AN EXPEDITION WITH LORD METHUEN
XIII
IN THE FIELD AGAIN
After all, we need not have made so much haste to leave Bloemfontein. We
had been told there that a column would start for the relief of Mafeking
on March 20th, but when we arrived at Kimberley on the 18th we found
that no movement was to take place for several days. The date was
constantly shifted farther into the future, and the days of waiting had
grown into weeks before an order came that Lord Methuen with his force
of about 10,000 men was to march on Boshof. As far as information went
we lived from hand to mouth; all the orders came from Bloemfontein, and
they seldom provided for more than a day at a time. It was not
unnatural, therefore, that when an order to move did at last come we
built upon it all kinds of extravagant expectations, and it was a
cheerful army that left Kimberley on April 2nd and took the road for
Boshof.
After many days of inaction it was indeed good to recommence a moving
life among oxen and waggons and guns and soldiers. Kimberley was all
very well as a spectacle immediately after the siege; everyone flocked
to see the holes in the houses and the ruined buildings. It was all very
well (so, at any rate, we persuaded ourselves) to live in a club and to
dine again amid damask and flowers and cut glass after the rude life of
the fields; but even this was a novelty only for a day, and one soon
became impatient of the poor shift at living which dwellers in towns are
forced to make. I think I never saw a town so lost and drowned beneath
the wave of money-getting as Kimberley; even its recent privations were
turned to a nimble account, and 6-inch shells were selling at £10 apiece
before I left. The people who fled most readily from the projectiles
were of course the most eager to buy them--so highly do we esteem the
instruments which make us seem heroes to ourselves. For the moment
Kimberley transferred its attentions commercially from diamonds to
shells: a less romantic and (if you will believe it) a more sordid
industry; for there were already more storied and pedigreed shells in
private collections and for sale in Kimberley than ever fell into the
town.
Boshof, at any rate, provided a welcome change from all this. It is a
pretty little town of greensward streets and clear brooks; of white
cottages embowered in trees; of rose-gardens and orchards; rather like a
remote country town in Ireland--poor and pretty and sleepy. There were
few able-bodied men left in it, and aged people looked doubtfully out
from their fuchsia-covered doors upon the ranks and regiments of foreign
soldiers who came clattering through the streets on some of those hot
April afternoons. We were to advance, it was now thought, on the 6th; in
what direction we did not know certainly, but we suspected that it would
be along the Hoopstad Road. The arguments and speculations with which we
occupied ourselves need not be recorded now, but it was at once our hope
and fear that we should advance along the north bank of the Vaal. Hope,
because there was work to be done there; fear, lest our smaller force
should be absorbed by Lord Roberts's larger army and become merely its
left flank. Events showed that we might have spared ourselves both hopes
and fears, but fortunately we were ignorant, and so found occupation for
many an hour that had otherwise been empty.
An interval of inaction in the midst of a war is tedious in some ways,
but it is at least of benefit to a mere onlooker, who is thus enabled to
disengage himself from the whirl of operations and to discover the
results of his unwonted occupation. After having lived amongst
soldiers--in some ways and in spite of their profession the most human
and civilised of men--it had come upon me as a shock to find in
Kimberley the same bloodthirstiness that had distinguished the more
thoughtless section of the public at home. Cruel shouting for blood by
people who never see it; the iteration of that most illogical demand, a
life for a life--and, if possible, two lives for a life; the loud,
hectoring, frothy argument that lashes itself into a fury with strong
and abusive language--they all came like a clap of thunder after what I
am bound to call in comparison the quiet decency of the battlefield.
This is a grave thing to say, but it would be unfair to disguise so
clear an impression as this that I received, who went to South Africa
with so little political bias that eager partisans of neither colour in
Cape Town would own me. To appear lukewarm amongst people who are
red-hot is not always pleasant, but it has its compensations; one has at
least a foothold--inglorious, perhaps, but safe and desirable in a dizzy
world.
It was impossible to be in Kimberley and not to become involved in the
endless political discussions of clubs and dinner tables. I used to try
very hard to discover what it was that made the average Briton living in
South Africa hate the Boers so bitterly. The Colonial despises the Boer,
but one does not hate a man only because one despises him. Jealousy is
the best blend with contempt, and there is no doubt that the Boer's not
unnatural desire to be paramount in his own land was what English
colonists with whom I talked chiefly resented. We might talk for an hour
or for a day--the same old grievances always came round: the inferior
political position of the Uitlanders, the primitive, not to say dirty
and slovenly, habits of many Boer farmers, and their lack of energy.
These are the grievances of the man in the street, and they appear grave
enough--when once one has invested oneself with the right of censorship.
Then the rebels--wretched, unsuccessful farmers, who found themselves
misled and their ideas of duty confounded--these were the chief objects
of the lust for revenge. A rebel, as a man who has tried unsuccessfully
to overthrow by force the Government to which he owes allegiance, must
expect to suffer; but even in the case of these miserable creatures
there is surely a scale of responsibility to be observed and a measure
of justice to be meted. If Kimberley or Cape Town had ruled the matter
by their mass meetings nearly every rebel would have been hanged--a very
poor way, one would think, of making loyal subjects. But the reasons
that were urged in support of such drastic punishment were astonishingly
frank: "It doesn't pay to be loyal," one was told; "we might as well
have been rebels." Not a very lofty form of patriotism.
One came to shrink from using that grand word, so plausible a cloak did
it become for much that is mean and degrading. For example, when I was
riding from Bloemfontein to Kimberley I and my companion descried a
farmhouse two miles in front of us near Koodoesrand Drift; when we had
come within about a mile of it a little travesty of a Union Jack was run
up on a stick, and when we rode up to the door a farmer came out,
smiling, rubbing his hands, sniggering--in a word, truckling. His talk
was like the political swagger of the music-hall or the butler's pantry.
"I'm John Bull to the core--eh? No damned Boers for me--eh? Ha, ha, wipe
'em out, gentlemen, wipe 'em out: old England's all right as long as
we've got gentlemen like you to defend us--eh?" (He took us for
officers.) "John Bull for ever--eh?"
And while he spoke someone inside the house played "God Save the Queen"
with one finger (incorrectly) on a harmonium. The incident had a more
unpleasant flavour than I can well convey; we went away feeling ashamed.
