and waggons--long rows of vehicles filled with poor, terror-stricken
women and children; large herds of cattle were driven along by the
Kaffir servants, but many of them fell into the enemy's hands. The
burghers did their best to make a stand in order to give the waggons a
good start, but retreated in good order when they saw no chance of
checking the enemy's forward movement. Fortunately, a heavy shower fell
in the afternoon and hindered the enemy in their advance, else many a
waggon would have fallen into their hands.
It was no longer necessary for the burghers to resist for the sake of
the waggons. The enemy had camped and left us, with the exception of the
guard, to plod our way shamefacedly through the mud. Our ponies, with
their quick, peculiar gait, soon caught up the heavily-laden waggons,
and we supplied ourselves with mealies, flour, fowls, etc., that had
been thrown overboard or left behind on a broken-down waggon. Such is
the fortune of war, and the things were better in our hands than in
those of the khakies.
When we rode up alongside the waggons, many a meeting took place between
relatives and friends who had been parted for months. The women and
girls drove the horses, and many of them walked with the Kaffirs in the
mud next to the oxen. They did the work of the men in time of peace.
Many of them had been delicately nurtured, in spite of the simplicity of
their lives, and were not accustomed to the hard work. They were all
Transvaal women, and wives and daughters of the burghers who had to look
on helplessly at their sad flight. And, oh! the dear little heads of
the children that peeped at us from out of the waggons! It was a cruel
sight, and it moved us strangely.
Although most of the women were drenched, they were all cheerful, and
seemed proud of taking an active part in the great struggle. And if a
young man asked a girl whether he should ride next to her to help her,
the answer was: 'No, thank you, we can manage; the men must fight now.'
There were many old men and boys who preferred the society of the women
to the danger of the bombs. Some of the women were not kind, and
reproached us for being the cause of all this misery, as our appearance
in the Hoogeveld had brought the enemy in its train.
The waggons were heavily laden with furniture and grain, some even with
stoves, and they sank deep into the mud, as the roads were one mass of
mud after the numerous waggons and thousands of cattle that had already
passed along them. Long rows of vehicles were continually approaching
from all sides, all going in the same direction, and when we came to
Waterval River a sad but grand sight met our eyes. The river was full.
Hundreds of waggons had been outspanned on the banks on either side.
The women and children were doing their best to light the fires with the
wet wood, and to cook some food. It was just before sunset, but there
was no sun to cheer them on their way.
Against the sides of the mounds (bulten) the cattle were moving in black
dense masses, making an almost deafening noise with their bleating and
lowing. As we rode through the full river, we saw in mid-stream a cart
that had stuck fast. A woman was standing in the water pushing at the
back, while a girl held the reins. A few of our men jumped down from
their horses and soon succeeded in getting the cart to the other side.
But we could not stay to help the poor women and children. We rode on,
inquiring everywhere after the trolleys and the commissariat. These were
higher up on the other side of the river, so we had to cross once more,
this time in the dark, at the risk of our lives.
Two little girls were drowned that evening, and the wheel of a waggon
had passed over a girl's body. It had been better if the women had
stayed at home and depended on the mercy of the enemy. They should not
have undertaken this terrible journey. A woman cannot flee from place to
place like a man, and life in a 'refugee'(?) camp would have been
better; she should bear her sorrow bravely at home. And this was only
the beginning of the misery. If they had remained at home, they might
have saved their homes, but now the enemy was sure to destroy and burn
the deserted farms.
During the day, when the flight was still a novelty, the women and girls
were cheerful enough, but who can describe their heartache and misery
during their enforced journey on the rainy nights? I do not know how all
those waggons and cattle got through the swollen river that night.
