BLOEMFONTEIN.
The railway north--Yesterday's start--Travelling made easy--Feeding
horses--A menu--De Aar--A new climate--Naauwport--Over the frontier--
Bloemfontein--A fiasco--To camp again--The right section--Diary days--
Riding exercise--A bit of history--Longman's Hospital--The
watering-place--Artillery at drill--A review--A camp rumour--A taste
of freedom--A tent scene.
From my diary:--
"_May 20._--_Sunday._--I write this on the train, on the way up north,
somewhere near Beaufort West; for the long-wished day has come at
last, and we are being sent to Kroonstadt, which anyway is pretty near
to, if not actually at, the front. Our only fear is now that it will
be too late. All day the train has been traversing the Karoo, a desert
seamed by bare rocky mountains, and without a sign of life on it, only
vast stretches of pebbly soil, dotted sparsely with dusty-green dwarf
scrub. But to go back. We started yesterday. All went smoothly and
simply. At eight, kit was inspected; in the morning, bareback
exercise; at twelve, tents struck; at 12.30 dinner; at one, 'boot and
saddle.' When we were hooked in and mounted, the Captain made a
splendid little speech in the incisive forcible voice we had learned
to know so well, saying we had had for long the most trying experience
that can befall a soldier, that of standing fast, while he sees his
comrades passing him up to the front. He congratulated us on the way
we had met that experience. There had been no complaining or slackness
in our work on that account. He hoped we would have the luck to go
into action, and his last advice to us was 'to keep our stomachs full
and our bellies warm!'
"Then we marched to the station, unharnessed, packed harness, boxed
the horses, put the guns and waggons on the trucks, and were ready.
But the train didn't start till about eight o'clock in the evening.
One box was reserved for kickers, and you should have seen their
disgust when they found nothing to bully! We had, and have, a vague
idea that the journey was to last about a week, so Williams and I
bought a large box of provisions and a small paraffin stove.
Accustomed to delays, we quite expected no engine to turn up or
something like that, but finally a whistle blew and we were off, and a
delirious shout went up, and then we all sighed with relief, and then
got doubly merry, shouting vain things over a long untasted beverage,
whisky and water. One hears so much about the horrors of war that I
scarcely dare to describe the men's accommodation on board this train.
It is strange, but true, that I have never travelled more comfortably
in my life, and probably never shall. Most compartments have only four
men to them, and by great good luck, and a little diplomacy, Williams
and I have one to ourselves, though we form our mess with the four
chaps in the next one. Now the beauty of it is that no one can get
into our train, so, if you get out at a station, you need have no fear
of finding a nurse with twins in your special corner seat. You live
without these terrors, and have room to stretch, and sleep, and read,
and have meals, with no one to ask you to show your ticket. In fact,
things are reversed; we are not herded and led, and snubbed by porters
and officials, but the train belongs to us, and we ignore them.
"We sat up late last night, and then Williams and I slept in great
comfort, though it felt quite odd to have something between one and
the stars. It's true there was a slight break, caused by the door
being flung open, and sacks of bread being hustled in from the
outside. But a soldier's training takes no account of these things,
and you instinctively jump out half-dressed, and help to shovel more
sacks in, you don't know why, or what they are. Being woken up, we got
on to the platform over an intervening train, and sent cables home
from an office standing invitingly open. Then to bed again. Later, in
my dreams, I was aware of a sergeant and an irascible little
station-master coming into the carriage with lanterns and throwing
most of the sacks out again, which it seemed had been annexed
feloniously by our Captain, at the last station, in his zeal to keep
our 'stomachs full.' I was glad to get rid of the sacks, as they
filled our carriage up completely. The train has to stop for about
three-quarters of an hour or less, three times a day, for feeding and
watering the horses. The first stop to-day was about 6.30 A.M. We
tumbled out in the delicious fresh air, and formed into pre-arranged
feeding and watering parties. I am on the feed party of our
subdivision, and we climbed like beetles up the sides of the trucks,
which are open, and strap on the nose-bags. Then we washed at a
friendly tap, and had our own breakfast which the cooks had
cooked--coffee and porridge. Then we climbed back and took off
nose-bags, and then the train went on. At this station we
'commandeered' a splendid table in the shape of a large square tin
advertisement of a certain Scotch whisky, and played whist on it after
breakfast. The train wound slowly through a barren stretch of brown
plain and rocky wild. Stations happened now and then, little silent
spots in the wilderness, their _raison d'être_ a mystery, no houses,
roads, or living things near, except a white tent or two, and some
sunburnt men in khaki looking curiously at us. There are troops in
small bodies all up the line in this 'loyal' colony. At one station
the Kimberley mail caught us up, and the people threw us magazines and
biscuits from the windows. All engines and stations were decorated
with flags in honour of the relief of Mafeking, the news of which came
through yesterday. A hospital train bound to Capetown also passed,
with some pale faces and bandaged limbs in evidence.