All this belongs to the dark side of the campaign; fortunately there was
another, how bright I cannot say, that went far to make one forget the
rest. For the soldier the whole moral question had been decided; his
duty was so clear that he never needed to hesitate. And his blood would
have been sluggish indeed who must not have been stirred to the heart by
these inspiring circumstances: whether in camp, where the population of
a town was housed and fed in an hour, every man charged with some duty
for the common benefit, the whole a pattern of social administration; or
on the march, with the scouts and patrols opening and spreading in
advance and covering every patch of ground for miles round, the sweep
and imposing measure of the marching troops, the miles of supply and
baggage waggons, each in its appointed place; or on the battlefield,
where troops were handled and manoeuvred as on a chessboard, where men
went to death with light hearts, lying for perhaps hours under fire,
stealing a piece of ground here or a bit of cover there, with one eye on
their officer and another on the flash before them, and perhaps a
thought in the middle of it all for someone at home--there, indeed,
where stern duties were faithfully fulfilled was set a great example.
Fortunately for some of us at home the men who direct and conduct our
battles are magnanimous, and one had the gratification of seeing, even
upon occasions so savage, little acts of courtesy and humanity rendered
on both sides that went far to take the sting out of a defeat.
And let there be no mistake about the Boers as soldiers. In spite of the
far too numerous abuses of the rules of civilised warfare by detached
and independent combatants--abuses, it should be remembered, that have
occurred and will occur in every war and in the ranks of every army
--our officers and men have a genuine respect and admiration for their
enemy. No one looked upon death at their hands as anything but
honourable. And as one's admiration and sympathy were stirred for one's
own fellow-countrymen, who so unflinchingly performed their duties,
could one withhold it from that other army five miles away across the
plain--citizen soldiers fighting for their country and their homes? For
the soldier politics do not exist; he fights and dies for an idea. This
is mere sentiment, you may say, instead of fact about arms and battles;
yet the hardest fact that rings beneath your stamp is no more real than
poor, flimsy sentiment, which is a living force in the world, and will
remain to be reckoned with when pom-poms and Creusots are rusting in
archæological museums--monuments only to the mechanical and political
clumsiness of the nineteenth century.
XIV
THE CAPTURE OF BOERS AT TWEEFONTEIN
Lord Methuen had not long to wait for occupation. As soon as he arrived
at Boshof he posted his pickets on every possible point of vantage, and
patrolled the neighbourhood of Boshof over a wide circumference; and he
was rewarded. The little engagement at Tweefontein was, we all hoped, an
auspicious beginning for Lord Methuen's advance. If one might apply the
word to military tactics, it was as artistic a piece of work as could
be. I do not remember a single mistake or an instance of anything less
well or less quickly done than was possible. The result was a raising of
everyone's spirits, and I thought that Lord Methuen himself had the air
of a man emerging from depression. Certainly no general was better liked
by those around him, and, in spite of all mischievous gossip to the
contrary, he was perfectly trusted by his officers and men.
[Illustration: LIEUT.-GEN. LORD METHUEN, K.C.V.O., C.B., C.M.G.]
On Friday morning, April 6th, a native guide came in with information
that the enemy had a laager at a farm called Tweefontein, nine miles
south-east of Boshof. In ten minutes Major Streatfeild had his horse
packed and saddled and was off to the Yeomanry camp. Now the Yeomanry
horses were out on the plain grazing a good mile away; yet from the time
when the order was given until the moment of starting exactly
thirty-five minutes elapsed--a performance that would not have disgraced
veterans. The artillery and the Kimberley Mounted Corps (an excellent
force, although not so well horsed as the Yeomanry) were ready in the
same time, and the force started in the following order: Scouts of the
Kimberley Mounted Corps; advance guard ditto; Staff; Imperial Yeomanry,
under Lord Chesham; Fourth Company Royal Artillery; Kimberley Mounted
Corps, under Lieut.-Colonel Peakman.
When the force was within three miles of Tweefontein the scouts
returned, stating that the only kopje in the neighbourhood was held by
the enemy. The native guides had led us by an excellent road and with
absolute accuracy, and the enemy had no idea of our presence until we
came up over the ridge and showed our force in the centre. Lord Methuen
then developed his attack, which, as the kopje was isolated, was on the
simple plan of a centre with two extending wings. There was a delay in
the centre until Captain Rolleston's (Lieutenant-Colonel commanding
Nottinghamshire Yeomanry) company, under Lord Scarborough, could get
into position on the left. The enemy opened fire without delay, so the
Yeomanry had to make a wide detour. Meanwhile the centre was held back
while the Kimberley Mounted Corps, under Colonel Peakman, were sent to
the right, where they found cover in a ridge of very low kopjes.
When both flanks were in position the main body of Yeomanry dismounted
and advanced towards the kopje in extended order. Now was their time.
You must remember that this was their baptism of fire, and everyone was
on the look-out for signs of "greenness"; everyone had more or less been
making fun of them in a mild way, and prophesying all sorts of disaster.
As they advanced the bullets began to pipe on the edge of the
firing-zone, but there was not a bit of change in the Yeomanry when they
came under fire. I know from experience how disconcerting it is to ride
into the zone of fire, and walking must be much worse. It is not half so
bad when you are fairly in; it is like wading into a cold and shallow
sea instead of plunging--a kind of shivering sensation, most unpleasant.
Well, they went through this nasty belt as coolly as you please--no
hurry or funk. They dropped like wax when the order came to lie down,
and fired steadily.
The whole of our little field was now under fire, and the cavalry on
each side were keeping the Boers very busy. All the time the right and
left flanks were opening out and reaching towards each other behind the
kopje. The only disappointment was that the artillery could not get to
work; the rise of the ground was so great and we had covered the
position so completely that it was rather dangerous to attempt shelling.
For about two hours there was hot firing, and every now and then there
was a little work for our ambulance people, but not much. The only
noticeable evidence of inexperience on the part of the Yeomanry was that
they did not realise--and no one can realise this when fighting the
Boers for the first time--how great is the enemy's firing range, and how
far away one must keep to be able to live at all. They kept pressing
forward, and Major Streatfeild had to ride across from the General under
a very hot fire to tell them to keep back.
Towards the end of the engagement there was a gap in front of the
artillery position, and the guns spoke. They got the range at once, and
fired three rounds of shrapnel, and a few minutes after the third round
had been fired a white flag was waved from the hill. Silence fell like a
shadow over the place that had been crackling with fire a minute before;
people who had been lying flat on the ground stood up and stretched
themselves; and in the midst of the silence a shot cracked from the
hill, and there was a rush of men towards a prostrate body on our side.
Then another shot cracked--from our side this time; the treacherous
Boer, I was told, fell dead, and the action was over.
We captured fifty-two prisoners, and the Boers had eight killed and six
wounded. No one escaped. They all laid down their arms and surrendered,
handing over also a cart of dynamite. From this it was gathered that
General Villebois (who was killed) had been trying to get behind us to
the railway line near Modder River, where he hoped to destroy it. I
spoke to some of the prisoners next day--Frenchmen, many of them, and
nice enough fellows. I heard then something which gave me pause with
regard to the white flag. When the thing happened it appeared to be a
flagrant and indubitable case of treachery; everyone was speaking of it.
