With Steyn and De Wet by Philip Pienaar
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Philip Pienaar >> With Steyn and De Wet
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With him were nearly all the members of the Government, if we except
those who had chosen to remain behind in Bethlehem, and who, from what
their delighted friends heard, had been compelled by the British to foot
it all the way to Reitz. We went out to the camp, and reported
ourselves. It was now bitterly cold, the snow-topped Drakensberg keeping
the temperature at an uncomfortable proximity to zero. But the men were
nearly all well provided with warm khaki uniforms reaped at Roodewal,
the mountains were full of cattle and corn, and we felt that we could
easily hold these almost inaccessible heights against the British cordon
formed outside.
But it was fated otherwise. A despatch rider arrived from the
Transvaal; the situation there urgently demanded the encouragement of
Steyn's presence. To leave this impregnable stronghold and venture
across the open plains below needed all the boldness of De Wet, all the
steadfast courage of Steyn. These leaders had never been known to
falter; they did not falter now. Everything was arranged in the utmost
secrecy. For a few days there was a hurrying to and fro of commandoes,
and then one morning De Wet's laager was seen to have disappeared.
Prinsloo was left behind over four thousand men, with orders to stand
his own.
THROUGH THE CORDON
IT was no easy matter to pass through the British forces that lay massed
around the mountain-chain. We were two thousand horsemen, and our
vehicles, carts, ox-and mule-waggons formed a procession fully six miles
long. When we trekked out of the nek strict orders were given that there
was to be no loud talking and no matches struck. This latter was
especially hard on such a crowd of inveterate smokers. I remember whilst
we were riding mutely along, listening to the creaking and jolting of
the waggons, and wondering whether we were going to get through, or what
the alternative would be if we did not, we suddenly saw someone
deliberately strike a match and light his pipe.
"Who struck that match?" came from the front. Then the delinquent
himself spoke up--
"It's this confounded Kafir of mine. Was it you, Jantje?"
"Yes, baas," responded the dutiful black, bobbing up and down on his
master's spare horse.
"Give him twenty with the sjambok."
"Right!" Jantje and his master turned out of the road, and soon the
unmistakable thwack! thwack! of the sjambok could be heard, mingled with
subdued ejaculations in Kafir and Dutch. But judging by the expression
on Jantje's features by the camp fire that night, as he blew long
fragrant clouds into the gaping nostrils of his envious friends, I have
my doubts about that thrashing.
We halted frequently to allow the straggling ox-waggons to close up.
Then we would dismount, stamp our chilly feet, draw our overcoats or
blankets closer, and discuss trivialities. During one of these halts a
horseman came dashing up from the rear--
"General, there's a doctor behind who has just come through the enemy's
lines. He asks you to wait for him."
"Tell him to hurry!"
We sat down and waited. In about half an hour's time another horseman
came hurrying along. Here at last! No. Only another messenger. Another
long wait, and finally the doctor arrived. He squatted down next to De
Wet, and in a low voice related how he had been unjustly captured by the
British some weeks ago, how they had sent him to Johannesburg and kept
him in prison until now, only liberating him after repeated requests
for a hearing. His tale was listened to in silence and with deep
attention. When it was told the order was given to mount, and on we
trekked again past the sleeping British camp. Presently the moon rose,
and by its light we passed a lonely farmhouse. Beware its slumbering
inmates when the British come along to-morrow, for are not they
responsible for the telegraph line which runs across the farm, and which
we have cut in half a dozen places! No doubt the house will be burnt,
and all the stock confiscated. But never mind, the owner has surrendered
and is living under British protection--protection whereof he is going
to get a taste now, so why should we pity him? On we go until long past
midnight, when we halt in a secluded little valley. Our horses greedily
swallow the icy water, and then eagerly crop the tasteless dry grass,
for our waggons are too far behind, we can give them no mealies
to-night.
The next morning a cloud of dust in our rear showed that we were being
pursued. Whilst we were hastily inspanning and upsaddling, Theron came
in from the right, bringing with him a captured Hussar. One old Boer,
who had his little boy with him, brought the youngster up to the soldier
and said--
"Now, sonny, you've never seen an Englishman. Here is one. Look at him
well; you must shoot lots of them yet."
"Go away," said one of the Boers, "what do you mean by staring at the
man like that? Don't you know any better than to insult a helpless
prisoner?"