Twenty paces from where I lay a waggon was being inspanned; I heard the
voices of men and women. An old man was talking. He threatened to
off-load all the women on the first available place, as he had never in
his life had so much trouble. A small boy and a Kaffir had their turn
also; the boy was on horseback and led, or rather dragged, another horse
that refused to move. He had to collect the cattle, which seemed to me
almost an impossible task in the dark, among the many horses of the
burghers. When he had found Kindermeid, Witlies had disappeared, and
when Witlies was found, then Vaalpens was missing again. Kindermeid, a
gray ox, was the most troublesome. Repeatedly it passed by me, followed
by the boy dragging the unwilling horse. Then the boy exclaimed in sad,
shrill tones, 'See how the mare jibs!' When his father angrily asked,
'Have you found Kindermeid now?' he answered, 'Yes, father, but now
Vaalpens is missing; the mare jibs so, I can't get the cattle together!'
When he had found them all and the rumbling of their waggon was dying
away in the distance, I still heard him complain of the unwilling mare,
in his sad, shrill little voice. It was a small episode in my life that
I shall not easily forget. This was the last I saw of the flight of the
women, for we had to stay behind to fight as we were retreating. Later
on I heard many sad tales about it, which I cannot repeat in this little
book of mine.
The poor women and children were indeed to be pitied, but we had no
sympathy with the men who fled in the winter with their cattle to the
Boschveld, and now sought our protection, though they had never fought
themselves. The flight with the cattle was necessary, as the enemy would
otherwise have exterminated them, but many of the men took advantage of
the necessity, and sometimes three or four strong, sturdy men went with
one waggon, where one man would have been ample.
XV.
BATTLE OF CHRISSIESMEER--REUNION WITH GENERAL BEYERS
I will not describe our retreat, as nothing of importance occurred. We
were constantly on the alert to move before the cunning French entrapped
us within the circle that he was trying to draw around us.
At Trichardsfontein Malherbe and I had to go in search of our horses,
which had strayed, so we were separated from our commando for some days.
When we found our horses we went to Ermelo, and stayed there until the
enemy were so close upon us that General Louis Botha, who happened to be
at Ermelo, and knew of our arrival, sent to say that we must leave the
town. We then joined his force and rode to Spion Kop.
'In the land of the blind the one-eyed is king!' Even so it was with
Spion Kop of the Hoogeveld Ermelo. During the three years of my
University life in that distant little country that stands by us now so
well in our need, I often climbed a hill about the size of Spion Kop.
That hill is famed for its height throughout the whole country, and
bears the formidable name of 'the Amersfoort Mountain.'
While the officers were holding a council of war, Malherbe and I rode
off to our commando. At Klipstapel we were allowed a few days' breathing
time, and there we prepared for the night attack on Smith-Dorrien's
camp, to the north of us. But our guide lost his way in the dark, and we
had to return. It was decided, nevertheless, to attempt the attack the
following night at Chrissiesmeer, where the camp was then. We had
everything in our favour. We were a strong force of many commandos, and
the enemy's force was not much larger.
That evening we were placed in quite a different order from the usual
one. The men of each corporal's division rode next to each other. The
Commandant or Veld-Kornet at the head, followed by the corporal with his
ten or fifteen men riding abreast, was followed by the next corporal
riding abreast with his men, etc. On looking back from the top of the
hill in the moonlight, one saw a broad dark mass of fierce, determined
men. Nearly every burgher had one or two extra horses, mostly mares with
foals, that we had commandeered and trained during our retreat on the
Hoogeveld. At that time every horse, trained or untrained, was put to
use. It was a pity that the mares with their foals were not left behind,
as they made a terrible noise with their whinnying. We walked our
horses; we were not allowed to utter a word or to light our pipes--that
was reasonable; but the neighing of the horses was not exactly in
accordance with our silence. Every now and again, when the whinnying of
the mares was at its worst, some burgher or other would give vent to an
exclamation of impatience. Every now and again someone or other would
light his pipe, taking care that neither the Veld-Kornet nor the enemy
should see it. A dead silence reigned everywhere, broken only by the
mares and their foals. These beasts caused us great uneasiness, but so
did the order we received that we had to shoot sharp at the beginning
of the attack, but then slowly, until it became light, so as to save
some of our ammunition in case of need. We had to attack in the dark
then. But what if the enemy, prepared for our arrival, were to pepper at
us unexpectedly from a different direction, or to point their Maxims at
us?
