SOME SNIPING AND AN EXECUTION
MAFEKING, _January 31st, 1900_.
In itself the situation has not developed over much, but in relation
to the siege there are two tragedies to chronicle. The Boers are still
investing us, in more or less the same numbers, and with but little
difference in the strength of their artillery. Sometimes we miss an
individual piece, judging from its absence that it has been sent north
to reinforce the Dutch who are endeavouring to circumvent the
movements of Colonel Plumer's column. However, these periodical
journeys of the five-pounder Krupp, the one-pounder Maxim, or the
nine-pounder quick-firing Creusot do not last for any great time, and,
as a matter of fact, Commandant Snyman has not permitted himself to be
deprived of any one piece of artillery for much longer than a week.
The garrison here, jumping at conclusions in the absence of any
definite news, finds in these disappearances some slight consolation,
since we at once affirm that Colonel Plumer must have arrived at some
point in which the presence of the enemy's artillery is urgent and
necessary.
[Illustration: War Correspondents and their Bomb-proof Shelters.]
The gun which we would very gladly spare is the one hundred-pounder
Creusot, whose occasional removal from one emplacement to another is a
source of much anxiety to every one in the garrison. In the beginning
of the siege--a date which is now very remote--"Big Ben" hurled its
shells into this unfortunate town from an emplacement at Jackal Tree.
In those days it was almost four miles distant, and we took but little
notice of a gun which flung its projectiles from such a distant range.
Those were the days in which we dug holes by night, and speculated
rather feebly during the day upon the resisting power of the
protection which we had thus thrown up. But the gun moved then to the
south-eastern heights, a matter of barely 4,000 yards from the town,
and of sufficient eminence to dominate every little corner. Those were
the days in which we dug a little deeper and went round trying to
borrow--from people who would not lend--any spare sacks, iron
sleepers, or deals, so that our bomb-proofs might be still further
strengthened. However, as time passed, we even got accustomed to the
gun in its new position, and, much as ever, there were many who felt
inclined to promenade during lapses in the enemy's shell fire. Now,
however, this wretched gun has again been moved, and, according to
those who know the country, is within two miles of the town--a little
matter under 3,000 yards.
In accordance with the fresh position of the Creusot gun we have been
compelled to extend our eastern defences in order that we may, at
least, direct an artillery fire upon their advanced trenches. To the
north-east and south-east we have put forward our guns and to the
south-east have increased a detachment of sharpshooters, who, from a
very early date in the siege, have occupied a position in the
river-bed. These men are only two hundred yards from the sniping posts
of the Boers, and through the cessation of hostilities upon Sundays,
they have grown to recognise one another. Sunday has thus also brought
to the snipers an opportunity of discovering what result their mutual
fire has achieved during the week, and, when from time to time a
figure is missing, either side recognise that to their marksmanship,
at least, that much credit is due. Among the Boers who occupied the
posts in the brickfields were many old men, one of whom, from his
venerable mien, his bent and tottering figure, his long white beard,
and his grey hair, was called grandfather. He had become so identified
with these posts in the brickfields that upon Sundays our men would
shout out to him, some calling him Uncle Paul, others grandfather, and
when the old fellow heard these remarks he would turn and gaze at our
trench in the river-bed, wondering possibly, as he stroked his beard,
brushed his clusters of hair from his forehead, or wiped his brow,
what manner of men those snipers were. He has been known to wave his
hat when in a mood more than usually benign; then we would wave our
hats and cheer, while he, once again perplexed, would, taking his pipe
from his pocket, slowly retrace his steps to his trench. The old man
was a remarkably good shot, and from his post has sent many bullets
through the loopholes in our sandbags. He would go in the early
morning to his fort and he would return at dusk, but in the going and
coming he, alone of the men who were opposing us, was given a safe
passage. One day, however, as the Red Cross flag came out from the
fort, we, looking through our glasses, saw them lift the body of
grandfather into the ambulance. That night there was a funeral, and
upon the following day we learnt that he had been their best marksman.
For ourselves, we were genuinely sorry.
Yesterday there occurred another of those acts of war which illustrate
in such a very striking fashion the silent tragedies which are
enacted, and with which perforce many unwilling people are connected,
during the progress of a campaign. There are, of course, many issues
to the career of a soldier, and perhaps not the least important of
these is the arduous and very dangerous task of collecting
intelligence. In the ranks of society, men who are known to be spies
are regarded with silent contempt, and ostracised from the circle of
their acquaintances, so soon as their calling is ascertained; but the
duties of a military spy differ in almost every respect from the
individual who becomes a social reformer. In the field the military
spy carries his life in his hand, since his capture implies an almost
immediate execution without any possibility of reprieve. Last night
such an occurrence took place at sundown, when, as the sun sank to its
setting, a native, who had been caught within our lines, and who
confessed to be an emissary of the Boers, was taken out and shot.
