With Steyn and De Wet by Philip Pienaar

P >> Philip Pienaar >> With Steyn and De Wet

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

WITH STEYN AND DE WET

BY

PHILIP PIENAAR

OF THE TRANSVAAL TELEGRAPH SERVICE

METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
1902

CONTENTS

PAGE

THOMAR 1

THE ELEVENTH OF OCTOBER 3

FIRST IMPRESSIONS 8

COLENSO 17

PLATRAND 25

SPION KOP 32

GLORIOUS WAR 42

PIETERS' HEIGHTS 47

GLENCOE 53

THE FREE STATE 60

LINDLEY TO HEILBRON 68

VELD INCIDENTS 76

TAPPING THE WIRES 87

I MEET DE WET 93

ROODEWAL 103

OFF TO THE TRANSVAAL 111

ARRESTED AS SPIES 121

IN THE MOUNTAINS 131

THROUGH THE CORDON 139

SKIRMISHES 148

WE ENTER POTCHEFSTROOM 156

DE WET ONCE MORE 161

END OF THE REGULAR WAR 168

WITH STEYN AND DE WET

THOMAR

Here in the quiet old convent of Thomar, the Convento de Christo, the
strife of the past months seems like a dream. Wandering through the long
corridors, with their bare, empty apartments, gazing by the hour on
paintings faded and torn, the work of long dead and forgotten masters,
dwelling on marvels of ancient architecture, resting the eyes on
peaceful landscapes and hearing the sweet murmur of falling waters, the
scenes of war seem distant and remote.

The heart but so lately harrowed by the devouring emotions of anger,
hate, and the lust of blood, now soothed by the sympathy of the kindly
Portuguese, is lulled into harmony with the surrounding scenes of peace
and beauty. Only the thought of our ravaged country, struggling still
for dear life, though forced upon her knees, brings back the claims of
duty and the yearning to be up and doing, to enter once more the ranks
of the foemen and strike another blow for liberty.

Hopeless! Yet where is the Boer--prisoner, exile, or renegade--even
he!--who does not dream by nights he feels once more the free veld air
upon his brow, lives again the wild night rides beneath twinkling stars?
He feels once more his noble steed bound beneath him, grips again his
comrade's welcoming hand, and wakens with a bitter sigh.

Some consolation, then, to recall blows already struck, and duty fairly
done.

THE ELEVENTH OF OCTOBER

When war appeared inevitable the spirit of the Boers rose to support
them in their hour of trial, and only sentiments of patriotism and
defiance were felt and expressed. Joy at the opportunity of proving once
and for ever their ability to defend themselves and consequent right to
independence, regret for friendships about to be severed--these were the
chief emotions of the younger generation. The elder thought of past
wrongs, long cherished, and silently took down the rifle from behind the
door.

The women, ever strong in national spirit, lent the aid of their
encouragements and prayers. Sons wept that they were too young to
accompany their fathers on commando.

Yet there came a moment when for the space of a minute a mighty shadow
seemed to brood over the land, and the cold chill of coming evil struck
the nation as if from the clouds. A message had been despatched from
Pretoria to every corner of the country. One word only: War!

The blow had fallen. Nothing could avert a sanguinary struggle. Well the
burghers knew the overwhelming strength of the foe, but they went
blithely forth to meet their fate, strong in a sincere confidence in
Providence. If the worst came to the worst, well, "'twere better to have
fought and lost, than never to have fought at all!"

Of all the branches of the Transvaal Civil Service there was not one
that stood higher in the public estimation at that moment, nor one that
distinguished itself more during the war, than that to which I had the
honour to belong--the Department of Telegraphs. Equipped with the most
up-to-date instruments, composed almost equally of picked men from
England and Holland and of well-trained young Colonials and
Transvaalers, under an energetic chief, our department proved itself,
both before and during the war, second to none, and, the Afrikander
portion at least, worthy of the confidence of the Government.

I had just been transferred from Johannesburg to Pilgrimsrest, a quaint
little one-street village near the Portuguese frontier, one of the
oldest alluvial diggings of the early days, and now the centre of an
important mining district. Here we heard that our commandoes had
invaded the enemy's territory in every direction, and news of the
preliminary engagements was awaited with breathless interest. The male
inhabitants of the village often spent entire nights under the verandah
of the telegraph office, and the importance of the telegraphist suddenly
grew almost too great to bear with becoming modesty.