But one of the prisoners, in talking to me, referred to the "rascal" who
showed the flag.
"We had no intention to surrender," he said; "no order was given; that
worm had a flag in his pocket, and he held it up; poor ---- (mentioning
the man who shot and was killed) probably never saw it. It's a wonder
half of us did not go on firing."
I give this statement for what it is worth. "All lies" was the comment
of some of the officers there, and quite possibly they were right; but
quite possibly also they were wrong, and the whole thing was an
accident. At least one may learn a lesson from it. I hated to believe
it, but I believed it to be treachery. Now it turns out that I may have
been unjust, and possibly on a dozen other occasions the same sort of
involuntary injustice may have been done to our enemies. Certainly it is
much easier for soldiers to see a small conspicuous object when it is
displayed by the enemy than when it is displayed by one of their own
side. The men on either side are intent upon watching the other side,
not their own.
In General Villebois de Mareuil's pocket was found a note-book
containing a cleverly planned diagram of an attack on Boshof, and when
the sun was setting he was buried in the town he had hoped to enter
victoriously. It was a most impressive ceremony; the slanting sun, the
imposing military honours, the solemn words of the office--it is easily
imagined; it will not be easily forgotten by those of us who witnessed
it. Next morning we had left Boshof and its green streets behind, and
were winding along the road, the line of patrols sweeping like a long
billow over the hills before and on each side of us. We paused for a
night at Zwaartzkopjesfontein, went on the next morning to
Mahemsfontein; whence, having received orders from Lord Roberts to halt,
we fell back on Zwaartzkopjesfontein.
On Monday morning, April 9th, I went out with the Yeomanry, who made a
reconnaissance ten miles to the east. We found a party of about sixty
Boers chasing goats and cattle and stock of all kinds on a Dutch farm
occupied only by women. We could see them through glasses driving the
stock away (about sixty head), but they only fired a shot or two at one
of our scouts, and then fled, taking and keeping a four-mile start of
us. This expedition was at least interesting, as again showing the
really excellent work and methods of the Yeomanry. They cared for their
horses in a more intelligent way than any regular cavalry I have seen,
and they were not above taking hints from the Colonials in the matter
of marching and patrolling order. Everyone was surprised. It had been
quite the thing to smile at the very mention of the Yeomanry; yet they
speedily proved themselves quite equal to take their place beside any
other of the Volunteers, even the best of the Colonial mounted corps.
With a charming courtesy Lord Methuen designed and erected at his own
expense a monument over the grave of his fallen enemy. On the stone is
engraved this inscription:--
[cross]
A LA MEMOIRE
DU COMTE DE VILLEBOIS DE MAREUIL
ANCIEN COLONEL
DE LA LEGION ÉTRANGÈRE
EN FRANCE
GÉNÉRAL DU TRANSVAAL
MORT AU CHAMP D'HONNEUR
PRÈS DE BOSHOF
LE 5 AVRIL, 1900
DANS SA 53ème ANNÉE
R.I.P.
XV
AN ELUSIVE ENEMY
In spite of their former experiences the troops under Lord Methuen were
in some danger of forgetting the sterner realities of warfare, and of
mistaking for them the mere physical discomforts incidental to life
afield in rough weather. The camp at Zwaartzkopjesfontein--the highest
point of land within a large area--was scattered amongst rocks and
boulders piled high into an island ridge rising from the plain; and
amongst the rocks and ferns one found here and there a piece of lawn
(long untrodden by any feet but those of goats) large enough to picket
one's horses and pitch one's tent upon. Eastward the plain stretched to
the horizon, as level as the sea; indeed, in a landscape so monotonous
that one was fain to decorate it with fancies, it stood for the sea, and
touched the rocky base of our island as the sea washes many a mile of
bluff coast. Winter was setting in, and all day long wreaths of mist and
banks of rain came blowing from the eastward (the seaward, as we called
it), and shrouded the brown rock. The signallers on the height used to
wrap themselves in their oilskins as darkness fell and lamps took the
place of flags and spy-glasses; in the dark gusty hours we heard the
"all's well" of a sentry as the visiting patrol went by, much as one
hears the cry of the watch on board ship; and down below, the
mimosa-trees sighed like surges against the foot of the rock.
The ten days spent there by the troops were marked by only two
expeditions against the invisible enemy, neither of which achieved
anything but a nominal result. One was under Colonel Mahon, and repaired
the telegraph line in the neighbourhood of Modder River; it was intended
to patrol as far as Klip Drift, but the rain made the veldt impassable
for waggons. Certainly the line was repaired, but, as the Colonel
contemptuously remarked, "What's the use of sending an expedition to
repair telegraph lines? An old woman can cut 'em again ten minutes after
you've gone."
The other flying column was under General Douglas, and was sent out
eastward in search of a commando known to be in the neighbourhood. As
both columns started on the same day (April 11th) I could not be with
both, so I chose General Douglas's as offering the better chances of an
engagement. Two days before Lord Chesham had conducted a reconnaissance
with his cavalry, to which I had been invited, and at which he had
promised me "fine sport." Result: a fine cross-country gallop, a deal of
used-up horseflesh, a number of tired and (because they had been hurried
out without their breakfasts) rather cross men, and a sight of a few
Boers riding off at a distance of five miles. "Butterflies" was
someone's description of these elusive enemies of ours; and when one
considers what a fine chase they gave us, and how hot and cross we
became in the course of it, the description seems not inapt.
General Douglas's column, consisting of a battalion of the Northamptons,
300 Imperial Yeomanry, 50 men of the Kimberley Mounted Corps, a section
of Field Artillery, Ambulance and Supply Corps, set out before dawn on
Wednesday, April 11th. We marched, as it had hitherto been my lot always
to march in this campaign, eastwards towards the fires of dawn, leaving
the dark night-sky behind us. The waggons creaked and jolted across the
rough veldt, the gun harness jingled, the horses snorted out the cold
air, the Kaffirs cried to their beasts; and in this discordant chorus we
stretched out across the sea-plain while the east kindled and glowed.
Above us the clouds changed from grey to dove-colour, from that to
rose-pink; and then, straight before us, the sun came up and gave us
gold for redness. The little purple wild flowers opened, showing us
where the night had left a jewel on every petal, and the sleepy soldiers
plucked them as they passed and cheered themselves with their faint
fragrance. The day, like the night, comes quickly there, and brings with
it an even greater change. For in that last week of autumn we tasted of
every season; hot summer days, nights of spring, dark, cold winter
mornings by the camp fire; and it was when night changed to day that
winter faded into summer. For that reason, I suppose, the hour after
sunrise was the most invigorating of all, and long before the sun had
dried the dew from their clothes the men were marching with a freer
step.
