The President, who had been elected so often that the office promised,
so far as he was concerned, to be a perpetual one, is a hearty, genial
gentleman, beloved by all who know him. He is a native of Cape Town,
and received his education in England. The welfare of the little
republic, over which he has so long and so wisely ruled, is the dearest
object of his heart.
We met the President and his wife, who invited us to call at their
residence, a large, two-storey "White House," as it is called,
surrounded by extensive grounds in the prettiest spot on the outskirts
of the town. We were told by residents that our visit would be very
formal, but it did not prove to be so. We found them both most charming
and affable people. A luncheon of delicacies and choice fruits from
their own orchard was laid for us, and Mrs Brand, or "Lady Brand," as
she is more generally called, was so bright and witty that an hour
passed away very pleasantly. She is a large, striking-looking woman of
noble features, and with a mind capable of assisting her husband in
matters of state. Her best sympathies are with her people, and no one
deplores more than she the lamentable ignorance to be found in the
remote districts. It rests with the people themselves to remove this
ignorance; excellent boarding-schools, both government and private, are
established in every village throughout the country. She has unbounded
confidence in the capabilities of the Dutch to govern themselves.
Certainly, if the country can produce more such people as her noble
husband and herself, they will have no difficulty in finding a leader.
The President seemed greatly interested in us as being Americans, and
asked us question after question about our customs and form of
government. A special session of the Volksraad was called while we were
in the town, to discuss the condition of the Transvaal, which was now in
open revolt, and we had an opportunity of seeing the representative men
of the country. They came to town in all sorts of vehicles, European
and American carriages, Cape carts and ox-wagons. The many vehicles,
all drawn by handsomely matched horses, made the town very bright and
gay.
The men who gathered together were, many of them, aliens by birth, but
all showed signs of more than average intelligence. The question they
had come to discuss, viz, what should be the attitude of their country
in the present state of affairs in the Transvaal, was important, for the
people of that territory were united to them by many ties. News was
brought by post cart that the Boers in the Transvaal, who had long
wished to govern themselves, had risen up against English rule, had come
riding into Potchefstrom from all the country around, and had taken
possession of the town. There we were in the midst of people closely
related to the Transvaal, which was but a few days' ride from us.
As news came that Pretoria, so isolated, was in a state of siege, and
that English troops were coming out as fast as the steamers could bring
them to put down the Boer rebellion, things began to look interesting.
In addition to the troubles in the Transvaal, the Cape Colony was also
embroiled in a war with the Basutos, a warlike tribe occupying a large
tract of country east of the Free State. What with war with the Basutos
on the one side of us, and the Boers on the other, South Africa was not
precisely a country to which one felt the Millennium would soon come.
Fighting against the natives, either Zulu or Basuto, is an entirely
different kind of warfare from meeting the deadly aim of the Boer on his
own soil. In this dry, cruel country, with its natural fastnesses and
dry river beds, the Boer from his boyhood wanders, gun in hand, trained
to handle it as easily as the English soldier handles his cane when not
on duty. When news came in that every officer of a fine English company
of brave fellows had been shot, picked off like birds on a fence, a wave
of horror swept over the hearts of those friendly to the British flag.
The English troops went on nothing daunted, and when fighting on one of
the heights were beating their foe, who was turning to flee. At this
critical moment they discovered that their leader had neglected to bring
sufficient ammunition up the mountain-side. When the Boers saw the
situation, and rushed back upon them, the brave English fellows, in
their desperation, picked up stones and threw them at their foe, and
then, rather than be taken prisoners, jumped down a declivity of a
hundred feet to effect their escape.
I quote a descriptive account of the engagement at "Lange's Nek" from
the special war correspondent of the Natal _Witness_:--
"No unfair means were taken by the Boers yesterday. We attempted to
take the hill, and in our endeavours to reach the summit they repulsed
us. This is the whole thing in a nutshell; men who were in the
engagement stated that the Boers had entrenched themselves, and this
is more than probable when it is considered that natural trenches must
abound in the positions they occupied. It was also represented that
they had numbers of Kafir allies to assist them. This may or may not
be true. I was posted near the cannon, and although I had a
magnificent view from that point, I observed no Kafir force whatever.
It is perfectly true that many of the Boers used fowling-pieces loaded
with buckshot, and they did fearful damage in wounding men, but
whether this can be regarded as unfair when rockets are used on our
side, I leave any one to decide. Mere words are tame to express the
manner in which the gallant 58th behaved on this occasion. Their
conduct throughout, even against overwhelming odds, and the knowledge
acquired too late of the enemy's position being impregnable, left
nothing to be desired.
"The attempt to eulogise these men seems like mockery; their deeds
speak for them far more eloquently than words can. So true and deadly
was the Boer aim that Colonel Deane, in command of the 58th, fell
almost immediately upon fire being opened. Officers and men were shot
down in every direction. Every volley of the Boers carried its
fearful freight too true, and thinned our already meagre force. Still
they held on to the last, hoping against hope, and dying martyrs.
Every man on the field yesterday was more than a soldier--he was a
hero. The word `Retreat!' was at last given, but oh, what a retreat!
Men walking over their dead comrades' bodies, ever and anon another
addition being made to those already down--wounded men imploring that
their rifles should not be thrown into the enemy's hands.
"The sight was grand, but awful, and those who witnessed the
engagement at Lange's Nek yesterday are likely to carry the impression
to their graves. Had it not been for the shells, which unquestionably
created great havoc among the Boer ranks at this period, few, very
few, of the 58th would have survived that day. On reaching the foot
of the hill the 60th Rifles were drawn up to protect their retreat,
and, if possible, induce the enemy to follow up. The Boers, however,
retired to their position under cover of a ravine."
This was what the fighting was like; it seemed more like a massacre of
the gallant Englishmen than a battle. But what seemed most astonishing
to the English population was that these quiet, peaceful people, who
nobody thought would fight, rose up in a day as one man, without any
such purpose being known to the English!
The colony of South Africa is always in a flourishing condition when war
breaks out. Then English gold and foreign speculators come to its
shores; everything is at fever heat; towns are built and beautified.
Afterward comes the reaction; the breath of life and vigour dies out,
leaving the colony hopelessly in debt. The colony then remains a drain
upon the exchequer of England, which pays out thousands of pounds for
the war "epidemics" that every few years break out between the native
and the English, or the Boer and the English.
These wars yield nothing in return to England but mourning hearts at
home for brave sons who lie buried under African soil.