"I'm sorry," said the old man, turning away, "I don't want to hurt his
feelings; I only wanted to show my son the game he must track one day."
The little boy cried when they led him away, saying--
"I 'ants my 'ickle khaki, I 'ants my tame Englishman!"
"Don't cry," said the old man, "father will catch you some to-morrow."
The little fellow's eyes brightened with anticipation, and his tears
gave way to smiles. Sure enough his father came into camp a few days
later driving before him two diminutive steeds bending beneath the
weight of two corpulent khakis. He called his son and said--
"Now, sonny, here are the soldiers I promised you."
The little fellow looked them over carefully. Then his lower lip began
to pout, and tears rolled down his cheeks.
"What's the matter, my son," asked the astonished father, "doesn't he
like his khakis?"
"No, daddy," replied the little chap, striving with his tears.
"Why not, my lad?"
Then the child's restraint gave way, and he burst out--
"Oh, daddy, they're not--_sob_--real--_sob_--soldiers at all!"
They were two of the C.I.V.
But to return. As soon as the waggons were ready they were sent on along
the winding valley, whilst the horsemen and artillery took up a position
on a neighbouring hill and awaited the British attack. This took the
form of continuous shelling until sundown. As soon as darkness fell the
horsemen took a short cut and rejoined the waggons, which in the
meantime had gained a considerable start. President Steyn and his
secretary accompanied De Wet during the day and had a taste of the
enemy's shell-fire. When we asked the secretary that evening how he had
liked the ordeal he said he could hardly describe his feelings whilst it
lasted, but when the shelling ceased it was the heavenliest sensation of
his life. So if you want a heavenly sensation you know now how to get
it.
We had an ambulance staff with us, but were sometimes obliged to leave
our wounded behind, because we knew very well the enemy would be only
too glad to get hold of our doctors and deprive us of all medical help.
On crossing the railway near Honingspruit we captured a train. From the
newspapers taken out of the mail-bags we learnt that we were being
closely pressed, and that hopes were entertained of our speedy capture.
We did not grudge the papers the pleasures of hope; what we objected to
was their crocodile tears over us poor misguided, ignorant burghers, who
were too stupid to see the beauty of becoming exultant British subjects,
like the Irish. We also learnt that Steyn was ill, that he was hiding on
a farm near Heilbron, that he was a prisoner in De Wet's camp, that his
mind had given way, that he wouldn't let De Wet surrender, that De Wet
wouldn't let the burghers surrender, that the burghers wouldn't let
Steyn surrender, _ad fin. ad nauseam_.
As we had a distinct object in view, _i.e._ to bring Steyn to Kruger, we
generally preferred to avoid unnecessary engagements. But we could show
our teeth when we liked. We were laagered near Vredefort one day when
the pursuers made a sudden dash forward, coming within a mile or so
before they were observed. On this occasion there was no hasty flight.
The cattle continued peacefully grazing around the waggons, whilst the
horsemen went to meet the enemy. There was a brief exchange of shells,
and then our men charged with such good effect that the British were
forced to retire. They followed us at a more respectful distance after
that.
De Wet kept his plans so secret that very few knew for certain whither
we were bound. The President called me into his tent one morning and
asked me a few questions about the roads near Balmoral, where the
Transvaal Government was at that time. I happened to have a map with me,
and so was able to supply the desired information. He then told me to
take a couple of heliographists and try to get into communication with
one of the Transvaal commandoes near Potchefstroom.
We climbed one of the numerous hills lying around and called up towards
Potchefstroom, but got no reply. As we sat chatting, keeping our eyes
fixed on the dark ridges in the distance, one of my companions
remarked--
"This reminds me of a fine trick I played on the English a few months
ago. We were trekking along quietly one day when I observed a heliograph
glitter on a hill about ten miles away. I at once fixed my instrument,
and soon learnt that it was a British helio post. I sent him a heliogram
saying that we were a small party of British in danger of capture, and
asking that an escort should be sent to bring us in. The next day the
escort walked into our arms! We took the rifles and let the prisoners
go--about a hundred men. The next day the British heliographist called
me up again and reproached me for telling him such a deliberate lie!"
"And what did you reply?"
"Oh, I said, 'g.t.l.'; you know what that means!"
