comfort and luxury of home; and if one has wandered about for weeks
without seeing woman or child, one learns to appreciate their gentleness
and charm and to understand Schiller's Züchtige Hausfrau in 'Das Lied
von der Glocke.' How often in our wanderings we longed for good
literature during our long, tiring, monotonous rides! And how terrible
was the thought of the moral hurt we were suffering--voluntarily in a
way, yet forced to it by a sense of honour and duty. For in this lay the
grievousness of the war, that a powerful nation--influenced by a few
unscrupulous leaders--was trying to annihilate a small nation that
demanded the right of existence, and was therefore forced to defend that
right. It was a happy time for us when we had the opportunity of turning
our thoughts towards literature and other things than commando work.
The privations that we had already endured were small indeed in
comparison to those which awaited us. It was well with the Uitlander
optimist who remained in our country while the Republics could give him
the comforts he demanded as his right, but who, as soon as things went
wrong, and he saw nothing but misery in the future, left for his own
country--there to sit in judgment on our peasant-nation. How I long for
the gift of being able to express myself, to give a true account of the
self-denial of our burghers and of the misery that we endured! How my
heart bleeds when I think of the great sorrow that has come upon my poor
people!
When the enemy approached the Delagoa railway-line, President Steyn left
with his escort for Hectorspruit. I had to follow with a trolley for
which there was no room on the train. Because of the disorder that
reigned everywhere I had to wait nearly three days before I could start.
I was pretty nearly famished on my arrival at Hectorspruit, and ate
greedily of the remains of the porridge left by some burghers, among
whom were two sons of State Secretary Reitz. President Steyn's lager had
in the meanwhile become 250 men strong, under Commandant Lategan, and
was then at Krokodil River.
At Nelspruit I met a couple of old friends, Malherbe and Celliers, with
whom I left for the lager. They were both Transvaalers who had been
studying in Holland, but had returned before finishing their studies on
account of the war. The commando was well supplied with weapons and
ammunition, as the Delagoa Bay line brought plenty to our store. What
became of the rest I do not know, as President Steyn was in a hurry and
our commando left first for the North.
The ford at Krokodil River was about fifty paces wide--made for the
occasion and difficult to cross. The trolleys and waggons that had to
cross to the lager on the opposite side gave us much trouble, as they
sank deep into the sand. We harnessed a double span of oxen to the
waggons, undressed ourselves, and had to swim alongside the animals to
get them through. Occasionally something dropped from one of the waggons
and had to be fished up in a hurry to save it from the strong current.
There was much shouting and laughter, and if any crocodile had been in
the neighborhood he would have suppressed his hunger until the storm was
over.
On the banks of the river there was a constant shooting at fish and game,
and even at crocodiles, who showed themselves occasionally. There was
game in abundance. It seemed as if all the game of the Transvaal, that
is becoming so scarce, had fled to this part.
We were on our way to Pietersburg through the Boschveld of South-East
Lydenburg, which might be called a desert in winter. It was a journey
difficult even for a trek Boer, and more than difficult for a large
commando. A man called Bester was our guide. Some two years before he
had made the same journey on a hunting expedition, and now he was able
to follow the ruts which the wheels of his waggon had made then, and
which would be in all probability deepened by the summer rains. Our
means of transport were chiefly carts and trolleys, on which we also put
our bedding to lighten the burden of our riding horses.
VIII
WITH PRESIDENT STEYN IN THE BOSCHVELD--LOST
On September 12 we left the Krokodil River early in the morning, after
first watering our cattle and filling our water-bags. Our guide did not
expect to come across any water before the Sabie--a river several days'
journey further on. There were several springs on the way, but as that
part of the country was so little known, because of its unhealthiness,
no one could tell when the last rains had fallen.
The shrubs and bushes had grown high above the ruts made by the waggon
two years ago, and were a great hindrance to us. The road we followed
twisted and wound rather more than was agreeable, but it was certainly
easy to follow for the lagers that came after us. The horsemen rode next
to the lagers to shoot bucks. We had no 'slaughter-cattle' with us, so
had to live on the game that we shot.
