CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR
Frere: January 4, 1900.
December 25.--Christmas Day! 'Glory to God in the Highest, and on earth,
peace and goodwill towards men.' So no great shells were fired into the
Boer entrenchments at dawn, and the hostile camps remained tranquil
throughout the day. Even the pickets forbore to snipe each other, and
both armies attended divine service in the morning and implored Heaven's
blessing on their righteous causes. In the afternoon the British held
athletic sports, an impromptu military tournament, and a gymkhana, all
of which caused much merriment and diversion, and the Boers profited by
the cessation of the shell fire to shovel away at their trenches. In the
evening there were Christmas dinners in our camp--roast beef, plum
pudding, a quart of beer for everyone, and various smoking concerts
afterwards. I cannot describe the enemy's festivities.
But since that peaceful day we have had desultory picket firing, and the
great guns in the naval battery have spoken whenever an opportunity
presented itself. The opposing outpost lines are drawn so far apart that
with the best intentions they can scarcely harm each other. But the long
range of the smallbore rifles encourages fancy shooting, so that there
is often a brisk fusillade and no one any the worse. On our side we have
only had one infantry soldier wounded. We do not know what the fortunes
of the Boers may have been, but it is probable that they lose a few men
every day from the bombardment, and certain that on Monday last there
were three burghers killed and several wounded and one horse. It
happened in this wise: beyond the strong Infantry pickets which remain
in position always, there is a more or less extended line of cavalry
outposts, which are sprinkled all along the kopjes to the east and west
of the camp, and are sometimes nearly three miles from it. On the Monday
in question--New Year's Day to wit--200 Boers set forth and attacked our
picket on the extreme right. The picket, which was composed of the South
African Light Horse, fell back with discretion, and the Boers following
without their usual caution did not observe that eight troopers had been
dropped behind among the rocks and ledges of a donga; so that when
twelve of them attempted to make their way up this natural zigzag
approach in order to fire upon the retiring picket they were themselves
received at 400 yards by a well-directed sputter of musketry, and were
glad to make off with five riderless horses, two men upon one horse, and
leaving three lying quite still on the ground. Thereafter the picket
continued to retreat unmolested.
Indeed, the New Year opened well, and many little things seem to favour
the hope that it is the turning point of the war. Besides our tiny
skirmish on the right, Captain Gough, of the 16th Lancers, on the left,
made his way along a convenient depression, almost to the river bank,
and discovered Boers having tea in their camp at scarcely 1,800 yards.
Forthwith he opened fire, causing great commotion; hurried upsetting of
the tea, scrambling into tents for rifle, 'confounded impudence of these
cursed rooineks! Come quickly Hans, Pieter, O'Brien, and John Smith, and
let us mend their manners. What do they mean by harassing us?' And in a
very few minutes there was a wrathful rattle of firing all along the
trenches on the hillside, which spread far away to the right and left as
other Boers heard it. What the deuce is this? Another attack! Till at
last the Maxim shell gun caught the infection, and began pom, pom, pom!
pom, pom, pom! and so on at intervals. Evidently much angry passion was
aroused in the Boer camp, and all because Captain Gough had been trying
his luck at long range volleys. The situation might have become serious;
the event was, however, fortunate. No smoke betrayed the position of the
scouting party; no bullets found them. A heavy shower of metal sang and
whistled at random in the air. The donga afforded an excellent line of
retreat, and when the adventurous patrol had retired safely into the
camp they were amused to hear the Boers still busy with the supposed
chastisement of their audacious assailants.
But these are small incidents which, though they break the monotony of
the camp, do not alter nor, each by itself, greatly accelerate the
course of the war. Good news came in on New Year's Day from other
quarters. Near Belmont the Canadians and Queenslanders fell on a raiding
or reckless commando, took them on at their own game, hunted them and
shot them among the rocks until the white flag was upon the right side
for once and hoisted in honest surrender. Forty prisoners and twenty
dead and wounded; excellent news to all of us; but causing amazing joy
in Natal, where every colonist goes into an ecstacy over every crumb of
British success.
Moreover, we have good news from East London. General Gatacre is
stolidly and patiently repairing the opening misfortune of his
campaign: has learned by experience much of the new conditions of the
war. Strange that the Boers did not advance after their victory;
stranger still that they retired from Dordrecht. Never mind whether
their stillness be due to national cautiousness or good defensive
arrangements. Since they don't want Dordrecht, let us go there; and
there we go accordingly. Out of this there arises on New Year's Day a
successful skirmish, in the account of which the name of De Montmorency
is mentioned. In Egypt the name was associated with madcap courage. Here
they talk of prudent skill. The double reputation should be valuable.
And, perhaps, the best news of all comes from Arundel, near Colesberg,
where Generals French and Brabazon with the cavalry column--for it is
nearly all mounted--are gradually sidling and coaxing the Boers back out
of the Colony. They are a powerful combination: French's distinguished
military talents, and Brabazon's long and deep experience of war. So,
with this column there are no frontal attacks--perhaps they are luckier
than we in respect of ground--no glorious victories (which the enemy
call victories, too); very few people hurt and a steady advance, as we
hear on the first day of the year, right up to Colesberg.
Perhaps the tide of war has really begun to turn. Perhaps 1900 is to
mark the beginning of a century of good luck and good sense in British
policy in Africa. When I was a prisoner at Pretoria the Boers showed me
a large green pamphlet Mr. Reitz had written. It was intended to be an
account of the Dutch grounds of quarrel with the English, and was called
'A Century of Wrong.' Much was distortion and exaggeration, but a
considerable part dealt with acknowledged facts. Wrong in plenty there
has been on both sides, but latterly more on theirs than on ours; and
the result is war--bitter, bloody war tearing the land in twain;
dividing brother from brother, friend from friend, and opening a
terrible chasm between the two white races who must live side by side as
long as South Africa stands above the ocean, and by whose friendly
co-operation alone it can enjoy the fullest measure of prosperity. 'A
century of wrong!' British ignorance of South Africa, Boer ignorance of
civilisation, British intolerance, Boer brutality, British interference,
Boer independence, clash, clash, clash, all along the line! and then
fanatical, truth-scorning missionaries, experimental philanthropists,
high-handed jingo administrators, colonial ministers who disliked all
colonies on the glorious principles of theoretic liberalism, bad
generals thinking of their own reputations, not of their country's
success, and a series of miserable events recalled sufficiently well by
their names--Slagter's Nek, Kimberley, Moshesh, Majuba, Jameson, all
these arousing first resentment, then loathing, then contempt, and,
finally, a Great Desire, crystallising into a Great Conspiracy for a
United Dutch South Africa, free from the flag that has elsewhere been
regarded as the flag of freedom. And so inevitably to war--war with
peculiar sadness and horror, in which the line of cleavage springs
between all sorts of well-meaning people that used to know one another
in friendship; but war which, whatever its fortunes, certainly sweeps
the past into obscurity. We have done with 'a century of wrong.' God
send us now 'a century of right.'