On Commando by Dietlof Van Warmelo

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Whenever we came to a farm we ate as much green fruit as possible by way
of a change in our diet. On other occasions it would have been very bad
for us, but now it seemed to have a very wholesome effect. As we moved
on past Zwartkop over the Krokodil River in the direction of the
railway, we realized that there was no chance of attacking Krugersdorp
for the present, for General Beyers had apparently changed his plans. We
were quite sure that it had originally been his intention, and some of
our officers talked of the attack on the town as if it were an open
secret.

Our capable Veld-Kornet, Kruger, had remained behind at Zwartkop to get
the burghers of Wyk III. Krugersdorp from out of their hiding-places, as
the Generals wanted to concentrate all the small bands for some great
undertaking. We joined Wyk I. Krugersdorp under Veld-Kornet Klaassen.

Near Hekpoort, as we were camped at Dwarsvlei, we attacked a convoy of
the enemy in the valley, and very nearly captured it before it was
reinforced. I was not present, so cannot give any account of the battle.
After a sharp trek of more than one night, we crossed the rails between
Kaalfontein and Zuurfontein Stations, just before sunrise one morning
towards the middle of January. We captured a few guards who seemed to
know nothing of our movements. Why General Beyers did not surprise one
or both stations that morning early is still a mystery to us, as our
movements were remarkably quick. It could not have been because he
thought us too tired, for some twenty minutes further on, while we were
resting on a farm, he ordered part of our lager to turn to the left and
attack Kaalfontein Station.

Our corporal was unwilling to work us and our horses to death, so he
first got breakfast ready. But when our cannon began to roar and
Corporal Botman, who still limped from a wound, rode off without a word
in his own peculiar way, our conscience began to trouble us, and several
of our men followed him. My brother, whose horse's back was chafed,
remained in the lager with the rest of the burghers.

When we reached our guns, we immediately saw that the station could be
taken only at the cost of many lives--more than the success would be
worth. Our guns had not the desired effect, and we should have had to
charge across an open space without any cover. The enemy had no guns.
They say our left wing very nearly succeeded in taking a small fort near
the station, but I cannot give any particulars, for our Veld-Kornet rode
with a small troop of burghers to the right of the station, and took
another small fort which the enemy had abandoned because it was too far
away from the station. What might have been expected happened. Towards
afternoon an armoured train came from Pretoria, and reinforcements
arrived from Johannesburg and scattered our left wing over the valley. I
happened to be with a few others on the outmost point of the right wing
of attack--or, rather, since the scene was changed, of the left wing of
flight. And as we were retreating at our ease an old man galloped
towards us and pointed out that we were retreating in the wrong
direction, as the enemy had captured our whole lager. He had never in
his life seen so many khakies. They seemed to be on all sides of us. The
only outlet for us was in the direction of Heidelberg. I asked him,
'Uncle, are you sure that our lager is in the hands of the khakies?' to
which he answered, 'Nephew, I saw with my own eyes how they rode up to
the waggons and made all our people "hands up!"' and he continued to
give us a minute description of the occurrence.

If we had been greenhorns, we would have blindly followed the startled
old man right through the stream of retreating burghers and exploding
15-pounders. But, fortunately, the war had taught us, and we moved on
_with_ the stream, but a little more to the left, and, I cannot deny it,
with a feeling of great anxiety as to what was to become of us if the
old man had indeed told the truth.

Fortunately, it appeared that fright had made the old man believe his
own imagination, and the lager was quite safe. My brother told me that
the slight attack made upon them by the enemy was easily beaten off.

The opinion of the majority was that we should have left Kaalfontein
Station alone. We were thoroughly exhausted by our rapid journeys,
particularly by the journey of the preceding night, and besides that the
burghers were unwilling to make an attack of which they did not see the
advantage. We had several killed and wounded.

The consequence was that we had to trek that night in a way that none of
us will ever forget, to get beyond the reach of the enemy. One cannot
imagine how terrible it is to sit for hours on horseback, dead tired and
overcome by sleep. We did not even guide our horses; they simply jogged
along mechanically, too tired even to object to ill-treatment. Our hands
rested on the bows of the saddles, and as we sat leaning forwards,
apparently lost in thought, but in reality suffering tortures from the
effort to keep awake, we forced ourselves to look up and about us, but
our eyes half closed in the effort, and everything about us took a
strange shape, and the sky became chaos; with a nod we half awoke, only
to dream again a second later that we were falling from our horses.

