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WITH BOTHA IN THE FIELD
by
MOORE RITCHIE
With Five Diagrams and Eighty-two Illustrations mostly by the Author
Longmans, Green and Co.
39 Paternoster Row, London
Fourth Avenue and 30th Street, New York
Bombay, Calcutta, and Madras
1915
[Illustration: The Author]
J.B.
LIEUTENANT, HIS MAJESTY'S IMPERIAL FORCES,
IF THIS SHOULD CATCH THE EYE OF:
CHER AMI,--TO YOU:
IN MEMORY OF DAYS.
YOURS,
M.R.
[Illustration: The only photo of the meeting of General Botha and
General Smuts in the field just before Windhuk was taken]
FOREWORD
The ungentle reader (upon whom a malediction) will discover that this
little book is not by any means exhaustive. But the gentle reader may
find it to be what I hope it is. For him I wrote it.
Europe at the present time is lacerated in the greatest war of which
man has knowledge. Compared with the doings in the Eastern and Western
Fronts, in the Austro-Italian Theatre, or in the Dardanelles, the
campaign of South Africa must take a modest place.
My idea is simply to make clear to the public (for example, all names I
mention will be easily found on my diagrams, drawn from a German fully
detailed map, the best of the South-West African Protectorate in
existence) of gentle and patriotic readers something of the latter-day
work of a gentleman and a patriot, justly famed amongst peoples with
whom integrity and honour are still esteemed sovereign virtues.
"The Nonggai,"
Pretoria, S. Africa,
August 1915.
[Illustration: General Botha's Bodyguard leaving for the Front]
CONTENTS
PART I
CHASING THE REBELS
I KEMP AND BEYERS II DE WET III KEMP'S ESCAPE IV FOURIE
PART II
THE CAMPAIGN OF SOUTH-WEST AFRICA
I THE PRELIMINARY CANTER II THE FIRST TREK INTO THE NAMIB DESERT III
THE RECORD TREK TO WINDHUK IV THE LAST PHASE
APPENDIX
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Author
The only photo of the meeting of General Botha and General Smuts in the
field just before Windhuk was taken
General Botha's Bodyguard leaving for the Front
Diagram of Campaign
Group of Rebel Leaders
Rebels rounded up after the capture of De Wet
The last pursuit of Kemp. Flying column crossing the Orange River after
him
Troops returning to Pretoria after Nooitgedacht. December 16, 1914
Diagram of Nooitgedacht
General Botha's train leaves the Orange Free State after the crushing
of the Rebellion
Exhausted Troops after defeating De Wet in the Orange Free State
Leaving Pretoria. General Botha's Bodyguard departing
Kits aboard. The Troops departing for the Front
Camp of the Bodyguard at Groote Schuur
Brothers in Arms. The British Navy and Botha's Bodyguard fraternised
aboard. Many of the latter are, of course, pure South African
Boxing aboard. En route to German South-West Africa
Awaiting landing from the Transport
Trekking over the terrible Sand Dunes near the Coast, German South-West
Africa
Some of the first Burghers to land at Walvis
Before the Advance. General Botha photographed with the Red Cross
Sisters
General Botha and Staff alighting for an Inspection. (The famous
Brigadier-General Brits, who trekked to Namutoni, is the fourth figure
from the right.)
Awaiting the Advance. The Commander-in-Chief at tea with the Red Cross
Sisters
Awaiting the Advance. Garrison Sports at Swakopmund. Start for 100
yards race
Awaiting the Advance. Garrison Sports. Winner
Swakopmund from the Lighthouse: Extreme Right
Swakopmund: Centre
Swakopmund: Extreme Left
Man and Beast in the Desert: both absolutely spent
Looking for Water in the River Bed
A Halt in a River Bed: General Botha has lunch
Main Guard aboard--en route to hunt the Huns
On the Great Trek--the Chief of the Staff has a hair-cut
Action at Riet
An unique picture of General Botha, the Commander-in-Chief and his
Staff reconnoitring
After Riet water in blessed profusion
A Typical Parade of the Germans in South-West Africa
Typical captured German Infantry
The Great Trek. Otjimbingwe: its Palms and Wells
The Great Trek. Otjimbingwe: the Commander-in-Chief at the old German
capital
The Great Trek. Getting Milk from a Goat. Milk was priced beyond Silver
The Great Trek. An extempore bath towards the end of the Trek
A Beauty Spot passed during the last Trek
The Last Phase. Conference at Omaruru. German Staff lunching
The General receives his Bodyguard at a Garden Party after return
German prisoners of war, imprisoned at Karibib
Karibib
Towards Windhuk. The first troops in Waldau
The first South African Engineer Corps Staff at Windhuk
Towards Windhuk. A quick railway repair after the Germans' usual
practice of blowing up railway bridges
Towards Windhuk. The first train to Windhuk. The South African Engineer
Corps Construction Party aboard
At Windhuk. How we treat the German women. Ten minutes after occupation
At Windhuk. The Commander-in-Chief addresses his massed troops from the
Rathaus
At the Gate of Windhuk. Headquarters Staff Motors awaiting entry
At the Gate of Windhuk. General Botha discusses matters with the
Governor of Windhuk
At the Gate of Windhuk. The Interpreter
At the Gate of Windhuk. General Botha emphasises
The great Wireless Station at Windhuk
Conference at Omaruru. General Staff lunching
The Last Phase. The BE2 tuning up in shed before flight over German
positions
At the Provost Marshal's office at Windhuk--all in Law and order
The Union Jack just hoisted at the Governor's office, Windhuk
The Great Military Barracks at Windhuk
Panorama of Windhuk
Picturesque Windhuk
Windhuk. Basking in the sun: from the great Wireless Station
