RUDYARD KIPLING, ASSOCIATE EDITOR
_A chapter which introduces a Prince, and tells of our
Appeal to the whole Army to write for_ THE FRIEND.
The next day's issue, that of March 22nd, was the best-looking number
we had produced. We dropped those little frames on either side of the
title of the paper which journalists call "ears" or "ear-tabs," so
that the front page looked dignified and ship-shape, and the title
read simply THE FRIEND, without its former addenda of "Playing cards"
and "Cue tips." In place of these we printed the royal coat-of-arms.
This issue contained a heart-felt eulogy of Sir W. S. A. Lockhart by
the Field Marshal.
General Kelly in Camp Orders declared that hereafter horse thieves
would be severely dealt with, and there appeared a notice by Prince
Francis of Teck, "Staff Captain, Remount Department," that the army
desired horses of certain ages and a certain height, as well as agents
to buy them.
This reminds all who were at Bloemfontein how the Prince came and put
up at the Bloemfontein Hotel, and began to fill up an immense yard
just on the edge of the town with a marvellous collection of veldt
horses, all of which, I understood, he succeeded in buying at L25
apiece, though I had just paid L100 for a pair, and most men were
giving L40 at the least for every horse. The Prince worked like a
beaver all the time he was at Bloemfontein.
There went to the stalwart and kindly Prince one day an artist who
said he desired to surrender two mules which did not belong to him. It
was not the truth that he desired to give them up, nor was it out of
politeness that he told the falsehood. The fact was that the army had
taken his horses and left him a pair of feeble, poorly animated steeds
of the clothes-horse pattern, which gave out on the long road between
Poplar Grove and Bloemfontein. At the same time two healthy mules,
astray on the veldt, evinced a yearning for human companionship, and
insisted upon intruding themselves upon the company of the artist and
his Basuto servant while they were preparing lunch. To go on with his
own weak and sick animals was to invite a loss of locomotive power in
a country infested with Boers. To make use of the fresher mules was
the natural and obvious alternative. Therefore the artist abandoned
his horses and went on with the mules. Arrived in Bloemfontein, he at
once continued his travels by joining the "bill-sticking expedition"
of General French over to Thaba N'chu and the region beyond.
"Bill sticking," by the way, was how the officers nicknamed the
distribution of copies of Lord Roberts' proclamation calling on the
Boers to lay down their arms and sign a promise not to continue the
war. When the artist returned to Bloemfontein he was met by friends
who said that he would certainly be shot if he was found to be using
animals that did not belong to him. Lord Roberts had grown angry, it
was said, and had exclaimed aloud that no matter who or what the man
might be, the next offender in this respect should be shot. It was
this stentorian cry, and not the still, small voice of conscience,
that sent the artist to the Prince, to whom he told the truth and made
formal surrender of the mules.
"And very nice indeed it is of you," said the Prince, "very honest and
straightforward. I will send some one to get the mules this
afternoon."
"But, I beg pardon," said the artist, "now everything's all right,
isn't it? The mules were not mine, and I have surrendered them, and
there's no trouble to follow?"
"No, indeed," said Prince Francis, "I am much obliged to you. Animals
are very scarce and we need all we can get; so very good of you to do
as you have done."
"Well, now," said the artist, "won't you please let me keep the mules?
The Army stole my horses and left me a broken-down pair. I had to turn
them loose and take these mules or I should have been killed or
captured by the Boers. I have nothing else to move on with. I wish you
would let me keep the mules."
"Really," said the Prince, "I cannot do that. I never heard such a
proposition in my life. I have no authority to do as you ask. Upon my
word, this is most extraordinary. Come, I'll tell you what I will do.
I'll see that you get a pair of animals at the Army price. I can't
sell them to you or buy them for you, but I can have a pair put aside
for you to buy of somebody who brings them in to sell."
No one who was not there can form any idea of the extent to which this
looting or commandeering of horses was then being practised. They were
stolen not only from in front of the Club--the busiest spot in the
heart of the town--but from before the headquarters of Lord Roberts,
and from in front of the hotels. Men were desperate; so many were
without horses. Sicknesses, slaughter, and overwork had left us with
less than half the animals we needed.
