London to Ladysmith via Pretoria by Winston Spencer Churchill

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But these are small incidents which, though they break the monotony of
the camp, do not alter nor, each by itself, greatly accelerate the
course of the war. Good news came in on New Year's Day from other
quarters. Near Belmont the Canadians and Queenslanders fell on a raiding
or reckless commando, took them on at their own game, hunted them and
shot them among the rocks until the white flag was upon the right side
for once and hoisted in honest surrender. Forty prisoners and twenty
dead and wounded; excellent news to all of us; but causing amazing joy
in Natal, where every colonist goes into an ecstacy over every crumb of
British success.

Moreover, we have good news from East London. General Gatacre is
stolidly and patiently repairing the opening misfortune of his
campaign: has learned by experience much of the new conditions of the
war. Strange that the Boers did not advance after their victory;
stranger still that they retired from Dordrecht. Never mind whether
their stillness be due to national cautiousness or good defensive
arrangements. Since they don't want Dordrecht, let us go there; and
there we go accordingly. Out of this there arises on New Year's Day a
successful skirmish, in the account of which the name of De Montmorency
is mentioned. In Egypt the name was associated with madcap courage. Here
they talk of prudent skill. The double reputation should be valuable.

And, perhaps, the best news of all comes from Arundel, near Colesberg,
where Generals French and Brabazon with the cavalry column--for it is
nearly all mounted--are gradually sidling and coaxing the Boers back out
of the Colony. They are a powerful combination: French's distinguished
military talents, and Brabazon's long and deep experience of war. So,
with this column there are no frontal attacks--perhaps they are luckier
than we in respect of ground--no glorious victories (which the enemy
call victories, too); very few people hurt and a steady advance, as we
hear on the first day of the year, right up to Colesberg.

Perhaps the tide of war has really begun to turn. Perhaps 1900 is to
mark the beginning of a century of good luck and good sense in British
policy in Africa. When I was a prisoner at Pretoria the Boers showed me
a large green pamphlet Mr. Reitz had written. It was intended to be an
account of the Dutch grounds of quarrel with the English, and was called
'A Century of Wrong.' Much was distortion and exaggeration, but a
considerable part dealt with acknowledged facts. Wrong in plenty there
has been on both sides, but latterly more on theirs than on ours; and
the result is war--bitter, bloody war tearing the land in twain;
dividing brother from brother, friend from friend, and opening a
terrible chasm between the two white races who must live side by side as
long as South Africa stands above the ocean, and by whose friendly
co-operation alone it can enjoy the fullest measure of prosperity. 'A
century of wrong!' British ignorance of South Africa, Boer ignorance of
civilisation, British intolerance, Boer brutality, British interference,
Boer independence, clash, clash, clash, all along the line! and then
fanatical, truth-scorning missionaries, experimental philanthropists,
high-handed jingo administrators, colonial ministers who disliked all
colonies on the glorious principles of theoretic liberalism, bad
generals thinking of their own reputations, not of their country's
success, and a series of miserable events recalled sufficiently well by
their names--Slagter's Nek, Kimberley, Moshesh, Majuba, Jameson, all
these arousing first resentment, then loathing, then contempt, and,
finally, a Great Desire, crystallising into a Great Conspiracy for a
United Dutch South Africa, free from the flag that has elsewhere been
regarded as the flag of freedom. And so inevitably to war--war with
peculiar sadness and horror, in which the line of cleavage springs
between all sorts of well-meaning people that used to know one another
in friendship; but war which, whatever its fortunes, certainly sweeps
the past into obscurity. We have done with 'a century of wrong.' God
send us now 'a century of right.'

CHAPTER XIV

A MILITARY DEMONSTRATION AND SOME GOOD NEWS

Chieveley: January 8, 1900.

BOOM. Thud, thud. Boom. Boom. Thud--thud thud--thud thud thud
thud--boom. A long succession of queer moaning vibrations broke the
stillness of the sleeping camp. I became suddenly awake. It was two
o'clock on the morning of January 6. The full significance of the sounds
came with consciousness. We had all heard them before--heavy cannonading
at Ladysmith. They were at it again. How much longer would the heroic
garrison be persecuted?

I turned to rest once more. But the distant guns forbade sleep. The
reports grew momentarily more frequent, until at last they merged into
one general roar. This was new. Never before had we heard such
bombarding. Louder and louder swelled the cannonade, and presently the
deep note of the heavy artillery could scarcely be distinguished above
the incessant discharges of field pieces. So I lay and listened. What
was happening eighteen miles away over the hills? Another bayonet attack
by the garrison? Or perhaps a general sortie: or perhaps, but this
seemed scarcely conceivable, the Boers had hardened their hearts and
were delivering the long expected, long threatened assault.