Espying a pretty little cottage in the valley below, I rode thither to
try and buy a loaf of bread, leaving the others to continue calling. On
the way down I noticed a telegraph wire running in the direction of
Potchefstroom. In the farmhouse were only two young girls, the elder a
charming golden-haired fairy with tender eyes of cornflower blue. And
her smile!--it was enough to make one say all kinds of silly things just
for the pleasure of seeing her ripe lips part, revealing her wholesome,
even little teeth! No wonder I delayed my departure! I left at last,
however--not without the loaf of bread--and made for the camp. I had not
gone far before I met one of the burghers, who told me Steyn and De Wet
had gone up to the helio post a little while before. What would they say
when they found me absent from my post! I approached the camp in
anything but an enviable mood, and was just off-saddling when the two
leaders returned. Like a flash the thought came to me of the telegraph
line I had seen.
"President," I said eagerly, before he could speak, "there's a telegraph
line near here. Shan't I go and try to tap it?"
He looked at me very seriously for a moment, and then replied, a smile
breaking through the frown, "Yes, go on, you should have been there
already." Saved again! I went, but needless to say, if I heard any
secrets that evening it was not through the medium of a telegraph wire!
SKIRMISHES
A band of about thirty Transvaalers, mostly from Potchefstroom, who had
been attached to De Wet for some time, now decided to go on ahead and
join Liebenberg's commando, near their native town. As De Wet had no
intention of moving forward just yet, I joined my brother Transvaalers.
Bidding adieu to our Free State comrades, we crossed the Vaal. Just
beyond the river we were joined by two or three others, who had with
them as prisoner a British sergeant. This fellow had been in charge of a
band of native police, whose insolence had terrorised the women and
children for miles around, until a body of Boers came along and routed
them out of the district, capturing their leader. What became of the
blacks I do not know, but it must be remembered that the Transvaal
natives are Boer subjects, and liable to be shot if caught aiding the
British. The feeling against the sergeant was very bitter.
"Oh, you're the Kafir chief, are you?" said one of our men to him.
"Ho, yuss, h' I'm the Kefir ginnyril," responded the flattered cockney,
with an irritating grin.
"I'd like to Kafir general you through the head," said the disgusted
Boer promptly. The sickly grin faded, and the threat was not carried
out.
Towards afternoon a heavy rain began to fall. There was no shelter for
us, and we pushed along, wet and cold. Then night came, and the road,
now transformed into a rushing torrent, was only shown us by the lurid
lightning flashes that continually rent the heavens. And we had a sick
man on the trolley, for whom this exposure was a serious matter. But
finally we reached a farmhouse, occupied by an old woman. Her eyes
filled with tears when she saw us, and she thanked the Lord that He had
spared her to behold once more the defenders of her country. Near by was
an empty building. We outspanned and off-saddled, turning our animals
loose, as we knew they would not stray far in such a blinding storm. The
sick man was hastily carried in and laid upon some dry blankets.
Then we made half a dozen roaring fires with some mealie cobs that we
found lying in the house, stripped ourselves, and held our boots and
clothing over the fire till they were fairly dry. By this time the water
boiled; we drank some coffee, then made up beds on the floor and slept
till morning. It was a bit of a struggle to get into our damp things
when we awoke, but as we rode along our clothes dried and our spirits
rose. Then Potchefstroom came in sight, but, alas! it was held by the
enemy.
"What would my poor mother say," said one young fellow, "if she knew I
was so near!"
"Oh, my wife and children!" sighed another.
"Cheer up, boys!" interrupted the commandant. "Our country first, you
know."
That afternoon we joined a small commando lying near the railway between
Potchefstroom and Frederikstad. It numbered barely a hundred men, but
they had with them a bomb-Maxim and a Krupp. At midnight we got orders
to march for the hills near Frederikstad, where we arrived at dawn. Here
we were reinforced by a score of burghers, and we continued our way,
keeping in a parallel with the railway, but behind some intervening
hills. Presently a scout came in and reported the enemy in sight.
"Forward!" ordered the commandant, and forward we raced along through
the veld, keeping a look-out for holes. One youngster's horse went
down, the rider turning a beautiful somersault. Shouts of laughter
greeted his exploit, but he quickly remounted, and was one of the first
to reach the hill for which we were making, and which dominated the
railway. Keeping the Nordenfeldt in reserve, we opened fire with Krupp
and small-arms on the advance guard of the enemy.
We did not know at the time that we were tackling Lord Methuen and five
thousand men, but such was the case. Of course we made a very poor show;
what can you expect? But anyhow, we engaged them for about two hours.