At about this time an American correspondent who was never guilty of
taking even an abandoned Boer horse, but who had purchased a fine
animal of a negro on the veldt for five shillings, became very nervous
over his purchase. He went to the stable and with the help of his
servant clipped the animal close, so that it no longer resembled the
long-haired beast he had bought. Then he went out into the street and
met a Boer, who accused him of having taken his horse and who exactly
described the animal in question. The Boer said he would report the
case to Major Poore, the Provost-Marshal. The now frightened
correspondent came to my room with his burden of sorrows, and stated
his case to the company of officers, correspondents, and
despatch-riders then present.
"The Boer's name is Voorboom," he said, "and he is in earnest. I
suppose I shall be sent home in disgrace."
At the mention of the name three men spoke up saying that of all the
rascals in need of a hanging this Voorboom was the sorriest. One had
seen Boer combatants in Voorboom's house, another had seen Voorboom's
brother trundling into a clump of bushes an English carriage which he
had stolen; a third had met Voorboom and his negroes riding far and
wide gathering up loose horses--English or Boer--which he was
undoubtedly now bringing to town to sell to the Army.
"Give him an hour in which to leave town or go to jail at Simon's
Bay," said a Colonel, ending the incident.
Mr. Kipling was in town at last and had promised us his assistance,
but we could not then know whether this would be great or little; we
could not have hoped or dreamed that it would prove a quarter or a
third part of all our work, as it did. On the other hand, we were only
too painfully aware that very little aid was being vouchsafed us. We
found ourselves with a great newspaper on our hands, a newspaper with
a gaping void of terrible dimensions. "Reuter" had promised its
despatches to us, but these were not allowed on the crowded telegraph
wires for days at a time, as it proved, and the whole burden was upon
us, joined to the necessity we felt to do our full duty to our
newspapers at home--one at least of which demanded a despatch every
day and four letters a week if possible. The army had been counted
upon for valuable and voluminous help, and it was practically sending
us in nothing. Mr. Landon reminds me that within an hour of Mr.
Kipling's arrival in Bloemfontein he went to him and said (with
considerable trepidation): "We have put you down as an editor of THE
FRIEND, and we have announced it." Then Mr. Landon held his breath and
waited. "Well," Mr. Kipling replied, "I should have been mortally
offended if you had not. Where's the office? I want to go to work as
soon as I have finished my grape jam." He did literally go straight
to work. As he entered our editorial dustbin he sniffed the mingled
odours of ink, wet paper, and dust, and said, "It's quite like old
times in India." It was agreed that I should stir up the consciences
and pens of all our friends and readers in an ink-blast, fierce and
loud. I did this in the editorial of the day entitled, "The Silent
Army":--
Other armies (I wrote), have always been distinguished by
brilliant raconteurs. Other armies have always contained a
plenitude of wits and humorists. Other armies have been
noted for the abundance of funny anecdotes with which chum
assailed chum and battalion guyed battalion. Other armies
have taken note of the more striking deeds of prowess, of
valour and of strategy which have been done among their
members; and other armies have boasted poets grave, poets
gay, poets rollicking, and poets who dedicated their verses
to their mistress's eyebrows.
Alas! none of these things has this poor army--so poor in
wit and literary talent, however rich it be in courage,
patience, dogged persistence and proud victories.
This army is like a sponge for taking what entertainment the
sweating editors of THE FRIEND will give it. It is like a
barnacle for fastening itself upon us and fattening its dead
weight upon this little literary bark. It is like a horse
behind our waggon, which was built, like most vehicles, to
have its horses in front. It is like the veldt around us in
its capacity to swallow any amount of refreshing rain and
yet appear as dry in four hours afterwards as if it were the
pavement of that place which can only be referred to by the
use of one particular anecdote, which is as follows:--
"If I owned Satandom and South Africa," said a Canadian
Tommy at Modder River, "I would rent out South Africa and
live in Satandom."
But we nearly digressed--a sin unpardonable in an article so
important as this, written hot upon the impulse of suffering
and keen feeling.