This will show you how suddenly things may come upon the unwary in that
country. I had been riding with the scouts, two miles in advance of the
column, and we had just been examining through glasses a moving group in
the distance. It turned out to be nothing but cattle feeding--the only
moving things in a plain that seemed absolutely level, and I rode back
and rejoined the column. The Brigadier was just saying that he was
afraid we should see nothing to-day, when an orderly galloped up with a
note from Lord Chesham (who was out with the scouts on our left flank)
to say that the Boers were holding a kopje three miles on our left front
in strength.
Then began the excitement. Everyone was wide awake in a moment and
curious to see how the new Brigadier would manage his first job. The
convoy was halted, and the troops drawn on under cover of a slight and
almost imperceptible rise in the ground. Riding on in advance I suddenly
came on the scouts in action, that is to say, their horses were picketed
in rear of them, and they were lying hidden in the long grasses. And
there you have a typical picture of this kind of warfare. A row of men
lying on the ground, for no apparent reason, chewing the long stalks and
talking quietly to each other; in front a flat and seemingly vacant
ground; profound silence reigning everywhere. But use your glasses, and
you will see what looks like a shadow, but is really a rise on the
ground, giving advantage enough for the extermination of an army; show
your head, and you will hear the bang and whirr of the Mauser.
Presently the jingle of harness sounded behind me, and the guns went by
to take up a position on the left. I followed behind them in shelter of
the ridge, and therefore out of sight of the position. When I saw it
again I found that we were facing three long low mounds, running north
and south across our path, and the attack was now being developed. The
infantry, so dense a mass when marching, were now strung out in long
lines sweeping towards the left, and Lord Chesham with two squadrons had
also gone far to the left, to try to get round the position. Meanwhile
the guns were unlimbered, and their anxious crew (the battery had never
been in action before) were on tenter-hooks.
Up rides a staff officer. "Shell that ridge on the left."
"Right, sir. Sight for 1,800. Fuse six--no, six and a half," says the
nervous subaltern.
"Fire, number one gun! Fire, number two gun!" Then two shattering
explosions, the suspense of six seconds, the burst of shrapnel in the
air, the cloud of brown dust rising where it struck, and the hollow
"boom" coming back when all was over.
These exercises were repeated with much zeal by the subaltern and his
crew, until after about fifty rounds had been fired the order came to
cease fire; and it was afterwards ascertained that, as the net result of
this commotion, one partridge had been shot. But I know of another
result. A certain subaltern member of the Royal Regiment of Artillery
sat thereafter a little straighter on his horse than he had sat a week
ago.
But while the noise was going on, for all we knew, the Boers might be
suffering heavily from the shrapnel; although we rather thought not,
since no one was shooting back at the guns. Meanwhile the infantry was
threading out to the left, from which direction a shot now and then
sounded; and the remark of the onlookers (the onlooker is invariably a
critic) was, "Why is he committing all his force to a left-flank turning
movement, leaving only a hundred and fifty men to watch his centre and
right, when there may be only a dozen men on that left kopje?"
So said we, who sat on the gun limbers looking very wise; and, by one of
those unfortunate chances which sometimes justify the amateur critic and
encourage him in his vice, we turned out to be right. What was really
happening was this. The 150 or 400 Boers (I never discovered which,
although I believe it was the smaller number) who sat on that hill and
saw us coming did not wish to stay. So they held the middle kopje, and
threw out what is called a "false flank" on to the left kopje; and then,
seeing our whole force committed to the left, they went behind the hill
and filled their pipes, and packed their saddlebags and rode off,
leaving the six men to keep us busy while they went. And then the six
men departed also; and after much careful scouting, we rode victoriously
over the kopje. If we had attacked on the right flank also, we should
probably have caught them, as Lord Chesham would in a little longer have
got round to their rear and cut them off. Of course, the whole
difficulty in such cases arises from the invisible fire of smokeless
powder. One never knows whether the banging is produced by six men
firing briskly or by sixty firing slowly, and that was why Lord Chesham
had to tire out his horses by taking them round twelve miles to avoid
six men.
Our only "casualty" was carried out of action in a stretcher--he was a
member of the volunteer company of the Northamptons.
"They've got me, sir," he said to me, in tones of mingled pride and
martyrdom, "'it in the leg."
As a matter of fact, the man was only scratched; he could easily walk,
but could not resist the circumstance of the stretcher; and he fell into
his place for the rest of the march, a very proud man.
We bivouacked at Granaatz Plaatz farm that night, whence the heliograph
winked the news of our engagement to our camp. It was a day of alternate
sunshine and cloud, and the messages gave the signallers much trouble. I
had one to send after the official messages, and the sun was getting low
by the time it began. The shine never lasted for more than twenty
seconds, but they managed to edge the words into the blinks until they
came to "Zwaartzkopjesfontein." The sun always gave out in the middle of
it; the regulations demanded that the word should be begun afresh every
time, and finally the sun sank victoriously on the fell word. Darkness
set in, and a blinding thunderstorm with deluges of rain, but the
signallers were not to be beaten.
"We'll do ut on the lamp, sorr, and divil take the ould sun for goin'
out on us," said the Irish sergeant.
I should not like to say how many people had to do with that message
before it got near the cable. In the first place, the light could hardly
penetrate the twelve-mile space of rain; and even when they had
succeeded in "calling up" headquarters the lightning flashes interfered
with our feeble dots and dashes. I shall always remember that little
group of men working most admirably on the kopje high up amid the storm
and rain--one lying on his face in the mud with a telescope propped on a
stone reading the reply; another keeping the paper dry under his helmet
while he spelt the message to the operator; and a third working the
shutter that, by occulting the light, makes flashes from the lamp.
"_Guardian_--G-u-a-r-d-i-a-n," says the reader.
"Bang, bang; rattle; bang, rattle, rattle; bang; bang, bang, rattle;
bang, rattle; bang, rattle, rattle; bang, bang, bang," goes the lamp.
An anxious pause is enlivened by a clap of thunder.
"Answered," says Spy-glass. And often a word had to be repeated three or
four times before it was answered, but at the fourth letter of
"Zwaartzkopjesfontein" the answering signal was plainly given, followed
by DDDD, which, although not in the code-book, is an expression well
understood by all signallers.