The greatest mistake of all was that we took our horses right up to the
hill on the other side of which the khakies were. The horses were tired
and had ceased neighing, but we should have left them some miles behind
and walked on to make the attack as soon as it was light. An uncle of
mine told me that he saw some men on horseback riding over the bull,
whom he took to be our spies, but they were of course the enemy's guard.
When we had tethered our horses at the foot of the bult, we climbed up
slowly, but before we could fall into position the enemy opened a sharp
fire at us. We charged shouting 'Hurrah!' in wild enthusiasm, and fired
as fast as we could straight ahead. The sparks flew up some twenty paces
in front of us, and even after the fight we could not tell whether they
came from our own guns or from those of the enemy. At intervals we
heard the tick-tick-tick of a small Maxim, but owing to the dark we were
not mown down. Some of the burghers threw themselves down behind us, and
involuntarily one thought of the proverb, 'to hide in another's blood.'
Whenever the firing slackened a few of our brave men charged, shouting
out encouraging words, and again raised our enthusiasm. Both burghers on
my right and on my left were wounded. The latter had a most demoralizing
influence on the rest of the men, as he lay groaning and moaning in a
heart-rending way. He was only slightly wounded, and eventually escaped
on horseback. Our brave Commandant Botman went forward ten paces beyond
the rest in his enthusiasm, and served as a target for the enemy. He was
severely wounded, but walked back without a moan and fell down close
behind me. I did not even know that he was wounded. I turned round to
see if the burghers behind me would not take the initiative in the
inevitable flight, as I was ashamed to take it upon myself. I did not
take it at all amiss, therefore, when I saw several men looking round to
see if the way were clear, and darting like an arrow back to their
horses, for all round us our men were being shot down, and we did not
know where the enemy's camp was, nor could we tell the effect of our
shooting in the dark. A slight fog had arisen, through which the moon
occasionally succeeded in dimly appearing. The day had dawned; we
reached our horses in the greatest disorder, and heightened the
confusion by shouting inquiries to each other after friends and
relatives. Some did not wait to find their horses, but fled on foot;
others jumped on strange horses. Some even escaped on khaki horses that
had strayed from the camp.
As my brother and I galloped off, a man fell wounded close behind us,
and the bullet struck the ground between us. The burghers rallied at a
farm in the neighbourhood of the enemy's camp. Some of our men fled on,
but most of them retreated with the guns to the commissariat trolleys,
many without saddle, mackintosh or blanket, more hopelessly impoverished
than ever, but not discouraged, for although the attack had been
repulsed we were not defeated.
In this lay our strength, that we were not disheartened by our defeats,
but were able constantly to rally and to renew the attack. We kept on
exhausting the enemy by slight skirmishes that are not worth relating,
but their effect on the whole weakened him and strengthened us.
On our side that day there were forty wounded, but only a few killed. It
grieved us all that Commandant Botman had remained behind on the
battle-field. He was universally liked for his bravery and for his
simple Christianity. To our great joy, we heard later on that he had
recovered, and had somehow succeeded in reaching Krugersdorp.
Fortunately, the fog prevented the enemy from doing us much harm, and
towards afternoon our cannon put a stop to their advance.
The attack on Smith-Dorrien's camp was worthy of a better result. In
this, as well as in the Hekpoort and Boesmanskop battles, where also we
had no position, the burghers showed great courage and goodwill. In my
opinion, the officers should have given up the plan of attack after we
had missed our way the night before and been obliged to return. The
Kaffirs and traitors must have warned the enemy of our intention to
attack, so that they could be in readiness for us.
The enemy were now all round us. We heard the firing of cannon on all
sides, but that same night we undertook a cunning backward movement, and
when the enemy closed their cordon an hour later the bird had flown. We
were careful to avoid a repetition of Cronje's experience.
The burghers were very anxious about our lager. We had left it on
Brown's farm on the Wilgeriver, when our commando advanced towards
Boesmanskop. How the lager escaped I do not know, for we heard that the
enemy were advancing from all sides--Standerton, Middelburg, etc. But we
reached it in safety the very night that we slipped through the enemy's
cordon.