How the Germans started to try trading with us ten minutes after we
entered the Capital. Note the spelling
The Last Phase. Difficulties with General Botha's car through the thick
sand
The Last Phase. The Germans had a hobby of blowing up bridges. Here is
a fine specimen
General Frank's house, Windhuk. Photo of the two first men there taken
under the flag hauled down by us
Windhuk. The first British station-master and one of his staff
The Fork that Caught the Germans
The Last Phase. Opposite the very spot where surrender was made. A vast
ant-hill at 500 Kilometres
South-West Africa. Position of enemy before surrender
The Last Phase. The German white flag train just arriving
The Last Phase. General Botha meets Von Franke at 500 Kilometres
The Last Phase. Troops entraining to return home
The Last Phase. The famous Rhodesian Regiment that did so much in the
final brilliant movement
The Last Phase. Isumeh. British prisoners released
The German Staff before surrender
General Botha and his brilliant Chief of Staff, Colonel J.F. Collier,
meet Von Franke at 500 Kilometres
The Last Phase. The Commander-in-Chief, General Botha, receives an
ovation from his Bodyguard after disbanding them
Generals Botha and Smuts, the Great South Africans, receive a
tremendous ovation from the crowd at the Capital on the successful
conclusion of the Rebellion and the Campaign
Homeward bound! General Botha and Staff returning on the _Ebari_
The Great Man and the Chips of the Old Block returning to the Union
after Conquest
[Illustration: Diagram of Campaign]
WITH BOTHA IN THE FIELD
PART I
CHASING THE REBELS
SECTION I
KEMP AND BEYERS
Six weeks after the war-cloud smashed over Europe a man called on me.
He was an old friend; but the point about him is that at that
particular time I fancied him on his farm at least a thousand miles
away.
"Hello!" I said in surprise. "Why this sudden appearance?"
"This is going to be a big thing, my boy. I am off 'Home.' They will
need us all."
It impressed me. He was a person calm and methodical minded, and, like
so many good men, he has been dead now many months. His words, which
have proved true, were the first to turn my mind definitely to
war-thoughts. Besides, the man whose trade is writing has always, when
events are stirring, the itch to go, look and note.
In the branch of the Union Service to which I belong--the South African
Police--none but Reservists could then proceed to Europe; but when
General Botha announced that he himself would take command of the
Expeditionary Force to German South-West Africa, a Bodyguard from the
South African Police was decided upon, volunteers came forward, and on
this unit I had the honour to serve.
The intention of the Union Authorities was to push forward with the
German West Campaign as quickly as possible. The Rebellion delayed
operations roughly some three months--a period during which some
exceedingly severe marchings and stiff rifle actions took place. I
mention this deliberately, for in the stir of well-won applause
following the victorious end of the Campaign proper, the preliminary
canter of the Rebellion is perhaps somewhat forgotten.
It does not seem, in the light of later information, strictly true to
say that the Rebellion of 1914 broke upon the Union of South Africa in
a manner wholly unexpected. But its ultimate development and extent did
cause both surprise and great uneasiness. The details of its various
activities over the country are by this time stale history. Leaving
comment of a political nature alone, I confine myself briefly to the
movements which, performed by General Botha and the loyalist troops,
were so swift and accurate in their workings that they broke the back
of the main risings before more than local disorganisation and the
least possible amount of bloodshed had been achieved.
On the 12th of October the Bodyguard for the German South-West Campaign
assembled for field practices, etc., at Pretoria. On the 20th we heard
that we should be leaving at an hour's notice, presumably for the
South-West. The following day wild and disquieting rumours began to
circulate from early morning. Maritz had gone into rebellion.
Motor-cars sped all forenoon between General Botha's house close to us
and the Union Defence Headquarters. Our camp was full of alarms. The
police of Pretoria became suddenly twice as many about the streets.
Towards evening it was positively stated that plots were afoot aiming at
nothing less than the life of General Botha; and the Main Guard, which
had been mounted at the General's house from the day of the Bodyguard's
formation, was doubled. Not a soul was allowed within or around the
modest grounds of the house without challenge at the point of the bayonet
and presentment of the countersign. It will be long before memory loses
the picture of those evenings, when through the lighted windows of the
left wing of the house the Main Guard first and second reliefs got a view
of a familiar ample figure in anxious consultations at a table upon which
the electric light cast a mellow glow.
The next day, the 22nd of October, rumour gave way to fact. Rebellion
had definitely broken out in the Transvaal and the Free State; Beyers,
the ex-Commandant General, Kemp and others were leading in the
Transvaal; the names of De Wet and Wessel Wessels were coupled with the
Free State. For the second time within a year unhappy South Africa
heard rumours of imminent Martial Law proclamations.
