London to Ladysmith via Pretoria by Winston Spencer Churchill

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We waited here near the guns for half an hour, and meanwhile the Boers
searched amid the wreckage for dead and wounded. A few of the wounded
were brought to where we were, and laid on the ground, but most of them
were placed in the shelter of one of the overturned trucks. As I write I
do not know with any certainty what the total losses were, but the Boers
say that they buried five dead, sent ten seriously wounded into
Ladysmith, and kept three severely wounded in their field ambulances.
Besides this, we are told that sixteen severely wounded escaped on the
engine, and we have with the prisoners seven men, including myself,
slightly wounded by splinters or injured in the derailment. If this be
approximately correct, it seems that the casualties in the hour and a
half of fighting were between thirty-five and forty: not many, perhaps,
considering the fire, but out of 120 enough at least.

After a while we were ordered to march on, and looking over the crest of
the hill a strange and impressive sight met the eye. Only about 300 men
had attacked the train, and I had thought that this was the enterprise
of a separate detachment, but as the view extended I saw that this was
only a small part of a large, powerful force marching south, under the
personal direction of General Joubert, to attack Estcourt. Behind every
hill, thinly veiled by the driving rain, masses of mounted men, arranged
in an orderly disorder, were halted, and from the rear long columns of
horsemen rode steadily forward. Certainly I did not see less than 3,000,
and I did not see nearly all. Evidently an important operation was in
progress, and a collision either at Estcourt or Mooi River impended.
This was the long expected advance: worse late than never.

Our captors conducted us to a rough tent which had been set up in a
hollow in one of the hills, and which we concluded was General Joubert's
headquarters. Here we were formed in a line, and soon surrounded by a
bearded crowd of Boers cloaked in mackintosh. I explained that I was a
Special Correspondent, and asked to see General Joubert. But in the
throng it was impossible to tell who were the superiors. My credentials
were taken from me by a man who said he was a Field Cornet, and who
promised that they should be laid before the General forthwith.
Meanwhile we waited in the rain, and the Boers questioned us. My
certificate as a correspondent bore a name better known than liked in
the Transvaal. Moreover, some of the private soldiers had been talking.
'You are the son of Lord Randolph Churchill?' said a Scottish Boer,
abruptly. I did not deny the fact. Immediately there was much talking,
and all crowded round me, looking and pointing, while I heard my name
repeated on every side. 'I am a newspaper correspondent,' I said, 'and
you ought not to hold me prisoner.' The Scottish Boer laughed. 'Oh,' he
said, 'we do not catch lords' sons every day.' Whereat they all
chuckled, and began to explain that I should be allowed to play football
at Pretoria.

All this time I was expecting to be brought before General Joubert, from
whom I had some hopes I should obtain assurances that my character as a
press correspondent would be respected. But suddenly a mounted man rode
up and ordered the prisoners to march away towards Colenso. The escort,
twenty horsemen, closed round us. I addressed their leader, and
demanded either that I should be taken before the General, or that my
credentials should be given back. But the so-called Field Cornet was not
to be seen. The only response was, 'Voorwaerts,' and as it seemed
useless, undignified, and even dangerous to discuss the matter further
with these people, I turned and marched off with the rest.

We tramped for six hours across sloppy fields and along tracks deep and
slippery with mud, while the rain fell in a steady downpour and soaked
everyone to the skin. The Boer escort told us several times not to hurry
and to go our own pace, and once they allowed us to halt for a few
moments. But we had had neither food nor water, and it was with a
feeling of utter weariness that I saw the tin roofs of Colenso rise in
the distance. We were put into a corrugated iron shed near the station,
the floors of which were four inches deep with torn railway forms and
account books. Here we flung ourselves down exhausted, and what with the
shame, the disappointment, the excitement of the morning, the misery of
the present, and physical weakness, it seemed that love of life was
gone, and I thought almost with envy of a soldier I had seen during the
fight lying quite still on the embankment, secure in the calm philosophy
of death from 'the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.'