One Sunday morning, however, the office wore a deserted look. The Dutch
inhabitants were engaged in courteously escorting those of British birth
or sympathies over the border, and I was alone. After a long interval of
silence the instrument began ticking off a message--

"Elandslaagte--flight--lancers!"

Then came the list of the fallen. Name after name of well-known men fell
like lead upon the ear. Finally my colleague at the other end gently
signalled that of my uncle, followed by the sympathetic remark: "Sorry,
old man."

I could write no more. What, my uncle dead! General Kock, Major Hall,
Advocate Coster--all dead! It seemed impossible. We could not understand
it, this first initiation of ours into war's horrible reality.

Within a week reinforcements were despatched from our district. I
obtained a few weeks' leave of absence and accompanied them.

We were an interesting band. Two hundred strong, we counted among our
number farmers, clerks, schoolmasters, students, and a publican. My mess
consisted of a Colonial, an Irishman, a Hollander, a German, a Boer, and
a Jew. It must not be imagined, however, that we were a cosmopolitan
crowd, for the remaining hundred and ninety-four were nearly all true
Boers, mostly of the backwoods type, extremely conservative, and
inclined to be rather condescending in their attitude towards the
clean-shaven town-dwellers. The almost universal respect inspired by a
beard or a paunch is a poor tribute to human discernment.

Every mess possessed one or two ox-waggons, loaded with a tent,
portmanteaux, trunks, foodstuffs, and ammunition. We made about twenty
miles daily, passing through Lydenburg, Machadodorp, Carolina, and
Ermelo, and reached Volksrust on the fourteenth day. During the march we
learnt that heavy fighting had taken place in Natal, Dundee being taken
and Ladysmith invested, and a strong commando had actually made a
reconnaissance as far down as Estcourt.

General Joubert, who had bruised himself in the saddle during the latter
expedition, was now recruiting his health here in Volksrust. I went to
see him, and found him installed in a railway carriage, and looking very
old and worn. I showed him a telegram instructing me to apply to him
for a special passport enabling me to return when my leave expired.

He said, "Others want leave to go home; you ask for leave to come to the
front. But your time is so short, it is hardly worth while. Still, I am
glad to see such a spirit among you young people."

Turning to his secretary, he ordered the passport to be made out. This
was done in pencil on the back of my telegram. The general signed,
handed me the document, and shook my hand. I thanked him, and left,
highly gratified.

We entrained that afternoon, slept in the carriages at Newcastle,
reached Ladysmith, or rather our station nearest Ladysmith, the
following day, disentrained, rode into camp, reported ourselves for
duty, and went on outpost the same night.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Our chief concern was whether we, as novices, would bear ourselves well
in our first engagement. Speaking to an old campaigner on the subject,
he said--

"Tell me candidly, how do you feel?"

"Well, rather nervous."

"Ah! Now, I can tell you a man who feels nervous before a fight is all
right, because he has some idea of what he is going to meet. It is the
reckless recruit that often proves a coward. He fancies it a mere
bagatelle, and finds out his mistake too late."

This rather encouraged us, for, to tell the truth, we felt anything but
reckless.

One evening about twenty of us were sent off to keep watch in a Kafir
kraal near the town. In one of the huts we found a Kafir lying sick, and
too weak to rise. He told us the former outpost had always brought him
something to eat, but now they had not come for some days, and he had
begun to think himself doomed to die of starvation, or, worse still, of
thirst. We soon made up a collection of biscuits and cold tea, and I am
happy to say that henceforth the poor creature's wants were daily
supplied.

A rather peculiar adventure befell us here a few days later. The sun had
already set when we reached the spot where we were to stand guard during
the night. We dismounted, and two men went forward on foot to
reconnoitre. After a while they returned with the startling news that
the enemy was approaching in force. They were sent forward again to make
sure, and again returned, saying there could be no doubt about the
matter.

"We heard the rumble of an approaching train, the march of cavalry, and
saw the glint of arms between the trees!"

This was definite enough. A man was instantly despatched to alarm the
main laager, while the rest of us followed leisurely. We were about
half-way back when the messenger returned with an additional twenty-five
men and an order that we were instantly to return to our post; if in
possession of the enemy, to retake and hold it until relieved.