Monday morning, the 26th, arrived and found us still waiting; then the
Bodyguard got twenty minutes' notice and entrained, horses, kits and
everything for Rustenburg. We arrived there at five o'clock the
following morning, and started at once in pursuit of rebel commandos
which were led by Kemp and Beyers. Before starting, General Botha over
a cup of coffee had an anxious consultation with his loyal commandants
who had arrived to meet him. Throughout the day we trekked, with one
brief halt only, and "outspanned" that night near Oliphant's Nek.
During the day the loyal commandos located the rebels without much
difficulty; they were routed in all directions, and some eighty were
captured. At two o'clock in the morning we continued the trek, stopped
in the forenoon on the railway line at Derby (close to Drakfontein, the
scene of the British disaster to Benson's Horse during the South
African War), and pushing on in the evening to Koster, learnt from
incoming scouts that Kemp had escaped capture by minutes only. The
direction of his flight was questionable at the time.
Returning to Pretoria, we remained there for a few days. The whole town
was in a state of remarkable tension. The police were armed. Armed
volunteers were called for. Loyalists were training after working hours
in batches on various open spaces. It was freely whispered that the
German South-West Campaign would be given up, so formidable was the
threatened opposition to it.... I am writing this much less than a year
later: and Windhuk has fallen, the Germans have surrendered their
territory, and thousands of burghers and volunteers are returning to
their homes.
On the 2nd of November we left Pretoria again. More trouble was brewing
at Brits, close to Pretoria. We trekked straightway to Zoutpan's Drift,
the commandos again pursuing a body of rebels who, cutting through the
railway line, had caused damage at De Wilts or Greyling's Post, twenty
miles or so outside the Union capital. Quite unwilling to make a stand,
the insurgents were again put to flight, and General Botha returned to
Pretoria the following day. In the meantime other loyalist columns in
the Transvaal had taken to the field, and the rebellion seemed well in
hand.
SECTION II
DE WET
Compared with the Free State insurrection, the Transvaal affair
appeared in many ways to be a small business from our point of view. In
actuality it was nothing of the kind. It was, if anything, much more
ugly in spirit. The genius of the Free State section of insurgents
displayed itself chiefly in a highly finished exposition of lying,
looting and "legging it."
De Wet's delirious harangue had not exhausted its nine-days' life as a
masterpiece of unconscious humour when General Botha left Pretoria for
the Free State on November 9. Again, I am not concerned with the highly
complex motives which prompted the veteran Dutch General to make his
delightful "Five Bob Outrage" speech and other things at Vrede.
Flogging dead horses is a useless job, anyway.
During the journey to the Free State, our guard en the train was
extremely strict. Though every possible precaution of secrecy had been
taken, we were positively told to be prepared to find the train fired
upon. But, if during such journeys preparedness was doubtless essential
in the circumstances, it always seemed to me that we, or any one so
placed, were pretty powerless to avert disaster should a properly
directed shot from the darkness find its mark.
On November 11 we detrained at Theunissen, in the Free State. It was
speedily clear that this part of the world was in the grip of
disturbance. Telegraph poles all along the line had been wrecked; an
amount of mild pillaging had been going on. The people of Theunissen
were almost in panic. The two fights--one against Conroy, at Allaman's
Kraal, the other and larger, against De Wet, at Doornberg--had been
enormously magnified. General Botha was welcomed in genuine relief. We
remained at arms in the train during the first part of the night. At 2
a.m. we were roused, and in less than half an hour were on the way
across country to Winburg.
The arrival at the little railhead dorp of Winburg was remarkable.
Scarcely were we halted and hand put to loosen girth before the
loyalist leaders came running out in the morning sunshine to meet us.
De Wet had left the place two hours before, disappearing with his
following over the first kopje. He had caused absolute panic. His
forces had cut the inhabitants off from all touch with the outer world.
De Wet had commandeered all food supplies worth having. Houses had been
looted and speeches were made in the marketplace. His followers had
assured the people that the Empire was tottering, Germany had defeated
Britain on land and sea, a hundred thousand were marching on Pretoria,
and that Botha and his Government were defeated and disgraced. And
these statements were to a large extent believed.
It was but natural. Cut off the wire and rail communication of a South
African veld town and you have isolation in the most thorough sense. In
such a place at such a time mere statement may seem quite possibly the
truth.
Towards evening we got news of the rebels, and a night-march was
ordered. As we left the town the loyal people lined the streets, the
fellows in the columns whistled "Tipperary," and we got a rousing
farewell.
