With Steyn and De Wet by Philip Pienaar
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Philip Pienaar >> With Steyn and De Wet
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PIETERS' HEIGHTS
When the British retreated from Spion Kop it was to move down to Colenso
once more. Taking the Boschrand, after a feeble defence, they were
enabled to command our positions on the other side, and succeeded in
crossing the Tugela unhindered.
Why we surrendered the river so easily and then defended Pieters'
Heights so obstinately is explained by the fact that, owing to the
British advance on Kimberley, the idea had become general that we should
have to give up Ladysmith in any case, and therefore our men were drawn
back from the river preparatory to a general retirement. Pieters'
Heights were held till everything was ready, and then the retirement was
effected without even an attempt at pursuit by the enemy.
When the Pieters' Heights fighting began I was ordered thither. Going
through the Klip River, our heavily laden waggon stuck fast. We quickly
obtained the loan of another span of mules and hitched them on in
front, but the double team only succeeded in breaking the trek-chain.
There was nothing for it but to outspan and carry the heavy loads up the
steep bank. At this we toiled till midnight. Too tired to catch the
mules and haul the waggon out, we went to sleep, leaving that operation
for the morning.
Before we woke, however, another waggon came along. Finding the road
blocked by ours, the driver roared at us to clear the way immediately.
We were not going to rise so early just to please him, so we answered
him that if he was in a hurry he could pull the waggon out himself. This
he was obliged to do, in order to get past. We then thanked him, and
gently told him that if he had addressed us in a decent manner in the
beginning he would have spared himself all his trouble. We meekly added
the hope that this little lesson would not be lost upon his wayward
mind. His remarks cannot be reproduced here, but it was plain that he
felt very much as little States do sometimes when taken in hand by one
of the great Powers and subjected to a little kind cruelty.
After reloading the waggon we went on, and reached Pieters in due
course. The first thing that drew my attention was the sight of one of
my young colleagues standing under the verandah of the telegraph
office, his face a picture of grief. His father had been killed that
morning.
Going a few miles further, I took charge of the telegraph office in
Lukas Meyer's laager. Meyer, a grand-looking man, formerly possessed
much influence, being at one time President of the New Republic, a State
founded by himself in a tract of country granted him and his followers
by a Kafir chief for assistance rendered during an intertribal war. This
small republic, soon incorporated with the Transvaal, was thenceforth
represented in the First Volksraad by its former president, Louis Botha
becoming its member for the Second Chamber. At the battle of Dundee
Botha distinguished himself. Meyer did not. Then the former gained fresh
laurels at Colenso, and this finally gave him the precedence over Meyer,
General Joubert himself, on his death-bed, expressly asking that Botha
should be appointed his successor. Meyer, then, was in charge of this
laager, Botha had command of the whole line, and Commandant General
Joubert was at headquarters near Ladysmith.
Daily the British regiments stormed, and daily they melted away before
the fire of our men. The stench arising from the unburied corpses soon
made the whole hill reek. The British asked for an armistice to bury
their dead, and this was granted by the commandant to whom the request
was made. When Botha heard of this he at once informed the enemy that
the matter had been arranged without his knowledge, and that he could
grant no armistice. I think this is the only case on record where an
armistice has ever been refused by us, although armistices were asked
for many times by the British.
The combatants, who during the interval had been chatting together most
amicably, were quickly recalled to their respective positions, and the
slaughter recommenced, continuing until one fine afternoon the enemy
took the Krugersdorp commando's position, thus rendering our whole line
untenable. A council of war was immediately called, to take place that
evening, as it was impossible for our officers to leave the shelter of
their trenches during daylight.
Soon after sunset the various officers began to arrive. First came
riding into camp, alone and unnoticed in the darkness, that
incomprehensible man, Schalk Burger, now Acting President. He entered
the tent moodily, nodded to us, and squatted down in the corner,
absorbed in thought. My colleague and I were just making a meal of
coffee and biscuit. We expressed our regret that we had no chair to
offer him, asking him to accept a cup of coffee instead. This he did,
in silence. Silence was his strong point.
Masterful Lukas Meyer next entered, and after him came the pride of the
army, Louis Botha, soldier and gentleman, followed by several officers.