In the neighbourhood of the river we still came across birds and
insects, but the further we went the more monotonous and _dead_ Nature
became. I could never have pictured such a lifeless wood to myself. No
sound of insects was to be heard, no chirp or song of bird; and not even
the trail of a serpent was to be seen.
There was a melancholy stillness. Traces of game were in abundance. It
seemed as if only those animals lived there which, accustomed to the
monotonous silence, withdrew noiselessly from the gaze of the
interloper, or, in their ignorant curiosity, stood still until a
hunter's bullet warned them or put an end to their lives. To them we
must have been strange disturbers of the peace. Shots fell in all
directions; sometimes a whole salvo was discharged when we came upon a
herd of bucks. There were many thornless trees growing in their stately
height far above the usual scrub of the Boschveld. Our horses often
grazed on the sweet buffalo grass that always grows under trees. Looked
at from a rise, the Boschveld appeared to be nothing but trees--trees
as far as the eye could see. One shuddered at the thought of what would
become of anyone who lost his way there, since for miles and miles there
was no water to be seen and no trail to go by. It made one hurry back to
the safety of the lager, trusting to the capability of the guide.
To our great joy, the first spring contained water. It was a large pool
surrounded by rocks, where the game was accustomed to drink. We arrived
there towards afternoon, rested a few hours, and continued our journey
with fresh courage. As the waggons moved too slowly for our liking, we
rode on ahead; but the consequence was that, when it got dark and we
off-saddled, we had no bedding, for nearly all the waggons were obliged
to outspan when darkness set in, as there was no road.
We knee-haltered our horses in case there were lions about, and
collected a large quantity of wood to keep the fire going all night.
That night our talk, of course, ran upon lion-hunting and shooting
expeditions. Then we crept as close to the fire as possible, and were
soon in a troubled, or untroubled, sleep, dreaming of lions and other
wild animals. But I felt the cold very much, and could not sleep without
my rug, and kept turning from side to side to get as much warmth from
the fire as possible. If only I had made two fires! In a battle I have
been between two fires, and did not find it at all agreeable, but in
this case it would have been different.
I lay awake, waiting for the third fire, the red dawn, but not in a
poetical mood. There is a time for everything; that I learnt during the
war. Rain is lovely, and cold gives energy, but one must be warm to
appreciate it. As I lay thus, four mules, tethered together, came closer
and closer up to our fire, grazing all the while. I lay still, listening
to the peculiar noise made by the biting off of each mouthful of grass.
I seemed to expect a joke, and suddenly one of the mules fell on his
back. In a moment all our heroes were up and ready to defend themselves
against lions or khakies, according to their different dreams. I
laughed, and laughed again, so that the hyenas could hear me a mile off,
and the startled lion-hunters began to laugh also, so that we woke up
the whole camp. This little episode made my blood circulate, so that I
very soon also was in the land of dreams.
As the burghers chased all the game on ahead of the lager, the President
and Commandant Boshoff agreed to go in advance, so as to have a chance
of seeing the numerous kinds of wild buck and larger game. I went with
them. Greatly to my distress I forgot to ask our guide what direction we
would take that day with regard to the sun. An experienced hunter would
not have forgotten it, as he knows from experience that in the
excitement of the chase we often leave the beaten track. I had to pay
dearly for my forgetfulness. I rode some distance to the left of the
President, but took care to keep him in sight. But the Boer is
wonderfully disobedient to any authority, and not long after two men
made their appearance to my left, and I saw that if I did not look out
they would be ahead of me in no time, and chase all the game away from
me. As the donga next to which we rode seemed to be a favourite resort
for game, I took the same direction as they did, more to the left. The
dongas ran into each other with numerous bends and curves, and were
sometimes overgrown with high grass, then again quite bare. I paid no
attention to the direction we took.
