"War seldom enters, but where wealth
allures."
DRYDEN.In August we left
Cape Town, and I went to Bulawayo, where I spent two months. Gordon[15]
had been appointed A.D.C. to Colonel Baden-Powell, and during this time was
with his chief on the western borders. The latter was engaged in raising two
regiments of irregular horse, which were later known as the Protectorate
Regiments, and were recruited principally from the district between Mafeking
and Bulawayo. At the latter town was also another English lady, Mrs. Godley,
whose husband was second in command of one of these regiments. It can easily
be imagined that there was little else discussed then but warlike subjects,
and these were two dreary and anxious months. We had little reliable news;
the local newspapers had no special cables, and only published rumours that
were current in the town. Mr. Rochfort Maguire, who was then staying with
Mr. Rhodes at Cape Town, used frequently to telegraph us news from there.
One day he would report President Kruger was climbing down; the next, that
he had once more hardened his heart. And so this modern Pharaoh kept us all
on tenterhooks. The drilling and exercising of the newly recruited troops
were the excitements of the day. Soon Colonel Plumer[16]
arrived, and assumed command of one of the regiments, which was encamped on
the racecourse just outside the town; the other regiment had its
headquarters at Mafeking. Colonel Baden-Powell and his Staff used to dash up
and down between the two towns. Nearly all the business men in Bulawayo
enlisted, and amongst the officers were some experienced soldiers, who had
seen all the Matabeleland fighting, and some of whom had even participated
in the Raid. Others who used to drop in for a game of bridge were Lord Timmy
Paulet,[17]
Mr. Geoffrey Glyn, and Dr. Jameson. To while away the time, I took a course
of ambulance lessons, learning how to bandage by experiments on the lanky
arms and legs of a little black boy. We also made expeditions to the various
mining districts. I was always struck with the hospitality shown us in these
out-of-the-way localities, and with the cosiness of the houses belonging to
the married mine-managers. Only Kaffirs were available as servants, but, in
spite of this, an excellent repast was always produced, and the dwellings
were full of their home treasures. Prints of the present King and Queen
abounded, and among the portraits of beautiful Englishwomen, either
photographs or merely reproductions cut out of an illustrated newspaper, I
found those of Lady de Grey,[18]
Georgiana, Lady Dudley, and Mrs. Langtry,[19]
most frequently adorning the walls of those lonely homes.
At last, at the end of September, a wire informed us that hostilities
were expected to begin in Natal the following week, and I left for Mafeking,
intending to proceed to Cape Town and home. On arrival at Mafeking everyone
told us an attack on the town was imminent, and we found the inhabitants in
a state of serious alarm. However, Baden-Powell's advent reassured them, and
preparations for war proceeded apace; the townspeople flocked in to be
enrolled in the town guard, spending the days in being drilled; the soldiers
were busy throwing up such fortifications as were possible under the
circumstances. On October 3 the armoured train arrived from the South, and
took its first trip on the rails, which had been hastily flung down round
the circumference of the town. This train proved afterwards to be absolutely
useless when the Boers brought up their artillery. Night alarms occurred
frequently; bells would ring, and the inhabitants, who mostly slept in their
clothes, had to rush to their various stations. I must admit that these
nocturnal incidents were somewhat unpleasant. Still war was not declared,
and the large body of Boers, rumoured as awaiting the signal to advance on
Mafeking, gave no sign of approaching any nearer.
We were, indeed, as jolly as the proverbial sandboys during those few
days in Mafeking before the war commenced. If Colonel Baden-Powell had
forebodings, he kept them to himself. Next to him in importance came Lord
Edward Cecil, Grenadier Guards, C.S.O. I have often heard it said that if
Lord Edward had been a member of any other family but that of the gifted
Cecils he would have been marked as a genius, and that if he had not been a
soldier he would surely have been a politician of note. Then there was Major
Hanbury Tracy, Royal Horse Guards, who occupied the position of Director of
Military Intelligence. This officer was always devising some amusing if
wild-cat schemes, which were to annihilate or checkmate the Boers, and prove
eventually the source of fame to himself. Mr. Ronald Moncrieff,[20]
an extra A.D.C., was, as usual, not blest with a superabundance of this
world's goods, but had an unending supply of animal spirits, and he was
looking forward to a siege as a means of economizing. Another of our circle
was Major Hamilton Gould Adams,[21]
Resident Commissioner of the Bechuanaland Protectorate, who commanded the
town guard, representing the civil as opposed to the military interests. In
contrast to the usual practice, these departments worked perfectly smoothly
together at Mafeking.
