East London: November 5, 1899.
We have left Headquarters busy with matters that as yet concern no one
but themselves in the Mount Nelson Hotel at Cape Town—a most excellent and
well-appointed establishment, which may be thoroughly appreciated after a
sea voyage, and which, since many of the leading Uitlanders have taken up
their abode there during the war, is nicknamed 'The Helot's Rest.' Last
night I started by rail for East London, whence a small ship carries the
weekly English mail to Natal, and so by this circuitous route I hope to
reach Ladysmith on Sunday morning. We have thus gained three days on our
friends who proceed by the 'Dunottar Castle,' and who were mightily
concerned when they heard—too late to follow—of our intentions. But though
it is true in this case that the longest way round is the shortest way,
there were possibilities of our journey being interrupted, because the line
from De Aar Junction to Naauwpoort runs parallel to the southern frontier of
the Free State, and though hostile enterprises have not yet been attempted
against this section of the railways they must always be expected.
Railway travelling in South Africa is more expensive but just as
comfortable as in India. Lying-down accommodation is provided for all, and
meals can be obtained at convenient stopping places. The train, which is
built on the corridor system, runs smoothly over the rails—so smoothly,
indeed, that I found no difficulty in writing. The sun is warm, and the air
keen and delicious. But the scenery would depress the most buoyant spirits.
We climbed up the mountains during the night, and with the daylight the
train was in the middle of the Great Karroo. Wherefore was this miserable
land of stone and scrub created? Huge mounds of crumbling rock, fashioned by
the rains into the most curious and unexpected shapes, rise from the gloomy
desert of the plain. Yet, though the Karroo looks a hopeless wilderness,
flocks of sheep at distant intervals—one sheep requires six hundred acres of
this scrappy pasture for nourishment—manage to subsist; and in consequence,
now and again the traveller sees some far-off farm.
We look about eagerly for signs of war. Little is as yet to be seen, and
the Karroo remains unsympathetic. But all along the southern frontier of the
Free State the expectation of early collision grows. The first sign after
leaving Cape Town is the Proclamation against treason published by Sir
Alfred Milner. The notice-boards of the railway stations are freely
placarded with the full text in English and Dutch, beginning with 'Whereas a
state of war exists between the Government of her Majesty and the
Governments of the South African Republic and of the Orange Free State ...'
continuing to enjoin good and loyal behaviour on all, detailing the pains
and penalties for disobedience, and ending with 'God save the Queen.' Both
races have recorded their opinions on their respective versions: the British
by underlining the penalties, the Dutch by crossing out the first word of
'God Save the Queen.' It is signed 'A. Milner,' and below, in bitter irony,
'W.P. Schreiner.'
Beyond Matjesfontein every bridge, and even every culvert, is watched by
a Kaffir with a flag, so that the train runs no risk of coming on unexpected
demolitions. On the road to De Aar we passed the second half of the Brigade
Division of Artillery, which sailed so long ago from the Mersey in the
notorious transports 'Zibengla' and 'Zayathla.' The gunners were hurrying to
the front in three long trains, each taking half a battery complete with
guns, horses, and men. All were light-hearted and confident, as soldiers
going off to the wars always are, and in this case their, satisfaction at
being on land after five weeks of uncomfortable voyage in antiquated ships
was easily to be understood. But this is no time for reproaches.
At Beaufort West grave news awaited the mail, and we learned of the
capitulation of twelve hundred soldiers near Ladysmith. It is generally
believed that this will precipitate a rising of the Dutch throughout this
part of the colony and an invasion by the commandos now gathered along the
Orange River. The Dutch farmers talk loudly and confidently of 'our
victories,' meaning those of the Boers, and the racial feeling runs high.
But the British colonists have an implicit faith—marvellous when the past is
remembered—in the resolve of the Imperial Government and of the nation never
to abandon them again.
