[Illustration: _Photo by Arthur Weston, 16, Poultry, London._]
IN THE RANKS OF THE C.I.V.
A NARRATIVE AND DIARY OF PERSONAL EXPERIENCES WITH THE C.I.V. BATTERY
(HONOURABLE ARTILLERY COMPANY) IN SOUTH AFRICA
BY DRIVER
ERSKINE CHILDERS
CLERK IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS
_WITH A FRONTISPIECE_
1900
DEDICATED
TO
MY FRIEND AND COMRADE
GUNNER BASIL WILLIAMS
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. THE "MONTFORT"
II. CAPETOWN AND STELLENBOSCH
III. PIQUETBERG ROAD
IV. BLOEMFONTEIN
V. LINDLEY
VI. BETHLEHEM
VII. BULTFONTEIN
VIII. SLABBERT'S NEK AND FOURIESBERG
IX. TO PRETORIA
X. WARMBAD
XI. HOSPITAL
XII. A DETAIL
XIII. SOUTH AGAIN
XIV. CONCLUSION
IN THE RANKS OF THE C.I.V.
CHAPTER I.
THE "MONTFORT."
A wintry ride--Retrospect--Embarkation--A typical day--"Stables" in
rough weather--Las Palmas--The tropics--Inoculation--Journalism--
Fashions--"Intelligent anticipation"--Stable-guard--Arrival.
With some who left for the War it was "roses, roses, all the way." For
us, the scene was the square of St. John's Wood Barracks at 2 A.M. on
the 3rd of February, a stormy winter's morning, with three inches of
snow on the ground, and driving gusts of melting flakes lashing our
faces. In utter silence the long lines of horses and cloaked riders
filed out through the dimly-lit gateway and into the empty streets,
and we were off at last on this long, strange journey to distant
Africa. Six crowded weeks were behind us since the disastrous one of
Colenso, and with it the news of the formation of the C.I.V., and the
incorporation in that regiment of a battery to be supplied by the
Honourable Artillery Company, with four quick-firing Vickers-Maxim
guns. Then came the hurried run over from Ireland, the application for
service, as a driver, the week of suspense, the joy of success, the
brilliant scene of enlistment before the Lord Mayor, and the abrupt
change one raw January morning from the ease and freedom of civilian
life, to the rigours and serfdom of a soldier's. There followed a
month of constant hard work, riding-drill, gun-drill, stable work, and
every sort of manual labour, until the last details of the
mobilization were complete, uniforms and kit received, the guns packed
and despatched; and all that remained was to ride our horses to the
Albert Docks; for our ship, the _Montfort_, was to sail at mid-day.
Hardships had begun in earnest, for we had thirteen miles to ride in
the falling snow, and our hands and feet were frozen. As we filed
through the silent streets, an occasional knot of night-birds gave us
a thin cheer, and once a policeman rushed at me, and wrung my hand,
with a fervent "Safe home again!" Whitechapel was reached soon enough,
but the Commercial Road, and the line of docks, seemed infinite.
However, at six we had reached the ship, and lined up into a great
shed, where we took off and gave up saddles and head-collars, put on
canvas head-stalls, and then enjoyed an excellent breakfast, provided
by some unknown benefactor. Next we embarked the horses by matted
gangways (it took six men to heave my roan on board), and ranged them
down below in their narrow stalls on the stable-deck. Thence we
crowded still further down to the troop-deck--one large low-roofed
room, edged with rows of mess-tables. My entire personal accommodation
was a single iron hook in a beam. This was my wardrobe, chest of
drawers, and an integral part of my bed; for from it swung the
hammock. We were packed almost as thickly as the horses; and that is
saying a great deal. The morning was spent in fatigue duties of all
sorts, from which we snatched furtive moments with our friends on the
crowded quay. For hours a stream of horses and mules poured up the
gangways; for two other corps were to share the ship with us, the
Oxfordshire Yeomanry and the Irish Hospital. At two the last farewells
had been said, and we narrowed our thoughts once more to all the
minutiæ of routine. As it turned out, we missed that tide, and did not
start till two in the next morning; but I was oblivious of such a
detail, having been made one of the two "stablemen" of my
sub-division, a post which was to last for a week, and kept me in
constant attendance on the horses down below; so that I might just as
well have been in a very stuffy stable on shore, for all I saw of the
run down Channel. My duty was to draw forage from the forward hold (a
gloomy, giddy operation), be responsible with my mate for the watering
of all the horses in my sub-division--thirty in number, for preparing
their feeds and "haying up" three times a day, and for keeping our
section of the stable-deck swept and clean. We started with very fine
weather, and soon fell into our new life, with, for me at least, a
strange absence of any sense of transition. The sea-life joined
naturally on to the barrack-life. Both are a constant round of
engrossing duties, in which one has no time to feel new departures.