"At 1.30 we stopped again for feed and water, and when we went on our
mess sat down to the following lunch, which I think does credit to our
catering powers.
MENU.
R.B.S.
Emergency Soup.
Cold Roast Fowl, with Stuffing.
Bully Beef, with Mustard.
Whiskied Biscuits.
Desserts Variés. Chocolate. Ginger. Bonbons. Oranges.
German Beer.
Cigars. Cigarettes.
"I wrote the _menu_ out in French first, but it seemed not to suit.
"All the afternoon the same desolation, like pictures one sees of the
moon's surface. About six, water and feed at Beaufort West, and horses
led out, trucks mucked out, and tea served out.
"The night was very cold; in fact, the climate is quite different on
these high table-lands. I woke up about six, looked out, and saw, just
opposite, the legend DE AAR, which for the first time seemed to
connect us with the war. We stopped a moment, and then moved on
through lines of tents, loaded waggons, mountains of ammunition, etc.
Then I saw a strange sight, in the shape of ice on puddles and white
hoarfrost. Soon out on the broad, brown veldt, far-distant hills
showing finely cut in the exquisitely clear air. Such an atmosphere I
have never seen for purity. The sun was rising into a cloudless sky
from behind a kopje. The flat-topped kopje is now the regular feature.
They are just like miniature Table-mountains, and it is easy to see
how hard to capture they must be. Water, feed, and breakfast at a tiny
roadside place, with the inevitable couple of tents and khaki men. We
were at whist when we steamed up to a big, busy camp-station, the Red
Cross flying over a dozen big marquee tents, and a couple of hundred
sorry-looking remounts (by the look of them) picketed near. This was
Naauwport. We stopped alongside a Red Cross train full of white,
unshaven faces--enterics and wounded going back to the base. They were
cheerful enough, and we shouted inquiries about one another. They were
unanimous in saying we were too late, which was very depressing news,
but I don't suppose they knew much about it. We washed ourselves in
big buckets here. As we were steaming out I saw a long unfamiliar
sight, in the shape of a wholesome, sunburnt English girl, dressed in
short-skirted blue serge, stepping out as only an English girl can.
She was steering for the Red Cross over the tents, and, I daresay, was
nursing there. Off again, over the same country, but looking more
inhabited; passed several ostrich farms, with groups of the big,
graceful birds walking delicately about; also some herds of cattle,
and a distant farm or two, white against the blue hill-shadows. Soon
came the first visible signs of war--graves, and long lines of
trenches here and there. At a stop at a shanty (can't call it a
station) a man described a fight for a kopje just by the railway.
Coleskop was in view, a tall, flat-topped mountain, and later we
steamed into the oft-taken and retaken Colesberg Junction, and were
shown the hill where the Suffolks were cut up. All was now barren
veldt again, and the strangeness of the whole thing struck me
curiously. Why should men be fighting here? There seemed to be nothing
to fight for, and nothing behind to get to when you had fought.