Then their cavalry came on with a rush, and we were compelled to give
way. It was only with the greatest difficulty that we saved the guns,
and we only succeeded in doing so, I presume, because the enemy were not
aware of our real numbers. Our waggons fled to one side of the line
whilst we remained on the other, with absolutely nothing to eat. By
buying a few eggs and other small produce from the natives we managed to
subsist until the third day, when we crossed the railway, marched all
night, and rejoined our waggons at dawn. To slaughter sheep and cook
porridge did not take long; hearty is the only word to describe the meal
we made. Then we moved round and joined Liebenberg, who, with six
hundred men, had just retaken Klerksdorp without firing a shot. But
then, the place was garrisoned by only forty English, and resistance
would have been of no avail.
We hung about the neighbourhood of Potchefstroom for about two weeks,
anxiously waiting for the word to be given to attack the town, but
Liebenberg confined his tactics to making an appearance in sight of the
town and retreating as soon as the enemy came out to give battle. This
kept the enemy on the _qui vive_, it is true, but it also tired out our
horses, and we soon grew weary of it. We had several lively little
skirmishes, however. One day about forty of us were detached to go and
bombard a British gun which stood on the other side of the town, whilst
the rest of our commando approached the town on this side. We were
sitting down quite comfortably under a tree below our gun, eating bread
and dripping, listening to the duel and smiling at the high aim of the
British gunners, when the look-out shouted--"Here's the enemy behind
us!"
The gun was rapidly limbered up and we rode to the top of the hill.
Across the valley about a hundred horsemen were stealthily stealing up
Vaal Kop, evidently with the intention of taking us in the rear. We
halted and gave them a couple of shells, to which they very promptly
replied.
"Commandant," said one of my comrades, "let's charge them. They're not
too many for us."
"No," was the reply; "it's best to be prudent."
"Well, I'm going to have a smack at them, anyway! Coming along?" he
shouted to me, and without waiting for a reply, started down the valley.
I followed him, and we cut across over the loose stones at a breakneck
pace, not making straight for the enemy, but for a rocky ridge whence
our fire could reach them. As we climbed the ridge we were joined by two
others. When we got to the top we saw about forty horsemen in the valley
beyond.
"Fifteen hundred yards!" shouted Frank, and we let them have it. Round
and round they turned in a confused circle, like a flock of worried
sheep. Then they rode away to the right, straight into a morass, back
again, and finally retreated in amongst the bushes on the slope of the
hill, whence they favoured us with a few well-aimed shots in reply. The
whole thing had lasted barely five minutes, but we had each emptied
about fifty cartridges, so we felt quite happy. As we left the shelter
of the hill and rode back across the valley, their companions on top of
the hill turned a Maxim on us, but the bullets all went high, singing
overhead like a flight of canaries. Going up on the other side, I took a
piece of bread out of my pocket, and was just trying to persuade myself
to offer our two companions some, when crack! crack! came a couple of
Nordenfeldt shells right behind us. It didn't take us long to get over
the hill, the vicious little one-pounders crackling and fizzling round
us all the while.
On the other side a comical sight met our eyes. The whole veld was full
of scattered Boers retiring in all directions, with a shell bursting in
between them every now and then, luckily without any effect. A few
hundred yards away stood the cart of our clergyman, who was frantically
trying to unharness his mules and inspan horses in their place. He was
so nervous that his fingers refused to undo the straps, so we dismounted
and effected the exchange for him. As soon as the last strap was buckled
he lashed up and drove away, too excited even to say thank you.
We were so accustomed to retreating by this time that it seemed
extraordinary to see a man lose his head so easily. The British shells
pursued us till we were out of sight, but the only casualty was when a
shell passed so close to Van der Merwe, the mining commissioner of
Johannesburg, that the concussion knocked him off his horse.
That evening Jonas came into camp. Jonas is quite a character in his
way. When the British entered Potchefstroom he, with four followers,
took up a position on a kopje about six miles out of town, and a
thousand yards from the Johannesburg road. Whenever a convoy or a body
of British came along Jonas and his merry band would open a furious
fusillade, causing the unhappy enemy no end of inconvenience. It is a
fact that he carried on this game for months, unhindered.
After his day's work Jonas would lay aside rifle and bandolier, don his
overcoat, and stroll into town to see his family.
He was challenged by a sentry on one occasion, but Jonas reproved him so
severely and bluffed him so completely, that the poor fellow broke into
an abject apology, whereupon Jonas very condescendingly promised to say
no more about the matter.
