With Steyn and De Wet by Philip Pienaar

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"Frank, it's a khaki," I whisper, "keep straight on."

The soldier looks me in the face as we slowly pass him. I feel my
cheeks burn and turn my head away. His gun stands in the bucket; we can
shoot him, but then, the others? We wear top-boots and riding-breeches,
hats pinned up at the side; he is in doubt--perhaps we are scouts just
come in. He mounts his horse and rides after his comrades.

Now turn and away, over boulders and bushes for dear life! Suddenly a
dozen scouts file down the hill, two hundred yards off. I wave my hat
and beckon them to follow. They halt, perplexed. Then a few bullets
whistle by, and we see the scouts come dashing after us. But the bushes
are high and the boulders loose; we are down the hill now, over the
flats and away! Down to the river--the bridge is destroyed! Never mind,
through we go, and then turn round to smile at our pursuers.

DE WET ONCE MORE

The reason for all this hurry-scurry became plain when we learnt that De
Wet, tired of playing at hide-and-seek with the enemy on the other side
of the Vaal, had crossed over and passed by Potchefstroom the night
before. It was into the pursuing force that we had ridden.

Reaching the laager, we found the majority of our comrades there. Of the
fate of those who had delayed to leave the town we were ignorant. The
laager inspanned and followed De Wet, who had just passed here, and
after a few hours' rapid trekking caught up to him. A halt was called
for breakfast, but before the water boiled for coffee the enemy came in
sight behind us. The cattle were rapidly driven together, oxen yoked and
horses saddled, and in about three minutes' time we were on the move
once more. De Wet's force and our own combined comprised nearly three
thousand men, with six hundred waggons and carts, forming a train that
made a splendid target for the British gunners.

There was not much difficulty in keeping the enemy back, but still they
hung on persistently, worrying us day after day, until our horses, and
even the tougher mules, began to drop in the road, and our men to grow
weary of the saddle.

The oxen bore up best of all; we now made the discovery that they could
trot just as well as mules, and with less effort. But even they felt the
strain.

As far as we went the road we left behind us was littered with abandoned
animals. It was pitiful to see these dumb creatures try to drag
themselves after us, as if they too feared the pursuing foe. But still
the weary march went on, night and day, until a numbed indifference
settled over us.

Shells fell to the right and left unnoticed; was the apathy, not of
despair, for our faith would never let us feel that, but of sheer and
utter exhaustion.

Haggard men, sunk in slumber, beat a mechanical tattoo on their horses'
ribs as the gaunt animals dazedly staggered forward. And now came the
stunning news that Prinsloo, Prinsloo with 4,000 men, had surrendered!
Only one hope sustained us--the Magaliesberg. There we would find
shelter and rest.

But Clements was lying in wait for us there, waiting for us to walk
blindly into the trap he had set. Well was it for our straggling train
that Delarey came dashing down on Clements in the night, slaying and
capturing right and left, till the British general was glad to take
refuge in entrenched Pretoria! Else we were surely taken and the war
ended. When at last we struggled over Olifant's Nek, it was to find the
pass held by friends, not foes, many signs of the enemy's occupation,
from plundered farm-houses to hundreds of biscuit tins, strewing the
ground.

Our waggons were drawn up in a line behind the mountain, and we manned
the passes, confident in our ability to hold them. But we were too
wearied, and the enemy too persistent. On the third day they forced the
weaker of the passes, and we were forced to fly once more. Had the
British continued their stern chase our capture were almost certain;
strange to say, with success within their grasp, they held their hand,
halted, and followed us no further. In the retreat the Free State and
the Transvaal commandoes took different directions, myself remaining
with the latter. We marched all night, past frowning kopjes, and camped
in a thick mimosa forest at dawn.

Here the commando decided to remain for a while. I obtained a pass from
Liebenberg and set off alone to make my way through the dense bush to
Middelburg.

The first day I discovered De Wet's "meagre commando," about a thousand
men, who had been ordered to conceal themselves here and feed up their
animals, whilst De Wet himself, with the other half of his force,
scoured the country to within ten miles of Johannesburg.