The transition had come earlier, with the first day in barracks, and,
indeed, was as great and sudden a change, mentally and physically, as
one could possibly conceive. On the material side it was sharp enough;
but the mental change was stranger still. There was no perspective
left; no planning of the future, no questioning of the present; none
of that free play of mind and will with which we order our lives at
home; instead, utter abandonment to superior wills, one's only concern
the present point of time and the moment's duty, whatever it might be.
This is how we spent the day.
The trumpet blew reveillé at six, and called us to early "stables,"
when the horses were fed and watered, and forage drawn. Breakfast was
at seven: the food rough, but generally good. We were split up into
messes of about fourteen, each of which elected two "mess orderlies,"
who drew the rations, washed up, swept the troop-deck, and were
excused all other duties. I, and my friend Gunner Basil Williams, a
colleague in my office at home, were together in the same mess.
Coffee, bread and butter, and something of a dubious, hashy nature,
were generally the fare at breakfast. I, as stableman, was constantly
with the horses, but for the rest the next event was morning stables,
about nine o'clock, which was a long and tedious business. The horses
would be taken out of their stalls, and half of us would lead them
round the stable-deck for exercise, while the rest took out the
partitions and cleaned the stalls. Then ensued exciting scenes in
getting them back again, an operation that most would not agree to
without violent compulsion--and small blame to the poor brutes. It
used to take our whole sub-division to shove my roan in. Each driver
has two horses. My dun was a peaceful beast, but the roan was a
by-word in the sub-division. When all was finished, and the horses fed
and watered, it would be near 12.30, which was the dinner-hour. Some
afternoons were free, but generally there would be more exercising and
stall-cleaning, followed by the afternoon feeds and watering. At six
came tea, and then all hands, including us stablemen, were free.
Hammocks were slung about seven, and it was one of the nightly
problems to secure a place. I generally found under the hatchway,
where it was airy, but in rainy weather moist. Then we were free to
talk and smoke on deck till any hour. Before going to bed, I used to
write my diary, down below, at a mess-table, where the lights shot dim
rays through vistas of serried hammocks, while overhead the horses
fidgeted and trampled in their stalls, making a distracting thunder on
the iron decks. It was often writing under difficulties, crouching
down with a hammock pressing on the top of one's head--the occupant
protesting at the head with no excess of civility; a quality which, by
the way, was very rare with us.
Soon after leaving the Bay, we had some rough weather. "Stables" used
to be a comical function. My diary for the first rough day
says:--"About six of us were there out of about thirty in my
sub-division; our sergeant, usually an awesome personage to me,
helpless as a babe, and white as a corpse, standing rigid. The
lieutenant feebly told me to report when all horses were watered and
feeds made up. It was a long job, and at the end I found him leaning
limply against a stall. 'Horses all watered, and feeds ready, sir.' He
turned on me a glazed eye, which saw nothing; then a glimmer of
recollection flickered, and the lips framed the word 'feed,' no doubt
through habit; but to pronounce that word at all under the
circumstances was an effort of heroism for which I respected him.
Rather a lonely day. My co-stableman curled in a pathetic ball all
day, among the hay, in our forage recess. My only view of the outer
world is from a big port in this recess, which frames a square of
heaving blue sea; but now and then one can get breathing-spaces on
deck. In the afternoon--the ship rolling heavily--I went, by an order
of the day before, to be vaccinated. Found the doctor on the saloon
deck, in a long chair, very still. Thought he was dead, but saluted,
and said what I had come for. With marvellous presence of mind, he
collected himself, and said: 'I ordered six to come; it is waste of
lymph to do one only: get the other five.' After a short absence, I
was back, reporting the other five not in a condition to do anything,
even to be vaccinated. The ghost of a weary smile lit up the wan face.
I saluted and left."