A very tall order, and more than one man uttered the belief that
discretion was the better part of valour, and that there was no humour
in attacking numberless Britons with fifty men. We braced up our
nerves, however, retraced our steps, and presently reached the vicinity
of the kraal. Two men crept up close and came back to say the place was
full of English. Leaving the horses in charge of a few men, we crept
forward and surrounded the kraal. Each sought a suitable shelter and
laid himself down to await the dawn. It was now about midnight. The next
four hours passed very slowly, lying there in the cold and with the
expectation of a desperate struggle in the morning. We thought how brave
we were, and how sorry our general would be when he heard how we had all
been shot down to a man, and how in after years this night attack of
ours would rank with the charge of the Light Brigade. We hoped
Chamberlain would die soon after us, so that we could meet his soul in
the great Beyond and drag it through a sieve.

What was our surprise to find when it grew light that there had never
been an Englishman near! The whole thing from beginning to end was only
another false alarm, and all our valour had been wasted.

This kind of alarm was rather frequent at the time. A burgher woke up
one night to find himself being roughly shaken and someone shouting in
his ear--

"What are you doing? Get up, quick! Don't you hear the alarm?"

"Yes, another false one, I daresay," turning over for another nap.
Happening to open his eyes, he became aware for the first time that he
was speaking to no one less than General Joubert himself!

The poor fellow did not argue the point any further, but forthwith fled
into the night, glad to get off at that price.

One morning two of us were returning from our usual swim when suddenly
we saw the whole camp a beehive of commotion, burghers running to and
fro, saddling their horses, shouting at each other, and generally
behaving with a great lack of decorum--like madmen, in fact, or members
of the Stock Exchange. Hastening on, we heard that the enemy were coming
out to attack us. We hastily seized our nags, and in five minutes were
on top of the nearest hill between ourselves and the enemy, who could be
seen approaching three thousand yards away. We formed ourselves into
groups, and each group packed itself a low wall of the loose stones
lying about.

One German, armed with a Martini-Henry, found himself shunned by all his
comrades on account of his cartridges not containing smokeless powder,
and was obliged to entrench himself on his own at some distance from
the rest. The poor fellow was the butt of all the primitive humourists
from the backwoods, and was assured with much solemnity that his rifle
would draw all the British fire in his direction, and that he was as
good as dead already. Thorny is the path of glory!

The British guns in Ladysmith opened fire as their cavalry advanced, the
shells falling a few hundred yards to our right, on a hill whence our
cannon had lately been removed.

When within two thousand yards the enemy suddenly wheeled to the left
and were quickly out of sight between the hills. They found the Pretoria
men there, and came back helter-skelter to the accompaniment of rapid
rifle firing. First one saddle and then another was emptied as they
raced across from right to left, making for a low scrub-covered kopje.

In this kopje a party of our men were concealed. With keen interest we
watched the scene, waiting to see the enemy caught in the trap. Then a
volley burst from the brush. Like a flash the horsemen wheeled and raced
back into Ladysmith. The volley had been fired too soon.

A few mornings later we heard that during the night something very
serious had taken place on Lombard's Kop. Being a sort of free lance, I
immediately saddled my pony and rode in that direction. Presently I met
two Boers on horseback.

"Morning, cousins." (Cousin is a title of courtesy used in addressing
one's equal in age. Elder men are called "uncle.")

"Morning, cousin. Of what people may cousin be?"

"Of the telegraph service. And cousins?"

"Of the artillery."

"Something happened up there last night?"

"Yes. The English came and blew up our Long Tom!"

"How was that possible?"

"We can think what we like. Why was the burgher guard absent? It is
shameful!"

We returned to camp together. The news had now been made public, and
formed the one theme of discussion. Much credit was given the enemy for
their audacity, but there was a strong suspicion that treachery had been
at work. The ensuing court-martial resulted in two officers being
suspended from duty only, although there were many trees about.

A few days later I went to see my brother, who was stationed on Pepworth
Hill, some six miles to our right. He belonged to the Artillery Cadets,
who at the beginning of the war had been distributed amongst the various
guns in order to give them practical experience. Of the four that were
attached to this gun two had already been wounded. It was glorious to
see these lads of fifteen and sixteen daily withstanding the onslaught
of the mighty naval guns. The rocks around their howitzer were torn by
lyddite, and the ground strewn with shrapnel bullets.

