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 4,300l.'—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.
Vorwärts! 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.
The necessity for reinforcements seemed very real to me, for I have a
wholesome respect for Boer military enterprise; and after the security of a
great camp the dangers of our lonely unsupported perch on the hills came
home with extra force. 'No Boers this side of the Tugela.' How did we know?
We had not seen any, but the deep valleys along the river might easily
conceal two thousand horsemen. I said to myself, the Boer has always a
reason for everything he does. He left the Springfield bridge standing. It
would have cost him nothing to blow it up. Why, then, had he neglected this
obvious precaution? Again, the position we had seized had actually been
fortified by the enemy. Why, then, had they abandoned it to a parcel of
horsemen without a shot fired? I could quite understand that the flooded
Tugela was not a satisfactory feature to fight in front of, but it seemed
certain that they had some devilry prepared for us somewhere. The uninjured
bridge appeared to me a trap: the unguarded position a bait. Suppose they
were, we should be attacked at daylight. Nothing more than a soldier should
always expect; but what of the position? The line we had to hold to cover
the approaches to our hill-top was far greater than seven hundred men could
occupy. Had we been only cavalry and mounted men we could have fallen back
after the position became untenable, but we were encumbered with four
field-guns—a source of anxiety, not of strength. So I began to long for
infantry. Two thousand good infantry would make everything absolutely
secure. And ten miles away were infantry by thousands, all delighted to
march every mile nearer the front.
We passed a wet and watchful night without food or sleep, and were glad
to find the break of day unbroken by the musketry of a heavy attack. From
our lofty position on the heights the whole country beyond the Tugela was
spread like a map. I sat on a great rock which overhung the valley, and
searched the landscape inch by inch with field glasses. After an hour's
study my feeling of insecurity departed. I learned the answer to the
questions which had perplexed the mind. Before us lay the 'devilry' the
Boers had prepared, and it was no longer difficult to understand why the
Springfield bridge had been spared and the heights abandoned.[2]
The ground fell almost sheer six hundred feet to the flat bottom of the
valley. Beneath, the Tugela curled along like a brown and very sinuous
serpent. Never have I seen such violent twists and bends in a river. At
times the waters seemed to loop back on themselves. One great loop bent
towards us, and at the arch of this the little ferry of Potgieter's floated,
moored to ropes which looked through the field glasses like a spider's web.
The ford, approached by roads cut down through the steep bank, was beside
it, but closed for the time being by the flood. The loop of river enclosed a
great tongue of land which jutted from the hills on the enemy's side almost
to our feet. A thousand yards from the tip of this tongue rose a line of low
kopjes crowned with reddish stones. The whole tongue was virtually ours. Our
guns on the heights or on the bank could sweep it from flank to flank,
enfilade and cross fire. Therefore the passage of the river was assured. We
had obtained what amounted to a practical bridgehead, and could cross
whenever we thought fit. But the explanation of many things lay beyond. At
the base of the tongue, where it sprang from the Boer side of the valley,
the ground rose in a series of gentle grassy slopes to a long horseshoe of
hills, and along this, both flanks resting securely on unfordable reaches of
the river, out of range from our heights of any but the heaviest guns,
approachable by a smooth grass glacis, which was exposed to two or three
tiers of cross-fire and converging fire, ran the enemy's position. Please
look at the sketch below, which shows nothing but what it is meant to.
Plan of Potgieter's Ferry
It will be seen that there is no difficulty in shelling the Boers out of
the little kopjes, of fortifying them, and of passing the army on to the tip
of the tongue; but to get off the tongue on to the smooth plateau that runs
to Ladysmith it was necessary to force the tremendous Boer position
enclosing the tongue. In technical language the possession of the heights
virtually gave us a bridgehead on the Tugela, but the debouches from that
bridgehead were barred by an exterior line of hills fortified and occupied
by the enemy.
What will Sir Redvers Buller do? In a few hours we shall know. To cross
and deliver a frontal attack will cost at least three thousand men. Is a
flank attack possible? Can the position be turned? Fords few and far
between, steep banks, mighty positions on the further banks: such are some
of the difficulties. But everyone has confidence in the general. An officer
who had been serving on the Kimberley side came here. 'I don't understand,'
he said, 'how it is you are all so cheerful here after Colenso. You should
hear the troops at Modeler River.' But it is a poor army that cannot take a
repulse and come up smiling, and when the private soldiers put their faith
in any man they are very constant. Besides, Buller's personality impresses
everyone with the idea of some great reserve of force. Certainly he has
something up his sleeve. The move to Potgieter's has been talked of for a
month and executed with the greatest ostentation and deliberation. Surely
something lies behind it all. So at least we all believe, and in the
meanwhile trust wholeheartedly.
But some part of the army will certainly cross at Potgieter's; and as I
looked down on the smooth smiling landscape it seemed very strange to think
that in a few days it would blaze into a veritable hell. Yet the dark lines
of shelter trenches, the redoubts crowning the hills, the bristle of tiny
black figures busily entrenching against the sky line, hundreds of horses
grazing in the plain, all promised a fierce and stubborn defence. I turned
about. The country to the southward was also visible. What looked to the
naked eye like an endless thin rope lay streaked across the spacious veldt,
and when I looked through the glass I saw that it was ten or twelve miles of
marching men and baggage. The armies were approaching. The collision
impended.
Nothing happened during the day except the capture of the ferry, which
daring enterprise was carried out by volunteers from the South African Light
Horse. Six swimmers, protected by a covering party of twenty men, swam the
flooded Tugela and began to haul the punt back, whereat the Boers concealed
in the kopjes opened a brisk fire at long range on the naked figures, but
did not hit anyone nor prevent them all from bringing the punt safely to our
side: a dashing exploit, of which their regiment—the 'Cockyolibirds,' as the
army, with its customary irreverence, calls us on account of the cock's
feather cockades we wear in our hats (miserable jealousy!)—are immensely
proud.
The falling of the Tugela increased the danger of our position, and I was
delighted when I woke up the next morning, the second of our adventurous
occupation, to find Colonel Sandbach, to whom I had confided my doubts,
outside my tent, saying 'I suppose you'll be happy now. Two battalions have
arrived.' And, sure enough, when I looked southwards, I saw a steady rivulet
of infantry trickling through the gorge, and forming a comfortable brown
inundation in the hollow where our camp lay. A few minutes later Sir Redvers
Buller and his staff rode up to see things for themselves, and then we knew
that all was well.
The General made his way to the great stone we call the observatory, and
lying down on his back peered through a telescope in silence for the best
part of an hour. Then he went off to breakfast with the Cavalry Brigade
staff. A few officers remained behind to take a still more exhaustive view.
'There'll be some wigs on that green before long.' 'What a wonderful sight
it will be from here!' 'What a place to see a battle from!' Two artillerymen
were loitering near. Said one: 'We ought to have the Queen up here, in her
little donkey carriage.' 'Ah, we'd do it all right then,' replied his
comrade. But when I looked at the peaceful plain and reflected on the storm
and tumult presently to burst upon it, I could not help being glad that no
gentle eye would view that bloody panorama.
FOOTNOTES:
[1]
This complaint was not in one respect justified by what followed, for
after we left Spearman's we only saw our tents for a day or two, and at
rare intervals, until Ladysmith was relieved.
[2]
Vide map, opposite p. 366, which will be found to illustrate the
subsequent letters.