All that night it rained, and the men in their wretched bivouacs sang
through it all with a most admirable heroism. Imagine yourself with two
other people lying in three inches of water with two blankets supported
by rifles over your head, and you have their condition. And they started
again in the cold, rainy darkness, wet and chilled to the bone, still
singing. But that is the private soldier all over. Put him in really
happy circumstances, and he grumbles himself hoarse; give him something
really to grumble at, and he is cheerful; give him misery, and he sings.
We marched fifteen miles on Thursday, the 12th, and encamped at
Buitendam, the farm of a field-cornet, where a few of the enemy sniped
at us as we arrived and had the satisfaction of seeing the whole force
turned out after a weary march. But of course the Boers are in their
element at this kind of game. A hundred of them wish to drive away some
stock; they leave a dozen to snipe from a ridge, while we send Tommy
plodding round for miles on a flanking movement (for you must keep him
out of range); and when the cattle have been driven far enough away,
Mr. Boer jumps on his horse and is off also, while we ruefully "occupy"
the vacant hill.
We found a noisy and rather gratifying revenge in destroying some
ammunition which was buried in the garden; the throwing of three
thousand rounds of cordite ammunition into the fire is a peculiarly
exciting game. Some presiding genius, instead of blowing up the two
cases of dynamite, threw them into the dam, whence, I have been told,
they were fished up, not a penny the worse, by the Boers after our
departure next day.
A thing happened in connection with this Boer ammunition which shows
once more how very easy it is to attribute all kinds of sins to one's
enemy. Someone came running up to a little group of us with several
packets of cartridges, one with the seal broken.
"Here's a pretty thing," he said; "poisoned bullets--the brutes!"
Sure enough, there were the steel bullets projecting out of the
cartridges, each completely coated with something very like verdigris up
to the edge of the brass envelope. The sealed packets showed that they
must have been so received from the makers, which easily proved the
most premeditated barbarity. Exclamations were rife; a brigadier was
making notes in his pocket-book; someone was urging a correspondent to
send home a cable announcing the fact, when a man, who had been sitting
quietly through it all, said--
"That's all very well, but how about the rifling in the barrel? I guess
there wouldn't be much of that stuff left on by the time the bullet was
spinning."
Silence fell like a cloud on the group, and the bubble was finally
pricked when another officer came up and said--
"More bad grease! I've had to chuck out half a box of ammunition because
the grease has gone bad and fouls the rifles."
Of course; it was as simple as day. The bullets had, as usual, been
dipped in grease to preserve them, and the grease had gone bad. When I
returned to the little circle there was an animated conversation in
progress on the subject of visiting patrols.
We marched in next day, eighteen miles, having covered a pear-shaped
track eastwards of about forty miles, while the men behaved like Trojans
under most uncomfortable circumstances.
We remained for some days in camp, waiting for Lord Roberts to move, and
fighting no more dangerous enemy than the wet and boisterous weather of
young winter. Certainly Lord Methuen had a fine force there, well tried
and in excellent condition, and we all hoped that he might be given a
chance to do something with it. There is something at once lonely and
lofty in the position of a General Officer in the field that wins one's
sympathy. You see it most plainly at a full church parade such as was
held on Easter Sunday, when the whole force was formed into a hollow
square. Walls of living faces; before them, a few paces, company
officers; before them again, commanding officers; the chaplain in the
middle; and then the pleasant-looking Guardsman striding into his place
in front of all and saluting the chaplain--the only person to whom that
honour is rendered. After the short service the General's position is
still more sharply indicated, when the shouting of orders takes the
place of the parson's placid tones.
"Northamptons! _'shon_! Fours left, by the left--quick--_march_!" and
the tramp of feet nears the spot where the General stands alone. Down
the whole battalion you hear the order run, "Company! eyes _left_!" and
hundreds of eyes are turned on the General, until the (to him) welcome
"Eyes _front_!" relieves him from so particular a scrutiny. Is it not a
paragon of what he has to endure from the world?
XVI
A SURPRISE ON THE MARCH
Strangely enough, I had just written the last chapter, describing the
profound peace of our environments, when from my tent near the farmhouse
I saw one after another of the headquarters staff mount their horses and
gallop westwards up the hill after Lord Methuen, who was easily first.
One learns to read signs quickly in a military camp, and it did not
require much intuition to understand that something was, in the phrase
of the orderly at the vacant headquarters, "bloomin' well hup." My own
horse was ready in five minutes, and when I reached the top of the hill
I found the cavalry horse lines vacant.
The site of the Zwaartzkopjesfontein camp turns an abrupt face
eastwards, but on the westward side the plateau slopes almost
imperceptibly to the plain, which is, in its immediate neighbourhood,
thickly sown with kopjes. Down this slope the cavalry were galloping,
about two miles in advance of me, in squadron formation, towards a small
kopje on which we had a picket. Realising that nothing could happen
immediately, I followed them at a foot-pace, and came up with them at
the foot of the hill where they had dismounted. Scouts were sent out
westwards among the low bush with which these slopes are clothed, and
from the top of the hill one could see them scattering and spreading
over ten miles of country; but no sound broke the silence of the hills.
Summer was back again to-day; our sea-plain was calm, shimmering in the
haze; and only the buzz of an insect disturbed the peace of the little
group on the brown hill.
While we were watching the scouts I heard what was in the wind. It
seemed that an outpost of four yeomen, who were stationed about six
miles north-west from camp, had so far forgotten the delicacy of their
position as to light a fire and cook a turkey which they had found. They
were surprised in the act by a small party of Boers, who fired upon
them. Of the men thus surprised three were taken unhurt, while the
fourth escaped slightly wounded, and, returning to camp, told the
disturbing tale. Three squadrons had instantly been turned out to
attempt a rescue, and it was on their heels that I had come out. We
waited for an hour, and then the scouts came in one by one, all with the
same tale. Nothing to be seen--no Boers; one thought that he had seen
two on the sky line seven miles away, but they might have been Kaffirs
rounding up cattle--he was not sure. So we had to give up the men for
lost, and ride back to camp in a hurry and in rather bad temper, for it
was mail day, and time was precious. But the little disaster proved to
be a cheap enough lesson to the Yeomanry, and also to be the herald of
operations far more important.
This happened on Thursday, April 19th. On Friday morning I was out at
the same place at half-past six, because a staff officer had told me the
night before that there was "a show on," and a "show" may mean anything
from a patrol to a reconnaissance in force. Lord Chesham, who was in
command, was sitting on the kopje with his staff, and I climbed up and
joined them, the cavalry remaining as before underneath the hill while
the scouts went out. We sat for an hour, comparing each other's glasses,
until the stones became hotter and hotter and the sky line began to wave
in the heat. At last I rode out to where there was an advanced picket,
and sat searching the horizon with glasses. We were in a little grove of
mimosa, and the doves were busy above our heads. After waiting for
another hour we saw some Boers to the north, and presently the right
flank scouts came in to report that there were about forty Boers working
northwards on our flank.
