"There is a reaper whose name is
Death."—LONGFELLOW.We celebrated Christmas Day, 1899, by a
festive luncheon-party to which Colonel Baden-Powell and all his Staff were
invited. By a strange and fortunate coincidence, a turkey had been
overlooked by Mr. Weil when the Government commandeered all live-stock and
food-stuffs at the commencement of the siege, and, in spite of the grilling
heat, we completed our Christmas dinner by a real English plum-pudding. In
the afternoon a tea and Christmas-tree for the Dutch and English children
had been organized by some officers of the Protectorate Regiment. Amongst
those who contributed to the amusement of these poor little white-faced
things, on whom the close quarters they were obliged to keep was beginning
to tell, none worked harder than Captain Ronald Vernon. I remember returning
to my quarters, after the festivity, with this officer, and his telling me,
in strict confidence, with eager anticipation, of a sortie that was to be
made on the morrow, with the object of obtaining possession of the Boer gun
at Game Tree Fort, the fire from which had lately been very disastrous to
life and property in the town. He was fated in this very action to meet his
death, and afterwards I vividly recalled our conversation, and reflected how
bitterly disappointed he would have been had anything occurred to prevent
his taking part in it. The next day, Boxing Day, I shall ever remember as
being, figuratively speaking, as black and dismal as night. I was roused at
4.30 a.m. by loud cannonading. Remembering Captain Vernon's words, I
telephoned to Headquarters to ask if the Colonel and Staff were there. They
had all left at 2.30 a.m., so I knew the projected action was in progress.
At five o'clock the firing was continuous, and the boom of our wretched
little guns was mingled with the rattle of Boer musketry. Every moment it
grew lighter—a beautiful morning, cool and bright, with a gentle breeze.
In Mr. Wiel's service was a waiter named Mitchell, a Cockney to the
backbone, and a great character in his way. What had brought him to South
Africa, or how he came to be in Mafeking, I never discovered; but he was a
cheerful individual, absolutely fearless of shells and bullets. That morning
I began to get very anxious, and Mitchell was also pessimistic. He mounted
to the roof to watch the progress of the fight, and ran down from time to
time with anything but reassuring pieces of intelligence, asking me at
intervals, when the firing was specially fierce: "Are you scared, lady?" At
length he reported that our men were falling back, and that the ambulances
could now be seen at work. With marvellous courage and coolness, the
soldiers had advanced absolutely to under the walls of the Boer fort, and
had found the latter 8 feet high, with three tiers of loopholes. There it
was that three officers—Captains Vernon, Paton, and Sandford—were shot down,
Captain Fitzclarence having been previously wounded in the leg, and left on
the veldt calling to his men not to mind him, but to go on, which order they
carried out, nothing daunted by the hail of bullets and the loss of their
officers. Thanks to the marvellous information the Boers constantly received
during the siege, no doubt from the numerous Dutch spies which were known to
be in the town, Game Tree Fort had been mysteriously strengthened in the
night; and, what was still more significant, the gun had not only been
removed, but General Snyman and Commandment Botha were both on the scene
with reinforcements shortly after our attack commenced, although the Boer
Headquarter camp was fully three miles away. Without scaling-ladders, it was
impossible to mount the walls of the fort. Our soldiers sullenly turned and
walked slowly away, the idea of running or getting under shelter never even
occurring to them. Had the Boers then had the determination required to come
out of their fort and pursue the retiring men, it is possible very few would
have returned alive; but, marvellous to relate, and most providentially as
we were concerned, no sooner did they observe our men falling back than they
ceased firing, as if relief at their departure was coupled with the fear of
aggravating the foes and causing a fresh attack. The Boers were exceedingly
kind in picking up our dead and wounded, which were immediately brought in
by the armoured train, and which, alas! mounted up to a disastrous total in
the tiny community which formed our garrison. No less than twenty-five men
were killed, including three officers; and some twenty or thirty were
wounded, most of them severely. The Boers told the ambulance officers they
were staggered at our men's pluck, and the Commandant especially appreciated
the gallantry required for such an attack, knowing full well how difficult
it would have been to induce the burghers to make a similar attempt. About
10 a.m. a rush of people to the station denoted the arrival of the armoured
train and its sad burden, and then a melancholy procession of stretchers
commenced from the railway, which was just opposite my bomb-proof, to the
hospital. The rest of the day seemed to pass like a sad dream, and I could
hardly realize in particular the death of Captain Vernon, who had been but a
few short hours before so full of health, spirits, and confidence.