Not a word was spoken, for everyone was dozing. Whenever we had to wait
for our guns or waggons, we simply flung ourselves on the grass with
one arm through our bridles, and soon we were unconscious of the pulling
and tugging of the horse, and if the order to mount woke us up, the
tugging had ceased, and our horses were calmly grazing some distance
from us. Then we lifted our bodies, loaded with cartridges and guns,
into the saddle at the risk of toppling over on the other side, like a
lizzard sliding down a bank, and rode on in silence, drowsily and
top-heavy.

XIII

COMMANDO SUFFERINGS

The horsemen rode generally two by two, partly in front of the waggons
as advance-guard, and behind as rear-guard, each corporal with his men
in his place by his Veld-Kornet. The Krugersdorpers were no longer
allowed to leave their places before they had permission from their
corporal. Even those burghers who were most disorderly in the beginning
now saw the necessity of discipline, and were obedient to the commands
of their officers.

It was a mixed crew of old and young. But the majority were still in the
prime of life, and proof against the privations of guerilla life. The
old men among us were all men whose powerful constitutions were yet
unbroken. It was praiseworthy of them that in their old age they were
willing to suffer the difficulties and dangers of a wandering life for
their country's sake, for although their constitutions were strong, they
were susceptible to cold and damp, the effects of which they could not
shake off. There were also many brave little boys, who were thus early
initiated into the privations of commando life; but they shared all
bravely, in a careless spirit of adventure.

Here and there were some Uitlanders who had remained faithful to us. All
the others had gradually disappeared, either because they were taken
prisoners, or killed through their somewhat foolhardy courage, or
because they had left the country in disappointment. The townspeople
were by no means superior to the farmers. There were traitors and
'hands-uppers' among them as well. We have been bitterly disappointed in
people of all classes, but particularly in the so-called 'gentlemen.'

Our condition and appearance were indeed striking. During the heat of
the day, when the dust lay thickly about us, we sat in our ragged
clothes, with shaggy, uncombed beards, on our poor, hardly-treated
ponies, meekly staring in front of us, seemingly indifferent to the
moral hurt that we were suffering and the physical pain that we felt in
all our limbs after a long, tiring ride. At the start of one of our
journeys an animated conversation sometimes helped to pass the time, but
it soon flagged, leaving us staring in front of us in the usual
dispirited, dull way. Our talk became daily more prosaic and
superficial. We had not the energy to express our deepest sentiments,
and things which were formerly pleasant were strange to us now. We had
no spur to enliven our thoughts in our monotonous life. To the careless
there was nothing startling in this moral numbness, but the more
sensitive among us grieved over it, and were humiliated by the
shallowness that had come into our lives.

The small necessaries of our material existence had become essential to
our happiness. If we lost a knife, or if a pot or kettle broke, or a mug
was stolen from us, we were depressed for days, as if a heavy blow had
fallen upon us. It was not easy to fight against that bitter feeling of
depression. Our only safety lay in the fact that we were conscious of
the demoralizing effect of these small disappointments of commando life,
for to know one's self is always the first step towards conversion.

Some qualities of our highest nature were systematically suppressed. We
prided ourselves on our fierce hatred of the enemy, and considered it a
mark of patriotism, and we rejoiced when he fell beneath our bullets or
when the plague broke out. We even wished that a great European war
might begin, if only we might keep our country, and as a consequence of
our righteous patriotism an inclination to cruelty became one of the
predominant traits in the character of the burghers.

The commando life tended to make many of us melancholy. Wherever we came
the thought was forced upon us that our beloved country was deeply
injured, morally and materially. We ourselves saw everywhere homes and
fields destroyed, women and children taken away by force, and cattle
stolen; and rumours told of the most terrible outrages committed upon
helpless women and children. If it were not that one becomes hardened to
all outward impressions, our commando life would have been pitiful
indeed. So we became hardened to almost all these things, but the
thought of the ill-treatment of those dear to us, on whose happiness our
own happiness depends, was constantly with us, and to that we did not
become hardened.

It is impossible to enter into the sufferings of the married men. Much
was suffered in silence. Some men got messages from their wives
imprisoned in refugee camps, bidding them surrender for the sake of
their wives, since fighting was of no avail and the country was already
lost. Who shall blame the man who rides away with an anxious heart to
his wife and children, no matter what the consequences may be to
himself? Another woman, with a different disposition and a different
heart, sends word secretly to her husband that life in the prison camp
is endurable, and that he must fight to the end. Then he stays, and
proves himself worthy of the courage of his wife.