After the Boers had lit two fires they opened one of the doors of the
shed and told us we might come forth and dry ourselves. A newly
slaughtered ox lay on the ground, and strips of his flesh were given to
us. These we toasted on sticks over the fire and ate greedily, though
since the animal had been alive five minutes before one felt a kind of
cannibal. Other Boers not of our escort who were occupying Colenso came
to look at us. With two of these who were brothers, English by race,
Afrikanders by birth, Boers by choice, I had some conversation. The war,
they said, was going well. Of course, it was a great matter to face the
power and might of the British Empire, still they were resolved. They
would drive the English out of South Africa for ever, or else fight to
the last man. I said:

'You attempt the impossible. Pretoria will be taken by the middle of
March. What hope have you of withstanding a hundred thousand soldiers?'

'If I thought,' said the younger of the two brothers vehemently, 'that
the Dutchmen would give in because Pretoria was taken, I would smash my
rifle on those metals this very moment. We will fight for ever.' I could
only reply:

'Wait and see how you feel when the tide is running the other way. It
does not seem so easy to die when death is near.'

The man said, 'I will wait.'

Then we made friends. I told him that I hoped he would come safely
through the war, and live to see a happier and a nobler South Africa
under the flag which had been good enough for his forefathers; and he
took off his blanket--which he was wearing with a hole in the middle
like a cloak--and gave it to me to sleep in. So we parted, and
presently, as night fell, the Field Cornet who had us in charge bade us
carry a little forage into the shed to sleep on, and then locked us up
in the dark, soldiers, sailors, officers, and Correspondent--a
broken-spirited jumble.

I could not sleep. Vexation of spirit, a cold night, and wet clothes
withheld sweet oblivion. The rights and wrongs of the quarrel, the
fortunes and chances of the war, forced themselves on the mind. What men
they were, these Boers! I thought of them as I had seen them in the
morning riding forward through the rain--thousands of independent
riflemen, thinking for themselves, possessed of beautiful weapons, led
with skill, living as they rode without commissariat or transport or
ammunition column, moving like the wind, and supported by iron
constitutions and a stern, hard Old Testament God who should surely
smite the Amalekites hip and thigh. And then, above the rain storm that
beat loudly on the corrugated iron, I heard the sound of a chaunt. The
Boers were singing their evening psalm, and the menacing notes--more
full of indignant war than love and mercy--struck a chill into my heart,
so that I thought after all that the war was unjust, that the Boers were
better men than we, that Heaven was against us, that Ladysmith,
Mafeking, and Kimberley would fall, that the Estcourt garrison would
perish, that foreign Powers would intervene, that we should lose South
Africa, and that would be the beginning of the end. So for the time I
despaired of the Empire, nor was it till the morning sun--all the
brighter after the rain storms, all the warmer after the chills--struck
in through the windows that things reassumed their true colours and
proportions.

CHAPTER IX

THROUGH THE DUTCH CAMPS

Pretoria: November 30, 1899.

The bitter wind of disappointment pierces even the cloak of sleep.
Moreover, the night was cold and the wet clothes chilled and stiffened
my limbs, provoking restless and satisfactory dreams. I was breakfasting
with President Kruger and General Joubert. 'Have some jam,' said the
President. 'Thanks,' I replied, 'I would rather have marmalade.' But
there was none. Their evident embarrassment communicated itself to me.
'Never mind,' I said, 'I'd just as soon have jam.' But the President was
deeply moved. 'No, no,' he cried; 'we are not barbarians. Whatever you
are entitled to you shall have, if I have to send to Johannesburg for
it.' So he got up to ring the bell, and with the clang I woke.

The first light of dawn was just peering in through the skylight of the
corrugated iron shed. The soldiers lay in a brown litter about the
floor, several snoring horribly. The meaning of it came home with a
slap. Imprisoned; not able to come and go at will; about to be dragged
off and put in some secluded place while others fought the great quarrel
to the end; out of it all--like a pawn taken early in the game and flung
aside into the box. I groaned with vexation, and, sitting up, aroused
Frankland, who shared my blanket. Then the Boers unlocked the doors and
ordered us to get ready to march at once.

The forage which we had spread on the floor rustled, and the first idea
of escape crossed my mind. Why not lie buried underneath this litter
until prisoners and escort had marched away together? Would they count?
Would they notice? I did not think so. They would reason--we know they
all went in; it is certain none could have escaped during the night:
therefore all must be here this morning. Suppose they missed me? 'Where
is the "reporter," with whom we talked last evening?' Haldane would
reply that he must have slipped out of the door before it was shut. They
might scour the country; but would they search the shed? It seemed most
unlikely. The scheme pleased my fancy exceedingly, and I was just
resolving to conceal myself, when one of the guards entered and ordered
everyone to file out forthwith.