Recognizing what a press of work there would be at the hospital, I walked
up there in the afternoon, and asked to be made useful. No doubt out of good
feeling, the Boers did not shell at all that day till late evening, but at
the hospital all was sad perturbation. There had only been time to attend to
the worst cases, and the poor nurses were just sitting down to snatch a
hasty meal. The matron asked me if I would undertake the management of a
convalescent home that had to be organized to make more room for the new
patients. Of course I consented, and by evening we were busy installing
sixteen patients in the railway servants' institute, near the station. To
look after the inmates were myself, four other ladies, and one partly
professional nurse. We arranged that the latter should attend every day, and
the four ladies each take a day in turn, while I undertook to be there
constantly to order eatables and superintend the housekeeping. On the first
evening, when beds, crockery, kitchen utensils, and food, all arrived in a
medley from the universal provider, Wiel, great confusion reigned; and when
it was at its height, just as the hospital waggon was driving up with the
patients, "Creechy" sent off one of her projectiles, which burst with a
deafening explosion about a hundred yards beyond the improvised hospital,
having absolutely whizzed over the approaching ambulance vehicles. The
patients took it most calmly, and were in no way disconcerted. By Herculean
efforts the four ladies and myself got the place shipshape, and all was
finished when the daylight failed. As I ran back to my quarters, the
bugle-call of the "Last Post," several times repeated, sounded clear in the
still atmosphere of a calm and beautiful evening, and I knew the last
farewells were being said to the brave men who had gone to their long rest.
Of course Mafeking's losses on that black Boxing Day were infinitesimal
compared to those attending the terrible struggles going on in other parts
of the country; but, then, it must be remembered that not only was our
garrison a very small one, but also that, when people are shut up together
for months in a beleaguered town—a handful of English men and women
surrounded by enemies, with even spies in their midst—the feeling of
comradeship and friendship is tremendously strengthened. Every individual
was universally known, and therefore all the town felt they had lost their
own friends, and mourned them as such.
From that date for three weeks I went daily to the convalescent home. The
short journey there was not totally without risk, as the enemy, having heard
of the foundry where primitive shells were being manufactured, and which was
situated immediately on the road I had to take, persistently sent their
missiles in this direction, and I had some exciting walks to and fro, very
often alone, but sometimes accompanied by any chance visitor. One morning
Major Tracy and I had just got across the railway-line, when we heard the
loading bell, and immediately there was a sauve qui pent among all
the niggers round us, who had been but a moment before lolling, sleeping,
and joking, in their usual fashion. Without losing our dignity by joining in
the stampede, we put our best foot forward, and scurried along the line till
we came to some large coal-sheds, where my companion made me crawl under a
very low arch, he mounting guard outside. In this strange position I
remained while the shell came crashing over us, a bad shot, and continued
its course away into the veldt. Another evening the same officer was
escorting me to the institute, and, as all had been very quiet that
afternoon, we had not taken the precaution of keeping behind the railway
buildings, as was my usual custom. We were in the middle of an open space,
when suddenly an outburst of volleys from the Boer trenches came as an
unpleasant surprise, and the next moment bullets were falling behind us and
even in front of us, their sharp ring echoing on the tin roofs. On this
occasion, as the volleys continued with unabated vigour, I took to my heels
with a view to seeking shelter; but Major Tracy could not be moved out of a
walk, calling out to me I should probably run into a bullet whilst trying to
avoid it. My one idea being to get through the zone of fire, I paid no
attention to his remonstrances, and soon reached a safe place. The Boers
only learnt these detestable volleys from our troops, and carried them out
indifferently well; but the possibility of their occurrence, in addition to
the projectiles from "Creechy," added greatly to the excitement of an
evening stroll, and we had many such episodes when walking abroad after the
heat of the day.
In January, Gordon was laid up by a very sharp attack of peritonitis, and
was in bed for over a week in my bomb-proof, no other place being safe for
an invalid, and the hospital full to overflowing. When he began to mend, I
unfortunately caught a chill, and a very bad quinsy sore throat supervened.
I managed, however, to go about as usual, but one afternoon, when I was
feeling wretchedly ill, our hospital attendant came rushing in to say that a
shell had almost demolished the convalescent home, and that, in fact, only
the walls were standing. The patients mercifully had escaped, owing to their
all being in the bomb-proof, but they had to be moved in a great hurry, and
were accommodated in the convent. For weeks past this building had not been
shot at, and it was therefore considered a safe place for them, as it was
hoped the Boer gunners had learned to respect the hospital, its near
neighbour. Owing to the rains having then begun, and being occasionally very
heavy, the bomb-proofs were becoming unhealthy. My throat was daily getting
worse, and the doctor decided that Gordon and myself had better also be
removed to the convent, hoping that being above-ground might help recovery
in both our cases. There was heavy shelling going on that afternoon, and the
drive to our new quarters, on the most exposed and extreme edge of the town,
was attended with some excitement. I could scarcely swallow, and Gordon was
so weak he could hardly walk even the short distance we had to compass on
foot. However, we arrived in safety, and were soon made comfortable in this
strange haven of rest.