That was quite enough. Everyone was back at the kopje in no time, and
Lord Chesham sent out Lord Scarborough with one squadron, and Colonel
Mahon with another.
I went with Lord Scarborough's. We rode out to the point at which the
picket had been cut off, and saw more and more Boers coming from the
north--about seventy--but they never got within range, although they
worked closer and closer. Our little body of men was so well protected
by flankers and scouts that, when the Boers at length began to steal
along our flank with the evident intention of sniping us as we returned,
we were able to retire before they came within range, having discovered
the very useful fact that they were becoming more numerous and bolder in
our neighbourhood.
As we passed through the camp we saw waggons and tents being packed.
Advancing at last? Oh, dear, no. Only Lord Kitchener at the other end of
the wire playing with us again. We were to retire on Boshof, but Lord
Methuen decided, instead of going into the town, to encamp at Beck's
Farm about five miles out, where the grazing was better. The lay mind
found it hard to understand the purpose of these movements. Lord Methuen
had been humbugged and baffled by Headquarters in what seemed at the
time a most unbusinesslike way. First he was ordered out from Kimberley
to Griquatown. When he was there and had 400 Boers in his grasp he
received a message ordering him back to Kimberley at once. Then he was
sent to Boshof and ordered to march with all speed on Hoopstad. Having
reached Mahemsfontein he was ordered to halt, and that place being
unsuitable for an encampment, had to fall back on Zwaartzkopjesfontein.
And then he was ordered back to Boshof again. No doubt the explanation
was that the advance of the main army under Lord Roberts had been
delayed, but of course the Boers believed that all this was due to their
own formidable movements, and were accordingly encouraged.
Well, there was no doubt that we were moving, and I hoped that we were
going to march in the direction of Fourteen Streams and do something
towards the relief of Mafeking. That was what we had all been longing
to do, and it was with a long face that a staff officer said, "Back to
Boshof."
So back we started.
Our column was nearly three miles long, and just as the tail of it was
leaving camp and the head of it, like a snake's, beginning to curl round
Spitz Kop--a lofty cone-shaped kopje beside the road--pom--pom--pom--pom!
suddenly sounded from--where? The wicked little shells licked like a
rising tide along our right flank.
Up on a ridge far on our right I saw the rogues working their gun, as
busy as monkeys. Our friend the pom-pom once more, and most vivacious.
At the same time I heard the banging of Mausers behind me, and the air
above sang for an instant. And when that flight was over--Boom...! and
the long screaming whirr--sounds which tell you that someone has touched
off a field-gun, and that the shell is coming your way. This one was a
common shell, and did not come within a hundred yards. The whole thing
was very prettily done. Such a surprise, too. We had no idea that they
had guns.
Turning my horse round I paused for an instant to watch the effect and
the result. The column was still moving on, the Kaffir drivers shouting
a little louder than usual perhaps, but not a bullock out of place or
even a sheep touched. They were firing on a rather vulnerable part of
the convoy, where a flock of about a thousand sheep were being driven
and the remount horses led. But even while I looked the rear-guard was
spreading out and joining hands with the right flank, and the sound of
rifle fire from the ridge showed that they were already engaged. The
pom-pom and the 12-pounder continued for about a quarter of an hour, and
then our battery opened with a roar and silenced them in about two
minutes. And all the while the convoy jolted along the road, and the
rest of the action, or the chief part of it, remained with the right
flank. But I could see the Boers galloping along the ridge in front of
us to be ready for the convoy when it should come up, and certainly that
ought not to have been possible. It is ungrateful to criticise the
Yeomanry who had been doing so very well and learning so quickly, but,
if the truth must be told, their work on the right flank that day was
not beyond reproach. Once, when the fire was slack, I went across to the
right, and rode back very quickly, for I found kopjes which, according
to all military rules, should have been occupied by us, held by the
enemy.
Of course to guard efficiently the flank of a marching column is not
easy for untried troops, especially when a running fight has to be kept
up. In this kind of country, where a line of kopjes runs parallel with
the road, the best plan is for two flanking parties to occupy them by
turn. Thus A party should occupy No. 1 kopje and B party No. 2; when No.
1 needs no longer to be held A leaves it and seizes No. 3, and then B
leaves No. 2 and occupies No. 4, and so on. But the Yeomanry were
strolling aimlessly along the foot of the kopjes, while the nimble Boer
was climbing up the other side to the top, and shooting down upon
them--or over their heads at the convoy--as he pleased.
It is a marvel that of our twenty casualties only two were killed. If
the Boers had known of our movement just a little sooner I fear we
should have suffered heavily, or at least lost many cattle and perhaps a
few waggons. At the same time we were taken at the usual disadvantage of
a moving force that has to defend itself, and, with the exception of the
flanking, our work was done really well. The guns at once silenced the
Boer artillery, and they were brought into action so expeditiously that
the Boers never got the proper range. It is true that one shell plumped
into the middle of a flock of sheep, but I believe it killed only two.
And our rear-guard fought manfully. The fire was heavy there, and one
could not see much, but I saw enough to realise that theirs was stiff
work. They and darkness finished the engagement, and we went on to
Boshof, arriving there just as night closed in.
I shall never forget riding down the main street in pitch darkness--the
street full of waggons (each with its sixteen oxen), blundering about,
the waggon in front of one suddenly stopping, and the waggon behind
coming on--cries, curses, hailings, and railings of the drivers and
soldiers--everyone trying to find his camp or his waggons or his horses,
and not a light to be seen. And, in spite of it all, order emerged from
the chaos; brigade signals flashing, camps pitched, pickets posted to
keep watch over us all night, fires lighted, stations allotted; and
presently "last post" and "lights out," and in spite of the bellowing
oxen, rest.
XVII
UNDER THE RED CROSS FLAG
There was a burial party going out to Spitz Kop early the next morning,
and Major Pollock and I had leave to go with it. No one was armed, the
ambulance being preceded by an orderly carrying the P.M.O.'s bath-towel.
When we came near to the Boer pickets we rode on with the bath-towel,
while the Red Cross flag waved over the ambulance; and had come quite
close before we distinguished the two figures sitting amongst the large
brown boulders of the hill.
They both spoke English and treated us with civility. They were both
farmers from the neighbourhood of Boshof, and had a keen appetite for
news of the town. We were soon deep in an examination of their
weapons--one of them had a beautiful Mauser sporting rifle,
hair-sighted, of which he was extremely proud; altogether we had quite a
friendly chat. They gave us the best information they could as to the
whereabouts of our dead and wounded, but it seemed that the Boer
ambulance party had been out working all night, and had recovered nearly
all the wounded as well as the bodies of two dead.