We chewed a little more of the ox, slain and toasted the night before,
and drank some rainwater from a large puddle, and, after this frugal
breakfast, intimated that we were ready. Then we set out--a sorry gang
of dirty, tramping prisoners, but yesterday the soldiers of the Queen;
while the fierce old farmers cantered their ponies about the veldt or
closed around the column, looking at us from time to time with
irritating disdain and still more irritating pity. We marched across the
waggon bridge of the Tugela, and following the road, soon entered the
hills. Among these we journeyed for several hours, wading across the
gullies which the heavy rains had turned into considerable streams and
persecuted by the slanting rays of the sun. Here and there parties of
Boers met us, and much handshaking and patting on the back ensued
between the newcomers and our escort. Once we halted at a little field
hospital--a dozen tents and waggons with enormous red-cross flags,
tucked away in a deep hollow.

We passed through Pieters without a check at the same toilsome plod and
on to Nelthorpe. Here we began to approach the Dutch lines of investment
round Ladysmith, and the advance of half an hour brought us to a very
strong picket, where we were ordered to halt and rest. Nearly two
hundred Boers swarmed round in a circle and began at once--for they are
all keen politicians and as curious as children--to ask questions of
every sort. What did we think of South Africa? Would we like to go in an
armoured train again? How long would the English go on fighting? When
would the war end? and the reply, 'When you are beaten,' was received
with shouts of laughter.

'Oh no, old chappie, you can never beat us. Look at Mafeking. We have
taken Mafeking. You will find Baden Powell waiting for you at Pretoria.
Kimberley, too, will fall this week. Rhodes is trying to escape in a
balloon, disguised as a woman--a fine woman.' Great merriment at this.
'What about Ladysmith?' 'Ten days. Ten days more and then we shall have
some whisky.' Listen. There was the boom of a heavy gun, and, turning, I
saw the white cloud of smoke hanging on the crest of Bulwana.

'That goes on always,' said the Boer. 'Can any soldiers bear that long?
Oh, you will find all the English army at Pretoria. Indeed, if it were
not for the sea-sickness we would take England. Besides, do you think
the European Powers will allow you to bully us?'

I said, 'Why bully if you are so strong?'

'Well, why should you come and invade our country?'

'Your country? I thought this was Natal.'

'So it is: but Natal is ours. You stole it from us. Now we take it back
again. That's all.'

A hum of approval ran round the grinning circle. An old Boer came up. He
did not understand what induced the soldiers to go in the armoured
train. Frankland replied, 'Ordered to. Don't you have to obey your
orders?'

The old man shook his head in bewilderment, then he observed, 'I fight
to kill: I do not fight to be killed. If the Field Cornet was to order
me to go in an armoured train, I would say to him, "Field Cornet, go to
hell."'

'Ah, you are not soldiers.'

'But we catch soldiers and kill soldiers and make soldiers run away.'

There was a general chorus of 'Yaw, yaw, yaw,' and grunts of amusement.

'You English,' said a well-dressed man, 'die for your country: we
Afrikanders live for ours.'

I said, 'Surely you don't think you will win this war?'

'Oh, yes; we will win all right this time, just the same as before.'

'But it is not the same as before. Gladstone is dead, they are
determined at home. If necessary they will send three hundred thousand
men and spend a hundred millions.'

'We are not afraid; no matter how many thousand penny soldiers you
send,' and an English Boer added, 'Let 'em all come.'

But there was one discordant note in the full chorus of confidence. It
recurred again and again. 'Where is Buller?' 'When is Buller coming?'
These merry fellows were not without their doubts.

'He will come when the army is ready.'

'But we have beaten the army.'

'No, the war has not begun yet.'

'It's all over for you, old chappie, anyway.'

It was a fair hit. I joined the general laughter, and, reviewing the
incident by the light of subsequent events, feel I had some right to.

Very soon after this we were ordered to march again, and we began to
move to the eastward in the direction of the Bulwana Hill, descending as
we did so into the valley of the Klip River. The report of the
intermittent guns engaged in the bombardment of Ladysmith seemed very
loud and near, and the sound of the British artillery making occasional
reply could be plainly distinguished. After we had crossed the railway
line beyond Nelthorpe I caught sight of another evidence of the
proximity of friends. High above the hills, to the left of the path,
hung a speck of gold-beater's skin. It was the Ladysmith balloon. There,
scarcely two miles away, were safety and honour. The soldiers noticed
the balloon too. 'Those are our blokes,' they said. 'We ain't all
finished yet,' and so they comforted themselves, and a young sergeant
advanced a theory that the garrison would send out cavalry to rescue us.