Our busy days passed quickly, and on the ninth of the month a lovely,
still blue day, I ran up to look at the Grand Canary in sight on the
starboard bow, and far to the westward the Peak of Teneriffe, its
snowy cone flushed pink in the morning sun, above a bank of cloud. All
was blotted out in two hours of stable squalors, but at midday we were
anchored off Las Palmas (white houses backed by arid hills), the
ill-fated _Denton Grange_ lying stranded on the rocks, coal barges
alongside, donkey engines chattering on deck, and a swarm of bum-boats
round our sides, filled with tempting heaps of fruit, cigars, and
tobacco. Baskets were slung up on deck, and they drove a roaring
trade. A little vague news filtered down to the troop-deck; Ladysmith
unrelieved, but Buller across the Tugela, and some foggy rumour about
120,000 more men being wanted. The Battery also received a four-footed
recruit in the shape of a little grey monkey, the gift of the
Oxfordshire Yeomanry. He was at once invested with the rank of
Bombardier, and followed all our fortunes in camp and march and action
till our return home. That day was a pleasant break in the monotony,
and also signalized my release from the office of stableman. We were
off again at six; an exquisite night it was, a big moon in the zenith,
the evening star burning steadily over the dim, receding island. We
finished with a sing-song on deck, a crooning, desultory performance,
with sleepy choruses, and a homely beer-bottle passing from mouth to
mouth.
Then came the tropics and the heat, and the steamy doldrums, when the
stable-deck was an "Inferno," and exercising the horses like a
tread-mill in a Turkish bath, and stall-cleaning an unspeakable
business. Yet the hard work kept us in fit condition, and gave zest to
the intervals of rest.
At this time many of us used to sling our hammocks on deck, for down
in the teeming troop-deck it was suffocating. It was delicious to lie
in the cool night air, with only the stars above, and your feet almost
overhanging the heaving sea, where it rustled away from the vessel's
sides. At dawn you would see through sleepy eyes an exquisite sky,
colouring for sunrise, and just at reveillé the golden rim would rise
out of a still sea swimming and shimmering in pink and opal.
Here is the diary of a Sunday:--
"_February 11._--Reveillé at six. Delicious bathe in the sail-bath.
Church parade at ten; great cleaning and brushing up for it. Short
service, read by the Major, and two hymns. Then a long lazy lie on
deck with Williams, learning Dutch from a distracting grammar by a
pompous old pedant. Pronunciation maddening, and the explanations made
it worse. Long afternoon, too, doing the same. No exercising; just
water, feed, and a little grooming at 4.30, then work over for the
day. Kept the ship lively combing my roan's mane; thought he would
jump into the engine-room. By the way, yesterday, when waiting for his
hay coming down the line, his impatience caused him to jump half over
the breast-bar, bursting one head rope; an extraordinary feat in view
of the narrowness and lowness of his stall. He hung in a nasty
position for a minute, and then we got him to struggle back. Another
horse died in the night, and another very sick.
"Inoculation for enteric began to-day with a dozen fellows. Results
rather alarming, as they all are collapsed already in hammocks, and
one fainted on deck. It certainly is no trifle, and I shall watch
their progress carefully. I can't be done myself for some days, as I
was vaccinated two days ago (after the first unsuccessful attempt), in
company with Williams. We went to the doctor's cabin on the upper
deck, and afterwards sat on the deck in the sun to let our arms dry.
After some consultation we decided to light a furtive cigarette, but
were ignominiously caught by the doctor and rebuked. 'Back at school
again,' I thought; 'caught smoking!' It seemed very funny, and we had
a good laugh at it.
"It is a gorgeous, tropical night, not a cloud or feather of one; a
big moon, and dead-calm sea; just a slight, even roll; we have sat
over pipes after tea, chatting of old days, and present things, and
the mysterious future, sitting right aft on the poop, with the moonlit
wake creaming astern."
Inoculation was general, and I was turned off one morning with a
joyous band of comrades, retired to hammocks, and awaited the worst
with firmness. It was nothing more than a splitting headache and
shivering for about an hour, during which time I wished Kruger,
Roberts, and the war at the bottom of the sea. A painful stiffness
then ensued, and that was all. My only grievance was that two dying
horses were brought up and tied just below me, and dosed--lucky
beasts--with champagne by their officer-owners! Also we had the hose
turned on us by some sailors, who were washing the boat-bridge above,
and jeered at our impotent remonstrances. In two days we were fit for
duty, and took our turn in ministering to other sufferers.
