With Steyn and De Wet by Philip Pienaar
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Philip Pienaar >> With Steyn and De Wet
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I MEET DE WET
The little village of Frankfort was wrapped in slumbering darkness when
I entered it. Cold and hungry after the five hours' journey, I did not
scruple to knock up the Postmaster. With an instinct of good-fellowship
that did him credit, he at once made me welcome; breaking up a couple of
empty boxes, we made a rattling fire, and soon big gulps of cocoa were
chasing the last few shivers from my wearied frame.
My last thought as I wrapped my blanket round me and stretched myself
out on the floor was of the despatch I had sent after the President.
Suppose my messenger lost the document or was captured! But I would soon
know, for if I found the line joined through at eight o'clock, according
to my orders, it would be a proof that he had returned and found the
coast clear.
The little office was crowded with busy clerks when I opened my eyes the
next morning. Casting a rapid glance at the clock, I saw it was almost
eight. There was no time to lose. I grasped the useful little vibrator
with one hand, flung the blanket into a corner with the other, and set
off, calling to the native servant to follow with a ladder. It was not
advisable to operate under the eyes of the townspeople, so I marched
across the bridge and into the veld, until a suitable spot was reached.
No sooner had I thrown my wire over the line than I again heard British
and Dutch signals intermingled. Good! My message was safe.
The Kafir shinned up the pole and cut the wire, permitting the British
signals only to come through. I listened intently to the various more or
less interesting messages being exchanged by the enemy. Presently a new
and stronger note broke in--
"Hello! Here, Sergeant-Major Devons. Who are you?"
Devons? Those are the fellows that we fought at Ladysmith. But what--how
comes he here? Listen----
"Here, Heilbron. We're just waiting to leave. Crowds of Boers on the
hills."
"Ah! I say, I've pushed on, quite by myself, for fully twelve miles,"
said the hoarse note of the non-com.'s vibrator. "When I reached
Roberts' Horse the chief said I was d----d lucky to get through!"
"Good on you!" replied his admiring hearer. "This is a bit different
from old Tyneside, ain't it?"
"Cheer up; we shall soon be in Pretoria."
"Confound you!" said I, dashing my fist on the key, "you're not there
yet!"
To prevent myself from interrupting them, advertently or otherwise, I
had taken the precaution to disconnect the battery, so my little
outbreak did no harm.
Then the sergeant-major sent a long message to his chief, Captain
Faustnett, duly informing the latter of the distance he had come, all by
himself, and of what the officer commanding Roberts' Horse had said,
after which the Heilbron man remarked--
"Good-bye, we're off." Silence followed.
The net result of the morning's work was the knowledge that Hamilton was
leaving Heilbron at that very moment, and leaving it ungarrisoned. This
information I hastened to communicate to my chief, with the result that
within a very short space of time we were again in telegraphic
communication with that town and in possession of several hundred sick
and wounded that the British had kindly left to our care. At Spion Kop
we wanted their wounded, but did not get them; here we did not want them
in the least, but we got them all the same.
My next task was the maintenance of the fence line between Frankfort and
Reitz. A testing station had been established half-way between the two
villages, consequently the communication was fairly good and there was
not much for me to do. One day a message arrived from my chief in
Pretoria, asking me to go thither, and accompany him northwards when the
capital should be abandoned. The Postmaster-General of the Free State,
however, insisted upon my remaining a few days longer.
A little while after De Wet's commando entered the village about a
thousand strong. The rumour went that De Wet was going to rest for a
week and then strike a heavy blow. No sooner had the column halted on
the bank of the river than De Wet himself rode over to our office,
accompanied by his secretary. They wrote out a few telegrams, and then
De Wet entered into conversation with the Postmaster-General. His tone
and manner lacked the slightest cordiality. He asked the
Postmaster-General whether he was sure, quite sure, that the British
side of our telegraph lines was always cut, so that the enemy could not
tap our messages. Yes, the chief was quite sure. But De Wet thought it
best that instructions to that effect should be re-issued, so as to
leave no excuse for any possible negligence. This suggestion was carried
out on the spot.