"The British say we are trained German gunners. Quite a compliment to
Germany!" said one youngster laughingly.

"And I," said another, inflating his chest, "am a French or Russian
expert! Dear me, how we must have surprised them!"

They showed me how they crushed their coffee by beating it on a flat
stone. Their staple food was bully beef and hard biscuits.

"If only we had some cigarettes," they said, "how gay we should be! Last
week we got some sugar, enough for two days; we are so sick of black,
bitter coffee!"

A severe thunderstorm now broke overhead, and as I had to go on duty
that night I took leave of my friends. They had no tents, and had to
find the best shelter they could under tarpaulins stretched between the
rocks.

Riding along, I soon found my raincoat soaked through. The water began
to rush along the path, and the loud, incessant pealing of the thunder
and the rapidly succeeding and fearfully vivid lightning flashes so
terrified my horse that it refused to move a step. Dismounting, I led
the animal through the blinding rain for upwards of an hour, when I
reached camp, to find the outpost already gone. I took off my streaming
garments, and turned into my warm bed. At midnight the flap of the tent
was opened, and I was ordered to turn out and stand guard. Our effects
were still at Volksrust. Drawing on a soaking wet pair of heavy corduroy
breeches in the middle of the night is one of the least delicious
experiences possible, as I found to my cost, to say nothing of sitting
in them on an antheap for a couple of hours with a chilly rain falling.

In the morning came the news that the enemy had again surprised and
blown up one of our guns--none other than the howitzer visited by me the
previous evening. Presently the young cadets themselves came riding into
camp, bringing with them pieces of guncotton, and showing by the state
of their ragged uniforms the hand-to-hand nature of the struggle that
had taken place.

One of them said in answer to my inquiries--

"We heard someone climbing the hill in the night, and challenged. It was
the British. They shouted 'Rule Britannia!' and rushed up to the top. We
fired into them. We were too few. By sheer weight of numbers they
forced us aside. One of the artillerymen was dragged by the leg from his
sleeping-place. He shook himself free, and bolted. The soldiers formed a
square round the gun, charged it with guncotton, shouted 'Stand back!'
and the next moment our gun was crashing through the sky. It all
happened in a moment. Then the enemy retired, followed by some burghers,
who had by this time arrived from the laager at the back of the hill.
The Pretoria commando was also waiting for them, and intercepting their
retreat, made them pay dearly enough for their exploit."

COLENSO

One day our scouts made a splendid haul, bringing into camp that
celebrated, devil-may-care animal, the war-correspondent. His story was
that he had wandered out of Ladysmith with a packet of
newspapers--"merely to exchange notes and to challenge you for a cricket
match!"

Squatted on the ground, crowds of bearded Boers gazing at him with
fierce interest, he looked anything but comfortable, and no wonder, for
the word _spion_ was often uttered. His colour was a pale green, while
his teeth chattered audibly. He was subsequently sent to Pretoria, and
thence exiled to civilisation, _via_ Delagoa Bay.

On the same day we captured three natives bearing British despatches. As
these runners were giving considerable trouble, it was decided to
execute one and send the other two to spread the news among their
friends--black and white.

The grave was already dug, when General Joubert, always against harsh
measures, decided to spare the Kafir's life. The contrast between the
bearing of this savage and that of the war-correspondent was most
striking.

Sometimes the merits of the different commandoes would be discussed. The
palm was generally awarded to the Irish Brigade and the Johannesburg
Police, two splendid corps, always ready for anything, and possessing
what we others painfully lacked--discipline.

The burghers used to relate with much relish a story of how one day the
British shells came so fast that even our artillerymen did not dare
leave their shelter to bring up ammunition for the gun; how two of those
devils of Irishmen sprang to the task, and showed how death should be
faced and danger conquered. Erin for ever!

Buller now began to press his advance on the Tugela, and his searchlight
could nightly be seen communicating with the besieged; long official
messages in cipher, and now and then a pathetic little message, "All
well, Edith sends love," would flash against the clouds, causing us to
think of other scenes than those before us.

On the tenth of December a heavy bombardment was heard from the Tugela.
On happening to pass the telegraph office at two o'clock, a colleague
called to me--

"Buller has tried to cross the river; he is being driven back. Ten of
his guns are in danger, and as soon as the sun sets our men are going
over to take them!"