The committee of war correspondents with Lord Roberts' army,
who undertook to conduct, for the first time in history, a
full-fledged complete daily newspaper published in an
enemy's capital two days after the conquest thereof, are all
busy men in their own line of industry. They have constant
daily work to do, they are trusted by their own newspapers
to devote their whole talents and energies to the interests
of the public at home. Nevertheless they have turned aside
to conduct this newspaper, they are doing so, and will
continue to do so to the day the army pushes on and away.
But in undertaking this task their idea was that they merely
had to start the paper and give it a momentum, after which
the army would turn to and flood the editorial sanctum with
tales of humour, wit, and prowess writ upon sheets
numberless as the leaves of Vallambrosa.
The reader will gather that this has not yet taken place. He
will infer that the war correspondents are, like the last
rose of summer, left blooming to ourselves. True, two or
three generous and gifted souls in the army have come nobly
into the breach with contributions; but the breach is nine
columns wide--nine columns that persist in emptying
themselves as fast as we fill them; in fact, nine columns
which become fifty-four columns between each Monday and the
succeeding Saturday. It is on this account that when the two
or three generous and talented army men flung themselves in
the breach, the breach was not aware of the fact--and we
have not had the heart to wake it up and notify it that it
was being filled, not caring to tell a falsehood even to a
silly breach.
Come, then, ye gentles and geniuses, ye poets, ye
anecdotists, ye thrillers and movers with the pen--join our
staff, and put your mighty little ink-damped levers to the
rock that we are rolling up the gigantic kopje of your
thirst for news and entertainment. Your pay shall be the
highest ever meted out to man--the satisfaction of souls
content. Your company shall include a Kipling. Your readers
shall be the bravest, noblest, proudest soldiers who ever
served an earthly race.
You can ask no more. You can ask nothing else.
But in the meantime we want "copy."
We published also a brief communication respecting the Dutch name
Stellenbosch. This needs a word of explanation. It had long been
noticed that whenever an officer was prominently connected with a
losing battle, or exhibited marked incompetence in any field of
military work, he got a billet at Stellenbosch, a bowery village deep
down in the Cape Colony, where was established our base camp of
supplies. The name therefore attained a deep significance and common
usage in the army, and to say that a man had been "Stellenbosched" was
but the ordinary polite mode of mentioning what might otherwise have
had to be said in many harsher-sounding words.
* * * * *
THE FRIEND.
(_Edited by the War Correspondents with Lord Roberts' Force._)
BLOEMFONTEIN, FRIDAY, MARCH 22, 1900.
PROCLAMATION.
Whereas it is considered necessary in the interests of the Orange Free
State, and until arrangements may be made, that the provisions of the
Customs Convention existing between the said State and the Colony of
the Cape of Good Hope, and the Colony of Natal, shall be duly
observed, and the Laws and Regulations appertaining thereto shall be
enforced as soon as communication between the said Colonies and such
portions of the Orange Free State as have been or may hereafter be
occupied by Her Majesty's troops is restored, and the customary
commercial relations are resumed; and whereas it is expedient that the
necessary officers for the control and management of the Customs
Department of the Orange Free State shall be appointed,
NOW THEREFORE
I, FREDERICK SLEIGH BARON ROBERTS OF KHANDAHAR, K.P., G.C.B.,
G.C.S.I., G.C.I.E., V.C., Field Marshal, Commanding-in-Chief of the
British Forces in South Africa, do hereby nominate and appoint the
following officers, to wit:--
_Collector of Customs_--Johannes Henricus Meiring.
_First Clerk_--Albert C. Woodward.
_Second Clerk_--Frederik Blignaut.
* * * * *
A WARNING TO NATIVES.
EXEMPLARY SENTENCES.
It is evident from the sentences inflicted by the Provost Marshal that
the military authorities are wisely determined to repress all forms of
lawlessness and unruliness on the part of native boys with a firm
hand. Take the following three cases by way of illustration:--
No. 1. Boy: 28 lashes for resisting Military Police in discharge of
their duty while arresting him.
No. 2. Two Boys: 25 lashes each for being drunk and fighting.
No. 3. 27 Boys: 5 lashes each for being disorderly and having no pass
after 9 o'clock.
At the conclusion of the above cases of the day the Provost Marshal
called the native police before him and complimented them on the good
work they had done.