An officer came to my tent with the daylight. Something big happening at
Ladysmith--hell of a cannonade--never heard anything like it--worse than
Colenso--what do you think of it? But I was without opinion; nor did I
find anyone anxious to pronounce. Meanwhile the firing was maintained,
and we breakfasted to its accompaniment. Until half-past ten there was
not the slightest diminution or intermission. As the day advanced,
however, it gradually died away, showing either that the fight was over,
or, as it afterwards turned out, that it had passed into the hands of
riflemen.

We all spent an anxious morning speculating on the reason and result of
the engagement. About noon there arrived an unofficial message by
heliograph, which the young officer at the signal station confided to
his friends. It was brief. 'General attack all sides by
Boers--everywhere repulsed--but fight still going on.'

At one o'clock, just as were sitting down to luncheon, came an orderly
at full gallop with the order for the whole force in Chieveley to turn
out at once. Whereat the camp, till then dormant under the midday sun,
sprang to life like a disturbed ant-hill. Some said we were about to
make a regular attack on Colenso, while many of the covering army of
Boers were busy at Ladysmith. Others suggested a night assault--with the
bayonet. The idea was very pleasant to the hearts of the infantry. But I
soon learned that no serious operation was in contemplation, and that
the force was merely to make a demonstration before Colenso with the
object of bringing some of the Boers back from Ladysmith, and of so
relieving the pressure on Sir George White.

The demonstration was, however, a very imposing affair. First of all the
mounted forces threw out a long fringe of patrols all along the front.
Behind this the squadrons made a line of black bars. The mounted
infantry, Bethune's Horse, and the Natal Carabineers formed the left:
the South African Light Horse the centre, and the 13th Hussars and
Thorneycroft's Mounted Infantry twisted back to watch the right. Behind
this curtain marched the infantry, Hildyard's brigade on the right,
Barton's on the left, line after line of brown men ten yards apart, two
hundred yards between the lines, spreading in this open formation over a
wide expanse of country, and looking a mighty swarm. Behind these again
dark blocks of artillery and waggons moved slowly forward. Behind, and
above all, the naval battery began to throw its shells into the village.

The cavalry soon cleared the front, the squadrons wheeled about, the
patrols retreated. The South African Light Horse, with whom I now have
the honour to serve, were stationed in rear of Gun Hill, a rocky
eminence so called because a heavy battery was placed there in the last
engagement. From this feature an excellent view of the operation was
afforded, and thence we watched the whole development.

Sir Francis Clery, General Hildyard, and their respective Staffs had
also taken their position on Gun Hill, so that its crest was thickly
crowded with figures peering exhaustively through field glasses and
telescopes. The infantry, who were now moving steadily forward, were
literally sprinkled all over the country.

In the text-books compiled from the results of past experience the
military student reads that armies divide to march and concentrate to
fight. 'Nous avons change tout cela.' Here we concentrate to march and
disperse to fight. I asked General Hildyard what formation his brigade
was in. He replied, 'Formation for taking advantage of ant-heaps.' This
is a valuable addition to the infantry drill.

Meanwhile the demonstration was in progress, and not without effect.
Only the well-informed realised that it was a demonstration, and the
privates, as they walked phlegmatically on, did not know that they were
not about to be plunged into another deluge of fire.

'You watch it, Bill,' I heard one man remark, 'we'll have that ----
laughing hyena' (the Vickers-Maxim gun) 'let off at us in a minute.'

The Boers, too, seemed to be deceived, or, at any rate, doubtful, for we
could see them in twos and threes, and presently in fives and sixes,
galloping into their trenches, which were evidently deep enough to
shelter horse and man. It was most probable that larger bodies had
already begun their countermarch from Ladysmith. We were not wasting our
time or our trouble.

The infantry halted about three thousand yards from the enemy's
position, and the artillery, which numbered fourteen guns, trotted
forward and came into action. All these movements, which had been very
deliberately made, had taken a long time, and it was now nearly five
o'clock. Dark thunder-clouds and a drizzle of rain descended on the
silent Boer position, and the range of hills along which it stretched
lay in deep shadow as if under the frown of Heaven. Our batteries also
were ranged in this gloomy zone, but with the reserves and on the hill
whence we were watching there was bright sunlight.