In the evening I arrived at a mission station, where the only whites
were the missionary's young daughter and her youthful brother. Their
father had left for a visit shortly before the war broke out, and had
not been able to return. They themselves had done the mission work,
unaided, through all these anxious months. And remember that at this
time the bushveld Kafirs were waging war amongst themselves!

The next day I encountered a couple of waggons laden with ammunition for
Delarey. The escort told me they had left Middelburg eighteen days
before. Making circuits to avoid the enemy and taking wrong roads had
delayed them.

Then--it is wonderful how news travels amongst the Kafirs--I heard that
Steyn was also somewhere in the bush, on the way to join the Transvaal
Government. Fortunately for me, I rode right into his party that
evening, just as they were starting off again. I had only off-saddled
once since sunrise, but the chance was too good to be missed, and I
joined them. The party consisted of barely fifty men--not an extravagant
escort, but sufficient, under the circumstances.

We travelled till midnight, halted for an hour, and then forward again
till sunrise, when we crossed the Pienaar's River. Here we found a
fair-sized commando under a general whose name I forget, as that was the
only time I ever heard it. He was expecting an attack, the waggons were
already retreating. We halted long enough to prepare breakfast, during
which time the President shot a few bush doves. Hardly had we finished
the meal when the rat-tat, rat-tat of small-arms showed that the British
were approaching. Then a Maxim rattled forth amongst the rocks, and
warned us that the action had begun in earnest.

The commando kept the enemy back just long enough to give us a decent
start, and then retired. We afterwards learnt that this British
force--under Barnum-Powell, of Tarascon--had been sent out from Pretoria
expressly to intercept us. It was a close thing--had the enemy been a
little smarter they might have had us. As it was, we doubled away under
cover of the bush, and were soon out of reach.

Now followed a week of rapid trekking, varied with a little shooting now
and then at the partridges and bright-plumaged birds that abound in the
bushveld, and once relieved by the sight of a magnificent bush fire, a
sea of roaring flame. I must not forget our banjoist, who of nights
beguiled our careworn chief with cheery marches, quicksteps, and comic
songs. Finally we emerge upon the _hoogeveld_ of Middelburg, to find the
town in the enemy's hands. We make for Roossenekal. Again the British
are before us. We turn away towards Machadodorp. As we near the village
Schalk Burger comes out to meet us. He and Steyn speak earnestly
together. Burger is more silent, more taciturn than ever. We push on,
and reach Machadodorp, where a train is in waiting. The station is
crowded with Transvaalers, all eager to shake their gallant Free State
brethren by the hand. The President and party enter the carriage, the
engine whistles, and the train speeds down to Waterval Onder, where Paul
Kruger and his advisers are impatiently awaiting its arrival.

END OF THE REGULAR WAR

The battle of Machadodorp was expected to A take place at any moment,
and the general feeling was that this fight should decide the campaign,
the more so as the issue was confidently awaited by us. On the second
day after Steyn's arrival at Waterval Onder the British attacked. Never
before in the history of the war had such a furious bombardment been
known. Only those who have witnessed the fierce storms of the tropics
can form an idea of the awful unending roar of the lyddite guns as they
belched forth one continuous shrieking mass of projectiles into the
defenders' trenches. At Waterval Onder the two Governments listened in
silent suspense as the sonorous reverberations rolled through the
mountains, louder and fiercer yet, till the firm earth shook beneath the
shock.

At last came the appalling message that the British were victorious, and
our men in full retreat! High hopes had been built on this combat; no
wonder if for a while we felt disheartened. The end of regular warfare
had been reached; it was imperative that an entire change of tactics be
adopted. Steyn was for beginning the guerilla system immediately, in
which he was supported by Gravett, Pienaar, and Kemp; Kruger, however,
determined to defend the railway to the last. The British lost no time
in following up their success. It had been said that they would never
venture down these precipitous heights, but, like all other prophecies
about this surprising war--except Kruger's, that he would stagger
humanity--it turned out false, for down into the infernal mountain pits
the enemy thronged after us, with a courage that made us marvel.

The Governments retreated by train to Nelspruit, and thence to
Hectorspruit, the commandoes following by rail and road.