The chief then introduced me to De Wet. Compared with Louis Botha, or
almost any other of our generals, De Wet presented but a sorry sight.
His manners are uncouth, and his dress careless to a degree. His
tactlessness, abrupt speech, and his habit of thrusting his tongue
against his palate at every syllable, do not lessen his undeniable
unattractiveness. But De Wet, if he lacks culture, certainly has an
abundance of shrewdness, and is not without some dignity at times. And I
must confess that it is chiefly owing to De Wet and Steyn that the war
did not end with the fall of Pretoria. What is the secret of his
success? This, he has one idea, one only--the independence of his
country. Say to him--
"If the English win----" and he breaks in--
"If the heavens fall----"
Choosing his lieutenants by results only, he is assured of good service.
An incorrect report, and the unlucky scout is tried by court-martial.
Whilst giving this modern Cincinnatus due credit for his undoubted
smartness, it must be borne in mind that the movements of the Free State
forces were generally determined by the _Oorlogscommissie_, a body made
up of President Steyn, Judge Hertzog, Advocate De Villiers, and two or
three other prominent men, whose trained intellects concerted the plan
of campaign, De Wet being entrusted with its execution. He had power to
alter details according as circumstances might dictate, but that was
all.
And he had men to aid him like General Philip Botha (third of three
brothers, generals), Commandant Olivier (now captured), Captain Theron
(killed near Krugersdorp), besides others whose names have never been
heard of, but who, if De Wet were captured to-morrow, would be both
willing and able to take his place.
One peculiar feature of the Afrikander character is the complete absence
of anything approaching hero-worship. Perhaps this is due to the habit
of ascribing success to the favour of Providence. However this may be,
it is certain that General Joubert's death hardly excited even a
momentary thrill of regret, in spite of his years of service as
Commandant-General. As for erecting a monument to the memory of any of
our great men, why, we are all equal, they say, and anyone could have
done as much.
Notwithstanding this characteristic of the people, De Wet, secure in the
favour of the Government, knows how to make himself obeyed and
respected. I have seen burghers retreat who, upon being stopped and
threatened with death by their officer, have torn open their coats and
shouted, "Shoot! Shoot me, if you dare! I shall not turn back!"
I cannot imagine anyone venturing to take up this attitude towards De
Wet. He would certainly not hesitate to carry out a threat through any
fear of the consequences. And yet it was my fortune to incur his
displeasure. It came about in this way. The chief sent for me one day
and said--
"You have asked to be allowed to return to the Transvaal. But there is a
chance for you to do some very important work just now. Do you mind
remaining three or four days longer?"
"Not at all."
"Very well. De Wet leaves to-morrow. You will accompany him. He wants
you to tap the British lines near Kroonstad. You may attach yourself to
Scheepers' corps, but you will be in no way subordinate to him, and you
will use your own discretion in the execution of your duty. He will give
you every aid and assistance. Try and get a horse from him, as we are
short."
The chief then showed me a map whereon was marked out our line of route.
It was evidently going to be an exciting adventure, and I thanked him
warmly for having selected me to take part in the expedition. I then
went and hunted up Scheepers, whom I found in his tent. This is the same
Scheepers who later operated in Cape Colony, and whom Chamberlain has
taken such a dislike to. I can assure the Secretary for the Colonies
that Scheepers is an amiable and harmless young man, who would probably
now be teaching a Sunday-school class had Joseph not been such a
dreamer.
"Well, Scheepers," I said, "so I am to accompany you to-morrow. Can you
supply me with a horse?"
"That will be difficult," he replied, "but if money can buy one you
shall have it."