The bombardment and the storm broke over the Boer entrenchments
simultaneously. A swift succession of fierce red flashes stabbed out
from the patches of gunners, teams, and waggons, and with yellow gleams
soft white balls of smoke appeared among the houses of Colenso and above
the belts of scrub which extend on either side. The noise of explosions
of gun and projectile came back to us on the hill in regular order, and
above them rang the startling discharges of the 4.7-inch naval guns,
whose shells in bursting raised huge brown dust clouds from houses,
trench, or hillside. At the same time the thunder began to rumble, and
vivid streaks of blue light scarred the sombre hills. We watched the
impressive spectacle in safety and the sunlight.

Besides creating a diversion in favour of Ladysmith the object of our
demonstration was to make the enemy reveal his position and especially
the positions of his guns. In this latter respect, however, we were
defeated. Though they must have suffered some loss and more annoyance
from the bombardment, and though much of the infantry was well within
the range of their guns, the Boers declined to be drawn, and during two
hours' shelling they did not condescend to give a single shot in reply.
It needs a patient man to beat a Dutchman at waiting. So about seven
o'clock we gave up trying.

It had been intended to leave the troops on the enemy's front until
night and withdraw them after dark, the idea being to make him anxious
lest a night attack should be designed. But as some of the battalions
had turned out without having their dinners, Sir Francis Clery decided
not to keep them under arms longer, and the whole force withdrew
gracefully and solemnly to camp.

Here we found news from Ladysmith. 'Enemy everywhere repulsed for the
present.' For the present! Hold on only a little longer, gallant
garrison, and if it be in the power of 25,000 British soldiers to help
you, your troubles and privations shall soon be ended--and what a dinner
we will have together then!

That night we tried to congratulate or encourage Ladysmith, and the
searchlight perseveringly flashed the Morse code on the clouds. But
before it had been working half an hour the Boer searchlight saw it and
hurried to interfere, flickering, blinking, and crossing to try to
confuse the dots and dashes, and appeared to us who watched this curious
aerial battle--Briton and Boer fighting each other in the sky with
vibrations of ether--to confuse them very effectually.

Next morning, however, the sun came out for uncertain periods, and
Ladysmith was able to tell her own story briefly and jerkily, but still
a very satisfactory account.

At two o'clock, according to Sir George White, the Boers in great
numbers, evidently reinforced from Colenso, surprised the pickets and
began a general attack on the outpost line round the town, particularly
directing their efforts on Caesar's Camp and Waggon Hill. The fighting
became very close, and the enemy, who had after all hardened their
hearts, pushed the attack with extraordinary daring and vigour. Some of
the trenches on Waggon Hill were actually taken three times by the
assailants. But every time General Hamilton--the skilful Hamilton as he
has been called--flung them out again by counterattacks. At one place,
indeed, they succeeded in holding on all day, nor was it until the dusk
of the evening, when the rain and thunderstorm which we saw hanging over
Colenso broke on Ladysmith, that Colonel Park led forth the Devon
Regiment--who, having had half their officers killed or wounded by a
shell some days before, were probably spiteful--and drove the Dutchmen
helter skelter at the point of the bayonet. So that by night the Boers
were repulsed at every point, with necessarily great slaughter, greater
at any rate than on our side. Their first experience of assaulting!
Encore!

Battles now-a-days are fought mainly with firearms, but no troops,
however brave, however well directed, can enjoy the full advantage of
their successes if they exclude the possibilities of cold steel and are
not prepared to maintain what they have won, if necessary with their
fists. The moral strength of an army which welcomes the closest personal
encounter must exceed that of an army which depends for its victories
only on being able to kill its foes at a distance. The bayonet is the
most powerful weapon we possess out here. Firearms kill many of the
enemy, but it is the white weapon that makes them run away. Rifles can
inflict the loss, but victory depends, for us at least, on the bayonets.

Of the losses we as yet know nothing, except that Lord Ava is seriously
wounded, a sad item for which the only consolation is that the Empire is
worth the blood of its noblest citizens. But for the general result we
rejoice. Ladysmith, too, is proud and happy. Only ten thousand of us,
and look what we do! A little reproachfully, perhaps; for it is dull
work fighting week after week without alcohol or green vegetables.

Well, it looks as if their trials were very nearly over. Sir Charles
Warren's Division marches to Frere to-day. All the hospitals have been
cleared ready for those who may need them. If all's well we shall have
removed the grounds of reproach by this day week. The long interval
between the acts has come to an end. The warning bell has rung. Take
your seats, ladies and gentlemen. The curtain is about to rise.