We went on behind the kopje into a level space surrounded by ridges, and
as we advanced (the bath-towel well to the fore) mounted men began to
appear from behind the ridges. First by twos and threes, then by sixes
and dozens, from north and south and east and west the black figures
came cantering towards us, until our little party was surrounded by, I
suppose, three or four hundred mounted men. The babel of talk was
deafening; everyone had something to say about the fight of yesterday;
and in addition to that it was easily apparent that merely as Englishmen
we were objects of absorbing interest to these pastoral Free Staters. I
know that my tobacco-pouch was empty in about two minutes, and I
presently fell into more particular conversation with the Boer doctor,
who had been up all night attending to his own and our wounded. It was a
rough-and-ready kind of first aid that he gave; a whisky-bottle filled
with carbolic dressing hung from his saddle on one side, and on the
other were rolls of lint and bandages; but I believe that the ambulance
equipment in the laager was thoroughly complete. He told me of one of
our men who had been wounded in the thigh, and had been seen late the
night before crawling about on the ground; but when they had brought
back a stretcher for him they had not been able to find him. The doctor
thought he knew where he was likely to be, so I volunteered to go with
him and search the place. The doctor and I, therefore, with one other
Boer, rode away towards the west.
The wind was blowing strong from the west, choking down our voices as we
tried to speak while we rode; and therefore we had no idea until some
hours later of the excitement that was caused by our departure. It
seemed that the Commandant, who had been engaged in conversation with
our doctor, had ordered that no one should advance any farther into the
Boer position, and that the empty ambulances must be sent on to receive
the dead and wounded. Indeed we heard afterwards that the friendly
outpost which we first encountered had got into very hot water for
allowing us to pass. When I galloped off, therefore, I was unconsciously
disobeying a very important order, and several of the Boers and our own
party shouted after me that I must come back; but riding against a stiff
breeze none of us could hear a word, and we were so soon out of sight
and over the ridge that the Boers, with a shrug, left me to my fate.
Pollock called the second in command (a Scotchman, I regret to say) to
witness that I had not heard the order, and he promised to intercede on
my behalf with the Commandant, who was a son of General Cronje of
Paardeberg fame.
I had now better return to my own adventures. With my two companions I
soon reached a rocky plateau, where the horses had to choose their steps
carefully amongst the sharp stones, and searching thus for about an hour
we had a long and interesting conversation. I remember asking one of
them what his real feeling was about their chance of success.
"We shall win," he said, with that simple confidence, born of ignorance
and self-trust, which is often a dangerous element in a force opposed to
us. "Lord Roberts with all his army cannot leave Bloemfontein; we oppose
him there. Your Lord Methuen cannot advance here; he has had to retire
twice."
We knew that they would thus interpret Lord Roberts's delay and his
contradictory orders to Lord Methuen, but it was rather galling not to
be able to deny it.
"We have no dislike for the English," the man went on; and it was at
least true of him and many of the Free Staters whom I met, although it
was not true of all the Transvaalers. "You are brave soldiers and you
fight well and we can respect you, but you are led astray by Joe
Chamberlain." His face darkened when he uttered the name; I had a
glimpse of a man hated by a nation.
"Rhodes, too," he said, but with less hatred and more contempt. "If we
had caught him in Kimberley we should have killed him, but if _we_ don't
kill him----" and he named an alternative in which he clearly saw a
Providence working on behalf of the wronged.
I asked him a little later what he thought of our generals and of whom
he was most afraid? He was quite ready with an opinion.
"There is no difference," he said, with a lofty air, "it makes no
difference to us; we take them as they come. First come first served."
He was even impartial. "Your Lord Methuen has been blamed for
Magersfontein, but the English do not know that we were as much
surprised and scared as he was when his troops stumbled on us in the
dark. It was a very near thing for us. We are not afraid of Kitchener of
whom you talk so much. Roberts? Yes, he is a fairly good general, but
alone we do not fear him. Roberts and Kitchener together are good; we
do not like them. But alone we will take them on any day."
Although we talked for a long time I did not really learn much from
these Boers, who represented the most unthinking class. Just as I had
found the English colonists to conduct their arguments in a circle and
constantly to bring forward the same old statements, so I found these
Boers repeating the same assertions over and over again: that the Lord
was on their side; that they must prevail in the end; that they could
not trust us; that we had played them false; that we were really after
their gold-fields; "if there had been no gold in South Africa there
would have been no war." They spoke as men who repeated a lesson; yet I
am bound to say that they spoke with sincerity, and although they seemed
to speak parrot-wise, they probably accepted current forms of speech as
giving the best expression to a deep and universal conviction.
We had been riding for nearly two hours, when one of my companions
noticed marks on the ground evidently made by a man dragging himself
along. We followed this spoor down the rocky slope where ferns and
little shrubs divided the stones. It wound about, choosing the
smoothest places, covering altogether a distance of about a mile; it
led us at last to the shade of a mimosa bush, where the poor soldier had
ended his duty and journey together.
There was nothing to be done now but to rejoin my party, and when I
expressed a wish to do so the doctor said, "This will be your nearest
way," pointing to a barrier range of low hills. They lay in the right
direction, so I rode on for about a mile and a half, the two Boers still
accompanying me, until we reached the top of the nearest hill. What was
my surprise to see lying below me the smoke and waggons and picketed
horses of the enemy's laager! The Boers, to the number of perhaps seven
or eight hundred, were sitting or lying beneath trees that made a circle
round the mile-wide basin. I glanced at the faces of my companions with
some misgiving, but honesty was written there.
"I have no business to be here, you know," said I. "We shall all get
into a row." They preceded me down the slope, and, with a presentiment
that I should get out again, I slipped out my pocket compass and made a
mental note of the bearings of the laager from Spitz Kop, the head of
which was visible about six miles away. There was a small farmhouse
which appeared to be used as headquarters; round this were twenty or
thirty waggons piled with cases, but, so far as I could see, no forage
or oats. There were either three or four guns; there were certainly four
gun-carriages, but one of them may have been a limber. As we came into
the basin a small, young-looking man, to whom I was introduced as the
Commandant, met us.
"Please remain here," he said to me sharply; and as he led the doctor
away, pouring forth a stream of Dutch, I gathered that my poor friend
was getting into trouble. At last Cronje came back and addressed me,
speaking English very imperfectly. This is the substance of what he
said--
"You should never have been allowed to come here, and it is my duty to
detain you as a prisoner."
I remonstrated. "I'm a non-combatant, sir."