This seemed good enough. Early the next morning the commando was on the
march. Scheepers had kept his word and sent me a horse. It was not an
attractive animal outwardly, being of an indefinite shade between white
and grey, and with an unnecessary profusion of projections adorning its
attenuated frame. However, there was no time to lose, and I mounted the
steed, trusting it might possess moral qualities which would atone for
its physical defects.
The animal went very well as long as I did not interfere with the bent
of its wayward desire, which was to proceed in any direction but the
right one. Have you ever steered an extremely willing young thing
through her first waltz? If so you will know what my feelings were after
the first hour. And now just imagine that the waltz lasted for four
hours, and you will have some idea of my sufferings, for that is the
length of time I was compelled to spend on the back of my new
acquisition.
Scheepers had sent a couple of men on ahead a few days before in order
to see if the coast was clear. One of his heliographists and myself now
rode ahead of the column, planted a heliograph on a suitable spot, and
called up towards a high hill beyond Heilbron, where it had been
arranged that the two scouts should be about this hour. Scarcely had our
heliograph glittered for a moment in the sun when back from the hill
came a long flash of light.
"What news?" we asked.
"All quiet," came the reply.
We returned to the column, which was marching wonderfully slowly, and
informed Scheepers, who was pleased to find his men so punctual. As we
rode along he asked me a few particulars about the vibrator, wire
tapping, and so on. I told him how at Spion Kop the wire failed at the
very moment it was needed most.
"Yes," he remarked thoughtfully, "trifles often make all the difference.
I had an experience of that myself one night not so long ago. We had
laid a nice little trap near Kroonstad, put a charge of dynamite on the
rails, placed the men in position, and waited for a train to come along.
After a few hours of suspense the latter appeared, and just as it was
going over the charge I pressed the button. What do you think happened?"
"The unexpected, I suppose?"
"Precisely. To our disgust the dynamite did not do the rest, and the
train puffed tranquilly past. One of my battery wires had become
disconnected in the dark, and through that one little detail the whole
thing was spoilt."
"At least from your point of view," I said jestingly. "But think what a
narrow escape you had yourselves. The train might have stopped, a
searchlight might have thrown its piercing gleam over your waiting band,
and a volley from a battery of maxims might have strewn the shuddering
veld with your palpitating bodies!"
"Oh, no danger of that!" replied Scheepers lightly; "we knew there were
no _Graphic_ artists on board!"
Towards sunset the head of the column halted, nine miles from Heilbron,
having done only twenty miles during the whole day's march. I say the
head of the column, because the body of it was still straggling
somewhere along the road, to say nothing of the tail. We went to bed
hungry, the men with the waggon being too lazy to make a fire. I
consoled myself with the prospect of a good breakfast in Heilbron the
next morning, and slept as well as the cold would let me.
ROODEWAL
We were awakened the next morning while it was still dark. I roamed
about in the gloom searching for my errant Rosinante. After describing
half a dozen circles I returned to the waggon, to find the missing steed
no longer astray, but peacefully grazing away about six feet from the
aforesaid vehicle. It was a demon of a horse, no doubt about that. We
upsaddled and stood shivering in the cold, our ears and noses fast
becoming frostbitten, and waited for the body of the column to catch up
to us, for it now appeared that everyone had gone to sleep where he
pleased the night before. De Wet was in a furious rage.
"I told them we were to be in Heilbron at sunrise!" he shouted. "I wish
the British would catch and castrate every one of them, so that they may
be old women in reality."
His railing did not accelerate the approach of the loiterers, and it was
long after sunrise when we finally made a start for Heilbron--nine miles
distant. When we neared the town Scheepers, myself, and another went
forward to reconnoitre. What was our surprise to find that the whole
place was full of English! They had suddenly entered the town the night
before. I at once went back and informed De Wet, who ordered the column
to halt and outspan. Testing the telegraph line, I found that whereas
there were no British signals audible, our own signals from Frankfort
could be heard very plainly. The Frankfort telegraphist was busy calling
Heilbron, not knowing that the town had again changed masters. As his
was an ordinary Morse instrument I could not communicate with him, but I
did the next best thing by cutting the wire. The presence of the enemy
in Heilbron was a check for us. We did not expect Colville to come
forward so rapidly. It was necessary to modify our plan of campaign, and
De Wet and several of the commandants rode to a farm some six miles away
to consult with the President, who had pitched his tent at that spot.