'High time, too,' say the impatient audience, and with this I must
agree; for, looking from my tent as I write, I can see the smoke-puff
bulging on Bulwana Hill as 'Long Tom' toils through his seventy-second
day of bombardment, and the white wisp seems to beckon the relieving
army onward.

CHAPTER XV

THE DASH FOR POTGIETER'S FERRY

Spearman's Hill: January 13, 1900.

Secrets usually leak out in a camp, no matter how many people are
employed to keep them. For two days before January 10 rumours of an
impending move circulated freely. There are, moreover, certain signs by
which anyone who is acquainted with the under machinery of an army can
tell when operations are imminent. On the 6th we heard that orders had
been given to clear the Pietermaritzburg hospitals of all patients,
evidently because new inmates were expected. On the 7th it was reported
that the hospitals were all clear. On the 8th an ambulance train emptied
the field hospitals at Frere, and that same evening there arrived seven
hundred civilian stretcher-bearers--brave men who had volunteered to
carry wounded under fire, and whom the army somewhat ungratefully
nicknames the 'Body-snatchers.' Nor were these grim preparations the
only indications of approaching activity. The commissariat told tales of
accumulations of supplies--twenty-one days' packed in waggons--of the
collection of transport oxen and other details, meaningless by
themselves, but full of significance when viewed side by side with other
circumstances. Accordingly I was scarcely surprised when, chancing to
ride from Chieveley to Frere on the afternoon of the 10th, I discovered
the whole of Sir Charles Warren's division added to the already
extensive camp.

This was the first move of the complicated operations by which Sir
Redvers Buller designed to seize the passage of the Tugela at
Potgieter's Ferry: Warren (seven battalions, comprising Coke's and
Woodgate's Brigades and five batteries) from Estcourt to Frere. When I
got back to Chieveley all was bustle in the camp. Orders to march at
dawn had arrived. At last the long pause was finished; waiting was
over; action had begun.

So far as Chieveley was concerned, the following was the programme:
Barton's Brigade to entrench itself strongly and to remain before
Colenso, covering the head of the line of communications, and
demonstrating against the position; Hildyard's Brigade to move westward
at daylight on the 11th to Pretorius's Farm; cavalry, guns, and baggage
(miles of it) to take a more circuitous route to the same place. Thither
also Hart was to move from Frere, joining Hildyard and forming Clery's
division. Warren was to rest until the next day. The force for the
relief of Ladysmith, exclusive of Barton's Brigade and communication
troops, was organised as follows:

_Commander-in-Chief_: SIR REDVERS BULLER

CLERY'S DIVISION Warren's Division
consisting of consisting of

Hildyard's Brigade, Lyttelton's Brigade,
Hart's Brigade, Woodgate's Brigade,
1 squad. 13th Hussars, 1 squad. 15th Hussars,
3 batteries, 3 batteries,
R.E. R.E.

CORPS TROOPS

Coke's Brigade (3 battalions),
1 field battery R.A.,
1 howitzer battery R.A.,
2 4.7-inch naval guns and Naval Brigade,
8 long-range naval 12-pounder guns,
1 squadron 13th Hussars,
R.E., &c.

CAVALRY (DUNDONALD)

1st Royal Dragoons.
14th Hussars.
4 squadrons South African Light Horse.
1 squadron Imperial Light Horse.
Bethune's Mounted Infantry.
Thorneycroft's Mounted Infantry.
1 squadron Natal Carabineers.
1 squadron Natal Police.
1 company K.R.R. Mounted Infantry.
6 machine guns.

Or, to sum the whole up briefly, 19,000 infantry, 3,000 cavalry, and 60
guns.

All were busy with their various tasks--Barton's Brigade entrenching,
making redoubts and shelter pits, or block-houses of railway iron; the
other brigades packing up ready for the march as night closed in. In
the morning we started. The cavalry were responsible for the safety of
the baggage convoy, and with Colonel Byng, who commanded the column, I
waited and watched the almost interminable procession defile. Ox waggons
piled high with all kinds of packages, and drawn sometimes by ten or
twelve pairs of oxen, mule waggons, Scotch carts, ambulance waggons,
with huge Red Cross flags, ammunition carts, artillery, slaughter
cattle, and, last of all, the naval battery, with its two enormous
4.7-inch pieces, dragged by long strings of animals, and guarded by
straw-hatted khaki-clad bluejackets, passed in imposing array, with here
and there a troop of cavalry to protect them or to prevent straggling.
And here let me make an unpleasant digression. The vast amount of
baggage this army takes with it on the march hampers its movements and
utterly precludes all possibility of surprising the enemy. I have never
before seen even officers accommodated with tents on service, though
both the Indian frontier and the Soudan lie under a hotter sun than
South Africa. But here to day, within striking distance of a mobile
enemy whom we wish to circumvent, every private soldier has canvas
shelter, and the other arrangements are on an equally elaborate scale.
The consequence is that roads are crowded, drifts are blocked, marching
troops are delayed, and all rapidity of movement is out of the question.
Meanwhile, the enemy completes the fortification of his positions, and
the cost of capturing them rises. It is a poor economy to let a soldier
live well for three days at the price of killing him on the fourth.[1]

