THE FALL OF JOHANNESBURG
Johannesburg: June 2.
Morning broke and the army arose ready, if necessary, to renew the
fight. But the enemy had fled. The main Rand ridge still stretched
across our path. Its defenders had abandoned all their positions under
the cover of darkness. Already French's squadrons were climbing the
slopes to the eastward and pricking their horses forward to
Elandsfontein (North). So Hamilton's force, having but six miles to
march to Florida, did not hurry its departure, and we had leisure to
examine the scene of yesterday's engagement. Riding by daylight over
the ground of the Gordon's attack, we were still more impressed by the
difficulties they had overcome. From where I had watched the action the
Boers had seemed to be holding a long black kopje, some forty feet high,
which rose abruptly from the grass plain. It now turned out that the
aspect of steepness was produced by the foreshortening effects of the
burnt grass area; that in reality the ground scarcely rose at all, and
that what we had thought was the enemy's position was only a stony
outcrop separated from the real line of defence by a bare space of about
200 yards.
Looking around I found a Highlander, a broad-shouldered, kind-faced man,
with the Frontier ribbon, which means on a Gordon tunic much hard
fighting; and judging with reason that he would know something of war, I
asked him to explain the ground and its effect.
'Well, you see, sir,' he said, in quick spoken phrases, 'we was
regularly tricked. We began to lose men so soon as we got on the burnt
grass. Then we made our charge up to this first line of little rocks,
thinking the Boers were there. Of course they weren't here at all, but
back over there, where you see those big rocks. We were all out of
breath, and in no order whatever, so we had to sit tight here and wait.'
'Heavy fire?' I asked. He cocked his head like an expert.
'I've seen heavier; but there was enough. We dropped more than forty men
here. 'Tis here poor Mr. ---- was wounded; just behind this stone. You
can see the blood here yet, sir--this mud's it.'
I looked as required, and he proceeded:
'We knew we was for it then; it didn't look like getting on, and we
couldn't get back--never a man would ha' lived to cross the black ground
again with the fire what it was, and no attack to fright them off their
aim. There was such a noise of the bullets striking the rocks that the
officers couldn't make themselves heard, and such confusion too! But
two or three of them managed to get together after a while, and they
told us what they wanted done ... and then, of course, it was done all
right.'
'What was done? What did you do?'
'Why, go on, sir, and take that other line--the big rocks--soon as we'd
got our breath. It had to be done.'
He did not seem the least impressed with his feat of arms. He regarded
it as a piece of hard work he had been set to do, and which--this as a
matter of course--he had done accordingly. What an intrepid conquering
machine to depend on in the hour of need!--machine and much more, for
this was a proud and intelligent man, who had thought deeply upon the
craft of war, and had learnt many things in a severe school.
I had not ridden a hundred yards further, my mind full of admiration for
him and his type, when a melancholy spectacle broke upon the view. Near
a clump of rocks eighteen Gordon Highlanders--men as good as the one I
had just talked with--lay dead in a row. Their faces were covered with
blankets, but their grey stockinged feet--for the boots had been
removed--looked very pitiful. There they lay stiff and cold on the
surface of the great Banket Reef. I knew how much more precious their
lives had been to their countrymen than all the gold mines the lying
foreigners say this war was fought to win. And yet, in view of the dead
and the ground they lay on, neither I nor the officer who rode with me
could control an emotion of illogical anger, and we scowled at the tall
chimneys of the Rand.
General Ian Hamilton, General Smith-Dorrien, all their staffs, and
everyone who wished to pay a last tribute of respect to brave men,
attended the funerals. The veteran regiment stood around the grave,
forming three sides of a hollow square--Generals and staff filled the
other. The mourning party rested on their arms, reversed; the Chaplain
read the Burial Service, the bodies were lowered into the trench, and
the pipes began the lament. The wild, barbaric music filled the air,
stirring the soldiers, hitherto quite unmoved, with a strange and very
apparent force. Sad and mournful was the dirge wailing of battles
ended, of friendships broken, and ambitions lost; and yet there were
mingled with its sadness many notes of triumph, and through all its
mourning rang the cry of hope.
The whole of Hamilton's force had marched by ten o'clock, but even
before that hour the advanced guard had passed through Florida and
picketed the hills beyond. Florida is the Kew Gardens of Johannesburg.