A general council of war was now held, General Joubert being consulted
by telegraph throughout the discussion. There was no sleep that night
for the telegraphists who had to transmit the queries and replies to and
from headquarters.
When the discussion was at its height, information was received that the
Johannesburg laager was surrounded by the enemy. This laager now
constituted our right wing. This intelligence was soon contradicted, but
not before it had exercised a considerable influence upon the decision
arrived at, which was to abandon Ladysmith. The minutes of this council
of war, could they be published, would probably make most interesting
reading, and be of great value to the impartial historian.
At two in the morning we inspanned; at sunrise we were over Klipriver
and trekking past Ladysmith.
The road was one long string of waggons, each straggling on at the
pleasure of its owner. Horses, thanks to the criminal neglect of those
responsible, were already becoming scarce, and groups of men, many of
them wounded, sadly stumbled along, carrying their unwieldy bundles of
blankets, their little kettles, their knapsack, rifle and bandolier.
Some trudged along with a saddle slung over the back, hoping to loot a
mount by the wayside.
We did not travel far that day, but the next the march became more
rapid, every vehicle putting its best wheel foremost. A heavy rain fell
as Elandslaagte was reached, adding to the general depression. Whilst
the majority kept to the road, those who had no other means of
conveyance entrained here for Glencoe. The commissariat stores were
being hastily cleared out, what could not be loaded being set alight.
The last train that left that evening carried the dynamiters, who
destroyed the bridges after passing over them.
After a weary ride in the open trucks, seated on sacks of bread, a
drizzling rain soaking down upon us, we reached Glencoe. The platform
and station buildings were crowded with the sleeping forms of the weary
burghers, who, as yet unused to retreating, were somewhat mixed in more
senses than one. Louis Botha was still near Ladysmith with the
rearguard, most of the other chiefs were coming by road, and there was
no one on the spot to back up General Joubert in his attempts to
reorganise the confused and ever-growing mass of undisciplined men. The
retreat, in fact, threatened to degenerate into a reckless flight.
GLENCOE
President Kruger had been informed A of the chaotic state of affairs,
and arrived at Glencoe early the next morning. The burghers were called
together, and the President, leaning out of the window of his railway
carriage, asked them to join him in singing a psalm. He then offered up
a fervent prayer for guidance, after which he addressed the burghers,
reproaching them for their want of confidence in an all-powerful
Providence, and exhorting them to take courage afresh and continue the
struggle for the sake of their posterity, which one day would judge
their acts.
"Whither would you flee?" he asked us. "The enemy will pursue you, and
tear you from the arms of your wives. The man who surrenders takes the
first step into exile. Brothers! Stand firm, and you will not be
forsaken!"
As the father of his people spoke, the doubts and fears that had filled
the breasts of the multitude disappeared. Forgotten were the days and
weeks of hunger, heat, and thirst; forgotten the ghastly shrapnel
showers, the soul-crushing crash of the awful lyddite shell, the
unnerving possibility of sudden death that for months had darkly loomed
across their lives, and every man felt the glorious fires of patriotism
rekindle in his bosom.
Then General Joubert spoke.
"If I be the stumbling-block in the way of our success, then I pray God
to remove me," was the humble prayer of the warrior grown grey in wars,
who now found himself too feeble to direct the forces with his wonted
vigour. He then reminded us of brave deeds done in the past, and
expressed his confidence in the future, provided we did not lose heart.
When the General had finished, he sent officers round to marshal the men
into some sort of order. It was wonderful to see the change in the
spirit of the burghers. Where but a moment before had been disheartened
mutterings and sulky looks were now smiling faces and cheerful
conversation. With alacrity the men came forward, gave their names, and
that of their respective commandoes, and took in the positions assigned
them. The danger was past. Even the news of Cronje's surrender, which
was soon after made public, did not have more than a transient effect.
The anxiety as to his fate had been so keen that even to know the worst
was a relief.
For two disquieting days, however, nothing was heard of the rearguard.
To our relief it turned up on the third day. Several weeks of quiet
followed, the British resting after their giant efforts, whilst we
prepared to stem their further advance when it should take place. During
this period of inaction on the part of the enemy I was sent down into
Zululand, and stationed at a small spot named Nqutu, near Isandhlwana,
Rorke's Drift, Blood River, and other scenes of stirring battles fought
in former days. At Rorke's Drift could be seen, in good repair, the
graves of the gallant men who fell in defending the passage through the
river against the Zulus after the British disaster at Isandhlwana.