We marched off with the rearguard at last, and the column twisted away
among the hills towards the west. After marching about three miles we
reached the point where the track from Frere joined the track from
Chieveley, and here two streams of waggons flowed into one another like
the confluence of rivers. Shortly after this all the mounted forces
with the baggage were directed to concentrate at the head of the column,
and, leaving the tardy waggons to toil along at their own pace, we
trotted swiftly forward. Pretorius's Farm was reached at noon--a
tin-roofed house, a few sheds, a dozen trees, and an artificial pond
filled to the brim by the recent rains. Here drawn up in the spacious
plain were the Royal Dragoons--distinguished from the Colonial Corps by
the bristle of lances bare of pennons above their ranks and by their
great horses--one squadron of the already famous Imperial Light Horse,
and Bethune's Mounted Infantry. The Dragoons remained at the farm, which
was that night to be the camping place of Clery's division. But all the
rest of the mounted forces, about a thousand men, and a battery of
artillery were hurried forward to seize the bridge across the Little
Tugela at Springfield.

So on we ride, 'trot and walk,' lightly and easily over the good turf,
and winding in scattered practical formations among the beautiful
verdant hills of Natal. Presently we topped a ridge and entered a very
extensive basin of country--a huge circular valley of green grass with
sloping hills apparently on all sides and towards the west, bluffs,
rising range above range, to the bright purple wall of the Drakensberg.
Other valleys opened out from this, some half veiled in thin mist,
others into which the sun was shining, filled with a curious blue light,
so that one seemed to be looking down into depths of clear water, and
everyone rejoiced in the splendours of the delightful landscape.

But now we approached Springfield, and perhaps at Springfield we should
find the enemy. Surely if they did not oppose the passage they would
blow up the bridge. Tiny patrols--beetles on a green baize
carpet--scoured the plain, and before we reached the crease--scarcely
perceptible at a mile's distance, in which the Little Tugela flows--word
was brought that no Dutchmen were anywhere to be seen. Captain Gough, it
appeared, with one man had ridden over the bridge in safety; more than
that, had actually explored three miles on the further side: did not
believe there was a Boer this side of the Tugela: would like to push on
to Potgieter's and make certain: 'Perhaps we can seize Potgieter's
to-night. They don't like having a flooded river behind them.' So we
come safely to Springfield--three houses, a long wooden bridge 'erected
by public subscription, at a cost of 4,300_l_.'--half a dozen farms with
their tin roofs and tree clumps seen in the neighbourhood--and no Boers.
Orders were to seize the bridge: seized accordingly; and after all had
crossed and watered in the Little Tugela--swollen by the rains to quite
a considerable Tugela, eighty yards wide--we looked about for something
else to do.

Meanwhile more patrols came in; all told the same tale: no Boers
anywhere. Well, then, let us push on. Why not seize the heights above
Potgieter's? If held, they would cost a thousand men to storm; now,
perhaps, they might be had for nothing. Again, why not? Orders said, 'Go
to Springfield;' nothing about Potgieter's at all. Never mind--if
cavalry had never done more than obey their orders how different
English history would have been! Captain Birdwood, 11th Bengal Lancers,
glorious regiment of the Indian frontier, now on Lord Dundonald's staff,
was for pushing on. All and sundry were eager to get on. 'Have a dash
for it.' It is very easy to see what to do in the field of war until you
put on the thick blue goggles of responsibility. Dundonald reflected,
reflected again, and finally resolved. _Vorwaerts!_ So on we went
accordingly. Three hundred men and two guns were left to hold the
Springfield bridge, seven hundred men and four guns hurried on through
the afternoon to Potgieter's Ferry, or, more properly speaking, the
heights commanding it, and reached them safely at six o'clock, finding a
strong position strengthened by loopholed stone walls, unguarded and
unoccupied. The whole force climbed to the top of the hills, and with
great labour succeeded in dragging the guns with them before night. Then
we sent back to announce what we had done and to ask for reinforcements.

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