A well-built dam across a broad valley has formed a deep and beautiful
lake. Carefully planted woods of Australian pines offer a welcome shade
on every side. The black and white pointed chimneys of the mine
buildings rise conspicuous above the dark foliage. There is a small but
comfortable hotel, called 'The Retreat,' to which on Sundays, in times
of peace, the weary speculators whose minds were shattered by the
fluctuations of the Exchange were wont to resort for rest or diversion.
Everywhere along the reef the signs of industry and commerce were to be
seen. Good macadamised roads crossed each other in all directions;
flashy advertisements caught the eye. A network of telegraphs and
telephones ran overhead. The ground was accurately marked out with
little obelisks of stone into 'Deeps' and 'Concessions,' and labelled
with all the queer names which fill the market columns of the
newspapers. In a word, it seemed--to us dirty, tattered wanderers--that
we had dropped out of Africa and War, and come safely back to Peace and
Civilisation.
Since the soldiers had eaten their last day's rations, and the only food
they had had that morning came from any odds and ends the regiments
might have saved, it was imperative to find some supplies. The
Field-Marshal had ordered that no troops should enter Johannesburg until
he should specially direct; but, finding little to eat in Florida,
Hamilton sent his supply officer and a squadron as far as Maraisburg;
whence they presently returned with a quantity of tinned rabbit and
sardines, and with the news that the Boers were said to be occupying a
position near Langlaagte mine.
During the morning we caught a train and some prisoners. The train was
returning from Potchefstroom, guarded by six armed burghers, and on
rifles being pointed, it stopped obediently and surrendered. The other
prisoners were brought in by the Cavalry and Mounted Infantry, who had
caught them wandering about without their horses. Among them was
Commandant Botha--not Louis or Philip--but Botha of the Zoutspansburg
commando, a brave and honest fellow, who had fought all through the war
from Talana Hill until the last action; but who was quite content that
Fate had decided he should fight no more. Hearing of him under guard,
and near headquarters, I went to see him. He displayed no bitterness
whatever, and seemed quite prepared to accept the decision of war. He
inquired anxiously whether he would be sent to St. Helena, and evinced a
childish horror of the sea. While we were chatting, one of the other
Boer prisoners, who had been looking hard at us, said, suddenly, in very
good English:
'The last time I saw you, you were in my position and I in yours.'
He then went on to tell me that he had been in the commando that
destroyed the armoured train. 'I felt very sorry for you that day,' he
said.
I remarked that it was much worse to be taken prisoner at the beginning
of a war than near the end, as he was.
'Do you think this is the end?' asked the Commandant quickly.
'I should ask you that.'
'No, no--not yet the end. They will fight a little more. Perhaps they
will defend Pretoria--perhaps you will have to go to Lydenburg; but it
will not be very long now.'
And then, since both he and his companion had been through the Natal
campaign, we fell to discussing the various actions. Ian Hamilton came
up while we were talking. I had just told the Commandant that we
considered the Boers had made a fatal strategic mistake in throwing
their main strength into Natal, instead of merely holding the passes,
masking Mafeking and Kimberley, and marching south into the colony with
every man and gun they could scrape together. He admitted that perhaps
that might be so; 'but,' said he, 'our great mistake in Natal was not
assaulting Ladysmith--the Platrand position, you know--the day after our
victory at Lombard's Kop. We blame Joubert for that. Many of us wanted
to go on then. There were no fortifications; the soldiers were
demoralised. If once we had taken the Platrand (Caesar's Camp) you
could not have held the town. How many men had you on top of it?'
'Only a picket for the first week,' said the General.
'Ah! I knew we could have done it. What would have happened then?'
'We should have had to turn you out.'
The Commandant smiled a superior smile. The General continued:
'Yes--with the bayonet--at night; or else, as you say, the town could
not have been held.'
'Presently,' said Botha, 'you pulled yourselves together, but for three
days after Nicholson's Nek there was no fear of bayonets. If we had
stormed you then--(then we had all our men and no Buller to think
about)--you would not have been able to turn us out.'
Hamilton reflected. 'Perhaps not,' he said, after a pause. 'Why didn't
Joubert try it?'
'Too old,' said Botha, with complete disdain; 'you must have young men
for fighting.'
That was, so far as I remember, the end of the conversation; but, a
fortnight later, I met Botha a free man in the streets of Pretoria. He
told me he had been released on parole, so that evidently his frank
manliness had not been lost upon the General.