When the British entered Bloemfontein there was general rejoicing in
the native "location," but it is impossible to insist too plainly that
the clemency of British rule will not extend to violent, drunken, and
disorderly persons, whether they be white or black.
* * * * *
ARMY ORDERS, SOUTH AFRICA.
ARMY HEADQUARTERS, GOVERNMENT HOUSE,
BLOEMFONTEIN, _March 20, 1900_.
1. _Death of Commander-in-Chief in India._
It is with deep regret that the Field Marshal, Commanding-in-Chief,
announces to the Army in South Africa the death of His Excellency Sir
W. S. A. Lockhart, G.C.B., K.C.S.I., Commander-in-Chief in India,
which occurred at Calcutta on the evening of the 18th of March, 1900.
Lord Roberts is sure that his own feelings will be shared by every
Officer and Soldier who has served under Sir William Lockhart's
command, and more particularly by those who have been personally
acquainted with him.
After a long and varied Military career, which began in Abyssinia,
time of the Mutiny, and which included war service in Acheen,
Afghanistan, Burma, The Black Mountain, Wazeristan, Isazai, and
finally the command of the Tirah Expeditionary Force, Sir William
Lockhart was appointed to the Chief Command in India. Possessed of
exceptional ability, he distinguished himself alike as a Staff Officer
and as a commander in the field, and by his uniform kindness and
consideration he endeared himself to all who came in contact with him.
In the late Commander-in-Chief the Soldiers in India, both British and
Native, have lost a friend whose only thought was to further their
interests and promote their welfare, and the Indian Empire has lost a
trusted Counsellor who, on account of his intimate knowledge of the
Native races, and his acquaintance with Eastern affairs, cannot soon
or easily be replaced.
2. _Amendment._
With reference to Army Order No. 5 (b) of 4th March, for Captain R. H.
Hall read Captain R. H. Hare.
3. _Telegrams._
The Field Marshal Commanding-in-Chief has great pleasure in publishing
the following telegram which has been received:--
From Sirdar Khan, Bahadur Casim, Haji Mahomed Khansahib, Kazi Mahommed
Ali Murshaj. Bombay Mahomedans offer your Lordship, your gallant
Officers and Soldiers hearty congratulations on brilliant success
Transvaal, and pray Almighty crown efforts greater success and
honours.
By order,
W. KELLY, M. General,
D. A. General.
* * * * *
THE WEARY TREK.
Trek, trek, trek,
On the wild South African veldt,
With anthills here and anthills there
And holes and ruts, you're inclined to swear,
For your mokes will religiously take you o'er
These impediments by the score,
But you trek, trek, trek.
Trek, trek, trek,
With a heart as heavy as lead,
For the comrades who have bit the dust
Whilst fighting for a cause that's just,
With bootless feet and clothing torn,
From chilly night to dewy morn
You trek, trek, trek.
Trek, trek, trek,
There's nothing to do but trek,
While your mules half starved and done to death,
And yourself ditto and out of breath,
You wish to Heaven the war was o'er
And you say sweet (?) things of the cunning Boer,
But you trek, trek, trek.
* * * * *
GO TO ---- STELLENBOSCH!!
_To the Editors of_ "THE FRIEND," SIRS:--In the course of a lengthy
experience I have heard many quaint conceits and many hard swear
words, and have kept a small notebook in which I have jotted down
anything especially new. I was the unwilling auditor the other day of
a quarrel between two individuals whose rank and profession shall be
nameless. The conversation became very animated, and finally one
exclaimed with savage irony, "Oh, go to Stellenbosch!" Fortunately
some passers-by interrupted the fracas or else I verily believe blows
would have been exchanged. Now you, sirs, with your opportunities of
knowing many lands and varied languages, may perhaps be able to inform
me where this place is and why the request to go there should have
caused such fury and such agitation on the part of the individual
addressed. It will be a relief to the consciences of Her Majesty's
lieges if the time-honoured "D----" can be relegated to the limbo of
forgotten oaths in favour of such an apparently innocent expression. I
write in all innocence, as no man likes to use a phrase, especially
such a potent one, without understanding its meaning.--
Faithfully yours,
CHIRIOGICUS.
[We believe that the place mentioned was located somewhere in the
Arctic Regions by the Jackson expedition.--EDS.]