We kept our eyes on the balloon till it was hidden by the hills, and I
thought of all that lay at the bottom of its rope. Beleaguered
Ladysmith, with its shells, its flies, its fever, and its filth seemed
a glorious paradise to me.

We forded the Klip River breast high, and, still surrounded by our
escort, trudged on towards the laagers behind Bulwana. But it was just
three o'clock, after about ten hours' marching, that we reached the camp
where we were to remain for the night. Having had no food--except the
toasted ox, a disgusting form of nourishment--and being besides unused
to walking far, I was so utterly worn out on arrival that at first I
cared for nothing but to lie down under the shade of a bush. But after
the Field-Cornet had given us some tea and bully beef, and courteously
bidden us to share the shelter of his tent, I felt equal to further
argument.

The Boers were delighted and crowded into the small tent.

'Will you tell us why there is this war?'

I said that it was because they wanted to beat us out of South Africa
and we did not like the idea.

'Oh no, that is not the reason.' Now that the war had begun they would
drive the British into the sea; but if we had been content with what we
had they would not have interfered with us--except to get a port and
have their full independence recognised.

'I will tell you what is the real cause of this war. It's all those
damned capitalists. They want to steal our country, and they have bought
Chamberlain, and now these three, Rhodes, Beit, and Chamberlain, think
they will have the Rand to divide between them afterwards.'

'Don't you know that the gold mines are the property of the
shareholders, many of whom are foreigners--Frenchman and Germans and
others? After the war, whatever government rules, they will still belong
to these people.'

'What are we fighting for then?'

'Because you hate us bitterly, and have armed yourselves in order to
attack us, and we naturally chose to fight when we are not occupied
elsewhere. "Agree with thine adversary whiles thou art in the way with
him.'"

'Don't you think it wicked to try to steal our country?'

'We only want to protect ourselves and our own interests. We didn't want
your country.'

'No, but the damned capitalists do.'

'If you had tried to keep on friendly terms with us there would have
been no war. But you want to drive us out of South Africa. Think of a
great Afrikander Republic--all South Africa speaking Dutch--a United
States under your President and your Flag, sovereign and international.'

Their eyes glittered. 'That's what we want,' said one. 'Yaw, yaw,' said
the others, 'and that's what we're going to have.'

'Well, that's the reason of the war.'

'No, no. You know it's those damned capitalists and Jews who have caused
the war.' And the argument recommenced its orbit.

So the afternoon wore away.

As the evening fell the Commandant required us to withdraw to some tents
which had been pitched at the corner of the laager. A special tent was
provided for the officers, and now, for the first time, they found
themselves separated from their men. I had a moment in which to decide
whether I would rank as officer or private, and chose the former, a
choice I was soon to regret. Gradually it became night. The scene as the
daylight faded was striking and the circumstances were impressive. The
dark shadow of Bulwana mountain flung back over the Dutch camp, and the
rugged, rock-strewn hills rose about it on all sides. The great waggons
were arranged to enclose a square, in the midst of which stood clusters
of variously shaped tents and lines of munching oxen. Within the laager
and around it little fires began to glow, and by their light the figures
of the Boers could be seen busy cooking and eating their suppers, or
smoking in moody, muttering groups. All was framed by the triangular
doorway of the tent, in which two ragged, bearded men sat nursing their
rifles and gazing at their captives in silence. Nor was it till my
companions prepared to sleep that the stolid guards summoned the energy
and wit to ask, in struggling English (for these were real veldt
Boers), the inevitable question, 'And after all, what are we fighting
for? Why is there this war?' But I was tired of arguing, so I said, 'It
is the will of God,' and turned to rest with a more confident feeling
than the night before, for I felt that these men were wearying of the
struggle.