At De Aar the stage of our journey which may be said to have been
uncertain began. Armoured trains patrol the line; small parties of armed
police guard the bridges; infantry and artillery detachments occupy the
towns. De Aar, Colesberg, and Stormberg are garrisoned as strongly as the
present limited means allow, and all the forces, regulars and volunteers
alike, are full of enthusiasm. But, on the other hand, the reports of Boer
movements seem to indicate that a hostile advance is imminent. The Colesberg
bridge across the Orange River has been seized by the enemy, the line
between Bethulie and Colesberg has just been cut, and each train from De Aar
to Stormberg is expected to be the last to pass unassailed. We, however,
slept peacefully through the night, and, passing Colesberg safely, arrived
at Stormberg, beyond which all is again secure.
Stormberg Junction stands at the southern end of a wide expanse of
rolling grass country, and though the numerous rocky hills, or kopjes as
they are called, which rise inconveniently on all sides, make its defence by
a small force difficult, a large force occupying an extended position would
be secure. Here we found the confirmation of many rumours. The news of a
Boer advance on Burghersdorp, twenty-five miles away, is, it seems, well
founded, and when our train arrived the evacuation of Stormberg by its
garrison, of a half-battalion of the Berkshire Regiment, 350 men of the
Naval Brigade, a company of mounted infantry, and a few guns, was busily
proceeding.
The sailors were already in their train, and only prevented from starting
by the want of an engine. The infantry and artillery were to start in a few
hours. It is rather an unsatisfactory business, though the arrival of more
powerful forces will soon restore the situation. Stormberg is itself an
important railway junction. For more than a week the troops have been
working night and day to put it in a state of defence. Little redoubts have
been built on the kopjes, entrenchments have been dug, and the few houses
near the station are already strongly fortified. I was shown one of these by
the young officer in charge. The approaches were, cleared of everything
except wire fences and entanglements; the massive walls were loopholed, the
windows barricaded with sandbags, and the rooms inside broken one into the
other for convenience in moving about.
Its garrison of twenty-five men and its youthful commander surveyed the
work with pride. They had laid in stores of all kinds for ten days, and none
doubted that Fort Chabrol, as they called it, would stand a gallant siege.
Then suddenly had come the message to evacuate and retreat. So it was with
the others. The train with the naval detachment and its guns steamed off,
and we gave it a feeble cheer. Another train awaited the Berkshires. The
mounted infantry were already on the march. 'Mayn't we even blow up this
lot?' said a soldier, pointing to the house he had helped to fortify. But
there was no such order, only this one which seemed to pervade the air: 'The
enemy are coming. Retreat—retreat—retreat!' The stationmaster—one of the
best types of Englishmen to be found on a long journey—was calm and
cheerful.
'No more traffic north of this,' he said. 'Yours was the last train
through from De Aar. I shall send away all my men by the special to-night.
And that's the end as far as Stormberg goes.'
'And you?'
'Oh, I shall stay. I have lived here for twelve years, and am well known.
Perhaps I may be able to protect the company's property.'
While we waited the armoured train returned from patrolling—an engine
between two carriages cloaked from end to end with thick plates and slabs of
blue-grey iron. It had seen nothing of the advancing Boers, but, like us and
like the troops, it had to retire southwards. There were fifty Uitlanders
from Johannesburg on the platform. They had been employed entrenching; now
they were bundled back again towards East London.
So we left Stormberg in much anger and some humiliation, and jolted away
towards the open sea, where British supremacy is not yet contested by the
Boer. At Molteno we picked up a hundred volunteers—fine-looking fellows all
eager to encounter the enemy, but much surprised at the turn events had
taken. They, too, were ordered to fall back. The Boers were advancing, and
to despondent minds even the rattle of the train seemed to urge 'Retreat,
retreat, retreat.'
I do not desire to invest this wise and prudent though discouraging move
with more than its proper importance. Anything is better than to leave small
garrisons to be overwhelmed. Until the Army Corps comes, the situation will
continue to be unsatisfactory, and the ground to be recovered afterwards
will increase in extent. But with the arrival of powerful and well-equipped
forces the tide of war will surely turn.