Colonel Baden-Powell did not look on my presence with great favour,
neither did he order me to leave, and I had a sort of presentiment that I
might be useful, considering that there were but three trained nurses in the
Victoria Hospital to minister to the needs of the whole garrison. Therefore,
though I talked of going South every day by one of the overcrowded trains to
Cape Town, in which the Government was offering free tickets to any who
wished to avail themselves of the opportunity, I secretly hoped to be
allowed to remain. We had taken a tiny cottage in the town, and we had all
our meals at Dixon's Hotel, where the food was weird, but where certainly no
depression of spirits reigned. I even bought a white pony, called Dop,[22]
from a Johannesburg polo-player, and this pony, one of the best I have ever
ridden, had later on some curious experiences. One day Dr. Jameson arrived
on his way to Rhodesia, but he was hustled away with more haste than
courtesy by General Baden-Powell, who bluntly told him that if he meant to
stay in the town a battery of artillery would be required to defend it; and
of field-guns, in spite of urgent representations, not one had reached us
from Cape Town. We used to ride morning and evening on the flat country
which surrounds Mafeking, where no tree or hill obscures the view for miles;
and one then realized what a tiny place the seat of government of the
Bechuanaland Protectorate really was, a mere speck of corrugated iron roofs
on the brown expanse of the burnt-up veldt, far away from everywhere. I
think it was this very isolation that created the interest in the siege at
home, and one of the reasons why the Boers were so anxious to reduce it was
that this town was practically the jumping-off place for the Jameson Raid.
So passed the days till October 13, and then the sword, which had been
suspended by a hair, suddenly fell.
On that day Major Gould Adams received a wire from the High Commissioner
at Cape Town to the effect that the South African Republic had sent an
ultimatum to Her Majesty's Government, in which it demanded the removal of
all troops from the Transvaal borders, fixing five o'clock the following
evening as a limit for their withdrawal. I had delayed my departure too
long; it was extremely doubtful whether another train would be allowed to
pass South, and, even when started, it would stand a great chance of being
wrecked by the Boers tearing up the rails. Under these circumstances I was
allotted comparatively safe quarters at the house of Mr. Benjamin Weil, of
the firm of the well-known South African merchants. His residence stood in
the centre of the little town, adjacent to the railway-station. At that time
bomb-proof underground shelters, with which Mafeking afterwards abounded,
had not been thought of, or time had not sufficed for their construction. On
all sides one heard reproaches levelled at the Cape Government, and
especially at General Sir William Butler, until lately commanding the troops
in Cape Colony, for having so long withheld the modest reinforcements which
had been persistently asked for, and, above all, the very necessary
artillery.
At that date the Mafeking garrison consisted of about seven or eight
hundred trained troops. The artillery, under Major Panzera, comprised four
old muzzle-loading seven-pounder guns with a short range, a one-pound
Hotchkiss, one Nordenfeldt, and about seven .303 Maxims—in fact,
no large modern pieces whatever. The town guard, hastily enrolled, amounted
to 441 defenders, among whom nationalities were curiously mixed, as the
following table shows:
British, 378
Germans, 4
Americans, 4
Russians, 6
Dutch, 27
Norwegians, 5
Swedes, 2
Arabs and Indians, 15
Total = 441[23]
This force did not appear sufficiently strong to resist the three or
four thousand Boers, with field-guns, who were advancing to its attack under
one of their best Generals—namely Cronje—but everyone remained wonderfully
calm, and the townspeople rose to the occasion in a most creditable manner.
Very late that same evening, just as I was going to bed, I received a
message from Colonel Baden-Powell, through one of his Staff, to say he had
just been informed, on trustworthy authority, that no less than 8,000
burghers composed the force likely to arrive on the morrow, that it was
probable they would rush the town, and that the garrison would be obliged to
fight its way out. He concluded by begging me to leave at once by road for
the nearest point of safety. Naturally I had to obey. I shall never forget
that night: it was cold and gusty after a hot day, with frequent clouds
obscuring the moon, as we walked round to Major Gould Adams's house to
secure a Cape cart and some Government mules, in order that I might depart
at dawn. At first I was ordered to Kanya, a mission-station some seventy
miles away, an oasis in the Kalahari Desert. This plan gave rise to a
paragraph which I afterwards saw in some of the daily papers, that I had
left Mafeking under the escort of a missionary, and some cheery spirit made
a sketch of my supposed departure as reproduced here. Later on, however, it
was thought provisions might run short in that secluded spot, so I was told
to proceed to Setlagoli, a tiny store, or hotel as we should call it, with a
shop attached, thirty-five miles south in Bechuanaland, on the main road to
Kimberley, from which quarter eventually succour was expected. My few
preparations completed, I simply had to sit down and wait for daybreak,
sleep being entirely out of the question. In the night the wind increased,
and howled mournfully round the house. At four o'clock, when day was about
to break, I was ready to start, and some farewells had to be said. These
were calm, but not cheerful, for it was my firm belief that, in all human
probability, I should never see the familiar faces again, knowing well they
would sell their lives dearly.