Some men gave the impression that they were indifferent to the suffering
of wife and child. These were the scum of our people, who in time of
peace were not of much importance, but were necessary for our fight. But
the majority, by far the greater majority, were men who, even in the
most troubled times, were faithful to the comrades with whom they began
this struggle, the struggle for our independence.

Whenever we came to a 'uitspanplek' (a place where there is water to be
found for the horses), some of us had to seek hurriedly for wood to make
the fire, others to fetch water, and others to help in various ways. It
was a regular struggle for existence. Those who came first got the least
disagreeable work. Wood was scarce on the Hoogeveld where we happened to
be, and the water was muddied by the first water-carriers. When the sun
was very warm we made a shelter with our guns and our blankets. Our
meals were simple. They consisted of meat and 'mealie-pap' morning,
noon, and night, often for weeks without salt. We made coffee of burnt
grain ground in a coffee-mill. During the war we learnt to drink all
sorts of coffee--of wheat, oats, barley, sweet potatoes, maize, and even
of peaches. We became so accustomed to a simple mode of life that our
wants were few indeed. Even sugar we no longer missed. And we remained
healthy and strong.

We lay in small groups round the fires, leaning against our saddles. Our
moods were brighter after our tired bodies had had the needful
refreshment and rest. The groups were often picturesque, some of us
lying at our ease with soiled books in hands, others grouped round the
fire, every now and again adding wood to the flames, and others, again,
picking mites out of the biltong with a pocket-knife.

A shower had not much effect upon us. We were accustomed to letting our
clothes dry on our bodies. Nature is very kind to people who are day and
night in the open air. If the sun did not shine soon after a shower, we
made a very deplorable appearance in our dripping clothes. But we never
grumbled. We were generally cheerful, unless we were exhausted from
fatigue.

We suffered most on those long nights when, for some reason or other, we
could not sleep, for many of the burghers were troubled with fears for
their dear ones. Often, after a long ride, we were too tired to prepare
a meal, but simply flung ourselves against our saddles and slept before
we had time to let our thoughts wander. But if the enemy were not at our
heels, we often passed the long nights in sleeplessness, gazing up at
the stars with the most bitter feelings in our hearts. No wonder that
many a burgher grew gray. We were often kept awake by the tethered
horses stumbling among the groups. Sometimes a man would jump up and
strike at them till all the others awoke, too, and then there was great
hilarity in the quiet of the night.

Sometimes a constant rain cast a shadow over the sunny Hoogeveld and
made our lives sombre and almost unbearable. Then our tattered garments
could not dry on our bodies, and everything about us was wet and dirty.
Even in dry weather fuel was almost unattainable, for the treeless
Hoogeveld had been almost exhausted by the many large commandos which
had visited the 'uitspan' places. In wet weather it was almost an
impossibility to make a fire.

Whoever had an ailment passed unpleasant nights then; each night meant a
nail in his coffin. Even the constant rain the burghers bore cheerfully,
and many a joke was passed along during an interval in the downpour. But
in the morning, as we dragged our weary limbs out of our mud-baths,
shivering from cold, we did not venture to put the conventional
question, 'Did you sleep well?' to each other.

The spirit among the burghers was very different from what it had been.
No swearing was heard, and quarrelling was exceptional. Thefts, too,
were seldom committed. We called ourselves 'sifted'; traitors and
thieves had gone over to the stronger party. I do not believe that any
European army would have kept its moral tone so high under such
demoralizing circumstances as did that small army of Boers with the help
of their religion. Whereas in time of peace there was much difference in
churches, especially in the Transvaal (although no difference in
belief), now, during the war, the unity of belief in one Bible had
become the means of raising the moral tone of the burghers.

During the last few months a plague had come amongst us that we had
heard much about, and now caused us much trouble--a plague of lice. It
is not an edifying subject, but anyone can understand how the itching
caused many a sleepless night. We were not to blame. When we no longer
were able to change our clothes, we could not guard against the vermin
that had become a plague among the huge wandering armies of the enemy.
Although we boiled our clothes, to our horror the nits appeared again.

XIV

BATTLE OF BOESMANSKOP--FLIGHT OF WOMEN

Fortunately, the enemy gave us a week's rest on the farm of Landdrost
Schotte. During that time Veld-Kornet Meyer, with his small troop of
Germans, blew up the electric factory at Brakpan.