We were a merry ship, for the men of our three corps got on capitally
together, and concerts and amusements were frequent. They were held
_al fresco_ on the forward deck, with the hammocks of inoculates
swinging above and around, so that these unfortunates, some of whom
were pretty bad, had to take this strange musical medicine whether
they liked it or no, and the mouth-organ band which attended on these
occasions was by no means calculated to act as an opiate. Of course we
had sports, both aquatic and athletic, and on the 18th Williams and I
conceived the idea of publishing a newspaper; and without delay wrote,
and posted up, an extravagant prospectus of the same. Helpers came,
and ideas were plentiful. A most prolific poet knocked off poems
"while you wait," and we soon had plenty of "copy." The difficulty lay
in printing our paper. All we could do was to make four copies in
manuscript, and that was labour enough. I am sure no paper ever went
to press under such distracting conditions. The editorial room was a
donkey engine, and the last sheets were copied one night among
overhanging hammocks, card-parties, supper-parties, and a braying
concert by the Irish just overhead, by the light of an inch of candle.
We pasted up two copies on deck, sent one bound copy to the officers,
and the _Montfort Express_ was a great success. It was afterwards
printed at Capetown. Here is an extract which will throw some light on
our dress on board in the tropics:--
THE FEBRUARY FASHIONS.
_By our Lady Correspondent._
"DEAR MAUDE,
"I don't often write to you about gentlemen's fashions, because, as a
rule, they are monstrously dull, but this season the stronger sex seem
really to be developing some originality. Here are a few notes taken
on the troopship _Montfort_, where of course you know every one is
smart. (_Tout ce qu'il y a de plus Montfort_ has become quite a
proverb, dear.) Generally speaking, piquancy and coolness are the main
features. For instance, a neat costume for stables is a pair of strong
boots. To make this rather more dressy for the dinner-table, a pair of
close-fitting pants may be added, but this is optional. Shirts, if
worn, are neutral in tint; white ones are quite _démodé_. Vests are
cut low in the neck and with merely a suggestion of sleeve. Trousers
(I blush to write it, dear) are worn baggy at the knee and very varied
in pattern and colour, according to the tastes and occupation of the
wearer. Caps _à la convict_ are _de rigueur_. I believe this to spring
from a delicate sense of sympathy with the many members of the
aristocracy now in prison. The same chivalrous instinct shows itself
in the fashion of close-cropped hair.
"There is a great latitude for individual taste; one tall, handsome
man (known to his friends, I believe, under the sobriquet of 'Kipper')
is always seen in a delicious confection of some gauzy pink and blue
material, which enhances rather than conceals the Apollo-like grace of
his lissome limbs.
"At the Gymkhana the other day (a _very_ smart affair), I saw Mr.
'Pat' Duffy, looking charmingly fresh and cool in a suit of blue
tattooing, which I hear was made for him in Japan by a native lady.
"In Yeomanry circles, a single gold-rimmed eye-glass is excessively
_chic_, and, by the way, in the same set a pleasant folly is to wear a
different coat every day.
"The saloon-deck is less interesting, because less variegated; but
here is a note or too. Caps are usually _cerise_, trimmed with blue
_passementerie_. To be really smart, the moustache must be waxed and
curled upwards in corkscrew fashion. In the best Irish circles beards
are occasionally worn, but it requires much individual distinction to
carry off this daring innovation. And now, dear, I must say good-bye;
but before I close my letter, here is a novel and piquant recipe for
_Breakfast curry_: Catch some of yesterday's Irish stew, thoroughly
disinfect, and dye to a warm khaki colour. Smoke slowly for six hours,
and serve to taste.
"Your affectionate,
"NESTA."
* * * * *
Here is Williams on the wings of prophecy:--
OUR ARRIVAL IN CAPETOWN.
_(With Apologies to "Ouida.")_
"It was sunset in Table Bay--Phoebus' last lingering rays were
empurpling the beetling crags of Table Mountain's snowy peak--the
great ship _Montfort_, big with the hopes of an Empire (on which the
sun never sets), was gliding majestically to her moorings. Countless
craft, manned by lissome blacks or tawny Hottentots, instantly shot
forth from the crowded quays, and surged in picturesque disorder round
the great hull, scarred by the ordure of ten score pure Arab chargers.
