In
the grey dawn of the 21st of October a number of scouts I had despatched
overnight in the direction of Ladysmith returned with the tidings that "the
khakis were coming." "Where are they, and how many are there of them?" I
asked. "Commandant," the chief scout replied, "I don't know much about these
things, but I should think that the English number quite a thousand mounted
men, and they have guns, and they have already passed Modderspruit." To us
amateur soldiers this report was by no means reassuring, and I confess I
hoped fervently that the English might stay away for some little time
longer.
It
was at sunrise that the first shot I heard in this war was fired. Presently
the men we dreaded were visible on the ridges of hills south of the little
red railway station at Elandslaagte. Some of my men hailed the coming fight
with delight; others, more experienced in the art of war, turned deadly
pale. That is how the Boers felt in their first battle. The awkward way in
which many of my men sought cover, demonstrated at once how inexperienced in
warfare we youngsters were. We started with our guns and tried a little
experimental shooting. The second and third shots appeared to be effective;
at any rate, as far as we could judge, they seemed to disturb the equanimity
of the advancing troops. I saw an ammunition cart deprived of its team and
generally smashed.
The British guns appeared to be of very small calibre indeed. Certainly they
failed to reach us, and all the harm they did was to send a shell through a
Boer ambulance within the range of fire. This shot was, I afterwards
ascertained, purely accidental. When the British found that we too, strange
to say, had guns, and, what is more, knew how to use them, they retired
towards Ladysmith. But this was merely a ruse; they had gone back to fetch
more. Still, though it was a ruse, we were cleverly deceived by it, and
while we were off-saddling and preparing the mid-day meal they were
arranging a new and more formidable attack. From the Modderspruit siding
they were pouring troops brought down by rail, and although we had a
splendid chance of shelling the newcomers from the high kopje we occupied,
General Kock, who was in supreme command of our corps, for some reason which
has never been explained, refused to permit us to fire upon them. I went to
General Kock and pleaded with him, but he was adamant. This was a bitter
disappointment to me, but I consoled myself with the thought that the
General was much older than myself, and had been fighting since he was a
baby. I therefore presumed he knew better. Possibly if we younger commanders
had had more authority in the earlier stages of the war, and had had less to
deal with arrogant and stupid old men, we should have reached Durban and
Cape Town.
I
must here again confess that none of my men displayed any of the martial
determination with which they had so buoyantly proceeded from Johannesburg.
To put it bluntly, some of them were "footing" it and the English cavalry,
taking advantage of this, were rapidly outflanking them. The British tactics
were plain enough. General French had placed his infantry in the centre with
three field batteries (fifteen pounders), while his cavalry, with Maxims,
encompassed our right and left. He was forming a crescent, with the obvious
purpose of turning our position with his right and left wing. When charging
at the close of the attack the cavalry, which consisted mainly of lancers,
were on both our flanks, and completely prevented our retreat. It was not
easy to estimate the number of our assailant's forces. Judging roughly, I
calculated they numbered between 5,000 and 6,000, while we were 800 all
told, and our artillery consisted merely of two Nordenfeldt guns with shell,
and no grape shot.
The British certainly meant business that day. It was the baptismal fire of
the Imperial Light Horse, a corps principally composed of Johannesburgers,
who were politically and racially our bitter enemies. And what was more
unfortunate, our guns were so much exposed that they were soon silenced. For
a long time we did our best to keep our opponents at bay, but they came in
crushing numbers, and speedily dead and maimed burghers covered the veldt.
Then the Gordon Highlanders and the other infantry detachments commenced to
storm our positions. We got them well within the range of our rifle fire,
and made our presence felt; but they kept pushing on with splendid
determination and indomitable pluck, though their ranks were being decimated
before our very eyes.
This was the first, as it was the last time in the War that I heard a
British band playing to cheer attacking "Tommies." I believe it used to be a
British war custom to rouse martial instincts with lively music, but
something must have gone wrong with the works in this War, there must have
occurred a rift in the lute, for ever after this first battle of
Elandslaagte the British abandoned flags, banners, and bands and other quite
unnecessary furniture.
About half an hour before sunset, the enemy had come up close to our
positions and on all sides a terrible battle raged. To keep them back was
now completely out of the question. They had forced their way between a
kloof, and while rushing up with my men towards them, my rifle was smashed
by a bullet. A wounded burgher handed me his and I joined Field-Cornet Peter
Joubert who, with seven other burghers, was defending the kloof. We poured a
heavy fire into the British, but they were not to be shaken off. Again and
again they rushed up in irresistible strength, gallantly encouraged by their
brave officers. Poor Field-Cornet Joubert perished at this point.
When the sun had set and the awful scene was enveloped in darkness there was
a dreadful spectacle of maimed Germans, Hollanders, Frenchmen, Irishmen,
Americans, and Boers lying on the veldt. The groans of the wounded were
heartrending; the dead could no longer speak. Another charge, and the
British, encouraged by their success, had taken our last position, guns and
all. My only resource now was to flee, and the battle of Elandslaagte was a
thing of the past.