WE ENTER POTCHEFSTROOM
"On Sunday we shall hold service in Potchefstroom," announced the
commandant. Ah! Something definite at last! The men's hearts grow light
as they polish their rifles, for are not they going to behold their dear
ones soon? No one thinks of doubting the commandant's word; he is our
leader, what he says must be true. How we shall get in none know, but
get in we shall, all are sure of that. One morning my two comrades are
sent to spy the town. My horse's unshod hoofs are tender as my lady's
hands; I have searched the plains for a dead horse wearing shoes. Of all
the carcasses I find the hoofs are gone, cut off by sharper comrades. I
must remain behind. At night the order is given, "March!" Cheerfully the
column trots out of camp; we who have no horses follow it with wistful
eyes. There are girls in the town too, ah! such girls! Complexions a
dream of purity, mystic, melting eyes, and hair a silken web to weave
sweet fancies through.
At midnight my two friends return. What, the others gone already? And
you still here! No, mount, saddle, hurry, sick or well, go we must, and
come must you! And perhaps, after all, if we ride steadily, who knows?
If my horse fails, why, we will loot another on the road.
We do not take the _spoor_, we slip across the veld; my mount treads
gingerly, but what odds? After to-day he shall rest for a week!
We near the town. Everything is deathly quiet. Where is our commando?
Cautiously we enter the streets, riding far apart, rifles ready. Halt!
here comes a horseman. Don't fire, he is unarmed. Why, 'tis but a boy!
Where's the enemy? Where's the foe, quick? What! Deserted the town? We
look around and see a long string of Boers come speeding along about a
mile behind. Hurrah, we are first in! We race into the market square,
crowds of people, and halt at the Government Buildings. Up with the
_Vierkleur!_ Ah, the proud exultation of seeing our own flag once more
float over the ancient capital! Women press around, young and old,
beautiful alike in pure emotion of patriotic joy, eager to greet their
war-worn men.
My sons, do they live? God be praised, they are here. The father fell at
Belmont, but He has spared the sons!
And mine, I say, and mine; three they are, boys yet--what, no more? All
I have--all I had gone for ever! Oh, Lord, uphold us! Welcome home, my
boy. Your brother, is he well? Speak! Ah me! I loved him best; it is my
punishment At last! my love, my husband! Happy day! Hush ... a hymn
peals forth and wafts our thoughts to One above, a harmony of mingled
joy and sadness. The last solemn notes die away, and we separate--joyous
couples to make mirth together, sad widows to weep alone.
How strange to sit at a table once more, to hear again the melody of
girlish voices! "Sweet are looks that ladies bend on whom their favours
fall." Let us bask in the warmth of your smiles to-night; to-morrow the
cheerless veld again!
Tales to boil the blood are told, barbarous brutality. Our commandant's
daughter dragged before the provost-marshal. The gun found buried in
your yard; your father's work? No, my own. You lie! Out you go--property
confiscated, furniture sold; go seek the commandoes and ask them for
shelter!
A widow, husband killed. Clear out, furniture confiscated! Why? Your
sons are fighting; you are a rebel! I'll teach you to remember Major
C------.
But in a skirmish Major C------ is killed; joy of the widowed and
fatherless. Homage to our noble women, patient under persecution,
steadfast in adversity, cheerfully sending forth their nearest and
dearest to battle to the end!
On the morrow a sharp alarm note is sounded. An officer gallops from
house to house. Quick! saddle and ride; meet at Frederikstad! Myself and
a comrade are quickly speeding thither, our brief Valhalla over. On the
road we overtake and pass parties of twos and threes, all on the same
errand. At last we approach the rendezvous. Up the hill rides a dense
body of cavalry; down near the station horsemen dash in and out, to and
fro, like busy ants. On the hill a few footmen leisurely stroll about,
rifle in hand. What means all this commotion? We pass a Kafir hut.
"Are those Boers or English, outa?"
"Boers, baas."
"Sure?"
"Yes, baas, it's our own people."
"Yes, look, that's the commandant ahead on his roan. Come along!" We
near the horsemen. The last man dismounts as we approach; his companions
are disappearing over the rise; he shifts his saddle forward, staring at
us intently. A tall, well-built fellow, red hair, chin scrubby,
dust-covered features. A bayonet at his side--by heavens! an Englishman!
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