Then we stayed a few days on Mr. Brown's farm, where a great many little
commandos congregated that were camped on the banks of the river. Our
horses became quite sleek again from the abundance of mealies they got
there. On that farm we first used for fuel the poles that fenced in the
farm. I distinctly remember how, after we had received the order from
Commandant Kemp, we waited until after dark before pulling up the poles,
and how grieved we were at the necessity for doing it. Since that time
we have got over such scruples. Even if there were wood to be had on an
outspan place, there was always a race to procure the best poles. Of
course, when there was abundance of wood, the pulling up of poles was
strictly prohibited.

At that time I made the acquaintance of a nephew of mine, Paul Mare, a
boy of fourteen, with a noble countenance, who, like so many others of
the same age, rode about with gun and bandolier, and was full of
courage. When the enemy approached his mother's house he prepared for
flight, but she took it for a joke. When she noticed that he was in
earnest, she forbade him to go, as his father had been killed already,
and he would in all probability be killed too. He merely answered,
'Because they have shot my father, I mean to shoot them now,' and rode
away.

We did not like remaining long in one place doing nothing. We always
became impatient, and wished to know when we could move on. But the
Commandant always answered that he could not tell. And the more sensible
of us thought, 'It depends on khaki.' This was really the case now. On
the evening of January 28 we got the order to be in readiness. While
General Beyers, with 400 or 500 men, passed to the rear of the enemy to
destroy the Boksburg mines, our commando of horsemen moved rapidly in
the direction of Boesmanskop in the Heidelberg district, to cut off the
enemy who were pushing on to our part of the Hoogeveld. We arrived at
Boesmanskop the following morning.

The parts of the country that we now passed through had not yet been
destroyed by the enemy, but everywhere else the houses and farms were
burnt and ruined in the most barbarous way. We were very anxious,
therefore, to cut off the enemy's advance. They were camped to the
north-west of Boesmanskop. A strong Boer guard occupied this kopje--the,
only one in the neighbourhood; for the rest, the surroundings were the
ordinary Hoogeveld with its mounds. We pushed up in a long line over a
'bult' that ran north-west of Boesmanskop. Our guns--only a few, as most
had been sent away to be repaired--stood on top of this mound without
any cover. Lieutenant Odendaal, a very brave gunner, did not like
kopjes, but always placed his cannon on a mound, as the enemy's guns
always fired too short or too long on account of the misleading
distances. They did so in this instance, and the bombs flew far beyond
us. Corporal Botman ordered me to stay with the horses at the foot of
the 'bult,' while the burghers crept on to the top a few hundred paces
further, expecting eventually to charge the enemy. Suddenly I heard,
twice over, a noise like that of a train in the distance. My brother
told me afterwards how he had seen a detachment of the enemy storming
Boesmanskop, and how the burghers waited until they were close by, and
then beat them back completely with a twice-repeated salvo.

For some time the guns of the enemy ceased firing, because, as I heard
later on, Lieutenant Odendaal had shot down the gunners. When they made
themselves heard again, they were more accurate in their aim; I most
narrowly escaped the bombs. Four or five thundered around me in quick
succession, as I fell and stooped and grasped the bridles of the rearing
horses. Some of the horses pulled the bridles out of my hands and raced
down the valley.

But the left wing of the enemy was surrounding us, and, like a swarm of
birds that rise on the wing, the burghers fled back in among the
tethered and the straying horses, and retreated as fast as they could.
The enemy now bombarded Boesmanskop, so that the retreating burghers in
the valley had a bad time of it with the bombs flying over their heads.

Many waggons of Boer families, fleeing for their lives, were pushing
along the sides of the long mounds, and the enemy's bombs burst in their
midst more than once--perhaps accidentally, perhaps because they knew
that 'the Boer nation must be swept off the face of the earth.'

The women seemed to be in a panic. From all sides families came in carts
and waggons--long rows of vehicles filled with poor, terror-stricken
women and children; large herds of cattle were driven along by the
Kaffir servants, but many of them fell into the enemy's hands. The
burghers did their best to make a stand in order to give the waggons a
good start, but retreated in good order when they saw no chance of
checking the enemy's forward movement. Fortunately, a heavy shower fell
in the afternoon and hindered the enemy in their advance, else many a
waggon would have fallen into their hands.