After a while one of the men wounded a buck, and they both rode into the
donga after it. I rode on, to cross the donga a little further on, so as
not to have to follow in the track of the other two, and saw a red buck
on the other side, which I wounded so badly that it seemed unnecessary
to fire again, and I rode leisurely towards it. But when I had crossed
the donga the buck had disappeared, and I began to seek for the traces
of blood, but I soon had to give up the search, not to lose sight of the
other two men. They, however, seemed to be a great distance off, as I
did not overtake them, and I did not succeed in tracing them in the
direction that the wounded buck had led them, as the track in the grass
was invisible to my inexperienced eye.
I rode back to the donga, and deliberated on the course to take. In all
directions I heard shots, right and left, but I stood irresolute. I had
no watch with me to find the four quarters of the wind, but the sun had
only just risen, and I made a guess with an imaginary compass. It was
lucky for me that I made such a good guess, and had paid great attention
to the direction we had taken with regard to the sun. I was certain that
I should come upon the traces of the lager if only I kept within the
sides of a right angle, unless the lager had at the start taken a sharp
turn to the right or left.
But it was possible that in our excitement we might have crossed the
waggon track which the lager was to follow; then the lager would be far
to the right. Standing thus like the ass between two bundles of hay, I
was not in the mood to think lightly of my case, but had to act at once,
so I chose the safest and more probable of the two sides of my right
angle--namely, the left, as I would then in any case not be moving
towards Portuguese territory, and could always turn to the Krokodil
River.
I felt pretty certain now, as it was more probable that we had not
crossed the old waggon tract, and every moment I expected to hear the
switching of the long whips. But when I had gone some distance I was
obliged to return to the donga, and retrace my way to the place where we
had slept. A clever Boer would have succeeded in finding the way back,
but I soon lost my way altogether. I lost the traces of the horse's
hoofs, and the dongas looked to me so different that in one place where
a donga branched off I did not know which to follow. An intense feeling
of desolation took possession of me. Lost in a wilderness without food
or water! I thought of the twelve or thirteen men who got lost in this
wood on a hunting expedition, and of whom only one was saved. A great
fear came upon me. Gradually I became calmer, and tried to form some
plan of action. I resolved to keep to the left, where I had already seen
a solitary mountain. Perhaps water was to be found there.
My gun was loaded with Dum-Dum bullets, specially prepared for bucks. I
had filed through the steel to the lead, so that the bullet would expand
at once when it came into contact with bone. I found a buck tame in its
very wildness, but I missed it, for the aim of my gun, a fine sporting
Mauser, had been bent by the branches of the trees. It was a good thing
that I did not come across a lion, or, rather, that a lion did not come
across me.
I had to ride under trees, through shrubs and grass, and had to keep a
sharp look-out, as the king of beasts sometimes takes the lords of
creation unawares. And I had to look out for an opportunity to shoot a
buck--the only food within my reach. The nearer I came to the mountain,
the surer I was that I had lost my way completely, and the more I became
reconciled to my fate. I planned how I should build a large fire in the
night for myself and my horse, and how I should defend myself against a
lion with a burning piece of wood.
Suddenly my horse went faster and pushed to the left. Greatly to my
astonishment, I saw that the attraction was a little stream of water
that he had scented in a donga. I off-saddled, and let my horse graze in
the luxuriant grass.
Now I was strengthened in my belief that I had taken the wrong
direction, for we were all under the impression that we should not soon
reach water. I prepared some more Dum-Dum bullets with a small file that
I carried in my pocket, and did not let my horse graze long, but
hastened to the mountain to find a better shelter for the night. To my
great joy, I came upon the wide road about a thousand paces further on.
I followed the road along the mountain for half an hour, when I came
upon the lager, camped near a stream--probably the same stream at which
I and my horse had quenched our thirst.
As we sat round our fires that night we heard shots fired in the
distance from the direction that we had come. Some men were sent out
immediately, and returned after a while with a man quite exhausted from
hunger and thirst, and paralyzed with fear; he had been unable to
overtake the lager.