[Illustration: Group of Rebel Leaders]
[Illustration: Rebels rounded up after the capture of De Wet]
General Botha is celebrated amongst fighting men for many things, and
his night-marching is one of them. He appears to believe to the fullest
extent in night-marching. He had located De Wet at a place called
Mushroom Valley, and parts of the Commander-in-Chief's forces had been
sent to make a surrounding movement. During the all-night trek from
Winburg to Mushroom Valley I had a first thorough experience of the
true horrors of sleep-fighting. It was bitterly cold--cold as the Free
State night on the veld knows how to be. And we could not smoke, could
not talk above a faint murmur, and nodded in our saddles. The clear
stars danced fantastically in the sky ahead of us, and the ground
seemed to be falling away from us into vast hollows, then rising to our
horses' noses ready to smash into us like an impalpable wall. After
midnight, outspanning in a piercing wind, we formed square; main guard
was posted over the General's car, and those lucky enough to escape
turn of duty huddled together under cloaks and dozed fitfully until
two-thirty. From two-thirty till sunrise we trekked on. Suddenly, just
after good daylight, the Staff halted the column, glasses were put up,
and away we swung half right into the veld. Up came the artillery and
opened fire on a cluster of ant-sized figures four thousand yards ahead
beneath the shoulder of a kopje. Had the thing not contained the very
germ of tragedy it would have been laughable to see the way those
figures scattered over the red veld. It was De Wet's commandos caught
napping. Just before the shell fire our burghers had gone out ahead
hell-for-leather on either flank. The whole column then advanced. After
two hours' pretty hot work the action was over. We lost six killed
against the rebels' twenty-two, and with twenty wounded on our side the
rebel losses were proportionate. We took upwards of three hundred
prisoners, De Wet himself escaping by the merest fluke. He lost all his
transport, and generally ceased after the action to be a serious
menace.
During the operations against De Wet I watched, when possible, the
demeanour of the quiet South African patriot with whom fate had placed
me in the field. I had last seen him many years before, gravely bowing
from under a silk hat to a crowd that swayed and cheered as he drove
through the streets of Manchester. And now duty found him in the field
against an old comrade-in-arms. There was a sadness, there was a
profound pathos about it. No wonder if to me it seemed that General
Botha looked downcast indeed, if stern as well, during the Rebellion.
Life, surely, was not dealing too fairly by him.
Following Mushroom Valley, we trekked, with two brief outspans only, to
Clocolan, all the time scattering De Wet's followers. At Clocolan we
paused for one day, entrained men and horses and reached Kimberley, via
Bloemfontein, on the 18th of November. The following day rebel
activities were reported in the direction of Bloemhof; but after an
eventless journey we returned to Kimberley on the 21st.
SECTION III
KEMP'S ESCAPE
It was at Kimberley that news came through that Kemp was making a
desperate cross-country trek to get into German territory in the
Upington neighbourhood. A reference to a map will show that Upington,
on the Orange River, is on the extreme western borders of the Union;
and it must be said that the trek which Kemp and the remnant of his
moderate force, poorly mounted and equipped, had made since being
routed by General Botha on the 27th of October (a month before) stands
as a remarkable piece of work. We pushed on to Prieska, via De Aar, and
reached Upington, on the scarcely completed new line from Prieska, on
the 25th of November. The journey over the desert stretch from Prieska
to Upington was full of alarms; during the night the train halted in
the lonely veld owing to a washaway, and we stood to arms, throwing out
cossack-posts around the train wherein the Commander-in-Chief slept. It
was tremendously exciting work.
The old town of Upington was transformed in those days. Around the
Dutch Reformed Church, standing peaceful and dazzling white in the
torrid sun, were tents, wagons, horses, motor-cars, signalling-parties,
despatch-riders and infantry. Away over the hard red sand dunes to the
north was the action zone, and from that direction every five minutes
came sweating motor despatch-riders, who tore along to Headquarters.
The following day news came through that the Imperial Light Horse and
the Natal Carbineers had been engaging Kemp before and since dawn;
almost cornered, he was making a final dash for the border to get into
German South-West. It was an anxious time; each minute brought a fresh
rumour as to the fighting and the thousands of men Kemp had got
together for his desperate move. Our staff returned before dark,
reporting an eventless day, with intermittent fighting. On the 28th the
Staff went out in motors as far as Rooidam. They returned with bad news
in the early afternoon. After a prolonged rearguard action Kemp had
succeeded, taking over to the Germans with him a force which was said
to be far greater than had been supposed. (Need I add that after events
showed there had been gross exaggeration?)
I offer, with reserve, the following ingenious explanation of Kemp's
escape; it was told me later by several who saw the action. Near the
end of his terrific trek through from the North-Western Transvaal to
the German outpost for which he was making, Kemp was hotly pursued by
the loyalist troops. His men were exhausted. Half of them were
dismounted. All his horses were spent. In these conditions he was
forced to the most trying form of fight--the rearguard and flank
action. With his goal practically right ahead, he reached three of the
parallel large sand dunes with which the veld around Upington is
scattered. They were on his left flank. He swerved into them. Hotly
pursued, he crossed two, and under the lee of the second left a party
of good shots. Then, cantering away over the third, he doubled round on
his tracks and with his exhausted followers made for the German
outpost. When the Union troops came up they were ambushed at short
range, and the check they got just served the fleeing rebel. In the
pursuit afterwards our parties found traces of buried rations for
horses and men. These had been provided with German thoroughness.
The second phase of the Free State Rebellion was a pantomime more than
anything else; a week's pantomime acted in the open veld in rain that
never stopped. It was the most miserable week I have known. We left
Upington on the 29th of November, reaching Kroonstad, Orange Free
State, late next evening. Here the Commander-in-Chief was met by
General Smuts, Minister for Defence; a consultation took place, and as
a result we left by train for Bethlehem in the evening. Our arrival
was timely, too. The place was in a perfect uproar. Nobody knew what
was going to happen next. All the loyalistcivilians were under arms.