"_May 22._--_Tuesday._--As I write we are standing just outside
Bloemfontein; cold, sunny morning; the Kaffir quarter just on our
right, a hideous collection of mud houses with tin roofs; camps and
stores on the left; boundless breadth of veldt beyond; the town in
front under a long, low kopje, a quiet, pretty little place.
"We reached the frontier--Norval's Pont--at 6 P.M. yesterday, and
after a long delay, moved slowly out in the dark, till the shimmer of
water between iron girders told us we were crossing the Orange river.
Once off the bridge, a shout went up for our first step on the enemy's
country. Then all went on the same. We made ourselves comfortable, and
brewed hot cocoa, for all the world as though we were travelling from
Boulogne to Geneva. The only signs of hostility were the shrill
execrations of a crowd of infant aborigines.
"We woke up to a changed country. The distances were still greater,
low hills only occasionally breaking the monotony of flat plain, but
the scrub had given way to grass, not verdant Irish grass, but sparse,
yellow herbage. Ant-hills and dead horses were the only objects in the
foreground, except eternal wreaths and tangles of telegraph wire along
the tracks, and piles of sleepers, showing the damage done, and now
repaired, to line and wire. The same pure crisp air and gentle
sunlight.
"_May 24._--_Thursday._--I write in our tent on the plateau above
Bloemfontein, and will go on where I left off on the 22nd. To our
utter disgust, after standing for hours in a siding of the station,
chatting to all sorts and conditions of the species soldier, the order
came to detrain. We drivers took the horses first to water, and then
picketed them on an arid patch of ground near the station, where the
gunners had meantime brought the guns and waggons. It was now dark,
and there were no rations served out; very cold, too, and we had no
kit, but it wasn't these things we minded, but the getting out instead
of training on. 'Kroonstadt' is redolent of war, but, 'Bloemfontein'
spells inaction. However, there was no help for it. We slept on the
ground, and precious cold this new climate was. I hadn't my Stohwasser
blanket, and spent most of the night stamping about and smoking. At
reveillé next day rations were still lacking, but we all trooped off
to a tin hut and had tea, given by an unseen angel, named Sister
Bagot. 'Boot and saddle' sounded at nine, and we marched off to the
camp, about two miles away. There was a very nasty ravine to cross,
and we had to have drag ropes on behind, with the gunners on them, to
steady us down the descent. I was driving centres as usual, and saw
the leaders almost disappear in front of me. At the bottom we crossed
a stream, and then galloped them up the other side. Soon after we
passed through Bloemfontein, a quiet, dull-looking place, like a
suburb of Cape Town, mounted a long hill, and came out on to another
broad plain, kopjes in the distance, and tents dotted far and wide.
The first moving thing I saw was a funeral,--slow music, a group of
khaki figures, and the bright colours of a Union Jack glinting
between.
"Our right section, that is, the other half of the Battery, from which
we had been separated ever since Stellenbosch, had trained on a day
ahead of us, and were now already encamped, so we marched up and
joined our lines to theirs, pitched our tents, and once more the
Battery was united. And what a curious meeting it was! Half of them
were unrecognizable with beards and sunburn, as were many of us, I
suppose. What yarns we had! All that day, in the intervals between
fatigues, and far into the night, in the humming tents. Jacko was with
them. He had been lost on the journey, but came on by a later train
very independently."
We all had a presentiment of evil, and, as it turned out, we were kept
nearly a month at Bloemfontein, while still reports of victories came
in. Yet news was very scarce, and had we known it, the period was only
just beginning, of that long, irregular warfare, by which the two
provinces had to be conquered, when the brilliancy of Roberts's
meteoric march to Pretoria was past. We were to take our small share
in work as necessary and arduous as any in these latter stages of the
war.
Meanwhile we were now a complete battery, and worked hard at our drill
as such, though there was very little to learn after our long training
in Cape Colony. We kept our spirits up, though the time was a
depressing one. Mortality was high in Bloemfontein at that time, in
spite of the healthy, exhilarating climate. A good many of us had to
go into hospital, but we were fortunate enough to lose no lives
through illness.
