Frere: January 4, 1900.
December 25.—Christmas Day! 'Glory to God in the Highest, and on earth,
peace and goodwill towards men.' So no great shells were fired into the Boer
entrenchments at dawn, and the hostile camps remained tranquil throughout
the day. Even the pickets forbore to snipe each other, and both armies
attended divine service in the morning and implored Heaven's blessing on
their righteous causes. In the afternoon the British held athletic sports,
an impromptu military tournament, and a gymkhana, all of which caused much
merriment and diversion, and the Boers profited by the cessation of the
shell fire to shovel away at their trenches. In the evening there were
Christmas dinners in our camp—roast beef, plum pudding, a quart of beer for
everyone, and various smoking concerts afterwards. I cannot describe the
enemy's festivities.
But since that peaceful day we have had desultory picket firing, and the
great guns in the naval battery have spoken whenever an opportunity
presented itself. The opposing outpost lines are drawn so far apart that
with the best intentions they can scarcely harm each other. But the long
range of the smallbore rifles encourages fancy shooting, so that there is
often a brisk fusillade and no one any the worse. On our side we have only
had one infantry soldier wounded. We do not know what the fortunes of the
Boers may have been, but it is probable that they lose a few men every day
from the bombardment, and certain that on Monday last there were three
burghers killed and several wounded and one horse. It happened in this wise:
beyond the strong Infantry pickets which remain in position always, there is
a more or less extended line of cavalry outposts, which are sprinkled all
along the kopjes to the east and west of the camp, and are sometimes nearly
three miles from it. On the Monday in question—New Year's Day to wit—200
Boers set forth and attacked our picket on the extreme right. The picket,
which was composed of the South African Light Horse, fell back with
discretion, and the Boers following without their usual caution did not
observe that eight troopers had been dropped behind among the rocks and
ledges of a donga; so that when twelve of them attempted to make their way
up this natural zigzag approach in order to fire upon the retiring picket
they were themselves received at 400 yards by a well-directed sputter of
musketry, and were glad to make off with five riderless horses, two men upon
one horse, and leaving three lying quite still on the ground. Thereafter the
picket continued to retreat unmolested.
Indeed, the New Year opened well, and many little things seem to favour
the hope that it is the turning point of the war. Besides our tiny skirmish
on the right, Captain Gough, of the 16th Lancers, on the left, made his way
along a convenient depression, almost to the river bank, and discovered
Boers having tea in their camp at scarcely 1,800 yards. Forthwith he opened
fire, causing great commotion; hurried upsetting of the tea, scrambling into
tents for rifle, 'confounded impudence of these cursed rooineks! Come
quickly Hans, Pieter, O'Brien, and John Smith, and let us mend their
manners. What do they mean by harassing us?' And in a very few minutes there
was a wrathful rattle of firing all along the trenches on the hillside,
which spread far away to the right and left as other Boers heard it. What
the deuce is this? Another attack! Till at last the Maxim shell gun caught
the infection, and began pom, pom, pom! pom, pom, pom! and so on at
intervals. Evidently much angry passion was aroused in the Boer camp, and
all because Captain Gough had been trying his luck at long range volleys.
The situation might have become serious; the event was, however, fortunate.
No smoke betrayed the position of the scouting party; no bullets found them.
A heavy shower of metal sang and whistled at random in the air. The donga
afforded an excellent line of retreat, and when the adventurous patrol had
retired safely into the camp they were amused to hear the Boers still busy
with the supposed chastisement of their audacious assailants.
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.'