The large mill of the Kaffrarian Steam Flour Company had been converted
into a fort which was, in case of necessity, impregnable to rifle-fire.
The rebels in the field had declared the New Republic practically
established, with temporary capital at Reitz. Just before we saddled up
to track them the news came of De Wet's capture on the Malopi River,
near Mafeking. The news put everyone in fresher spirits. The charm
around the famous guerilla fighter had broken. That the Rebellion was
doomed we all knew. But most of us were weary, nevertheless. It
furnished a refresher.
We left a happier Bethlehem at a rainy dawn the next day. Half way to
Reitz we outspanned in the rain. It rained all night. The following
morning came back to mind a talk an old soldier and I had once while
freezing one early morning awaiting the Channel boat at Greenock.
Alluding to cold and misery, he said: "You don't know what it is, my
son, till you've been held up for three nights by rain in war-time in
the South African veld, and spent the time standing in water. I did it
outside Mafeking." Well, I understand a little now.
The next day our scouts entered Reitz; the rebels had fled. For two
days we operated against them. A day later General Botha returned to
Reitz. Nothing was said at the time. The fact was that before we
entrained at Reitz, on the 7th of December, Wessel Wessels and
Serfontein were surrounded. A day later they surrendered: the Orange
Free State Rebellion, in all its futility, was over.
[Illustration: The last pursuit of Kemp. Flying column crossing the
Orange River after him]
[Illustration: Troops returning to Pretoria after Nooitgedacht.
December 16, 1914]
SECTION IV
FOURIE
Just before and during the Commander-in-Chief's long trek, other bodies
of loyalist troops had been engaging the rebels. The most notable of
these actions were against Muller at Bronkhorst Spruit (5th November,
1914; casualties, one killed and three wounded), and against Fourie at
Hamanskraal (22nd November, 1914; casualties, three killed and ten
wounded). Both these actions took place in the neighbourhood of
Pretoria. As a result of them and the death of Beyers in the Vaal
River, the Rebellion in the Transvaal was virtually smashed. There
remained only Fourie to be dealt with.
Fourie, late Major in the South African Defence Force, possibly the
most fanatical of all the rebels, appears to have been a man of
character and proved courage. Having got away at the action at
Hamanskraal, he and his younger brother were moving about in the veld
with ex-Major Pienaar and a moderate force. Their fantastic purpose was
said to be the taking of Pretoria itself on Dingaan's Day, the 16th of
December. As all the South African world knows, this date marks the
anniversary of the famous fight of the Voortrekkers at Blood River in
1838. The day before a force of South African Police, Defence Force,
and South African Mounted Riflemen left Pretoria, detrained at
Greyling's Post, on the Pietersburg Line, and started in pursuit of the
last big rebel commando at large. In this move we of the Bodyguard
found ourselves acting; General Botha, who had returned to Pretoria
after his severe field work, had gone to his farm for a few days' rest
before the South-West campaign.
[Illustration: Diagram of Nooitgedacht]
We trekked at dawn and during the whole of the following day, with one
rain-sodden halt, till four in the afternoon. The rebels had doubled in
their tracks after reaching a large dam at Blaaubank. Late in the
afternoon our scouts returned to the column and reported having located
the enemy three miles ahead, entrenched in a donga, or dried-up stony
river course, on the farm Nooitgedacht No. 4. We prepared for action,
and encountered the rebels in the next half hour. This, the first true
action I had been in, was an extremely dirty affair; a man who had gone
through some of the worst fights in the South African War afterwards
assured me it was the hottest corner he had ever been in. Bush-country
fighting is detestable chiefly because you cannot see your enemy until
you are on top of him. Our centre cantered in extended order up an
avenue flanked by dense bush. We were laughing and asking where the
deuce the rebels were, when a hail of rifle fire at short range greeted
us. Our fellows were out of their saddles in a second, and advanced to
the attack through the bush. Meantime, the South African Police extreme
left had swept round to the head of the spruit on both sides of which
the donga was formed, the South African Mounted Riflemen and more South
African Police closed in, the Defence Force unit getting in rear and in
flank of the rebels to cut them off. The attacking party had to work
their way through open veld before they could charge the enemy; they
made a mark as good as standing game. It was two and a half hours
before the "Cease-fire" whistle sounded.
[Illustration: General Botha's train leaves the Orange Free State after
the crushing of the Rebellion]
[Illustration: Exhausted Troops after defeating De Wet in the Orange
Free State]
It fell to me to be a horse-holder (one man in each section is, of
course, a horse-holder when mounted infantry are in action) in this
fight. In nightmare I have passed that evening since--and wakened
quickly, too. The worst of rifle fire is that you can hear bullets
whizzing and spitting in trees, but it takes an experienced hand to
divine direction. It was only afterwards I found out that a party of
rebels were firing on our horses in rear. The horses knew it, though,
and shewed it in their eyes. The sun came watery through the clouds
just before sunset; I remember during the lulls in the wicked coughs of
rifle fire hearing doves cooing gently in the sun-pierced trees.