Scheepers was still away scouting. His men made no effort to prepare any
food, and as I was beginning to suffer from hunger the situation was
anything but pleasant for me. It is hard to realise the amount of
selfishness which generally prevails in a laager or commando. It is a
case of everyone for himself. There is no regular distribution of
rations every day, as in other armies. The commando is divided into
messes of about ten men each. To this mess is given every now and then a
live ox and a bag of meal. The ox is killed and cut into biltong, and
the meal baked into stormjagers, a kind of dumpling fried in dripping.
Now Scheepers' little corps, which consisted of half a dozen men, was
probably not very well off itself in the matter of provisions--in any
case, they offered me none. The commissariat consisted of nothing but
oxen and meal, cold comfort for me. I rode back a couple of miles to a
spot where a field telegraph office had been opened. Standing in the
open veld under the telegraph line was a Cape cart, under the cart a
telegraph instrument. This was the office.
"Can you give me anything to eat?" I asked the telegraphist, one of our
most capable men.
"Very sorry," he answered; "I've been here for a week, and no one has
troubled to send me any food. I've managed to get a loaf of bread from
that farm yonder now and then, but their supply is exhausted, and I
don't know what to do next."
"Why don't you ask the President's party for food? We all know they fare
well enough."
"I've sent them message after message, but can get no satisfaction. All
they think about is the amount of work they can get out of me. Little
they care what my troubles are!"
This was really a shameful state of affairs, and I began to grow
disgusted with the whole business. Not satisfied with refusing to supply
him with food, a passing commando had stolen his cart-horses, so that he
had no means of leaving the spot.
It was a clear case of selfish and brutal neglect. I condoled with the
poor fellow, and rode back to the laager. De Wet was still absent. It
appeared that we were going to lie there for days, instead of the whole
expedition being over in a day or two. After thinking the matter over, I
decided to return to Frankfort and carry out my intention of going back
to the Transvaal. Upon reaching Frankfort I explained the matter to the
Postmaster-General, adding that the expedition would probably take a
couple of weeks, by which time the Free State would already be cut off
from the Transvaal, and my return rendered impossible. He urged upon me,
however, to postpone my departure. During the day a telegram arrived
from De Wet, saying he had now decided to move forward, and asking that
I should accompany him. So convinced was I that his attempt would end in
a fiasco, in spite of his knowledge of the enemy's movements, that I
persuaded the chief to send another in my place. De Wet was extremely
annoyed, but I was foolish enough to insist. Judge of my regret when, a
week or so later, we heard of the magnificent blow delivered at
Roodewal. After this sudden swoop De Wet returned to the vicinity of
Heilbron. The chief and I drove out to his camp. It was interesting to
see his entire band clad in complete khaki, with only the flapping,
loose-hanging felt hats to show their nationality. Wristlets, watches,
spy-glasses, chocolate, cigarettes, were now as common as in ordinary
times they were rare. Heliographic and telegraphic instruments by the
cartload. No doubt about it, Roodewal came at an opportune moment.
Roberts was pressing Botha hard in front, and this stunning blow at his
lines of communication compelled him to pause. Think of his forces
fighting through that rigorous winter, wearing only their summer
uniforms! No wonder their ardour grew cool!
Theron's corps now came through from the Transvaal and joined De Wet.