It was reported amongst my friends at home that, in order to escape from
Mafeking, my maid and myself had ridden 200 miles. One newspaper extract was
sent me which said, concerning this fictitious ride, that it "was all very
well for Lady Sarah, who doubtless was accustomed to violent exercise, but
we commiserate her poor maid." Their pity was wasted, for the departure of
my German maid Metelka and myself took place prosaically in that most vile
of all vehicles, a Cape cart. Six fine mules were harnessed to our
conveyance, and our two small portmanteaus were strapped on behind. The Jehu
was a Cape boy, and, to complete the cortege, my white pony Dop brought up
the rear, ridden by a Zulu called Vellum. This boy, formerly Dr. Jameson's
servant, remained my faithful attendant during the siege; beneath his dusky
skin beat a heart of gold, and to him I could safely have confided uncounted
treasures. As the daylight increased so did the wind in violence; it was
blowing a perfect gale, and the dust and sand were blinding. We outspanned
for breakfast twelve miles out, at the farm of a presumably loyal Dutchman;
then on again, the wind by now having become a hurricane, aggravated by the
intensely hot rays of a scorching sun. I have never experienced such a
miserable drive, and I almost began to understand the feelings of people who
commit suicide. However, the long day wore to a close, and at length we
reached Setlagoli store and hotel, kept by a nice old Scotch couple, Mr. and
Mrs. Fraser. The latter was most kind, and showed us two nice clean rooms.
Here, anyway, I trusted to find a haven of rest. This hope was of short
duration, for Sergeant Matthews, in charge of the Mounted Police depôt, soon
came and told me natives reported several hundred Boers at Kraipann, only
ten miles away. He said they were lying in wait for the second armoured
train, which was expected to pass to Mafeking that very night, carrying the
howitzers so badly needed there, and some lyddite shells. The sergeant
opined the Boers would probably come on here if victorious, and loot the
store, and he added that such marauding bands were more to be feared than
the disciplined ones under Cronje. He even suggested my leaving by moonlight
that very night. The driver, however, was unwilling to move, and we were all
so exhausted that I decided to risk it and remain, the faithful sergeant
promising to send scouts out and warn us should the enemy be approaching. I
was fully determined that, having left Mafeking, where I might have been of
use, I would run no risks of capture or impertinence from the burghers, who
would also certainly commandeer our cart, pony, and mules.
Then followed another endless night; the moon set at 1 a.m., and
occasionally I was roused by the loud and continuous barking of the farm
dogs. At four o'clock Vellum's dusky countenance peered into the room, which
opened on to the stoep, as do nearly all the apartments of these hotels, to
ask if the mules should be inspanned, for these natives were all in
wholesale dread of the Boers. Hearing all was quiet, I told him to wait till
the sergeant appeared. About an hour later I opened my door to have a look
at the weather: the wind had dropped completely, the sky was cloudless, and
a faint tinge of pink on the distant horizon denoted where the east lay. I
was about to shut it again and dress, when a dull booming noise arrested my
attention, then almost froze the blood in my veins. There was no mistaking
the firing of big guns at no very great distance.
We are accustomed to such a sound when salutes are fired or on a
field-day, but I assure those who have not had a like experience, that to
hear the same in actual warfare, and to know that each detonation is dealing
death and destruction to human beings and property, sends a shiver down the
back akin to that produced by icy cold water. I counted four or five; then
there it was again and again and again, till altogether I reckoned twenty
shots, followed by impressive silence once more, so intense in the quiet
peace of the morning landscape. On the farm, however, there was stir and
bustle enough: alarmed natives gathered in a group, weird figures with
blankets round their shoulders—for the air was exceedingly cold—all looking
with straining eyes in the direction of Kraipann, from where the firing
evidently came. I soon joined the people, white and back, in front of the
store, and before long a mounted Kaffir rode wildly up, and proceeded, with
many gesticulations, to impart information in his own tongue. His story took
some time, but at last a farmer turned round and told me the engagement had
been with the armoured train, as we anticipated, and that the latter had
"fallen down" (as the Kaffir expressed it) owing to the rails being pulled
up. What had been the fate of its occupants he did not know, as he had left
in terror when the big gun opened fire. Curiously enough, as I afterwards
learnt, these shots were the first fired during the war.