It was no longer necessary for the burghers to resist for the sake of
the waggons. The enemy had camped and left us, with the exception of the
guard, to plod our way shamefacedly through the mud. Our ponies, with
their quick, peculiar gait, soon caught up the heavily-laden waggons,
and we supplied ourselves with mealies, flour, fowls, etc., that had
been thrown overboard or left behind on a broken-down waggon. Such is
the fortune of war, and the things were better in our hands than in
those of the khakies.

When we rode up alongside the waggons, many a meeting took place between
relatives and friends who had been parted for months. The women and
girls drove the horses, and many of them walked with the Kaffirs in the
mud next to the oxen. They did the work of the men in time of peace.
Many of them had been delicately nurtured, in spite of the simplicity of
their lives, and were not accustomed to the hard work. They were all
Transvaal women, and wives and daughters of the burghers who had to look
on helplessly at their sad flight. And, oh! the dear little heads of
the children that peeped at us from out of the waggons! It was a cruel
sight, and it moved us strangely.

Although most of the women were drenched, they were all cheerful, and
seemed proud of taking an active part in the great struggle. And if a
young man asked a girl whether he should ride next to her to help her,
the answer was: 'No, thank you, we can manage; the men must fight now.'
There were many old men and boys who preferred the society of the women
to the danger of the bombs. Some of the women were not kind, and
reproached us for being the cause of all this misery, as our appearance
in the Hoogeveld had brought the enemy in its train.

The waggons were heavily laden with furniture and grain, some even with
stoves, and they sank deep into the mud, as the roads were one mass of
mud after the numerous waggons and thousands of cattle that had already
passed along them. Long rows of vehicles were continually approaching
from all sides, all going in the same direction, and when we came to
Waterval River a sad but grand sight met our eyes. The river was full.
Hundreds of waggons had been outspanned on the banks on either side.
The women and children were doing their best to light the fires with the
wet wood, and to cook some food. It was just before sunset, but there
was no sun to cheer them on their way.

Against the sides of the mounds (bulten) the cattle were moving in black
dense masses, making an almost deafening noise with their bleating and
lowing. As we rode through the full river, we saw in mid-stream a cart
that had stuck fast. A woman was standing in the water pushing at the
back, while a girl held the reins. A few of our men jumped down from
their horses and soon succeeded in getting the cart to the other side.
But we could not stay to help the poor women and children. We rode on,
inquiring everywhere after the trolleys and the commissariat. These were
higher up on the other side of the river, so we had to cross once more,
this time in the dark, at the risk of our lives.

Two little girls were drowned that evening, and the wheel of a waggon
had passed over a girl's body. It had been better if the women had
stayed at home and depended on the mercy of the enemy. They should not
have undertaken this terrible journey. A woman cannot flee from place to
place like a man, and life in a 'refugee'(?) camp would have been
better; she should bear her sorrow bravely at home. And this was only
the beginning of the misery. If they had remained at home, they might
have saved their homes, but now the enemy was sure to destroy and burn
the deserted farms.

During the day, when the flight was still a novelty, the women and girls
were cheerful enough, but who can describe their heartache and misery
during their enforced journey on the rainy nights? I do not know how all
those waggons and cattle got through the swollen river that night.
Twenty paces from where I lay a waggon was being inspanned; I heard the
voices of men and women. An old man was talking. He threatened to
off-load all the women on the first available place, as he had never in
his life had so much trouble. A small boy and a Kaffir had their turn
also; the boy was on horseback and led, or rather dragged, another horse
that refused to move. He had to collect the cattle, which seemed to me
almost an impossible task in the dark, among the many horses of the
burghers. When he had found Kindermeid, Witlies had disappeared, and
when Witlies was found, then Vaalpens was missing again. Kindermeid, a
gray ox, was the most troublesome. Repeatedly it passed by me, followed
by the boy dragging the unwilling horse. Then the boy exclaimed in sad,
shrill tones, 'See how the mare jibs!' When his father angrily asked,
'Have you found Kindermeid now?' he answered, 'Yes, father, but now
Vaalpens is missing; the mare jibs so, I can't get the cattle together!'
When he had found them all and the rumbling of their waggon was dying
away in the distance, I still heard him complain of the unwilling mare,
in his sad, shrill little voice. It was a small episode in my life that
I shall not easily forget. This was the last I saw of the flight of the
women, for we had to stay behind to fight as we were retreating. Later
on I heard many sad tales about it, which I cannot repeat in this little
book of mine.

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