While at Nqutu we received news of the fall of Bloemfontein and the
death of General Joubert, as well as of De Wet's victory at Sanna's
Post, the latter the only bright gleam that relieved the daily darkening
horizon of our future.
I now obtained a few days' leave of absence. My substitute left Glencoe
early in the morning, accompanied by a mule waggon. The trolley duly
arrived at sundown, but the substitute was absent. It appeared he had
taken a short cut, as he thought, and had not been seen since. Bethune's
mounted infantry was hanging about the neighbourhood, and we feared he
might have been raked in. At midnight, however, he made his appearance,
wet to the skin, after wandering to and fro in the chilly mist for
hours. I immediately handed the books and cash over to him, and went to
bed till four o'clock, when I saddled my horse and started for Glencoe,
on leave and on my way home. Carefully nursing my mount, I reached
Dundee at noon. After a short rest we went on, and reached Glencoe at
one o'clock, none the worse for the morning's ride of almost fifty
miles.
Here I learnt that a plan was afoot to attack the British camp at
Elandslaagte, which lay quite open and unprotected, as if it were part
of an Earl's Court exhibition. When I left by train next morning our
guns were already in action.
Not being pushed home, however, the attack did not amount to much,
except for its moral effect upon our men. It also gave the enemy the
idea of finding a decent position for his camp.
Travelling with me in the train were several men on their way to the
Free State, where our forces were being hard pressed. Before leaving I
had also sent in a request asking to be transferred thither, as Natal
was becoming really too dull.
At first sight Johannesburg did not seem much altered, but on driving
through the deserted streets, all the shops barricaded, and tramway
idle, the difference between the bustling city of old and this silent
shadow of its former self was only too evident.
Another difference that thrust itself upon the observation was the
alteration which had lately taken place in the sentiments of the
remaining Uitlander inhabitants. These, upon their lavish protestations
of friendship and fidelity, had been allowed to remain during the war.
In our triumphs their sympathy was ever with us, but when Cronje was
captured, Ladysmith relieved, and Bloemfontein abandoned, their
long-latent loyalty to the British Empire became too fervent to be
restrained within the bounds of decency. "Remnants" of red, white and
blue were ostentatiously sewn into a distant resemblance of the British
flag; the parlour piano once more did its often unsatisfactory best with
the British anthem; mamma's darling received strict injunctions not to
play with that horrid little Dutch boy next door; and papa, jingling the
sovereigns he had received in his latest deal with the Government,
prepared to pat Lord Roberts on the back when he should enter the town.
But what can one say of those "oprechte[A] Afrikaners" who followed the
same procedure? The Smits who became Smith, the Louw that suddenly
shrank into Lowe (could he sink lower?), the Jansen transformed into
Johnson, and the Volschenk merged into Foolskunk? What did John Bull
think of all these precious acquisitions to his family?
In striking contrast was the bearing of some of the numerous
British-born officials, British-born and with British sympathies, who
nevertheless faithfully performed their arduous duties until their
services were no longer needed, and then entered the new regime with
conscience clear and not without some degree of regret for the old.
Loyal to the old, they could be loyal to the new. That several of the
British-born officials had played the despicable part of spy is
undoubted, but their villainy served but as a foil to show more clearly
the merits of those who remained honest men.
Before my leave had expired I returned to Natal, weary of miserable
Johannesburg, and little thinking that I should not see my home again
for years. Upon reaching Glencoe I found a telegram had just arrived,
granting my request to be sent to the Free State. An hour later I was on
my way, and the following evening the train landed me at Winburg, where
a construction party was awaiting my arrival.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote A: _Oprechte_ = thorough.]
THE FREE STATE
Menschvretersberg (Cannibal Mountain), near Thabanchu, was at this time
the site of the Boer headquarters, and it was our duty to establish
telegraphic communication between this point and Winburg, a distance of
about forty miles.
After consideration, the inspector decided that it would take too long
to lay a cable.
