Estcourt: November 9, 1899.
How many more letters shall I write you from an unsatisfactory address?
Sir George White's Headquarters are scarcely forty miles away, but between
them and Estcourt stretches the hostile army. Whether it may be possible or
wise to try to pass the lines of investment is a question which I cannot yet
decide; and meanwhile I wait here at the nearest post collecting such
information as dribbles through native channels, and hoping that early
events may clear the road. To wait is often weary work—but even at this
exciting time I come to a standstill at length with a distinct feeling of
relief. The last month has been passed in continual travel. The fading,
confused faces at Waterloo as the train swept along the platform; the
cheering crowds at Southampton; the rolling decks of the 'Dunottar Castle;'
the suspense, the excitement of first news; a brief day's scurry at Cape
Town; the journey to East London by the last train to pass along the
frontier; the tumultuous voyage in the 'Umzimvubu' amid so great a gale that
but for the Royal Mail the skipper would have put back to port; on without a
check to Pietermaritzburg, and thence, since the need seemed urgent and the
traffic slow, by special train here—all moving, restless pictures—and here
at last—a pause.
Let us review the situation. On Wednesday last, on November 1, the Boer
lines of investment drew round Ladysmith. On Thursday the last train passed
down the railway under the fire of artillery. That night the line was cut
about four miles north of Colenso. Telegraphic communication also ceased. On
Friday Colenso was itself attacked. A heavy gun came into action from the
hills which dominate the town, and the slender garrison of infantry
volunteers and naval brigade evacuated in a hurry, and, covered to some
extent by the armoured train, fell back on Estcourt.
Estcourt is a South African town—that is to say, it is a collection of
about three hundred detached stone or corrugated iron houses, nearly all
one-storied, arranged along two broad streets—for space is plentiful—or
straggling away towards the country. The little place lies in a cup of the
hills, which rise in green undulations on all sides. For this reason it will
be a very difficult place to defend if the invaders should come upon it. It
is, besides, of mean and insignificant aspect; but, like all these towns in
Natal, it is the centre of a large agricultural district, at once the market
and the storehouse of dozens of prosperous farms scattered about the
country, and consequently it possesses more importance than the passing
stranger would imagine. Indeed, it was a surprise to find on entering the
shops how great a variety and quantity of goods these unpretentious shanties
contained.
Estcourt now calls itself 'The Front.' There is another front forty miles
away, but that is ringed about by the enemy, and since we live in
expectation of attack, with no one but the Boers beyond the outpost line,
Estcourt considers that its claim is just, Colonel Wolfe Murray, the officer
who commands the lines of communication of the Natal Field Force, hastened
up as soon as the news of the attack on Colenso was received to make
preparation to check the enemy's advance.
The force at his disposal is not, however, large—two British
battalions—the Dublin Fusiliers, who fought at Glencoe, and were hurried out
of Ladysmith to strengthen the communications when it became evident that a
blockade impended, and the Border Regiment from Malta, a squadron of the
Imperial Light Horse, 300 Natal volunteers with 25 cyclists, and a volunteer
battery of nine-pounder guns—perhaps 2,000 men in all. With so few it would
be quite impossible to hold the long line of hills necessary for the
protection of the town, but a position has been selected and fortified,
where the troops can maintain themselves—at any rate for several days. But
the confidence of the military authorities in the strength of Estcourt may
be gauged by the frantic efforts they are making to strengthen
Pietermaritzburg, seventy-six miles, and even Durban, one hundred and thirty
miles further back, by earthworks and naval guns. 'The Boers invade Natal!'
exclaims Mr. Labouchere in the number of 'Truth' current out here. 'As
likely that the Chinese army should invade London.' But he is not the only
false prophet.
It seems, however, certain that a considerable force will be moved here
soon to restore the situation and to relieve Ladysmith. Meanwhile we wait,
not without anxiety or impatience. The Imperial Horse, a few mounted
infantry, the volunteer cyclists, and the armoured train, patrol daily
towards Colenso and the north, always expecting to see the approaching Boer
commandos. Yesterday I travelled with the armoured train. This armoured
train is a very puny specimen, having neither gun nor Maxims, with no roof
to its trucks and no shutters to its loopholes, and being in every way
inferior to the powerful machines I saw working along the southern frontier.
Nevertheless it is a useful means of reconnaissance, nor is a journey in it
devoid of interest. An armoured train! The very name sounds strange; a
locomotive disguised as a knight-errant; the agent of civilisation in the
habiliments of chivalry. Mr. Morley attired as Sir Lancelot would seem
scarcely more incongruous. The possibilities of attack added to the keenness
of the experience. We started at one o'clock. A company of the Dublin
Fusiliers formed the garrison. Half were in the car in front of the engine,
half in that behind. Three empty trucks, with a platelaying gang and spare
rails to mend the line, followed. The country between Estcourt and Colenso
is open, undulating, and grassy. The stations, which occur every four or
five miles, are hamlets consisting of half a dozen corrugated iron houses,
and perhaps a score of blue gum trees. These little specks of habitation are
almost the only marked feature of the landscape, which on all sides spreads
in pleasant but monotonous slopes of green. The train maintained a good
speed; and, though it stopped repeatedly to question Kaffirs or country
folk, and to communicate with the cyclists and other patrols who were
scouring the country on the flanks, reached Chieveley, five miles from
Colenso, by about three o'clock; and from here the Ladysmith balloon, a
brown speck floating above and beyond the distant hills, was plainly
visible.