The spy was a young man, and a native of the stadt, which is a portion
of Mafeking, and one who had accepted the work of carrying information
to the enemy because he did not sufficiently realise the punishment
which would fall upon him, were he to be captured. His instructions
from the Boers had been remarkably explicit, and the sphere of his
activities embraced our entire position. He was to visit the forts,
counting the number of men, and taking special notice of those to
which guns had been attached. He was to report upon the strength of
the garrison, the condition of our horses, the supplies of
foodstuffs, and he was to stay within Mafeking for about ten days. He
was captured a fortnight ago, as he was creeping in, snatching cover
from the bushes and rocks which spread over the south-eastern face of
the town. When he was caught, as though momentarily realising the
possibilities of his fate, he at first refused to say who he was,
whence he came, or what had been his purpose. However, among the
native patrol that had so successfully surprised him were some who
knew him, whereupon he stated that he was simply returning to the
stadt. In the earlier part of the siege almost every native who came
across the lines gave this same excuse, until the suspicion was forced
upon us that the Baralongs were acting in conjunction with the enemy.
However, this was not proved to be the case, the chief repudiating the
suggestion and disclaiming any authority over those natives who
happened to be beyond the lines at the outbreak of the war.
Nevertheless, it had been impossible to prevent the Boers receiving
information through native sources, and for the future, there remained
no alternative but that which implied the immediate execution of
captured spies. An increase in the Cossack posts at night somewhat
checked the mass of information which was carried to the Boers across
our lines, and in an earlier instance, when a native came in from the
Boer camp and said that the big gun had been taken away that morning
upon a waggon, he was given the benefit of forty-eight hours' grace,
with the understanding that, should the gun fire during that period,
he would be at once sentenced to death. For a day this man watched the
emplacement of the big gun, and twenty-four hours passed without
Mafeking receiving any shells from it. The day following was half
over, and it was about noon, when the Boers disproved the story which
they had instructed their spy to tell, and fired into the town. The
man then confessed that his errand had been inimical, and that he
himself was hostile to our interests. At dusk the sentence of the
Summary Court of Jurisdiction was carried out, and that spy was shot.
But this other at no time seemed to understand the gravity of his
offence, and when we captured him he informed his captors and the
Court that he himself had meant no harm. However, he confessed,
endeavouring to minimise his offence by showing that at the moment of
his capture he had gathered no information, yet his pleas were futile,
and he at last seemed to understand that his doom was sealed. From
then, as he returned to the prison to await the execution of his
sentence, he said nothing more.
Last night the shooting party came for him, marching him to a secluded
point upon the south-eastern face, and there they halted him, a silent
figure in a wilderness of rock and scrub. Around him there was the
scene of the veldt at eventide. There was the gorgeous, flaming
sunset, its ruddy gold turning the azure of the sky to clouds of
purple, pale orange, and a deeper blue. Here and there the heavens
were flecked with fleecy clouds, which gambolled gently before the
breeze. In the distance lay the green-clad veldt, simmering a russet
brown beneath the glories of the sunset. At our feet it sloped,
breaking into rocky sluits, banked up with bushes; over all there was
the zephyr, tempering the heat. It was a moment meant for rejoicing in
the beauty of earth's loveliness rather than for dimming it with the
sadness of some crimson act. Presently we arrived, and as we bent
across the slope the blood-red stream of passing sunlight played
around the shallow heap of earth, thrown out from this man's final
resting-place. It was visible, much as were the deeper shadows of the
excavation some seventy yards away, when, as though wishing to spare
the prisoner, his eyes were bandaged by the officers of the party.
With that a sudden silence fell upon us, and each seemed to feel that
he were walking within the shadows of the valley of death. The
prisoner, supported on either arm, stumbled in the partial blindness
of the bandage, seeming, now that his last hour was at hand, to be
more careless, more light-hearted than any of the party. Then we
halted, and he was asked whether there were anything further which he
wished to say, and he was warned for the last time. He shook his head
somewhat defiantly, but his lips moved, and in his heart one could
almost hear the muttered curses. Then for a space he stood still, and
a few yards distant, in fact some ten paces, the firing party formed
across his front. There were six of them, with a corporal and the
officer in command of the post, and there was that other, who in a
little was to pay the penalty of his crime. There was a moment of
intense silence as we waited for the sun to set, in which the nerves
seemed to be but little strings of wire, played upon by the emotions.
Unconsciously, each seemed to stiffen, as we waited for the word of
the officer, feeling that at every pulsation one would like to shriek
"Enough, enough!" As we stood the prisoner spoke, unconscious of the
preparations, and the officer approached him. He wanted, he said, to
take a final glance at the place that he had known since his
childhood. His prayer was granted, and as he faced about, the bandage
across his eyes was, for a few brief minutes, dropped upon his neck.
In that final look he seemed to realise what he was suffering. The
stadt lay before him, the place of his childhood, the central pivot
round which his life had turned, bathed in a sunset which he had often
seen before, and which he would never see again. There were the cattle
of his people, there were the noises of the stadt, the children's
voices, the laughter of the women, and there was the smoke of his camp
fires. It was all his once--he lived there and he was to die there,
but to die in a manner which was strange and horrible. Then he looked
beyond the stadt and scanned the enemy's lines. Tears welled in his
eyes, and the force of his emotion shook his shoulders. But again he
was himself: the feeling had passed, and he drew himself erect. Then
once more the bandage was secured, and he faced about. The sun was
setting, and as the officer stepped back and gave his orders, a
fleeting shudder crossed the native's face. Bayonets were fixed, the
men were ready and the rifles were presented. One gripped one's palms.
"Fire!" said the officer. Six bullets struck him--four were in the
brain.