IX
PRACTICAL HINTS--ADVENTURE ON THE SABIE--NORTH OF LYDENBURG
Experience teaches us. The knowledge that we have gained in this war we
must pass on to the coming generation. It may be of use in a war of the
future, or on some other occasion. Therefore Oom Dietlof will take this
opportunity to give his nephews in South Africa some practical hints
that may be of use to a burgher in his travels or in a war. If anyone
loses his way in the same way that I have just described, he must
remember the following way of finding the four quarters of the wind:
The small hand of a watch describes a circle in twelve hours, while the
apparent movement of the sun round the earth is in twenty-four hours.
The movement of the small hand is therefore twice as fast as that of
the sun. If one points the small hand of a horizontal-lying watch to the
sun at twelve o'clock, then the hands and the figure XII. lie in the
meridian as well as the sun.
In the northern half-circle the sun and the hands move in the same
direction. In one hour's time the small hand goes a distance of 360°/12
= 30°, and the sun goes a distance of 360°/24 = 15°. If at one o'clock
one points the small hand of a horizontal-lying watch to the sun, the
line that divides the acute angle between the figures I. and XII. lies
in the meridian. So one can always find the meridian.
In the southern half-circle the sun and hands move in opposite
directions, therefore one must point the figure XII. to the sun, and
then divide the acute angle between the figure XII. and the small hand
to find the meridian.
In this way one can at any time find out the direction one has taken.
But everyone has not always a good watch, and the sun sometimes hides
behind the clouds. Then it is better to have a good compass--but better
still not to lose one's way.
Besides such simple articles as a pocket-knife, a water-bag, etc.,
which are indispensable to a traveller in our country, everyone ought to
carry with him a good plaster, a nosebag, and some snake poison; maize
(mealies) for his horse, the cheapest and most strengthening food that
we know of, can always be carried in the nosebag. Snake poison prepared
by a good Kaffir doctor is the only cure for snake-bites or the bite of
any poisonous insect. The Kaffirs prepare it from some (to us) unknown
shrub, and from the poison of the most venomous snake, which they make
into a powder. This powder is used as an antidote by swallowing a small
dose--enough to cover the point of a pocket-knife--and also by applying
some to the bite, after first having cut an opening into the bitten part
with a pocket-knife. Some people protect themselves against the poison
of a snake-bite by regularly swallowing some of the poison and
vaccinating themselves with it. One can even protect one's self in this
way against the bite of the poisonous file-snake of the Boschveld--a
snake the shape of a three-cornered file, sometimes from 3 to 4 feet
long. It is a fact that the person whose body is proof against the
poison of a snake-bite is never bitten, as he is feared by snakes.
Formerly I doubted it, but I have myself seen people who have made
themselves proof against a bite in this way, and I have also heard it
from people in whom I have the utmost faith.
Alcohol is also a good antidote, provided one takes it immediately and
in such quantities that it goes to the head. I would recommend everyone
always to take a small quantity of brandy with him on commando, if
experience had not taught me that some take even a mosquito-bite as an
excuse to 'take a drop,' and I am against that on principle.
Often while loading my horse the thought struck me whether the poor
brute ever had a wish to protest, 'Surely this is becoming too bad!' and
that reminds me that one must be very careful not to overload. The
knapsack must not be filled with kaboe mealies (roasted maize) for one's
self, while the nosebag of the poor horse remains empty.
More than one prisoner of war has bitterly regretted that he did not
take his horse's power of endurance into greater consideration. Now I
must take up the thread of my tale.
The following morning the lager would start at three o'clock, and, as
my horse was in good condition, the owner of the horse that had been
left behind asked me to fetch it before the lager left. He explained to
me where I would find it tied to a tree about half an hour's ride from
the lager, so I started with a friend at about two o'clock at night. On
the way we came across a mule that had wandered away while grazing,
ignorant of all the danger he was exposing himself to in the uninhabited
Boschveld. The creature gave us much trouble by refusing to be caught
and constantly dodging behind a tree, so we lost a great deal of time.