Here are some extracts from my diary:--
"_May 24._--_Queen's Birthday._--The guns went to a review, and got
high praise for their turn out. The rest of us exercised on stripped
saddles, trotting over bare flat ground, with sparse grass on it, the
greatest contrast to the Piquetberg Road country.
"In the evening Williams and I and some others wandered off to try and
get a wash. We prowled over the plain and among the camps asking the
way to water, and carrying our towels and soap, and finally stumbled
over a trough and a tap. The water here is unfit for drinking, and we
are forbidden to drink it except boiled.
"_May 28._--Riding exercise again; a long and jolly ride round the
country. Half-way we did cavalry exercises for some time, which, when
every man has a led horse, and many two of them, is rather a rough
game. I was riding Williams's Argentine, Pussy, a game little beast,
but she got very worried and annoyed over wheeling and forming fours
and sections. Directly we got back and had off-saddled we fell in, and
one out of four was allowed to go down to town and see the
Proclamation of Annexation read. I was lucky enough to be picked,
tumbled into proper dress, and hurried down just in time. The usual
sight as I passed the cemetery, thirteen still forms on stretchers in
front of the gate, wrapped in the rough service blanket, waiting to be
buried. I found the Market Square full of troops drawn up, and a
flag-staff in the middle, with a rolled-up flag on it. Soon a band
heralded the arrival of the Governor, Colonel Pretyman, and the
Staff-officers. Then a distant voice began the Proclamation, of which
I couldn't hear a word except 'colony' at the end, at which every one
cheered. Then the flag was unrolled, and hung dead for a minute, till
a breeze came and blew out 'that haughty scroll of gold,' the Royal
Standard. Bands struck up 'God save the Queen,' a battery on a hill
above the town thundered out a royal salute, everybody cheered, and I
was standing on British soil. I saw not a single native Dutchman
about, only crowds of the khakied of all ranks and sorts. After this
little bit of history-making I hurried back to the commonplace task of
clipping my mare's heels, an operation requiring great agility on the
part of the clipper.
"For a 'stableman,' as I am now, the evening is rather a busy one. At
seven you have to make up the feeds for the last feed; at 7.45 put
them round the harness-sets behind the horses; at eight feed, for
which all hands turn out; at 8.30 take off nose-bags and put on
muzzles; and after that make up another feed ready for early next
morning. You can't finish before 'lights out,' and have to go to bed
in the dark, to the loudly expressed annoyance of your neighbours in
the tent (I sleep in a tent these nights), on whose bodies you place
the various articles of your kit while you arrange your bed, and whose
limbs you sometimes mistake for materials for a pillow, when you are
composing that important piece of upholstery.
"_May 30._--_Wednesday._--In the afternoon Williams and I went to
visit a friend in Langman's Hospital. Bloemfontein is a town of
hospitals, red crosses flying at every turn. The mortality is high,
even, I was surprised to hear from our friend, among sisters and
hospital orderlies. Out of six sisters in his hospital, which seemed a
very good one, four had enteric at the time, and one had died of it. I
was on picket duty this night, and had a lively time chasing loose
horses in the dark. A new sort of head-rope we are using seems very
palatable to the horses, as they mostly eat it for supper, and then
get loose.
"_May 31._--Out at riding exercise we came to a fortified kopje, where
we dismounted, and were allowed to examine a beautifully made trench
running round the top, very deep, and edged by a wall of stones
arranged to give loopholes. Some one found a Boer diary in the dust,
the entries in which seemed to alternate between beer and bible
reading. We always water at the common trough, the last thing before
return. Such varieties of the horse species you could see no where
else; thick, obstinate little Argentines, all with the same Roman
noses and broad, ugly heads; squab little Basuto ponies, angular
skeletonesque Cape horses, mules of every nationality, Texan, Italian,
Illyrian, Spanish; here and there a beautiful Arab belonging to some
officer; and dominating all, our own honest, substantial 'bus and tram
horses, almost the only representatives of English horseflesh. There
are always a few detached horses stampeding round ownerless, or
limping feebly down with a lost, hopeless look in their eyes, tripping
at every step over a tattered head-rope, and seeming to belong to
nobody and care for nothing. We always ride down in strict order, each
man leading one or two.