Beyond Chieveley it was necessary to observe more caution. The speed was
reduced—the engine walked warily. The railway officials scanned the track,
and often before a culvert or bridge was traversed we disembarked and
examined it from the ground. At other times long halts were made while the
officers swept the horizon and the distant hills with field glasses and
telescopes. But the country was clear and the line undamaged, and we
continued our slow advance. Presently Colenso came into view—a hundred
tin-pot houses under the high hills to the northward. We inspected it
deliberately. On a mound beyond the village rose the outline of the sandbag
fort constructed by the Naval Brigade. The flagstaff, without the flag,
still stood up boldly. But, so far as we could tell, the whole place was
deserted.
There followed a discussion. Perhaps the Boers were lying in wait for the
armoured train; perhaps they had trained a gun on some telegraph post, and
would fire the moment the engine passed it; or perhaps, again, they were
even now breaking the line behind us. Some Kaffirs approached respectfully,
saluting. A Natal Volunteer—one of the cyclists—came forward to interrogate.
He was an intelligent little man, with a Martini-Metford rifle, a large pair
of field glasses, a dainty pair of grey skin cycling shoes, and a slouch
hat. He questioned the natives, and reported their answers. The Kaffirs said
that the Dutchmen were assuredly in the neighbourhood. They had been seen
only that morning. 'How many?' The reply was vague—twelve, or seventeen, or
one thousand; also they had a gun—or five guns—mounted in the old fort, or
on the platform of the station, or on the hill behind the town. At daylight
they had shelled Colenso. 'But why,' we asked, 'should they shell Colenso?'
Evidently to make sure of the range of some telegraph post. 'It only takes
one shell to do the trick with the engine,' said the captain who commanded.
'Got to hit us first, though,' he added. 'Well, let's get a little bit
nearer.'
The electric bell rang three times, and we crept forward—halted—looked
around, forward again—halt again—another look round; and so, yard by yard,
we approached Colenso. Half a mile away we stopped finally. The officer,
taking a sergeant with him, went on towards the village on foot. I followed.
We soon reached the trenches that had been made by the British troops before
they evacuated the place. 'Awful rot giving this place up,' said the
officer. 'These lines took us a week to dig.' From here Colenso lay exposed
about two hundred yards away—a silent, desolate village. The streets were
littered with the belongings of the inhabitants. Two or three houses had
been burned. A dead horse lay in the road, his four legs sticking stiffly up
in the air, his belly swollen. The whole place had evidently been ransacked
and plundered by the Boers and the Kaffirs. A few natives loitered near the
far end of the street, and one, alarmed at the aspect of the train, waved a
white rag on a stick steadily to and fro. But no Dutchmen were to be seen.
We made our way back to the railway line and struck it at the spot where it
was cut. Two lengths of rails had been lifted up, and, with the sleepers
attached to them, flung over the embankment. The broken telegraph wires
trailed untidily on the ground. Several of the posts were twisted. But the
bridge across the Tugela was uninjured, and the damage to the lines was such
as could be easily repaired. The Boers realise the advantage of the railway.
At this moment, with their trains all labelled 'To Durban,' they are drawing
supplies along it from Pretoria to within six miles of Ladysmith. They had
resolved to use it in their further advance, and their confidence in the
ultimate issue is shown by the care with which they avoid seriously damaging
the permanent way. We had learned all that there was to learn—where the line
was broken, that the village was deserted, that the bridge was safe, and we
made haste to rejoin the train. Then the engine was reversed, and we
withdrew out of range of the hills beyond Colenso at full speed—and some
said that the Boers did not fire because they hoped to draw us nearer, and
others that there were no Boers within ten miles.
On the way back I talked with the volunteer. He was friendly and
communicative. 'Durban Light Infantry,' he said; 'that's my corps. I'm a
builder myself by trade—nine men under me. But I had to send them all away
when I was called out. I don't know how I'm going on when I get back after
it's over. Oh, I'm glad to come. I wish I was in Ladysmith. You see these
Dutchmen have come quite far enough into our country. The Imperial
Government promised us protection. You've seen what protection Colenso got;
Dundee and Newcastle, just the same; I don't doubt they've tried their best,
and I don't blame them; but we want help here badly. I don't hold with a man
crying out for help unless he makes a start himself, so I came out. I'm a
cyclist. I've got eight medals at home for cycling.'
'How will you like a new one—with the Queen's head on it?'
His eye brightened.
'Ah,' he said, 'I should treasure that more than all the other eight—even
more than the twenty-mile championship one.'
So we rattled back to Estcourt through the twilight; and the long car,
crowded with brown-clad soldiers who sprawled smoking on the floor or
lounged against the sides, the rows of loopholes along the iron walls, the
black smoke of the engine bulging overhead, the sense of headlong motion,
and the atmosphere of war made the volunteer seem perhaps more than he was;
and I thought him a true and valiant man, who had come forward in time of
trouble quietly and soberly to bear his part in warfare, and who was ready,
if necessary, to surrender his humble life in honourably sustaining the
quarrel of the State. Nor do I care to correct the impression now.