Remembering the sergeant's warning, I decided to start at once for
Mosita, twenty-five miles farther away from the border, leaving Vellum to
bring on any further intelligence when the sergeant, who had been away all
night watching the Boers, returned. We now traversed a fine open grassy
country, very desolate, with no human habitation. The only signs of life
were various fine "pows"[24]
stalking sedately along, or "korans," starting up with their curious chuckle
rather like the note of a pheasant, or a covey of guinea-fowl scurrying
across the road and losing themselves in the waving grass. Meanwhile the
driver kept up an incessant conversation with the mules, and I found myself
listening to his varying epithets with stupefied curiosity. During that four
hours' drive we only met two natives and one huge herd of cattle, which were
being driven by mounted Kaffirs, armed with rifles, to Mosita, our
destination, where it was hoped they would be out of the way of marauding
Boers. At last we reached the native stadt of Mosita, where our appearance
created great excitement. Crowds of swarthy men and youths rushed out to
question our driver as to news. The latter waxed eloquent in words and
gestures, imitating even the noise of the big gun, which seemed to produce
great enthusiasm among these simple folk. Their ruling passion, I afterwards
found, was hatred and fear of the Boers, and their dearest wish to possess
guns and ammunition to join the English in driving them back and to defend
their cattle. In the distance we could see the glimmering blue waters of a
huge dam, beyond which was the farm and homestead of a loyal colonial farmer
named Keeley, whose hospitality I had been told to seek. Close by were the
barracks, with seven or eight occupants, the same sort of depôt as at
Setlagoli. I asked to see Mrs. Keeley, and boldly announced we had come to
beg for a few nights' lodging. We were most warmly received and made
welcome. The kindness of the Keeleys is a bright spot in my recollections of
those dark weeks. Mrs. Keeley herself was in a dreadful state of anxiety, as
she had that very day received a letter from her husband in Mafeking,
whither he had proceeded on business, to say he found he must remain and
help defend the town; his assistance was urgently needed there in obtaining
information respecting the Boers from the natives, whose language he talked
like his own. She had five small children, and was shortly expecting an
addition to her family, so at last I had found someone who was more to be
pitied than myself. She, on the other hand, told me our arrival was a
godsend to her, as it took her thoughts off her troubles.
Affairs in the neighbourhood seemed in a strange confusion. Mr. Keeley
was actually the Veldtcornet of the district, an office which in
times of peace corresponded to that of a magistrate. In reality he was shut
up in Mafeking, siding against the Dutch. The surrounding country was
peopled entirely, if sparsely, by Dutch farmers and natives, the former of
whom at first and before our reverses professed sympathy with the English;
but no wonder the poor wife looked to the future with dread, fearful lest
British disasters would be followed by Boer reprisals.
Towards sunset Vellum appeared with a note from Sergeant Matthews. It ran
as follows:
"The armoured train captured; its fifteen occupants all killed.[25]
Boers opened fire on the train with field artillery."
In our isolation these words sank into our souls like lead, and were
intensified by the fact that we had that very morning been so near the scene
of the tragedy—"reverse" I would not allow it to be called, for fifteen men
had tried conclusions with 400 Boers, and had been merely hopelessly
outnumbered. The latter had, however, scored an initial success, and the
intelligence cast a gloom, even where all was blackest night. Vellum brought
a few more verbal details, to the effect that Sergeant Matthews had actually
succeeded in stopping the armoured train after pursuing it on horseback for
some way, expecting every moment to be taken for a Boer and fired on. He
asked to speak to the officer in charge, and a young man put his head over
the truck. Matthews then told him that several hundred Boers were awaiting
the train, strongly entrenched, and that the metals were up for about
three-quarters of a mile. "Is that all?" was the answer; then, turning to
the engine-driver, "Go straight ahead." Here was a conspicuous instance of
English foolhardy pluck.
The evening was a lovely one. I took a walk along the road by which we
had come in the morning, and was soothed by the peaceful serenity of the
surrounding country.
It seemed to be impossible that men were killing each other only a few
short miles away. The herd of cattle we had passed came into view, and
caught sight of the water in the dam. It was curious to see the whole herd,
some five or six hundred beasts, break into a clumsy canter, and, with a
bellowing noise, dash helter-skelter to the water—big oxen with huge
branching horns, meek-eyed cows, young bullocks, and tiny calves, all
joining in the rush for a welcome drink after a long hot day on the veldt.
The last news that came in that evening was that all the wires were cut
north and south of Mafeking, and the telegraphists fled, as their lives had
been threatened.
FOOTNOTES:
[15]
Captain Gordon Wilson, Royal Horse Guards, now Lieutenant-Colonel
Wilson, M.V.O.
[16]
Now Major-General Sir Herbert Plumer, K.C.B.
[17]
Now Marquis of Winchester.
[18]
Now Marchioness of Ripon.
[19]
Now Lady de Bathe.
[20]
Died in Africa, 1909.
[21]
Now Sir Hamilton Gould Adams, Governor of the Orange River Colony.
[22]
Dutch for a peculiar kind of cheap brandy very popular with the Boers.
[23]
This return was given me by Major Gould Adams.
[24]
African wild-turkeys.
[25]
This was incorrect. The officer in charge and two others were severely
wounded, the driver and stoker killed by the explosion of the boiler.