"_June 3._--Marching-order parade. We had a good morning drill over
what is perfect artillery country, with just the right amount of
excitement in the shape of ditches to jump, and anthills, which are
legion, and holes to avoid. I am delighted with my pair, which are
both very fit now; and our waggon team has been going very well.
"_June 4._--Riding exercise and sham-fight; an enemy supposed to be
attacking a convoy. Being in the convoy, I haven't a clear idea of
what happened, but only know we were kept dodging about kopjes, and
bolting across open places uncaptured.
"_June 5._--Another field-day, with guns and waggons, before Colonel
Davidson, the Brigadier of Artillery here. We went out to some distant
kopjes, and went into action at two different points. I believe the
shooting was very good; they had targets of biscuit-tins stuck up on
the kopjes. Some of you who read this at home may not know how
artillery work, so I may as well roughly sketch what happens on these
occasions. There are four guns and five waggons. A waggon is built on
the same plan as a gun, that is, in two parts, the waggon-body and the
waggon-limber, the limber being in front, and having the pole for
draught, just as the gun-carriage and the gun-limber form the two
parts of the 'gun.' Both waggon-body and waggon-limber carry
ammunition, as does the gun-limber. There are four gunners on the gun,
and four on the waggon. When suitable ground has been selected by the
Major, and thoroughly scouted first by the mounted gunners, the order
is given to advance into action. The guns trot up in line; 'Action
front, right about wheel' is given, and each swings round, thus
bringing the muzzle of the gun to the front. The limber is then
unhooked from the trail of the gun, and the teams trot back with the
limbers to the rear, leaving the guns to be worked by the gunners. At
the same time the signal is sent back to the waggons, who, meanwhile,
have been halted in the rear, if possible under cover, to send up two
waggons. Two are told off, and they trot up to the firing line.
'Halt,' 'Unhook!' The wheelers are rapidly unhooked, the team trots
back again to the rear. Presently two more are called up with more
ammunition. These do the same thing, but after unhooking trot round
and hook into the other two (now empty) waggons, and trot them back.
The empty waggons are refilled from the mule-waggons, which follow the
battery with the reserve shells, and their black crews and all.
'Limber-supply,' that is, use of the shells in the _gun_-limber, is
only ordered in the last resort or in exceptional cases. Finally, when
the firing position is to be changed, the gun-limbers trot up; 'Limber
up' is given. The gun is hooked to the limber, and the re-united
machines trot away to the new position, followed by the waggons. In
some cases, too, when the waggons come up to the firing-line, they
only leave the waggon-body there, trot away with the limber, and come
back and 'limber up' later, in the same way as the gun. It all depends
on how much ammunition is wanted. Of course, there are many variations
of movement, but this is an average specimen.
"_June 10._--_Sunday._--I and Williams are stablemen, and the rest
have gone to church parade. We have just had an icy wash with
far-fetched water in an old ammunition box. The weather has turned
very cold again at nights, with considerable frost. I have been
sleeping out again though since the first week of our coming here,
finding snug lairs under the quartermaster's stores. We have marching
order parades most days now, and are pretty hard-worked. Yesterday we
were reviewed by General Pretyman, together with another field-battery
and a pom-pom battery. We trotted about in various formations, and the
guns went into action once; and that was all. Our guns got into action
quicker than either of the regular batteries. A message was
communicated to us by the General from Lord Roberts, saying we must
not be disappointed at not having gone to the front; that there was
plenty more work to be done, and that meanwhile we were doing very
useful work in helping to guard this place. I am afraid we are not
very sanguine, but we never entirely lose hope, and a wild idea that
this review and the other day's inspection might be preliminary to an
order to go up, cheered us up a lot for the time. Camp rumours, too,
are just as prolific and as easily swallowed as before. Latterly there
have been all sorts of mysterious reports about the Boers having got
behind Roberts, re-taken Kroonstadt and cut the railway, massacring
various regiments, whose names change hourly. A camp rumour is a
wonderful thing. Generally speaking, there are two varieties,
cook-shop rumours and officers' servants' rumours. Both are always
false, but there is a slightly more respectable mendacity about the
latter than the former. The cooks are always supposed to know if we
are changing camp by getting orders about rations in advance. Having
this slight advantage, they go out of their way to make rumours on
every sort of subject. How many scores of times the cooks have sent us
to the front I shouldn't like to say. Officers' servants of course
pick up scraps of information from their masters' tents; in the
process of transmission to the battery at large the original gets wide
variations. We are often just like kitchenmaids and footmen discussing
their betters. You will hear heated arguments going on as to the
meaning of some overheard remarks, and the odd thing is that it no
longer seems strange.