After lunch I became very anxious to go into, and, if possible, through,
Johannesburg. An important action had been fought, witnessed by only two
or three correspondents; and since the enemy lay between the force and
the telegraph wire no news could have been sent home. Hamilton, indeed,
had sent off two of Rimington's Guides early in the morning with
despatches; but they were to make a wide sweep to the south, and it was
not likely, if they got through at all, that they would reach Lord
Roberts until late. The shortest, perhaps the safest, road lay through
Johannesburg itself. But was the venture worth the risk? While I was
revolving the matter in my mind on the verandah of the temporary
headquarters, there arrived two cyclists from the direction of the town.
I got into conversation with one of them, a Frenchman, Monsieur Lautre
by name. He had come from the Langlaagte mine, with which undertaking
he was connected. There were no Boers there, according to him. There
might or might not be Boers in the town. Could a stranger get through?
Certainly, he thought, unless he were stopped and questioned. He
undertook there and then to be my guide if I wished to go; and it being
of considerable importance to get the telegrams through to London, I
decided, after a good many misgivings, to accept his offer. The
General, who wanted to send a more detailed account of his action, and
to report his arrival at Florida, was glad to avail himself even of this
precarious channel. So the matter was immediately settled. Lautre's
friend, a most accommodating person, got off his bicycle without demur
and placed it at my disposal. I doffed my khaki, and put on a suit of
plain clothes which I had in my valise, and exchanged my slouch hat for
a soft cap. Lautre put the despatches in his pocket, and we started
without more ado.
The tracks were bad, winding up and down hill, and frequently deep in
sand; but the machine was a good one, and we made fair progress.
Lautre, who knew every inch of the ground, avoided all highways, and led
me by devious paths from one mine to another, around huge heaps of
tailings, across little private tram lines, through thick copses of fir
trees, or between vast sheds of machinery, now silent and idle. In
three-quarters of an hour we reached Langlaagte, and here we found one
of Rimington's scouts pushing cautiously forward towards the town. We
held a brief parley with him, behind a house, for he was armed and in
uniform. He was very doubtful of the situation ahead; only knew for
certain that the troops had not yet entered Johannesburg. 'But,' said
he, 'the Correspondent of the _Times_ passed me more than two hours
ago.'
'Riding?' I asked.
'Yes,' he said, 'a horse.'
'Ah,' said my Frenchman, 'that is no good. He will not get through on a
horse. They will arrest him.' And then, being quite fired with the
adventure: 'Besides, we will beat him, even if, unhappily, he escape the
Boers.'
So we hurried on. The road now ran for the most part down hill, and the
houses became more numerous. The day was nearly done, and the sun drew
close to the horizon, throwing our long shadows on the white track
before us. At length we turned into a regular street.
'If they stop us,' said my guide, 'speak French. Les Francois sont en
bonne odeur ici. You speak French, eh?'
I thought my accent might be good enough to deceive a Dutchman, so I
said yes; and thereafter our conversation was conducted in French.
We avoided the main thoroughfares, bicycling steadily on through the
poorer quarters. Johannesburg stretched about me on every side, silent,
almost deserted. Groups of moody-looking people chatted at the street
corners, and eyed us suspiciously. All the shops were shut. Most of
the houses had their windows boarded up. The night was falling swiftly,
and its shades intensified the gloom which seemed to hang over the town,
on this the last day of its Republican existence.
Suddenly, as we crossed a side lane, I saw in the street parallel to
that we followed, three mounted men with slouch hats, bandoliers, and
that peculiar irregular appearance which I have learned to associate
with Boers. But to stop or turn back was now fatal. After all, with
the enemy at their gates, they had probably concerns of their own to
occupy them. We skimmed along unhindered into the central square, and
my companion, whose coolness was admirable, pointed me out the
post-office and other public buildings, speaking all the time in French.
The slope now rose against us so steeply that we dismounted to push our
machines. While thus circumstanced I was alarmed to hear the noise of
an approaching horse behind me. With an effort I controlled my impulse
to look back.
'_Encore un Boer_,' said Lautre lightly.
I was speechless. The man drew nearer, overtook and pulled his horse
into a walk beside us. I could not help--perhaps it was the natural,
and, if so, the wise, thing to do--having a look at him. He was a Boer
sure enough, and I think he must have been a foreigner. He was armed
_cap-a-pie_.' The horse he rode carried a full campaigning kit on an
English military saddle. Wallets, saddle-bags, drinking-cup,
holsters--all were there. His rifle was slung across his back, he wore
two full bandoliers over his shoulders and a third round his
waist--evidently a dangerous customer. I looked at his face and our
eyes met. The light was dim, or he might have seen me change colour.