[Illustration: Leaving Pretoria. General Botha's Bodyguard departing]
[Illustration: Kits aboard. The Troops departing for the Front]
[Illustration: Camp of the Bodyguard at Groote Schuur]
When darkness fell we had captured Fourie, his brother and all his
following, except nine men who made their escape at the beginning of
the fight. The loyalist casualties in this action were twelve killed
and twenty-four wounded. I saw a man who had shared a last cigarette
with me as we rode into the action that afternoon lying dead on a
blanket three hours later. In that instant I learnt something of the
true meaning of war.
There are hundreds of brave deeds that must go unrecognised in these
days. But from what I know of this particular action there was an
amount of gallantry and quiet heroism displayed amongst the fellows
that deserved more than casual comment. I could speak of things I saw,
and would like to, moreover. But as for my pains a punched head from
outraged modesty would be the reward I shall say no more.
A few days later Fourie was tried by court-martial, convicted, and shot
at dawn. In the last days of December the few remaining rebels at large
either surrendered or were captured. As the last days of the Old Year
slipped by, rebellion within the Union of South Africa died out, and
General Botha spent the holidays in peace on his farm at Rusthof--in
the haven where he fain would be.
PART II
THE CAMPAIGN OF SOUTH-WEST AFRICA
SECTION I
THE PRELIMINARY CANTER
At the stroke of seven on the evening of January 13, 1915, a train
steamed out of Pretoria station to the accompaniment of roars of
cheering. And few in the imposing string of carriages that made the
train were sober within the meaning of the act. But everyone was in the
highest spirits. The Rebellion was over. The New Year was with us.
After weary days our real business was on hand. We were off to German
West at last.
We reached Cape Town on the 15th. I am particular about the date, not
entirely as a result of a desire for meticulous accuracy. All who
started on the South-West Campaign will remember their Cape Peninsula
experience after the heat and burden of the Rebellion. The authorities
might have chosen most of our camping grounds about Cape Town with the
genial purpose of providing a kind of military holiday as a preliminary
canter to the campaign proper. The unit to which I was attached had its
temporary resting place on the slopes of Table Mountain at Groote
Schuur, on the Rhodes Estate. And I fancy the world has on its vast
surface few spots more alluring and more bracing to the spirit.
Up till that time South Africa itself had never put an expeditionary
army, to be shipped by sea, on a war footing, and at Cape Town the work
of equipping the South-West African Expeditionary Force was carried on
and finished during the four weeks we were there. The quiet pine and
fir lined roads on the Rondebosch side of Table Mountain complained
daily under the traffic of wagons and motors, horses, mules and guns;
it ruined the roads and begot unceasing clouds of dust.
And from breakfast-time till late afternoon every street leading to
Cape Town and to the great Supply and Ordnance Stores at Maitland and
at Portswood Road was filled with grey and khaki carts and wagons
roaring steadily along in golden dust. In the whole Peninsula the
normal interests of life were for the time being completely
side-tracked.
Being associated directly with the Commander-in-Chief and Headquarters,
we were fortunate in having our camp on the finest piece of ground on
the estate; our tents stretched down a strip of sloping sward,
sheltered from the wind by the wonderful trees that luxuriate on the
lower falls of Table Mountain; from one's tent entrance the eye was
caught by a panorama sweeping a radius of twenty miles inland. I shall
never forget those days when in the morning wind and sun I helped to
make out requisitions for shirts and breeches and saddlery to the notes
of wood music; nor those nights when we lay in our blankets on the
grass, stars swinging above, the town-lights winking away below us. It
is not often in life that one slips into dreamless slumber on soft
grass, lullabied by the night-song of a south-wester in pine trees
centuries old.
If we had our discipline and our work at Cape Town, we had our
compensations, too. At that time khaki was completely the fashion
there. On the long promenade down Adderley Street to the pier-head you
could have counted a dozen men in khaki to one in mufti. It reminded
one of the days of the South African War fifteen years ago. There was
naturally a tendency to make much of the soldier-visitor. It did not
spoil him, though. A more orderly lot could not have been found. And
this with the people whose guests we were in indulgent mood, and the
civic authorities throwing open to us every amusement at their
disposal.
Though there was work ahead we were all sorry to leave Cape Town.
[Illustration: Brothers in Arms. The British Navy and Botha's Bodyguard
fraternised aboard. Many of the latter are, of course, pure South
African]
[Illustration: Boxing aboard. En route to German South-West Africa]
On Friday, the 5th of February, we struck camp at sunrise. All our
horses had been shipped the day before; we proceeded to the Docks by
train and on foot. As showing the kindness with which the troops were
treated I must mention that after the heavy work of embarking horses a
body of one of the Ladies' War Organisations arranged refreshments for
us at the railway station.
The journey by train from Groote Schuur to the City takes about fifteen
minutes; by motor about a quarter of that time. But war-work is a
trifle different; we were three hours on the heavily laden transport
wagons before we got to the transport _Galway Castle_.
Many of us who have moved about a good deal and are fond of the sea
were looking forward to that voyage. It was a four days' trip to Walvis
Bay; we thought we would have rather a jolly time. Disillusion is
hateful. And that trip was disillusionment itself. I suppose we
inexperienced ones overlooked automatically the fact that we were in
the ranks and travelling to war by transport. It wasn't a high-browed,
superior outlook that caused our undoing, I fancy. The thing is, you
must rough it soldiering by ship before you grasp the idea. There were
other points, too.