"_June 13._--... The moon was full this day, and to see it rising
sheer out of the level veldt was a thing to remember. For ten minutes
before there is a red glow on the horizon, which intensifies till a
burning orange rim shows above, and soon the whole circle is flaming
clear of the earth, only not a circle, but seemingly almost square
with rounded corners. Round its path on the veldt there is a broad
wash of dusty gold. A lot of us came out of the tents, and were
spell-bound by the sight. Every evening the sun goes down plumb into
the veldt out of a cloudless sky, and comes up just so in the morning.
While he is gone it is bitterly cold now, always with hard frost, but
in the middle of the day often very hot. I have never known such
extremes of temperature before.
"_June 16._--Yesterday was a red-letter day for me and Williams. We
got leave off afternoon stables, getting gunners to water and groom
our horses, and had from after dinner till 8.30 P.M. to ourselves.
That was the first time I have ever missed duty from any cause
whatever since I enlisted on January 3rd, so I think I deserved it. We
started off, feeling strangely free, and hardly knowing how to use our
freedom, for two hours is the longest interval from work one usually
gets. We determined to visit the Irish Hospital Camp, where four of
our chaps were sick. The Irish Hospital came out with us in the
_Montfort_, so we knew them all. We hired a carriage in the town(!)
and drove the rest of the way feeling like lords. We had a long talk
with the invalids, who were mostly doing well, in most comfortable
quarters, large roomy tents, with comfortable beds, and clean white
nurses going about. Pat Duffy turned up as a hospital orderly, looking
strangely clean. The air was heavy with rich brogue. Later we strolled
off, and shopped and shaved in the town, had afternoon tea, and then
went to a hotel and wrote letters till 6.30, when we dined in
magnificent style, and then sauntered back, feeling as if an eternity
had passed, and lay down in the dust to sleep.
"_June 17._--_Sunday._--A night and day of rain, in spite of the fact
that everybody was clear hitherto that the rainy season was over
months ago. Exercise at eight, and a smart trot round the country
warmed horses and men, for it is very cold. Meanwhile, the horse lines
had been shifted, for they were ankle-deep in mud. Once or twice in
the day we were called out to rub legs, ears, and backs of the horses.
"I am now lying on my back in our tent on a carefully constructed
couch of sacks, rugs, and haversacks, with a candle stuck in a
Worcester sauce bottle to light me. Most of us are doing the same, so
the view is that of the soles of muddy boots against strong light, the
tentpole in the middle hung thick with water-bottles, helmets, and
haversacks, spurs strung up round the brailing, faces (dirty) seen
dimly in the gloom beneath. Some write, some sew, some read. One is
muttering maledictions over a tin of treacle he has spilt on his bed
(he thought it was empty and stuck a candle on the bottom); one is
telling stories (which nobody listens to) of happy sprees in far-off
London. The air is thick with tobacco-smoke. Outside there is a murmur
of stablemen trying to fit shrunk nose-bags on to restive horses,
varied by the squeal and thump of an Argentine, as he gets home in the
ribs of a neighbour who has been fed before him."
On the day after this was written our long period of waiting came to
an end with orders to go at once to Kroonstadt.