He had a pale, almost ghastly visage, peering ill-favoured and cruel
from beneath a slouch hat with a large white feather. Then he turned
away carelessly. After all, I suppose he thought it natural a poor
devil of a townsman should wish to look at so fine a cavalier of
fortune. Presently he set spurs to his horse and cantered on. I
breathed again freely. Lautre laughed.
'There are plenty of cyclists in Johannesburg,' he said. 'We do not
look extraordinary. No one will stop us.'
We now began to approach the south-eastern outskirts of the town. If
the original scheme of advance had been carried out, Lord Roberts's
leading brigade should be close at hand. Lautre said, 'Shall we
inquire?' But I thought it better to wait. As we progressed the streets
became still more deserted, and at last we found ourselves quite alone.
For more than half a mile I did not see a single person. Then we met a
shabby-looking man, and now, no one else being in sight, the night dark,
and the man old and feeble, we decided to ask him.
'The English,' he said with a grin, 'why, their sentinels are just at
the top of the hill.'
'How far?'
'Five minutes--even less.'
Two hundred yards further on three British soldiers came in sight. They
were quite unarmed, and walking casually forward into the town. I
stopped them and asked what brigade they belonged to. They replied
Maxwell's.
'Where is the picket line?'
'We haven't seen no pickets,' said one of them.
'What are you doing?'
'Looking for something to eat. We've had enough of 'arf rations.'
I said, 'You'll get taken prisoners or shot if you go on into the town.'
'Wot's that, guvnor?' said one of them, deeply interested in this
extraordinary possibility.
I repeated, and added that the Boers were still riding about the
streets.
'Well, then, I ain't for it,' he said with decision. 'Let's go back and
try some of them 'ouses near the camp.'
So we all proceeded together.
I discovered no picket line at the edge of the town. Maxwell must have
had one somewhere, but it certainly did not prevent anyone from passing
freely; for we were never challenged, and, walking on, soon found
ourselves in the middle of a large bivouac. I now became of some use to
my companion, for if he knew the roads I knew the army. I soon found
some officers of my acquaintance, and from them we learned that Lord
Roberts's headquarters were not at Elandsfontein (South), but back at
Germiston, nearly seven miles away. It was now pitch dark, and all
signs of a road had vanished; but Lautre declared he knew his way, and,
in any case, the messages--press and official--had to go through.
We left the camp of Maxwell's Brigade and struck across country in order
to cut into the main southern road. A bicycle now became a great
incumbrance, as the paths wound through dense fir woods, obstructed by
frequent wire fences, ditches, holes, and high grass. Lautre, however,
persisted that all was well, and, as it turned out, he was right. After
about an hour of this slow progress we reached the railway, and, seeing
more camp fires away to the left, turned along it. Half a mile in this
direction brought us to another bivouac, which we likewise entered
unchallenged. I asked a soldier whose brigade he belonged to, but he
did not know, which was painfully stupid of him. A group of officers
were gathered round an enormous fire a few yards away, and we went up to
them to ask. Chance had led me to General Tucker's mess. I had known
the commander of the Seventh Division in India, when he was stationed at
Secunderabad, and he welcomed me with his usual breezy courtesy. He had
been sent off with his leading brigade late in the afternoon to try to
join hands with French, and so complete the circle round Johannesburg;
but darkness had curtailed his march. Besides this, no communications
having yet come through from the Cavalry, he was uncertain where French
was. Naturally he was interested to hear what had passed on the west of
the town, and about the stirring action of the previous day. From him I
got some whisky and water, and clear directions to the Field-Marshal's
headquarters. They were, it appeared, two miles beyond Germiston, a mile
and a half west of the road, in a solitary house on a small hill which
stood beyond a large tank. And in case these indications might have
been of little avail in the dark, he led us a few feet up the slope, and
there we saw that, on the blackness of the night, flamed a regular
oblong of glittering lights. It was the camp of the Eleventh Division.
Somewhere near that were the Chief's headquarters. Thus instructed, we
resumed our journey.
Another half-hour of walking brought us, as Lautre had promised, to a
good firm road, and the bicycles quickly made amends for their previous
uselessness. The air was cold, and we were glad to spin along at a fair
ten miles an hour. At this rate twenty minutes brought us into
Germiston. Not knowing where I should be likely to find dinner, or a
bed, I dismounted opposite the hotel, and, seeing lights and signs of
occupation, went inside. Here I found Mr. Lionel James, the principal
Correspondent of the _Times_. I asked him if his subordinate had
arrived from Hamilton's force. He said 'No'; and when I told him he had
started two hours in front of me, looked much concerned; whereat the
Frenchman could not conceal a heartless grimace. I offered to give him
some account of the action for his own use (for what is more detestable
than a jealous journalist?), but he said that I had had the good luck to
come through, and that he would not think of depriving me of my
advantage. Alas! the days of newspaper enterprise in war are over.