This was news indeed.

"Which is the road to Colenso?"

"Round those hills, then straight on."

"Thanks, good-bye," and off I went, determined to see those guns taken.

About four hours' hard riding, then a tent by the wayside, the red cross
floating above. An ambulance waggon has just arrived, bringing a few
wounded. I must be close to the battlefield now, but I hear no firing.
What can have happened?

Half an hour further. I see the fires of a small camp twinkling in a
gully to my left, and make my way thither. It is pitch dark. As I
approach the camp I hear voices. It is Dutch they are speaking. Then
several dim shapes loom up before me in the darkness.

"Hello! What commando is this?"

"Hello, is that you? By Jove, so it is! I thought I knew the voice," and
dashing Chris Botha shakes my hand.

"It is you, commandant! Where are those ten guns?"

"Oh, that's what you're after. Sorry, but we took them early in the
afternoon. Never mind, come along into camp. You'll see enough in the
morning."

In the camp they had six Connaught Rangers--a captain, lieutenant, and
four men, about four of the lot wounded. They alone of all their
regiment had managed to reach the bank of the Tugela--Bridle Drift,
about two hundred yards from the trenches of the Swaziland commando.
Finding no shelter in the river bank, exhausted, wounded almost to a
man, they ceased firing, whereupon our men left them in peace until the
end of the fight, when they were brought over and complimented upon
their pluck.

"I'm tired out after to-day's work," Botha said, "but there's no help
for it. I must sleep in the trenches again to-night. Walk down with me,
your friends down there will be glad to see you."

After an hour's walk--it seemed more like a week--we reached the
trenches, where the young heroes of the Swaziland commando made me
welcome. I asked them about the day's fighting, but they said--

"Too tired to talk to-night, old man. Turn in; to-morrow will do."

We turned in, and slumbered undisturbed by any thought of the blood shed
that day.

Early the next morning we waded through the river, wearing only a hat
and shirt, and carrying our topboots over the shoulder. Dozens of Boers
were splashing about in the water, enjoying themselves like so many
schoolboys. Lying strewn about on the other side were scores of dead
bodies; by the side of each fallen soldier lay a little pile of empty
cartridge cases, showing how long he had battled before meeting his
doom. Some lay with faces serenely upturned to the smiling sky, others
doubled up in the agony of a mortal wound, with gnashing teeth fixed in
a horrid grin, foam-flecked lips, and widely staring eyes.

Horrible, in truth, but most awful of all was the soul-sickening stench
of human blood that infected the air. We soon turned back, unable to
bear it any longer.

"Did your commando lose many men?" I asked my companion.

"Only two, strange to say. Wonderful; can't explain it."

"How did you feel during the fight?"

"When we saw the vast number of soldiers steadily approaching, and
heard the thunderous explosion of hundreds of shells, we knew we were in
for a hot time. Our small commando could never have retreated over the
four miles of open country behind us. There was only one thing to be
done--fight. And we fought--fought till our gun-barrels burnt our hands
and our throats were parched with thirst--the excitement of it all!"

"Could you see when your bullet went home?"

"You noticed that soldier lying behind the antheap, a hole in his
forehead? That man worried us a good deal. _He_ could shoot, the beggar!
Well, two of us fixed our rifles on the spot and waited till he raised
his head; then we fired. You know the result."

Boys talking, mere boys, who should have been thinking of flowers,
music, and love, instead of thus taking a grim delight in the stern
lessons of war.

Saying au revoir to my friends, I now rode over to the telegraph office
a few miles lower down. The operators were transmitting piles of
messages to and from anxious relatives, and were not sorry to see
someone who could lend them a hand. The chief of the department happened
to be there at the time. He immediately placed me in harness. I wired
to my field-cornet at Ladysmith saying I was unavoidably detained, as
the phrase goes, and the next few weeks passed quietly by, long hours
and hard work, it is true, but on the other hand pleasant companions and
a splendid river, with boating and swimming galore.

One morning a score of Theron's scouts passed by, their famous captain
at their head. One of them--an old friend--reined in long enough to tell
me they were off to lie in wait for a small British patrol, which, a
native had told them, daily passed a certain spot suitable for an
ambuscade.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8