'Who goes there?' cried the ever-watchful sentry on the ship, as he
ran out the ready-primed Vickers-Maxim from the port-hole. 'Speak, or
I fire ten shots a minute.' 'God save the Queen,' was the ready
response sent up from a thousand throats. 'Pass, friends,' said the
sentry, as he unhitched the port companion-ladder. In a twinkling the
snowy deck of the great transport was swarming with the dusky figures
of the native bearers, who swiftly transferred the cargo from the
groaning hold into the nimble bum-boats, and carried the large-limbed
Anglo-Saxon heroes into luxurious barges, stuffed with cushions soft
enough to satisfy the most jaded voluptuary. At shore, a sight awaited
them calculated to stir every instinct of patriotism in their noble
bosoms. On a richly chased ebon throne sat the viceroy in person, clad
in all the panoply of power. A delicate edge of starched white linen,
a sight which had not met their eyes for many a weary week, peeped
from beneath his gaudier accoutrements; the vice-regal diadem, blazing
with the recovered Kimberley diamond, encircled his brow, while his
finely chiselled hand grasped the great sword of state. Around him
were gathered a dazzling bevy of all the wit and beauty of South
Africa; great chieftains from the fabled East, Zulus, Matabeles,
Limpopos and Umslopogaas, clad in gorgeous scarlet feathers gave
piquancy to the proud throng. Most of England's wit and manhood
scintillated in the sunlight, while British matrons and England's
fairest maids lit up with looks of proud affection; bosoms heaved in
sympathetic unison with the measured tramp of the ammunition boots;
bright eyes caught a sympathetic fire from the clanking spurs of the
corporal rough-rider, while the bombardier in command of the composite
squadron of artillery, horse-marines, and ambulance, could hardly pick
his way through the heaps of rose leaves scattered before him by
lily-white hands. But the scene was quickly changed, as if by
enchantment. At a touch of the button by the viceroy's youngest child,
an urchin of three, thousands of Boer prisoners, heavily laden with
chains, brought forward tables groaning with every conceivable dainty.
The heroes set to with famished jaws, and after the coffee, each
negligently lit up his priceless cigar with a bank-note, with the
careless and open-handed improvidence so charming and so
characteristic of their profession. But suddenly their ease was rudely
broken. A single drum-tap made known to all that the enemy was at the
gates. In a moment the commander had thrown away three parts of his
costly cigar, had sprung to his feet, and with the heart of a lion and
the voice of a dove, had shouted the magical battle-cry, 'Attention!'
Then with a yell of stern resolve, and the answering cry of 'Stand
easy, boys,' the whole squadron, gunners and adjutants, ambulance and
bombardiers, yeomen and gentlemen farmers, marched forth into the
night.
"That very night the bloody battle was fought which sealed the fate of
the Transvaal--and the dashing colour-sergeant nailed England's proud
banner on the citadel of Pretoria."
* * * * *
About once every week, it was my turn for stable-guard at night,
consisting of two-hour spells, separated by four hours' rest. The
drivers did this duty, while the gunners mounted guard over the
magazines. On this subject I quote some nocturnal reflections from my
diary:--"Horses at night get very hungry, and have an annoying habit
of eating one another's head-ropes reciprocally. When this happens you
find chains if you can, and then they eat the framework of the stall.
If you come up to protest, they pretend to be asleep, and eat your arm
as you pass. They also have a playful way of untying their breast-pads
and standing on them, and if you are conscientious, you can amuse
yourself by rescuing these articles from under their hind feet."
The days were never very monotonous; variety was given by revolver
practice, harness cleaning, and lectures on first aid to the wounded.
At the same time it came as a great relief to hear that we were at
last close to the Cape.
From my diary:--
"_February 26._--Heavy day at stables. Land reported at eleven; saw
through forage-port a distant line of mountains on port beam, edged by
a dazzling line of what looked like chalk cliffs, but I suppose is
sand. I am on stable-guard for the night (writing this in the
guard-room), so when stables were over at four I had to pack hard, and
only got up for a glimpse of things at five, then approaching Table
Bay, guarded by the splendid Table Mountain, with the tablecloth of
white clouds spread on it in the otherwise cloudless sky. I always
imagined it a smooth, dull mountain, but in fact it rises in
precipitous crags and ravines. A lovely scene as we steamed up through
a crowd of shipping--transports, I suppose--and anchored some way from
shore. Blowing hard to-night. I have been on deck for a few minutes.
The sea is like molten silver with phosphorescence under the lash of
the wind.
"_February 27._--Tiresome day of waiting. Gradually got known that we
shan't land to-day, though it is possible still we may to-night.
Torrid, windless day, and very hot work 'mucking out' and tramping
round with the horses, which we did all the morning, and some of the
afternoon. News sent round that we had captured Cronje and 5000
prisoners; all the ships dressed with flags, and whistles blowing;
rockets in evening, banging off over my head now, and horses jumping
in unison. Shall we be wanted? is the great question. We are packed
ready to land any minute."