Theron, dissatisfied with his treatment by the Transvaal Government, was
here received with open arms. His hundred and fifty young fellows were
as keen as ever; it did one's eyes good to see one corps at least where
discipline was not despised. Theron was a slightly built young lawyer,
with an expression of the deepest sadness, due to the premature decease
of his _fiancee_. He took care of his men, fed and horsed them well, led
them into hot corners and saw them safely out again. Terrible indeed
must be the engagement when one of Theron's men is abandoned by his
comrades. "No cowards need apply" was the motto of the band, held
together by an _esprit de corps_ without equal; and no cowards did. When
the corps passed Frankfort Theron commandeered a horse from an alleged
British subject. The latter threatened to appeal to the Government, and
came into town for the purpose, vowing vengeance on Theron's devoted
head.
"I enjoy myself," said Theron to me, "when they threaten me. It is when
they come to me with soft words that I cannot resist."
As a matter of fact, the Government sustained Theron's action, and the
owner of the animal was obliged to ask Theron to take two others for it.
This he agreed to do, and thus ended the only instance of which I know
in which the Free State Government allowed anything to be commandeered
from a British subject.
The capture of the Yeomanry took place about this time. There have been
several attempts to explain this affair. It was said in our laagers at
the time that Colonel Sprague, immediately after his surrender, remarked
to our commandant that he would shoot the Lindley telegraphist if he
could get hold of him, because the latter had tampered with his message
asking for reinforcements. This was quite possible, for at this time
_most of the British telegrams passed through our hands before reaching
their destination_. If I might venture to express an opinion, formed at
the time, I should say that General Colville was absolutely free from
any blame in connection with the capture of the Yeomanry--an incident to
which we attached very little importance, being interested merely in the
military qualities of our opponents, and in their social rank not at
all.
When Rundle's force was at Senekal and Brabant's Horse at Harmonia every
one of their telegrams was read by a telegraphist attached to one of the
commandoes lying in the vicinity. Several of these messages were in
cipher, it is true, but many of them were not. It was largely owing to
information thus obtained that the British sustained a rather severe
check when they advanced against our positions near Senekal. One would
think the enemy would have taken strict precautions against their plans
leaking out in this manner, but I presume we were considered rather too
dense for that kind of thing.
The affair of Roodewal decided Roberts to send back a strong column to
keep us off his flanks. It was only infantry, and we got quite tired of
waiting for it to reach us. It reached Villiersdorp eventually, and we
fell back from Frankfort towards Bethlehem--the new headquarters. It was
with heavy hearts that we said good-bye to our kind friends in
Frankfort, for well we knew by this time what the passage of a British
column meant for the defenceless non-combatants--houses broken down and
burnt, children and greybeards torn from their families, and all the
other useless and unnecessary cruelties that have broken so many lives,
converted so many joyous homesteads into tombstones of black despair,
and imprinted into the very souls of many Afrikanders an ineradicable
loathing and hatred of everything British. As Boadicea felt towards the
Roman, so feels many a Boer matron to-day against the Briton, and when
Britons shall have followed Romans into the history of the past, the
Afrikander race shall write an epitaph upon their cenotaph. Ambition! By
that sin fell the angels, and by that sin fall the Angles. But oh, the
pity of it! For of all the nations that in turn have risen and waxed
great upon the surface of the globe, there are none for whose ideals the
Boers feel more sympathy than for those of the British. It is the
paralysing difference between the ideal and the real that is creating
the gulf which threatens our eternal separation.
OFF TO THE TRANSVAAL
When we reached Reitz, on our way to Bethlehem, another young
Transvaaler and myself obtained permission to try and reach the
Transvaal. The enemy's columns were traversing the intervening country
in all directions, but we determined that the attempt was worth making.