"I cannot help that. You are here and you have seen this place, and I
must send you to Pretoria, whence, if the authorities are satisfied that
you are a genuine non-combatant, you may be sent to Delagoa Bay. It was
very foolish of you to come here."
I explained that I had come in ignorance, not knowing where my guide
would lead me; that I had come to look for a wounded man, and under the
protection of a flag of truce; that the whole thing was an unfortunate
accident, and that he should treat it as such.
Much to my surprise he seemed to waver. "If I were to let you go"--and
he looked at me sideways--"would you undertake to give no information?"
I suggested that the question was an unfair one. "You know how you would
answer it yourself, sir."
"Yes" (he was melting), "we are honourable also, and to our own side
first of all. I have spoken of you with the doctor," he said, looking at
me kindly for the first time, "and I shall let you go. By rights you
ought to go to Pretoria. Of course your general may come and attack us
here, and your information will be useful, but we are strong enough for
all the English. Bring his horse," he shouted to someone standing by,
and to me, "You may go. No, you may not!" he added sharply; and then,
with a smile, "not until you have had a cup of coffee."
Upon this civility we parted, but it was not until I had rejoined my
anxious friends with the ambulance that I began to suspect Commandant
Cronje of a piece of pleasantry. Major Pollock, it appeared, had
interceded on my behalf so effectually that my fate had been decided and
my safe return promised long before I had met the Commandant. He
afterwards entertained himself by playing upon my anxiety, which, I have
no doubt, was apparent enough.
But now the ambulance was slowly returning from the place whither it had
been sent to receive the dead bodies. A place for the grave was chosen
where a thorn tree spread shadows on the ground. There were stony hills
all round, encircling a wide and green basin just within the Boer lines,
and it was beside one of these that the grave was dug. The ground was
very hard and the labour severe; it was at least two hours before the
fatigue-party, working in short shifts, had excavated a resting-place
for the two bodies. While they were working the Boers gathered round us
to the number of a couple of hundred. They were very silent, eyeing us
with an absorbed interest that embraced every article of our equipment.
Men of the humblest peasant class, poorly--in many respects
wretchedly--clad, they presented, in their ragged and shabby apparel, a
sharp contrast to our Yeomanry soldiers, who seemed, by comparison, trim
and well cared for. The Boers wore their ordinary clothes, which were
relieved by only one military touch--the bandolier. This was generally
of home manufacture, and in many cases was a touching and significant
document of affection. "Thought flies best when the hands are easily
busy"; ah, how many thoughts and fears had been worked into those
bandoliers when busy fingers wrought them in the far-away farmhouse! In
some of them, I thought, portraits of the makers were to be discovered.
Fancy stitches and cunning invention which provided for thrice the usual
number of cartridges told one tale; flannel paddings which sought to
make of the military appointment a winter garment told another. The
Boers, I suppose, envied us our serge and whipcord, but to examine their
homely makeshifts was to realise that even the art of Stohwasser may
leave something to be desired. Although they eyed us diligently they had
now fallen strangely silent; they offered us little conversation, but
spoke freely in low tones amongst themselves; they replied to our
questions with a brief civility that did not encourage any very brisk
intercourse. We soon gave up the attempt and lay down under the shade of
the ambulance in our sheltered hollow, listening to the wind singing in
the thin vegetation of the hill above us.
The sound of picks ceased at last, and an orderly came to report that
the grave was ready. The stretchers were withdrawn from the ambulance
and exposed two bodies stained with soil and blood--one shot through the
lungs, another through the head; neither of them remarkable for the
dignity that death is supposed to lend to the meanest features, both
looking strangely small and almost grotesque in their crumpled postures:
two troopers of the Yeomanry, known (as it happened) to not one man of
the crowd; and now emerging, before they reached a final obscurity, to
be for a moment a mark for all our thoughts and eyes. They were laid
beside the grave; the Boers ranked themselves upon one side, we upon the
other; the doctor opened his book and, shyly enough, began the service.
A bird flew twittering and perched on the thorn above us, making the
office choral.
You are to remember that there were present to us just the simplest
facts of life. Hills and the naked sun, great winds and death--before
these we may cease to make believe; they tune and temper us to
accordance with pulses which, if only we are honest, will give us back
multiplied our own faintest vibration. Honesty is easy when we can
forget ourselves; and here, where the wind seemed to pluck the words
from the reader's mouth and carry them to the hills that matched them in
grandeur, they cut the last link between us and our selfish thoughts and
fears, imparting a sense of world-without-end, making us one with our
feathered clerk who, his red-brown wings folded, wove a thread of song
into the Psalm. In that texture of admonition and prayer are many
seizing pictures: man walking in a vain shadow and disquieting himself
in vain, heaping up riches, ignorant who shall gather them: man turned
to destruction: our secret sins set in the light of one countenance: a
displeasure in which we consume away: a wrathful indignation that can
make all our busy years as a tale that is told. The first thought in
each of us had been, "There, but for the grace of God, I lie"; but the
bird's song seemed so to chase away all shadows of self-pity that Death
appeared in his natural order with the wind and rain and sun; no more
unkind than they.
At a signal the bodies were placed in the earth. No hateful furniture;
clay against clay: they seemed almost to nestle in it. A trooper covered
one face with his handkerchief, his comrade shielded the other with a
branch of mimosa; and while the words flowed to an end we stood,
Dutchmen and Englishmen, our small quarrel for the moment forgotten,
face to face with clear truth and knowing for once the taste of
sincerity. It was a good prayer to pray, that at our own last hour we
should not fall from that charity for any pains of death.
It seemed a natural thing for us to shake hands with the Boers before we
turned to resume this game of hostility in which we stumbled upon such
great issues. It was a silent ride home, and I need not say that it went
sore against the grain with me to make my report to Lord Methuen and the
Intelligence Department respecting the position of the laager. My
thoughts were not upon compass bearings and distances, but in the
sun-steeped basin where the grave was; and all day long I had a picture
in my mind of two groups of men united in one human emotion, but now
seeking each others' lives. At night, long after the camp slept, I lay
awake with the echo of the graveside "last post" ringing in my ears,
and, because of the appetite for effect that afflicts us in weak
moments, I was teased and worried by a sense of incompleteness. In a
military camp, after "last post" and "lights out" have been sounded, no
bugle save that which sounds an alarm may be blown until the hour of
reveille. The soldiers under the hill had been trumpeted to their last
sleep; in a few hours I should hear the morning call: why should they
never hear it again? Suddenly my irrational complaint was silenced as
certain words of Saint Paul to the Corinthians reverberated in my mind.
After all, it was well; one night was but a little longer than the
other; and, those words being true, my troopers should wake to a
familiar sound.