On our way back, close to the lager, we heard the whine of the wild-dog,
the well-known feared wolf. We thought it very interesting to come
across a wild animal of which we had no fear just then. But when we
reached the camping-ground of the lager, where only the trolley stood to
which the wandering mule belonged, we found to our surprise that both
white men and Kaffirs had given up the search for the mule for fear of
the wild-dog. They had all congregated round large fires. The wild-dog,
however, is harmless by himself; like the khakies, his strength lies in
numbers. We had to leave the sick horse to join the bucks of the
Boschveld on its recovery, until the horse-sickness came. After a long,
tiring, but very interesting ride we arrived at the Sabie, where the
rest of the lager was already encamped. The Sabie is about the size of
the Krokodil River, and its scenery of woods and valleys formed a sharp
contrast to the deadly monotony of the Boschveld that lay behind us. We
had crossed the bare desert and were now in a part of the country
inhabited by Kaffirs. The following day the lager was removed half an
hour further on, and there we remained a few days.
At night four of us were persuaded to go eel-catching in a
crocodile-pool that we had discovered a little further on. We made a
large fire to entice the eels, and, as we were none of us great lovers
of angling, we made a splendid bonfire, as there was plenty of dry wood
to be had.
There was something particularly attractive in these large fires on
those quiet, dark nights of the wilderness. The glow threw a sombre
light on the water that gave one a creepy feeling, as if a crocodile
were on the watch for us in the water, and lions at our back between
the large trees. What must they have thought of us?
The bank of the river seemed to be about 6 feet high, and not very
steep. We made the fire closer and closer to what seemed the bank. I saw
someone lift up a huge branch, walk to the bank with it, and plant his
left foot firmly on the ground. The reeds gave way beneath him. What
seemed a firm bank, by the glow of the fire, proved to be a mass of
reeds and grass, and the poor man fell down a height of 6 feet, his fall
being hastened by the heavy branch he held. For a moment we stood
irresolute. To jump after him into a crocodile-pool! But he called for
help, and we had to act immediately. Fortunately, one acts almost
instinctively in such cases. One of the others slid down the bank--the
thought striking him: 'If only there are not two crocodiles!' Landing on
a horizontal branch, he stretched out his hand to the drowning man,
someone else took hold of his left hand, and so they were both saved. If
a crocodile had been in the neighbourhood, he would probably have stood
on the defensive. Such a queer, two-legged animal who led the attack in
such a strange but decided way must have roused his respect.
This piece of fun put an end to our eel-fishing. We had caught only one
eel--and a man.
The following morning there was parade for President Steyn. His speech
to us was touching and to the point, and showed that he believed in a
good ending to the war, if the burghers were capable of enduring such
hardships as at present. Then he also told us in what a hurry he was to
reach his burghers, as he was afraid that the enemy were doing all in
their power to make them turn against him. We all liked President Steyn
very much.
On our journey through the Selatie Goldfields, past the Marietje River
to Pilgrim's Rest, we crossed the steepest mountain that I have ever
seen. A double span of oxen was harnessed to each waggon. The oxen were
lent us for the occasion by the Boers living on the plateau in front of
us. After every few steps upwards we had to put stones under the wheels
to prevent the waggons from slipping back. It took our little lager
nearly all day to reach the plateau. Then we had a most magnificent
view of the Boschveld that lay behind us. In the distance the Lobombo
Mountains were visible on the boundary of the Portuguese and Transvaal
territory. The first rains had fallen on the plateau, so the green grass
was a refreshing change for our eyes. The horses would be able to graze
well, and the good feeding would soon make them lose their old coats,
and then they would be sleek and glossy again.
From the high plateau we descended, over a 'lumpy' veld, with an oasis
here and there in a hole or valley, or on the top of a hill, to
Pilgrim's Rest. Some miles before we reached this little town we passed
beside the water-works that supply a strong stream of water for the
machinery of the gold-mines. We simply stormed the shops, that were
still well supplied with provisions, and bought all sorts of luxuries
and necessaries for our journey. From Pilgrim's Rest we once more
crossed a steep mountain, along a road that for length and height has
not its equal. In the neighbourhood of Ohrigstad, a little town that we
left to our right, I asked a Boer woman whether the fever did not make
one's life impossible there, and I got a very naïf reply: 'No; this
year the fever was not so bad. We all got ill, but not one of us died.'