[Illustration: Awaiting landing from the Transport]
[Illustration: Trekking over the terrible Sand Dunes near the Coast,
German South-West Africa]
[Illustration: Some of the first Burghers to land at Walvis]
When we got safely aboard the _Galway Castle_ many of us fancied, in
expressive phrase, that we were "well away"; that we had struck a good
thing. Our officers were accommodated in befitting state in the first
class; our warrants and staff non-commissioned dignitaries were also
fixed up in correct style; the rest of us had plenty of room and
quietness to ourselves in the third class. All this by 2.30 in the
afternoon.
And then eighteen hundred more warriors filed down the quays and, like
Mr. Jim Hawkins, came aboard, sir. Now most of these were as good
fellows as you could wish for; but they were landsmen, such as never go
down to the sea in ships. A large proportion, indeed, had never seen
the sea before viewing it at Cape Town. (South Africa is a fair-sized
territory.) Very few of them were good sailors. It is not a man's fault
that he is not a good sailor; nor is he to blame for knowing little of
the ways that make for cleanliness and comfort under even the most
trying conditions on shipboard. But on the whole we did not enjoy that
four days' voyage to Walvis Bay. It was a case of bedlam as to noise,
and "muck in" and take what you can get.
Though my knowledge of organisation for a campaign is not great, I
would suggest that for campaign work the only kind of ship used should
be a vessel absolutely and completely fitted up as a troopship. If the
ships the Government used for the South-West campaign transport had all
been fitted up uncompromisingly as "troopers" I fancy we should have
fared better.
At 8 a.m. on the 9th we arrived at Walvis Bay. General Botha, who, with
his Chief of Staff, A.D.C.'s, etc., had embarked at the Cape on the
auxiliary cruiser _Armadale Castle,_ arrived at Walvis later in the
morning. We spent the day on board the _Galway Castle_ awaiting orders
and the disembarkation of horses.
Since the beginning of the operations in South-West Africa the world
has been flooded with descriptions of Walvis Bay; at least I have seen
two books with long descriptions of the place, and more than a dozen
articles on the subject. I shall not add to this list by any long (and
assuredly unconvincing) attempt at a new picture. When you have left
the green-covered kopjes of the Cape a few days before and come to
anchor in Walvis Bay on a cold morning you think you have reached
No-man's-land after a fast voyage. It is a first impression only. The
place is desolate enough; it suggests the Sahara run straight into the
sea, or the discomforting dreariness of Punta Arenas, in Patagonia.
But first impressions are not everything. Walvis Bay is desolate; a
study in yellow ochre sands, burnt sienna duns, tin shanties veiled in
hot desert winds, and a sea that seldom knows anything more than a
ripple. But that is the point. Walvis Bay is nothing now--but it is a
bay. As a fact, it looks to be one of the finest natural harbours in
the world. With the South-West interior developing in the future,
Walvis Bay should have something to look forward to.
[Illustration: Before the Advance. General Botha photographed with the
Red Cross Sisters]
[Illustration: General Botha and Staff alighting for an Inspection.
(The famous Brigadier-General Brits, who trekked to Namutoni, is the
fourth figure from the right.)]
We left the _Galway Castle_ on the 11th, disembarking into lighters, to
be towed up the coast to the occupied German port of Swakopmund. Down
to the tender, on to the lighter, kits and equipment, and farewell to
the quietened steamer. For a while we stood away from her, and rose and
fell under no way on the still grey waters. Then we saw a tender from
the _Armadale Castle_ steaming towards us. She came up on our starboard
quarter and made fast. A figure well known to us all crossed the
gangway and climbed to the boat-deck of our steam tender. We had not
seen the Commander-in-Chief in personal command since the past bitter
days of the Rebellion. A great cheer hit the morning silence and echoed
over the bay to each transport at anchor. With a smile of genuine
pleasure, General Botha brought his hand to the salute. And away we
went, the tender steaming full speed ahead, blunt-nosed barges surging
in her wake, for Swakopmund.
Swakopmund was the first Headquarters of the Northern Force, Union
Expeditionary Army; we made two sojourns at this German port. First we
were there for a period of some five weeks, from February 11 till March
18, whilst awaiting the first advance into the Namib Desert; then we
were there for a further month, from the 27th of March till the 25th of
April, whilst awaiting the general advance to Windhuk and Karibib.
[Illustration: Awaiting the Advance. The Commander-in-Chief at tea with
the Red Cross Sisters]
[Illustration: Awaiting the Advance. Garrison Sports at Swakopmund.
Start for 100 yards race]
[Illustration: Awaiting the Advance. Garrison Sports. Winner]
It is difficult to write about Swakopmund. As a town it is the most
extraordinary place I have seen. I use the superlative deliberately.
But I do not wish to live there. It is purely artificial, and
artificial to a ghastly degree too. There is not a spot of vegetation.