We were now safely on our way back to Rustenburg, and had to leave
General French with his 30,000 or 40,000 men to drive along helpless
women and children, and all the cattle he could lay hands on.
Commandant-General Louis Botha had strictly forbidden the women to leave
their farms after the Battle of Boesmanskop, so that the enormous woman
lager received no new additions.
Many of the farms were burned down, but some families had been left
unmolested, because they said the enemy were ill at ease, owing to a
rumour that General Beyers was going to attack them in the rear. The
partly-burned granaries bore evidence to the great hurry the enemy were
in. On some farms the very rooms that contained grain were set on fire.
Our constant retreat had a most demoralizing influence. This was felt
even in our conversation and our expressions. We called this retreating
'kamping,'[A] and it became one of our most common expressions in our
daily life. For 'Let us go!' we said 'Let us kamp!' or for 'This evening
we start!' we said 'This evening we go on the kamp!' A typical
expression was 'kamping' for our independence, when we could no longer
withstand the enemy. If anyone boasted of his loyalty to his country and
people, he merely said that he had 'kamped' along with the burghers
wherever they had 'kamped.' We used in our conversation many military
terms; for instance, 'to change one's position' was 'to go and lie with
your saddle on another place.' 'I shall mauser you' meant 'I shall
strike you.'
At Grootpan General Beyers again joined us, after having done the enemy
some harm at Boksburg. He addressed us and explained his reason for
countermanding the attack on Krugersdorp. He had told the secret to a
few of his officers, who made it public property, so that the enemy had
heard of it and were prepared for the attack.
Moreover, a great fault of the burghers had come to light at
Nooitgedacht--namely, that they shirked their duty in their eagerness
for plunder. He was afraid that if they took the town their plundering
spirit would get the better of them and so give the enemy a chance of
catching them or putting them to flight. Lastly he said that he was
going to act in opposition to the orders received from the
Commandant-General, and would send the Zoutpansbergers and Waterbergers
home that evening, as it was impossible for them in their condition to
undertake any military operations. He himself also was going home, but
would return after a few weeks, as a large commando, led if possible by
himself, was to invade Cape Colony.
Kemp was made fighting General; the Rev. Mr. Kriel left with General
Beyers; Klaassen took the place of Kemp, and Liebenberg was appointed
Field-Cornet of our commando.
The return to their homes of the Waterbergers and Zoutpansbergers roused
a feeling of dissatisfaction in us. Owing to the horse-sickness in those
regions, and the home-sickness of the men themselves, we concluded that
we were not likely to see them again. We also thought it would have been
better to have invaded the Colony long ago, instead of aimlessly
wandering about the Hoogeveld as we had been doing. In all probability
our Generals put off the invasion as long as possible because many of
the men--nearly all the Waterbergers and Zoutpansbergers--were against
it. Such were the difficulties against which our Generals had to fight.
In private, both Kemp and Beyers acknowledged to me that a march into
the Colony was strictly necessary. I do not mean to criticise, but only
to give an idea of the spirit reigning among the burghers at that time.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote A: 'Trappers.']
XVI
CAMPED NEAR TAFELKOP
General Beyers' force was again split into small commandos, which it was
the intention of our officers to join into one large force, and so make
their way through the ranks of the enemy. But this plan was not a
success, for the enemy were too strong for us.
The Krugersdorp and Pretoriadorp commandos one night crossed the railway
within sight of the khaki camp-lights at Irene Station--quite close to
our capital, in full view of khaki's warning, 'No admittance!' We passed
Zwartkop, crossed Dwarsvlei, and had to turn back to the right through
Hartleyskloof, as we came across a camp of the enemy. We then entered
the Moot district, dreaded for its terrible horse-sickness, and in the
beginning of March we arrived at Tafelkop, to the north-east of
Lichtenburg, near Mabaalstad.