Wire fences had already been utilised in America for short-distance
telephonic communication, and this system had already been tried at Van
Reenenspas by ingenious young Bland, of the Free State telegraphs,
employing, however, the vibrator instead of the telephone. We determined
to follow his example.
According to the law of the land, every Free State farm has to be
fenced. Blocks of sandstone, about four feet high and twelve inches
square, are generally used for fencing uprights. Here, then, were lines
ready made, and covering the country in every direction like network.
The only thing necessary to isolate the wire was to walk along the
fence, cut the cross-bindings connecting the upper wire with the lower
ones, lay a cable under the gates, and there you were. This did not take
long, and soon messages were gaily buzzing to and fro over the fence.
There was naturally a great loss of electricity, but not enough to
prevent the working of the sensitive little vibrator.
As with the cable in Natal, however, there were frequent interruptions.
A herd of cattle would knock a few poles over, a burgher hurrying across
country would simply cut a passage through the fence, or a farmer in
passing through a gate would notice the cable, dig it up, and take it
along, swearing it must be dynamite, and that the English were trying to
explode the Free State with it.
All this necessitated constant repairing, but on the whole the system
proved fairly satisfactory, allowing the Government in Kroonstad to keep
in constant touch with the fighting line.
In Natal everything was very quiet; here, on the contrary, the British
were pushing forward vigorously. General Louis Botha came down from
Glencoe to aid De Wet, leaving his brother Christian to oppose bulldog
Buller, or "Red Bull," as we called him.
In spite of Louis' presence the enemy continued to gain ground, and it
was not long before Brandfort had to be given up. The enemy next took
Thabanchu, and it became clear that our positions at Menschvretersberg
could not be held much longer. President Steyn himself visited the
positions, cheering and encouraging the men, but the strain of
attempting to stem the British advance could no longer be sustained.
Within a few days we received orders to retire to Lindley.
Retire! But how? We were three, our horses two, our luggage heavy. By a
stroke of luck we managed to hire a cart and two. Hitching our horses on
in front, we had a team of four, and the difficulty was solved.
When driving away from the spot where, in the midst of war's alarms, I
had yet spent some of the happiest hours of my life, I could not help
looking back long and earnestly at the beautiful homestead, and
wondering what fate held in store for it and its kind-hearted owner,
who, always against the war, and weary of sacrifices he deemed useless,
had determined to remain behind and surrender to the enemy. Like many of
our best and most progressive men, he had become disgusted with the want
of discipline in the ranks, and the painful lack of unanimity amongst
the leaders. Sincere in his convictions, I do not think he could be
blamed for acting up to them. Those who have rightly earned the
contempt and hatred of every true Afrikander are those Boers who, not
content with deserting, have gone yet further, and attempted to assist
the enemy that they were fighting against only the day before. Even
their new masters must surely despise such willing slaves!
Absorbed in these reflections, I yet had time to notice the approach,
from the opposite direction, of a Cape cart drawn by six bays.
As the two carts passed each other the team of bays was stopped by a
vigorous hand, and President Steyn addressed us, force and determination
stamping every word and gesture.
"Good morning! Why are you leaving already? I want communication with
Kroonstad!"
"Good morning, President. We had orders to leave at once, but there is
an operator in the office still; he will remain till the last moment."
"Very well; good-bye!" And off he went, the dust clinging to his long
brown beard.
We drove on, our four horses trotting merrily along. We were five in the
vehicle, however, including the driver and his little boy, and presently
the weight began to tell. After the first halt one of the leaders
failed.
"He won't make it much further," said the inspector. "Better turn him
loose and see what can be done with three."
"I have a better plan," said our other companion. Stopping the cart, he
unharnessed the animal, passed the rope through its mouth, vaulted on
its back, and rode to a farmhouse some distance away. Presently he
returned, bringing another horse, which he had obtained in exchange for
our exhausted animal.
Thus reinforced, we pushed on, arriving at Senekal at ten that night.
The only hotel was crowded; we were glad to sleep on the parlour floor.
After breakfast the next morning we continued our journey, passing group
after group of burghers on their way home.
It was truly painful to see these poor fellows struggling along, their
horses scarce able to walk and themselves in a condition not much
better. At noon we outspanned at some water-pools, where several of
these groups were also resting. We entered into conversation with them,
and they told us that they had retired earlier than the others on
account of the weakness of their animals; that one of their number had
been taken ill, and could ride no further, even if his horse could carry
him, which was doubtful.