Here the forces were divided, those without horses being sent to
entrench Komatipoort, while the rest made ready to slip past the
approaching enemy's outstretched arms. It was decided that President
Kruger should leave for Holland, Schalk Burger acting in his place. Most
of the burghers still fighting are Progressives, and therefore
politically opposed to Paul Kruger, but there were few who did not feel
a sincere sympathy for the venerable President in this, well-nigh the
bitterest hour of his stormy life. I say nearly every man still
fighting is as fervent a Progressive as the world could wish, and as
much opposed to Paul Kruger's policy as the British themselves! Then
what are they fighting for? you ask. For independence! Let us gain that,
and in one year's time you will see the Transvaal merged into the model
Free State, the Switzerland of South Africa!

After Kruger's departure Steyn took leave of the Transvaal Government.
His last interview with Botha took place in the open air, in full sight
of the burghers. The two conversed in low, earnest tones. Botha looked
ill and haggard, he had aged since he had gained his spurs at Colenso;
the weight of his responsibility lay heavy upon him.

Louis Botha is idolised by his men--perhaps he has not an enemy in the
world--but it is to Steyn, and Steyn alone, that the honour belongs of
the resistance still being offered by the Boers. Let not this detract
from the merits of those other and equally gallant spirits, leaders or
men, who have nobly breasted the waves of adversity; who shall blame
them if at times they felt the current overwhelming?

Steyn utters a last cheering word, then shakes Botha's hand, mounts, and
rides away at the head of his little escort.

The scene around the station resembles nothing so much as a cattle
fair. Near the line stands a policeman, his gaze fixed upon a large box
lying at his feet. The box is filled with gold. Ben Viljoen, standing on
a waggon, addresses the men, explaining to them what guerilla warfare
means. On the other side hats, shirts, and what not are being dealt out
with a lavish hand. Some burghers wander off into the bush in search of
game, others lie lazily stretched out beneath the trees. Trains crammed
with men arrive from the rear, discharge their freights of assorted
humanity, and are immediately boarded by the dismounted men destined for
Komatipoort. The line is blocked with traffic, trains run anyhow, and it
will be some days before everything is ready for our trek to begin.

There being no longer any need for officials, my colleagues volunteered
to form themselves into a fighting corps, and did me the honour of
selecting me as their leader. The corps, however, lacked accoutrements.
I went down to Delagoa Bay. Upon returning, with two other officers, we
were arrested at the Portuguese station Moveni.

Although armed with passports signed by the District Governor, we were
informed that we would under no circumstances be allowed to recross the
frontier. Nor could we obtain permission to return to Lourengo Marques
by train. The young Portuguese commandant, a mirror of courtesy,
explained that we had either to await further orders there or walk back
to the Bay, a distance of fifty miles.

After waiting for several hours we quietly boarded a train coming from
Komatipoort, and managed to reach Lourengo Marques unobserved. We still
believed that we would contrive to get back somehow sooner or later, but
were soon cruelly undeceived. President Kruger, who was the guest of the
District Governor, wrote to General Coetser at Komatipoort, asking him
not to destroy the bridge and advising him to take refuge in Portuguese
territory. Coetser himself, with the few of his men who had fairly
decent horses, preferred to follow Botha, who by this time had begun his
trek from Hectorspruit, and left General Pienaar in charge of
Komatipoort.

Influenced by the arguments of the Portuguese--one of which was that,
should the British cross the Portuguese frontier and take the Boers in
the rear, Portugal would not be able to prevent it--and by the fact that
the positions first chosen for the entrenchments lay within a mile of
the frontier and therefore could not be occupied, a _Krygsraad_ resolved
to follow the President's advice. The bridge had already been mined, the
guns placed in position, and everything made ready to give Pole-Carew
and the Guards a worthy reception; but fate decided otherwise, and
General Pienaar, with some two thousand men, crossed the
frontier,--needless to say with what deep regret--thus reducing by
one-fifth our forces in the field, a loss which would have been avoided
had Steyn's advice been taken and guerilla warfare begun after
Machadodorp.

There was thenceforth nothing for us poor ship-wrecked wretches to do
than to gaze impotently on our heroic brethren still struggling against
the storm. The waves run high, but it is their duty to continue.

And they will continue. Not because they are sure of success, but
because it is their duty.

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