As I have before written, the convent in Mafeking was from the
commencement of the bombardment picked out by the enemy as a target, and
during the first week it was hit by certainly ten or twelve projectiles, and
reduced more or less to a ruined state. At no time can the building have
laid claims to the picturesque or the beautiful, but it had one
peculiarity—namely, that of being the only two-storied building in Mafeking,
and of standing out, a gaunt red structure, in front of the hospital, and
absolutely the last building on the north-east side of the town. It was
certainly a landmark for miles, and, but for its sacred origin and the
charitable calling of its occupants, would have been a fair mark for the
enemy's cannon. Very melancholy was the appearance it presented, with large
gaping apertures in its walls, with its shattered doors and broken windows;
whilst surrounding it was what had been a promising garden, but had then
become a mere jungle of weeds and thorns. The back of the edifice comprised
below several large living-rooms, over them a row of tiny cubicles, and was
practically undamaged. The eighteen convalescent patients had been
comfortably installed on the ground-floor, and we had two tiny rooms above.
This accommodation was considered to be practically safe from shells, in
spite of the big gun having been shifted a few days previously, and it being
almost in a line with the convent. On the upper floor of the eastern side a
large room, absolutely riddled with shot and shell, was formerly occupied as
a dormitory by the children of the convent school. It was now put to a novel
use as a temporary barracks, a watch being always on duty there, and a
telescope installed at the window. Since the nuns left to take up their
abode in a bomb-proof shelter, a Maxim had been placed at one of the
windows, which commanded all the surrounding country; but it was discreetly
covered over, and the window-blind kept closely drawn to avert suspicion, as
it was only to be used in case of real emergency. To reach our cubicles
there was but a single staircase, which led past this room allotted to the
soldiers—a fact which left an unsatisfactory impression on my mind, for it
was apparent that, were the convent aimed at, to reach terra-firma we should
have to go straight in the direction of shells or bullets. However, the
authorities opined it was all right; so, feeling very ill, I was only too
glad to crawl to bed. Just as the sun was setting, the soldiers on watch
came tearing down the wooden passage, making an awful clatter, and calling
out: "The gun is pointed on the convent!" As they spoke, the shell went off,
clean over our heads, burying itself in a cloud of dust close to a herd of
cattle half a mile distant. This did not reassure me, but we hoped it was a
chance shot, which might not occur again, and that it had been provoked by
the cattle grazing so temptingly within range. I must say there was
something very weird and eerie in those long nights spent at the convent. At
first my throat was too painful to enable me to sleep, and endless did those
dreary hours seem. We had supper usually before seven, in order to take
advantage of the fading daylight, for lights were on no account to be shown
at any of the windows, being almost certain to attract rifle-fire. By eight
we were in total darkness, except for the dim little paraffin hand-lamp the
Sisters kindly lent me, which, for precaution's sake, had to be placed on
the floor. Extraordinary noises emanated from those long uncarpeted
passages, echoing backwards and forwards, in the ceiling, till they seemed
to pertain to the world of spirits. The snoring of the men on the relief
guard was like the groans of a dying man, the tread of those on duty like
the march of a mighty army. Then would come intense stillness, suddenly
broken by a volley from the enemy sounding appallingly near—in reality about
a mile off—and provoked, doubtless, by some very innocent cause. Many of
these volleys were often fired during the night, sometimes for ten minutes
together, at other times singly, at intervals; anon the boom of a cannon
would vary the entertainment. Occasionally, when unable to sleep, I would
creep down the pitch-dark corridor to a room overlooking the sleeping town
and the veldt, the latter so still and mysterious in the moonlight, and,
peeping through a large jagged hole in the wall caused by a shell, I
marvelled to think of the proximity of our foes in this peaceful landscape.
At length would come the impatiently-longed-for dawn about 4 a.m.; then the
garrison would appear, as it were, to wake up, although the greater part had
probably spent the night faithfully watching. Long lines of sentries in
their drab khaki would pass the convent on their homeward journey, walking
single file in the deep trench connecting the town with the outposts, and
which formed a practically safe passage from shell and rifle fire. Very
quickly did the day burst on the scene, and a very short time we had to
enjoy those cool, still morning hours or the more delightful twilight; the
sun seemed impatient to get under way and burn up everything. Of course we
had wet mornings and wet days, but, perhaps fortunately, the rains that year
were fairly moderate, though plentiful enough to have turned the yellow
veldt of the previous autumn into really beautiful long green grass, on
which the half-starved cattle were then thriving and waxing fat. The view
from our tiny bedrooms was very pretty, and the coming and going of every
sort of person in connection with the convalescent hospital downstairs made
the days lively enough, and compensated for the dreariness of the nights.
