what pride
and joy could one have said: 'Work on, the fruits of your industry are
safe. Under the strong arm of the Imperial Government your home shall be
secure, and if perchance you suffer in the disputes of the Empire the
public wealth shall restore your private losses.' But when I recalled
the scanty force which alone kept the field, and stood between the enemy
and the rest of Natal, I knew the first would be an empty boast, and,
remembering what had happened on other occasions, I thought the second
might prove a barren promise.
We started on our long ride home, for the afternoon was wearing away and
picket lines are dangerous at dusk. The military situation is without
doubt at this moment most grave and critical. We have been at war three
weeks. The army that was to have defended Natal, and was indeed expected
to repulse the invaders with terrible loss, is blockaded and bombarded
in its fortified camp. At nearly every point along the circle of the
frontiers the Boers have advanced and the British retreated. Wherever we
have stood we have been surrounded. The losses in the fighting have not
been unequal--nor, considering the numbers engaged and the weapons
employed, have they been very severe. But the Boers hold more than 1,200
unwounded British prisoners, a number that bears a disgraceful
proportion to the casualty lists, and a very unsatisfactory relation to
the number of Dutchmen that we have taken. All this is mainly the result
of being unready. That we are unready is largely due to those in England
who have endeavoured by every means in their power to hamper and
obstruct the Government, who have scoffed at the possibility of the
Boers becoming the aggressors, and who have represented every precaution
for the defence of the colonies as a deliberate provocation to the
Transvaal State. It is also due to an extraordinary under-estimation of
the strength of the Boers. These military republics have been for ten
years cherishing vast ambitions, and for five years, enriched by the
gold mines, they have been arming and preparing for the struggle. They
have neglected nothing, and it is a very remarkable fact that these
ignorant peasant communities have had the wisdom and the enterprise to
possess themselves of good advisers, and to utilise the best expert
opinion in all matters of armament and war.
Their artillery is inferior in numbers, but in nothing else, to ours.
Yesterday I visited Colenso in the armoured train. In one of the
deserted British-built redoubts I found two boxes of shrapnel shells and
charges. The Boers had not troubled to touch them. Their guns were of a
later pattern, and fired powder and shell made up together like a great
rifle cartridge. The combination, made for the first time in the history
of war, of heavy artillery and swarms of mounted infantry is formidable
and effective. The enduring courage and confident spirit of the enemy
must also excite surprise. In short, we have grossly underrated their
fighting powers. Most people in England--I, among them--thought that
the Boer ultimatum was an act of despair, that the Dutch would make one
fight for their honour, and, once defeated, would accept the inevitable.
All I have heard and whatever I have seen out here contradict these
false ideas. Anger, hatred, and the consciousness of military power
impelled, the Boers to war. They would rather have fought at their own
time--a year or two later--when their preparations were still further
advanced, and when the British were, perhaps, involved in other
quarters. But, after all, the moment was ripe. Nearly everything was
ready, and the whole people sprang to arms with alacrity, firmly
believing that they would drive the British into the sea. To that
opinion they still adhere. I do not myself share it; but it cannot be
denied that it seems less absurd to-day than it did before a shot had
been fired.
To return to Estcourt. Here we are passing through a most dangerous
period. The garrison is utterly insufficient to resist the Boers; the
position wholly indefensible. Indeed, we exist here on sufferance. If
the enemy attack, the troops must fall back on Pietermaritzburg, if for
no other reason because they are the only force available for the
defence of the strong lines now being formed around the chief town.
There are so few cavalry outside Ladysmith that the Boers could raid in
all directions. All this will have been changed long before this letter
reaches you, or I should not send it, but as I write the situation is
saved only by what seems to me the over-confidence of the enemy. They
are concentrating all their efforts on Ladysmith, and evidently hope to
compel its surrender. It may, however, be said with absolute certainty
that the place can hold out for a month at the least. How, then, could
the Boers obtain the necessary time to reduce it? The reinforcements are
on the seas. The railway works regularly with the coast. Even now
sidings are being constructed and troop trains prepared. It is with all
this that they should interfere, and they are perfectly competent to do
so. They could compel us to retreat on Pietermaritzburg, they could
tear up the railway, they could blow up the bridges; and by all these
means they could delay the arrival of a relieving army, and so have a
longer time to worry Ladysmith, and a better chance of making it a
second Saratoga. Since Saturday last that has been our fear. Nearly a
week has passed and nothing has happened. The chance of the Boers is
fleeting; the transports approach the land; scarcely forty-eight hours
remain. Yet, as I write, they have done nothing. Why? To some extent I
think they have been influenced by the fear of the Tugela River rising
behind their raiding parties, and cutting their line of retreat; to some
extent by the serene and confident way in which General Wolfe Murray,
placed in a most trying position, has handled his force and maintained
by frequent reconnaissance and a determined attitude the appearance of
actual strength; but when all has been said on these grounds, the fact
will remain that the enemy have not destroyed the railway because they
do not fear the reinforcements that are coming, because they do not
believe that many will come, and because they are sure that, however
many may come, they will defeat them. To this end they preserve the
line, and watch the bridges as carefully as we do. It is by the railway
that they are to be supplied in their march through Natal to the sea.
After what they have accomplished it would be foolish to laugh at any of
their ambitions, however wicked and extravagant these may be; but it
appears to most military critics at this moment that they have committed
a serious strategic error, and have thrown away the chance they had
almost won. How much that error will cost them will depend on the
operations of the relieving force, which I shall hope to chronicle as
fully as possible in future letters.