Once, as I lay resting against my saddle, I heard an old Boer telling of
the courage and hopefulness among the burghers from whom he came. They
talked of nothing but peace. It was their belief that a European
Sovereign on marriage may make a request which must be granted. He may
even ask a million pounds or somebody's head, and cannot be refused. So,
they said, Queen Wilhelmina had risen to make her speech at her wedding,
and had requested absolute independence for the Republics. The Kings and
Princes were against it, but could not break the old custom, and
therefore peace would soon reign over our country. But such talk of
'peace' was an exception, not the rule. After the terrible experience of
the last months, we had become resigned to our fate, and did not try to
anticipate the future. We knew that we must fight with courage and
energy, and the rest we left in God's hands. We had ceased to be curious
about the plans of our Generals, which were never made known to us.
Exhausted in body and spirit, we took no account of time. It was all
one to us whether it were morning, noon or night; whether we had to
march one, two, or three hours longer; whether we had to march at all,
or to remain where we were. But we were not demoralized, not unnerved.
An overworked horse allows himself to be caught and ill-treated afresh.
The enemy, had only to fire at us to rouse our slumbering energy, for we
suffered voluntarily, and were a support to each other, because of our
firm conviction that we were giving our lives for the sake of our
independence.
It rained when we arrived at Tafelkop, and when we had been there a week
it still rained. The only clothes we possessed were beginning to rot on
our bodies. Some of the burghers had a change of clothes on the
trolleys; others made themselves trousers of their many-coloured
blankets, in which they cut a remarkable figure. Others, again, were in
tatters, and had to disappear on the few occasions that any lady visited
us. Most of the men had no mackintoshes, but always looked forward to
the sunshine that was sure to follow a heavy shower. But if the rain
continued, we made huts of grass, or clubbed together in the few
remaining tents, or if there happened to be an unburned farmhouse, we
made for that.
When the rain continued at Tafelkop, and our limbs became stiffened with
the cold, some of us went to an outhouse belonging to a neighbouring
farm to seek shelter. During the day we sat there in our wet clothes
staring dismally out into the rain. At night we tried to warm our naked
bodies by covering ourselves with the dirty wool that happened to be
lying there. All the outhouses in the neighbourhood were crowded with
armed burghers in tatters. On the eighth day, when the welcome sun made
its appearance once more, our clothes were still dripping.
Lately we had had fruit as a substitute for sugar; but the fruit season
was over now, and we had to go back to meat and mealie-porridge, or
mealie-porridge and meat.
In the Moot our horses died in such numbers--particularly the 'unsalted'
mares--that many of our men had to walk. On March 10 my faithful brown
pony Steenbok died of horse-sickness. For over a year he had carried me
through thick and thin, and I could not bear to see his suffering. A few
weeks later we got another lot of horses; I will not mention how, as
the information might fall into the hands of the enemy. The people who
still lived on their farms often told us that the few remaining fowls
instinctively recognised khaki as an enemy, and made for the hedges and
shrubs whenever they caught sight of him. So here, also, Nature looked
after the survival of the species. The cows taken by the enemy also made
their way back to their calves that khaki stupidly left behind, and so
the little children could again have milk. Even the bees were not left
undisturbed; but the bee is an enemy of any nasty-smelling thing, and
therefore the dirty, perspiring khakies got many a sting, and the honey
usually remained in the hives.
The enemy probably thought that we were helpless in our poverty. But a
Boer is not easily made helpless. We patched our own shoes and carried
the lasts about with us. Horseshoes and nails we made from the tires of
wheels and telegraph-wires. Instead of matches we used two stones. When
the enemy have burned and destroyed all our corn-mills, we will still
have coffee-mills, and when those are gone we will do as the Kaffirs do,
and grind our corn between two stones--and crushed and roasted maize is
very good to eat.
The old Voortrekkers wore trousers made of untanned hide. We can do the
same if khaki does not supply us with sufficient clothes. Our wives and
children and our exiled men we cannot get out of khaki's hands, and that
is the greatest difficulty in our way.
One of the greatest advantages we have over the enemy is that we are
among friends, and can move about in small troops without having to
depend on a base of operations, whereas they do well not to divide
themselves in too small groups, or to venture too far from their
base--even in large numbers.