The splendid air blowing straight from the free north and from the Kalahari
Desert on the west worked wonders in the way of restoring us to health, and
I began to talk of moving back to my old quarters. I must confess I was
never quite comfortable about the shells, which seemed so constantly to
narrowly miss the building, although the look-out men always maintained they
were aiming at some other object. One morning I was still in bed, when a
stampede of many feet down the passage warned me our sentinels had had a
warning. Quickly opening my door, I could not help laughing at seeing the
foremost man running down the corridor towards our rooms with the precious
Maxim gun, enveloped in its coat of canvas, in his arms as if it were a
baby. "They're on us this time," he called out; then came a terrific
explosion and a crash of some projectile against the outer walls and doors.
The shell had fallen about 40 feet short of the convent, on the edge of the
deserted garden. Many explanations were given to account for this shot, none
of which seemed to me to be very lucid, and I secretly determined to clear
out as soon as the doctor would permit. The very next day we had the
narrowest escape of our lives that it is possible to imagine. There had been
very little shelling, and I had taken my first outing in the shape of a
rickshaw drive during the afternoon. The sun was setting, and our little
supper-table was already laid at the end of the corridor into which our
rooms opened, close to the window beside which we used to sit. Major Gould
Adams had just dropped in, as he often did, to pay a little visit before
going off to his night duties as Commandant of the Town Guard, and our
repast was in consequence delayed—a circumstance which certainly helped to
save our lives. We were chatting peacefully, when suddenly I recollect
hearing the big gun's well-known report, and was just going to remark, "How
near that sounds!" when a terrifying din immediately above our heads stopped
all power of conversation, or even of thought, and the next instant I was
aware that masses of falling brick and masonry were pushing me out of my
chair, and that heavy substances were falling on my head; then all was
darkness and suffocating dust. I remember distinctly putting my hands
clasped above my head to shelter it, and then my feeling of relief when, in
another instant or two, the bricks ceased to fall. The intense stillness of
my companions next dawned upon me, and a sickening dread supervened, that
one of them must surely be killed. Major Gould Adams was the first to call
out that he was all right; the other had been so suffocated by gravel and
brickdust that it was several moments before he could speak. In a few
minutes dusty forms and terrified faces appeared through the gloom, as dense
as the thickest London yellow fog, expecting to find three mutilated
corpses. Imagine their amazement at seeing three human beings, in colour
more like Red Indians than any other species, emerge from the ruins and try
to shake themselves free from the all-pervading dust. The great thing was to
get out of the place, as another shell might follow, the enemy having seen,
from the falling masonry, how efficacious the last had been. So, feeling
somewhat dazed, but really not alarmed, as the whole thing had been too
quick for fear, I groped my way downstairs. Outside we were surrounded by
more frightened people, whom we quickly reassured. The woman cook, who had
been sitting in her bomb-proof, was quite sure she had been struck,
and was calling loudly for brandy; while the rest of us got some soda-water
to wash out our throats—a necessary precaution as far as I was concerned, as
mine had only the day previously been lanced for quinsy. By degrees the
cloud of dust subsided, and then in the fading light we saw what an
extraordinary escape we had had. The shell had entered the front wall of the
convent, travelled between the iron roof and the ceiling of the rooms, till
it reached a wall about 4 feet from where we were sitting. Against this it
had exploded, making a huge hole in the outside wall and in the other which
separated our passage from a little private chapel. In this chapel it had
also demolished all the sacred images. It was not, however, till next day,
when we returned to examine the scene of the explosion, that we realized how
narrowly we had escaped death or terrible injuries. Three people had been
occupying an area of not more than 5 feet square; between us was a tiny
card-table laid with our supper, and on this the principal quantity of the
masonry had fallen—certainly 2 tons of red brick and mortar—shattering it to
atoms. If our chairs had been drawn up to the table, we should probably have
been buried beneath this mass. But our most sensational discovery was the
fact that two enormous pieces of shell, weighing certainly 15 pounds each,
were found touching the legs of my chair, and the smallest tap from one of
these would have prevented our ever seeing another sunrise. Needless to say,
we left our ruined quarters that evening, and I reposed more peacefully in
my bomb-proof than I had done for many nights past. The air at the convent
had accomplished its healing work. We were both practically recovered, and
we had had a hairbreadth escape; but I was firmly convinced that an
underground chamber is preferable to a two-storied mansion when a 6-inch
100-pound shell gun, at a distance of two miles, is bombarding the town you
happen to be residing in.