What can one do with a censor, a forty-eight hours' delay, and a
fifty-word limit on the wire? Besides, who can compete with Lord
Roberts as a special correspondent? None against the interest of his
daily messages; very few against their style and simple grace. Never
mind. It is all for the best.
We dined hastily and not too well, secured the reversion of half the
billiard table, should all other couches fail, and set out again, this
time tired and footsore. After two miles of dusty track the camp was
reached. I found more officers who knew where Army Headquarters were,
and at last, at about half-past ten, we reached the solitary house. We
sent the despatches in by an orderly, and after a few minutes Lord Kerry
came out and said that the Chief wanted to see the messengers.
Now, for the first time in this war, I found myself face to face with
our illustrious leader. The room was small and meanly furnished, and he
and his staff, who had just finished dinner, sat round a large table
which occupied the greater part of the floor. With him were Sir William
Nicholson (who arranges all the transport of the army, a work the credit
of which is usually given to Lord Kitchener) and Colonel Neville
Chamberlayne, his private secretary, both of them soldiers of the
practical Indian school, where you have real fighting, both of them
serving once more under their commander of Afghan days. There, too, was
Sir Henry Rawlinson, whom I had last seen round Sir George White's
table, the night Dundonald broke into Ladysmith; and Sir James
Hills-Johnes, who won the Victoria Cross in the Indian Mutiny, and
aides-de-camp and others whom I cannot remember.
The Field-Marshal rose from his place, shook hands, and bade us, in most
ceremonious fashion, to be seated. He had read half of Hamilton's
despatch.
'The first part of this,' he said, 'we knew already. Two
guides--Rimington's, I think--got in here about an hour ago. They had a
dangerous ride, and were chased a long way, but escaped safely. I am
glad to hear Hamilton is at Florida. How did you get through?'
I told him briefly. His eye twinkled. I have never seen a man before
with such extraordinary eyes. I remember to have been struck with them
on several occasions. The face remains perfectly motionless, but the
eyes convey the strongest emotions. Sometimes they blaze with anger, and
you see hot yellow fire behind them. Then it is best to speak up
straight and clear, and make an end quickly. At others there is a steel
grey glitter--quite cold and uncompromising--which has a most sobering
effect on anyone who sees it. But now the eyes twinkled brightly with
pleasure or amusement or approbation, or, at any rate, something
friendly.
'Tell me about the action,' he said.
So I told him all I knew, much as it is set down in these pages, though
not nearly at such length; but I don't think the tale lost in the
telling. From time to time he asked questions about the Artillery
concentration, or the length of front of the Infantry attack, and other
technical matters, on which I was luckily well-informed. The fact that
the troops had no rations seemed to disturb him very much. He was
particularly interested to hear of Hamilton's novel attack 'at thirty
paces extension'; of the manner in which the batteries had been rammed
almost into the firing line; but most of all he wanted to hear about the
Gordons' charge. When I had done he said: 'The Gordons' always do
well.' Then he asked what we proposed to do. Lautre said he would go
back forthwith; but the Chief said, 'Much better stay here for the
night; we will find you beds'; so of course we stayed. He asked me
whether I meant to go back next morning. I said that as I had got my
messages to the telegraph office I thought, upon the whole, that I would
not run any more risks, but wait and see the British occupation of the
town. He laughed at this, and said that I was quite right, and would be
very ill-advised to be caught again. Then he said that he would send a
letter to Hamilton in the morning, bade us all 'good-night,' and retired
to his waggon. I, too, found a comfortable bed--the first for a
month--and being thoroughly worn out soon fell asleep.
Part of Lord Roberts's letter that he wrote to Ian Hamilton next day was
published in the orders of the flanking column. In some way it explains
why the private soldier will march further for 'Bobs Bahadur' than for
any one else in the world.
'I am delighted at your repeated successes, and grieve beyond measure at
your poor fellows being without their proper rations. A trainful shall
go to you to-day. I expect to get the notice that Johannesburg
surrenders this morning, and we shall then march into the town. I wish
your column, which has done so much to gain possession of it, could be
with us.
'Tell the Gordons that I am proud to think I have a Highlander as one of
the supporters on my coat-of-arms.'