To rest but not to sleep, for the knowledge that the British lines at
Ladysmith lay only five miles away filled my brain with hopes and plans
of escape. I had heard it said that all Dutchmen slept between 12 and 2
o'clock, and I waited, trusting that our sentries would observe the
national custom. But I soon saw that I should have been better situated
with the soldiers. We three officers were twenty yards from the laager,
and around our little tent, as I learned by peering through a rent in
the canvas, no less than four men were posted. At intervals they were
visited or relieved, at times they chatted together; but never for a
minute was their vigilance relaxed, and the continual clicking of the
Mauser breech bolts, as they played with their rifles, unpleasantly
proclaimed their attention. The moon was full and bright, and it was
obvious that no possible chance of success awaited an attempt.

With the soldiers the circumstances were more favourable. Their tent
stood against the angle of the laager, and although the sentries watched
the front and sides it seemed to me that a man might crawl through the
back, and by walking boldly across the laager itself pass safely out
into the night. It was certainly a road none would expect a fugitive to
take; but whatever its chances it was closed to me, for the guard was
changed at midnight and a new sentry stationed between our tent and
those near the laager.

I examined him through the torn tent. He was quite a child--a boy of
about fourteen--and needless to say appreciated the importance of his
duties. He played this terrible game of soldiers with all his heart and
soul; so at last I abandoned the idea of flight and fell asleep.

In the morning, before the sun was up, the Commandant Davel came to
rouse us. The prisoners were to march at once to Elandslaagte Station.
'How far?' we asked, anxiously, for all were very footsore. 'Only a very
little way--five hours' slow walking.' We stood up--for we had slept in
our clothes and cared nothing for washing--and said that we were ready.
The Commandant then departed, to return in a few minutes bringing some
tea and bully beef, which he presented to us with an apology for the
plainness of the fare. He asked an English-speaking Boer to explain that
they had nothing better themselves. After we had eaten and were about to
set forth, Dayel said, through his interpreter, that he would like to
know from us that we were satisfied with the treatment we met with at
his laager. We gladly gave him the assurance, and with much respect bade
good-bye to this dignified and honourable enemy. Then we were marched
away over the hills towards the north, skirting the picket line round
Ladysmith to the left. Every half-mile or so the road led through or by
some Boer laager, and the occupants--for it was a quiet day in the
batteries--turned out in hundreds to look at us. I do not know how many
men I saw, but certainly during this one march not less than 5,000. Of
this great number two only offered insults to the gang of prisoners. One
was a dirty, mean-looking little Hollander. He said, 'Well, Tommy,
you've got your franchise, anyhow.' The other was an Irishman. He
addressed himself to Frankland, whose badges proclaimed his regiment.
What he said when disentangled from obscenity amounted to this: 'I am
glad to see you Dublin fellows in trouble.' The Boers silenced him at
once and we passed on. But that was all the taunting we received during
the whole journey from Frere Station to Pretoria, and when one remembers
that the Burghers are only common men with hardly any real discipline,
the fact seems very remarkable. But little and petty as it was it galled
horribly. The soldiers felt the sting and scowled back; the officers
looked straight before them. Yet it was a valuable lesson. Only a few
days before I had read in the newspapers of how the Kaffirs had jeered
at the Boer prisoners when they were marched into Pietermaritzburg,
saying, 'Where are your passes?' It had seemed a very harmless joke
then, but now I understood how a prisoner feels these things.

It was about eleven o'clock when we reached Elandslaagte Station. A
train awaited the prisoners. There were six or seven closed vans for the
men and a first-class carriage for the officers. Into a compartment of
this we were speedily bundled. Two Boers with rifles sat themselves
between us, and the doors were locked. I was desperately hungry, and
asked for both food and water. 'Plenty is coming,' they said, so we
waited patiently, and sure enough, in a few minutes a railway official
came along the platform, opened the door, and thrust before us in
generous profusion two tins of preserved mutton, two tins of preserved
fish, four or five loaves, half a dozen pots of jam, and a large can of
tea. As far as I could see the soldiers fared no worse. The reader will
believe that we did not stand on ceremony, but fell to at once and made
the first satisfying meal for three days. While we ate a great crowd of
Boers gathered around the train and peered curiously in at the windows.
One of them was a doctor, who, noticing that my hand was bound up,
inquired whether I were wounded. The cut caused by the splinter of
bullet was insignificant, but since it was ragged and had received no
attention for two days it had begun to fester. I therefore showed him my
hand, and he immediately bustled off to get bandages and hot water and
what not, with which, amid the approving grins of the rough fellows who
thronged the platform, he soon bound me up very correctly.

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