There is not a genuine tree to be seen. The water has a detestable,
unsatisfying blurred taste, to which the adjective "brackish" is
applied. It is probable that a town occupied by enemy troops does not
look at its best; but the fact that it was under such conditions when I
first knew Swakopmund makes no important difference. The place in its
essentials must always be the same. If ever there was a work of bluff
Swakopmund is that thing. One fancies the German commercial expert, a
Government official, or, maybe, a representative of the ubiquitous
Woermann, Brock & Co., looking along this ferocious and awful coast for
a spot to found a town that should appear on the maps and be esteemed a
seaport. The Swakop River? Very well. Was there water there? But
certainly so; water obviously of the worst quality--yet water. Besides,
were there not always refrigerators and condensing machinery? Upon
which Swakopmund was forced into existence--planked down there bit by
bit in the face of circumstance. Walk a trifle over a thousand yards
from the edge of the changeful Atlantic through Swakopmund's deep sandy
streets and you get the key to the town. For it ceases utterly,
abruptly; from the door of its last villa, fitted with perfect
furnishings from Hamburg, the bitter desolation that is the Namib
Desert stretches away from your, very feet. Marvelling at this place, I
was particularly struck by the size of its cemetery. But I was not long
puzzled. If you strike Swakopmund on a fine sunshiny day you will be
pretty favourably impressed with the climate; it seems warm and
temperate, and the sun sparkles on the sea.
In a week or so you will learn to modify that judgment. More than half
the days we were at Swakopmund a heavy pall of dampness hung over the
place, and after a day or two of it one's system seemed to be badly
affected. Maybe we were not acclimatised, but the fact remains that a
very large proportion of us were down with a kind of dysentery,
attended by vomiting and violent pains in the stomach. Then there are
days when the winds blow from the desert--an indescribable experience.
They bring moths and flies with them, and great clouds of sand; it is a
genuine labour to breathe, and at noon and for two hours after the
temperature in the sun runs up into the "hundred-and-sixties."
Swakopmund is not a health resort; or perhaps we dwelt there in the
wrong season. But it is a monument to Teutonic determination. The
Germans willed this town there, planted it on the edge of the
wilderness; fitted it out, from bioscope theatre to church with organ
and electric organola; and they lived in it, with the climate of
perdition and all the accessories of a suburb of Berlin, and called it
a seaport. It is not a seaport; in a fair gale you can't land a barrel
of corks at the pier. But given time and they would have built in the
face of nature a two million pounds breakwater and everything complete.
Yes, they are a thorough people; they are human ants as regards work.
Nevertheless, it is not colonising. The Germans are not colonists.
Army Headquarters were fixed at the Damaraland Building close to the
shore--a splendidly equipped edifice, with a tower commanding a
fifteen-mile-radius view of the desert and the sea. General Botha made
the private quarters of the General Officer Commanding-in-Chief at the
Woermann Line House close by.
When we arrived at the northern seaport it had been in our possession
many weeks, but our troops were occupying the trenches just outside the
town, and from the Damaralands Building Tower our look-out and
signallers could see through the heat-haze the enemy's patrols moving
to and fro in the glistening sands beyond.
Whilst awaiting orders for an advance, life at Swakopmund was in some
ways quite good. There were two attractions: regimental concerts, when
sanctioned, and the shore. South Africa at war differs in great degree
from other parts of the world. The country has the germ in its blood.
Men who have campaigned before felt the stirring in them when the
South-West campaign started. The call for volunteers acted like a
magnet. All sorts and conditions of men were found with the Forces in
the South-West. Patriotism called them; but there called them also that
deep-seated spirit of unrest which prompts so powerfully when war drums
sound once again. I used to think Kipling exaggerated a trifle; now I
know the truth. At the concerts on the South-West front the most
astonishing array of talent was to be found. One such function in
particular stands out in mind. The stage was made up of army biscuit
boxes supporting rough planking outside a builder's yard in the deep
sand. At a borrowed piano belonging to some vanished resident a trooper
officiated; he was clothed in a grey back shirt and ammunition boots--
and displayed the daedal methods of a Fragson. Singers of every type
with every kind of voice, and perfectly trained, performed. Only later
did I learn that amongst the artists were half a dozen of the best
performers in Johannesburg. And at the foreshore, between fatigues,
drills, and spells of duty the fellows used to gather, to enjoy the one
luxury of Swakopmund--the surf-bathing. Here you would meet men upon
whom you never expected again to set eyes assembled literally from all
over South Africa from the Cape to the Zambesi. Belonging to one
regiment I met, in privates and corporals, six well-to-do farmers, a
handful of solicitors, bank clerks, a sub-native commissioner or two,
and the no longer youthful private secretary to one of the most eminent
semi-public companies in Africa. And there we all were cut off from the
outside world. Each evening we got an issue of the official Bulletin--
six square inches of paper thankfully received. For the rest we had no
change from the perpetual sound of the sea and the mournful note of the
bell-buoy that marks the inshore shoal. Its "dong-dong, dong-dong-dong"
created a perfect illusion of the call to a tiny church through the
country lanes of England. Everyone who was there can still hear the old
bell-buoy at Swakopmund.
[Illustration: Swakopmund from the Lighthouse: Extreme Right]
[Illustration: Swakopmund: Centre]
[Illustration: Swakopmund: Extreme Left]
[Illustration: Man and Beast in the Desert: both absolutely spent]
[Illustration: Looking for Water in the River Bed]
[Illustration: A Halt in a River Bed: General Botha has lunch]