We spoke to the sick man, who was lying in the shade of a tree. He was
quite a youth, and evidently of a better stamp than his companions.
"If only I could reach a certain farm about five miles further on," he
sighed, "I think I should manage."
"Take my seat," said I, "and I'll ride your nag."
"I must tell you," he objected, "that the poor beast is quite exhausted.
It would take hours to get him there."
"Never mind, I'll start now, and you can follow on with the cart when
our horses have had a feed."
Our business admitted of no retard, so I meant to get a good start in
order not to delay my companions.
I mounted the nag and shouted "Get up!"
He stumbled forward a few steps and stood stock still. I pricked him
with the spurs, he moved on a little further and halted again. By dint
of spurring, striking, and shouting, he at last broke into a slow trot,
wearily dragging his hoofs, but before long he stopped once more.
I dismounted and tried to lead him, but he would not budge. Then I tried
driving him on ahead, but as soon as I got behind him he turned out of
the road, first to the right, then to the left. Of all heart-breaking
experiences this was the worst. I could not leave the animal to die by
the wayside; the farm was only a few miles further on, where he would
find water, food, and rest. I mounted again, shouted, cracked my
sjambok--blows he could no longer feel--flourished my arms, jerked my
body up and down in the saddle, and finally got him into a walk--but
such a walk! slow, mechanical, every step an effort.
When we finally reached the farmhouse I sprang down and quickly threw
the saddle off. No sooner did the faithful animal feel itself released
from its service than it sank to the ground, utterly exhausted. I myself
was not much better off, after my exertions in the blazing sun. If you
are fond of horses, never try to repeat my experiment. Straining the
last ounce out of your mount is too much like mule-driving, and that is
the most soul-killing occupation on earth, as any Afrikander can
testify.
The cart was waiting for me here. We bade adieu to the sick man, and
drove on. Towards sunset we overtook a man struggling along on foot,
carrying a heavy saddle on his head. He signalled to us to stop, and
came panting up to the side of the cart.
"My horse died this morning," he said, "and I've been carrying this
saddle all day. Can't you load it up for me as far as Lindley?"
The man looked so thoroughly done up that I felt sorry for him.
Besides, I wanted to stretch my legs a bit, so I said that he could take
my seat, and I started off on foot while they were strapping fast the
saddle. The exercise was so agreeable in the fresh evening air that I
continued it, and kept ahead of the cart until we reached Lindley. We
went to the hotel, had a good dinner, and then to bed.
LINDLEY TO HEILBRON
Lindley and Heilbron were each in telegraphic communication with all the
other towns still in our possession, and consequently also with each
other; but no telegraph line ran between the two. A message from one to
the other had to travel _via_ Johannesburg and Kroonstad, involving a
delay of several hours. It was our task to make good this missing link.
Haste was required, for the British were already marching on Kroonstad,
whence the Government was preparing to retire, ostensibly to Lindley,
but in reality to Heilbron.
Unfortunately the material wherewith the new line was to be built had
not yet arrived from the Transvaal. The inspector decided not to wait,
but to build the line without it.
"Build a line without material? Impossible," you say. Not at all. You
forget the fences; we did not.
Our first care was to obtain a list of those farms along the road whose
fences joined. This did not take many hours. Being joined here by a
lineman, who had charge of half a dozen natives and a waggon, we loaded
our luggage on the latter, as well as a sack or two of meal--the only
foodstuff we could obtain, and began work, each armed with a spanner and
a couple of iron tent-pegs.
The fences were in bad repair, many of the stone poles having fallen
down and the wires being broken and tangled every few hundred yards.
Lifting the heavy stones and repairing and untangling the barbed wire
was unaccustomed work, and soon our hands were covered with cuts and
bruises. The distance by road between the two points is only about forty
miles, but owing to the fences running at all angles to each other we
had about seventy miles to cover. This it took us a week to do, rising
early, working all through the day, and continuing in the moonlight at
night. By buying a couple of sheep to supplement the bags of meal, and
drinking a gall-like imitation coffee brewed from barley, we managed to
fare well enough, and better than thousands of others are faring to-day.
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