Bidding good-bye to our Free State colleagues, we left the little
village that was later to become famous as the scene of the capture of
the Free State Government, and retraced our way to Frankfort. The
send-off given us took the form of a little reunion in the parlour of
the modest hotel. Here there were gathered together some dozen young
Free Staters, and an impromptu smoking concert was held. Everyone
present was compelled to give a song or recite something. The first on
the programme was Byron's "When we two parted," which was sung with fine
effect by a blushing young burgher. Next came the old camp favourite,
"The Spanish Cavalier." The sentimental recollections induced by these
two songs were speedily dissipated by a rattling comic song in Dutch,
"_Op haar hot oog zit'n fratje_" A few recitations followed. One of the
reciters had just enunciated the lines--
"Within the circle of your incantation
No blight nor mildew falls,
No fierce unrest, nor lust, nor lost ambition,
Passes those airy walls"--
when a mocking voice came floating in at the window--
"Are you referring to Downing Street?" It was a captured British
officer, who, roaming about the village, had been attracted by our
revelry. He was evidently no follower of the expand-or-burst policy of
the British Cabinet.
This appropriate interpellation put an end to the proceedings. We set
off, unarmed, as we had sent our Mausers back to the Transvaal some time
before, and mounted on a pair of nags that were plainly unfit to make
the journey. Long before we reached Frankfort, in fact, my companion's
horse gave in. We rode to a farmer's house near the road to try and find
another mount. A boy of thirteen was the only male person on the farm.
Yes, he had a pony. Would he exchange it for ours, and take something to
boot? No fear, what he wanted was cash. How much? Thirteen pounds. But
thirteen is an unlucky number; better take twelve. In that case, he
would prefer to take fourteen. The pony was worth the price, the cash
changed hands, and we continued our journey. Some miles from Frankfort
we met two Boers, who told us that they had also meant to return to the
Transvaal, but had heard that the enemy were so close to Frankfort that
they had decided to turn back. We determined to continue, however, and
shortly after dark we cautiously entered the village. The enemy had not
yet arrived, but were expected early the next morning. We consulted one
of our friends in the village, who advised us to try and cross the
railway near Standerton. We decided to follow his advice, and left early
the next morning. A few miles out of town we observed several horsemen
to our left. Fearing these were British, we swerved to the right,
cutting across country. Keeping a good look-out, we continued our way
till evening, when we were overtaken by a farmer driving a cart. He was
lame and had never been on commando, but on the approach of the British
columns had left his home to their mercy. He conducted us to the modest
cottage of his brother-in-law, where we found a bed for ourselves and
stabling for our horses. Before sunrise the next morning we were again
on our way. Through the thick mist we saw several horsemen approach a
house standing solitary in the veld. They dismounted and entered the
dwelling. Anxious to know whether these were friends or foes, we rode
thither. Making as little noise as possible, we managed to gain the spot
unobserved, and found that they were Boers. They gave us each a cup of
steaming coffee, black and bitter, but none the less acceptable,
directed us on our way, and wished us good luck. Towards noon we reached
a hamlet named Cornelia, where we introduced ourselves to the leading
inhabitant, with whom we lunched. Here my horse refused to feed, showing
strong symptoms of _papies_. There was no help for it, however; he had
to carry me, sick or well. Some miles further we reached the house of an
English farmer. He had the consideration to conceal his satisfaction at
the approach of his countrymen and the kindness to doctor my horse for
me. The poor animal was in such a pitiable state that it could hardly
stand. After swallowing a dose of strychnine, however, it improved
wonderfully, and we were enabled to continue, but naturally at a very
slow pace. That evening we slept at a farmer's house near the Vaal
River. Here we heard that there was a Boer commando lying near
Greylingstad, and thither we directed our way. As we rode through the
Vaal the next morning we felt a genuine thrill of joy at setting our
feet once more upon our own soil. That afternoon Greylingstad came in
sight, but what a bitter disappointment! Instead of finding our own
commandoes here, we found the place occupied by a large British force.
We reined in on the veld, gazed at the British camp, and then at each
other. To our left lay Heidelberg, to our right Standerton, both held by
the enemy, and in front of us stood the tents of a British column at
least five thousand strong!
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