Fortunately, the enemy gave us a
week's rest on the farm of Landdrost Schotte. During that time Veld-Kornet
Meyer, with his small troop of Germans, blew up the electric factory at
Brakpan.
Then we stayed a few days on Mr.
Brown's farm, where a great many little commandos congregated that were
camped on the banks of the river. Our horses became quite sleek again from
the abundance of mealies they got there. On that farm we first used for fuel
the poles that fenced in the farm. I distinctly remember how, after we had
received the order from Commandant Kemp, we waited until after dark before
pulling up the poles, and how grieved we were at the necessity for doing it.
Since that time we have got over such scruples. Even if there were wood to
be had on an outspan place, there was always a race to procure the best
poles. Of course, when there was abundance of wood, the pulling up of poles
was strictly prohibited.
At that time I made the acquaintance
of a nephew of mine, Paul Mare, a boy of fourteen, with a noble countenance,
who, like so many others of the same age, rode about with gun and bandolier,
and was full of courage. When the enemy approached his mother's house he
prepared for flight, but she took it for a joke. When she noticed that he
was in earnest, she forbade him to go, as his father had been killed
already, and he would in all probability be killed too. He merely answered,
'Because they have shot my father, I mean to shoot them now,' and rode away.
We did not like remaining long in
one place doing nothing. We always became impatient, and wished to know when
we could move on. But the Commandant always answered that he could not tell.
And the more sensible of us thought, 'It depends on khaki.' This was really
the case now. On the evening of January 28 we got the order to be in
readiness. While General Beyers, with 400 or 500 men, passed to the rear of
the enemy to destroy the Boksburg mines, our commando of horsemen moved
rapidly in the direction of Boesmanskop in the Heidelberg district, to cut
off the enemy who were pushing on to our part of the Hoogeveld. We arrived
at Boesmanskop the following morning.
The parts of the country that we now
passed through had not yet been destroyed by the enemy, but everywhere else
the houses and farms were burnt and ruined in the most barbarous way. We
were very anxious, therefore, to cut off the enemy's advance. They were
camped to the north-west of Boesmanskop. A strong Boer guard occupied this
kopje--the, only one in the neighbourhood; for the rest, the surroundings
were the ordinary Hoogeveld with its mounds. We pushed up in a long line
over a 'bult' that ran north-west of Boesmanskop. Our guns--only a few, as
most had been sent away to be repaired--stood on top of this mound without
any cover. Lieutenant Odendaal, a very brave gunner, did not like kopjes,
but always placed his cannon on a mound, as the enemy's guns always fired
too short or too long on account of the misleading distances. They did so in
this instance, and the bombs flew far beyond us. Corporal Botman ordered me
to stay with the horses at the foot of the 'bult,' while the burghers crept
on to the top a few hundred paces further, expecting eventually to charge
the enemy. Suddenly I heard, twice over, a noise like that of a train in the
distance. My brother told me afterwards how he had seen a detachment of the
enemy storming Boesmanskop, and how the burghers waited until they were
close by, and then beat them back completely with a twice-repeated salvo.
For some time the guns of the enemy
ceased firing, because, as I heard later on, Lieutenant Odendaal had shot
down the gunners. When they made themselves heard again, they were more
accurate in their aim; I most narrowly escaped the bombs. Four or five
thundered around me in quick succession, as I fell and stooped and grasped
the bridles of the rearing horses. Some of the horses pulled the bridles out
of my hands and raced down the valley.
But the left wing of the enemy was
surrounding us, and, like a swarm of birds that rise on the wing, the
burghers fled back in among the tethered and the straying horses, and
retreated as fast as they could. The enemy now bombarded Boesmanskop, so
that the retreating burghers in the valley had a bad time of it with the
bombs flying over their heads.
Many waggons of Boer families,
fleeing for their lives, were pushing along the sides of the long mounds,
and the enemy's bombs burst in their midst more than once--perhaps
accidentally, perhaps because they knew that 'the Boer nation must be swept
off the face of the earth.'
The women seemed to be in a panic.
From all sides families came in carts and waggons--long rows of vehicles
filled with poor, terror-stricken women and children; large herds of cattle
were driven along by the Kaffir servants, but many of them fell into the
enemy's hands. The burghers did their best to make a stand in order to give
the waggons a good start, but retreated in good order when they saw no
chance of checking the enemy's forward movement. Fortunately, a heavy shower
fell in the afternoon and hindered the enemy in their advance, else many a
waggon would have fallen into their hands.
It was no longer necessary for the
burghers to resist for the sake of the waggons. The enemy had camped and
left us, with the exception of the guard, to plod our way shamefacedly
through the mud. Our ponies, with their quick, peculiar gait, soon caught up
the heavily-laden waggons, and we supplied ourselves with mealies, flour,
fowls, etc., that had been thrown overboard or left behind on a broken-down
waggon. Such is the fortune of war, and the things were better in our hands
than in those of the khakies.
When we rode up alongside the
waggons, many a meeting took place between relatives and friends who had
been parted for months. The women and girls drove the horses, and many of
them walked with the Kaffirs in the mud next to the oxen. They did the work
of the men in time of peace. Many of them had been delicately nurtured, in
spite of the simplicity of their lives, and were not accustomed to the hard
work. They were all Transvaal women, and wives and daughters of the burghers
who had to look on helplessly at their sad flight. And, oh! the dear little
heads of the children that peeped at us from out of the waggons! It was a
cruel sight, and it moved us strangely.
Although most of the women were
drenched, they were all cheerful, and seemed proud of taking an active part
in the great struggle. And if a young man asked a girl whether he should
ride next to her to help her, the answer was: 'No, thank you, we can manage;
the men must fight now.' There were many old men and boys who preferred the
society of the women to the danger of the bombs. Some of the women were not
kind, and reproached us for being the cause of all this misery, as our
appearance in the Hoogeveld had brought the enemy in its train.
The waggons were heavily laden with
furniture and grain, some even with stoves, and they sank deep into the mud,
as the roads were one mass of mud after the numerous waggons and thousands
of cattle that had already passed along them. Long rows of vehicles were
continually approaching from all sides, all going in the same direction, and
when we came to Waterval River a sad but grand sight met our eyes. The river
was full. Hundreds of waggons had been outspanned on the banks on either
side. The women and children were doing their best to light the fires with
the wet wood, and to cook some food. It was just before sunset, but there
was no sun to cheer them on their way.
Against the sides of the mounds
(bulten) the cattle were moving in black dense masses, making an almost
deafening noise with their bleating and lowing. As we rode through the full
river, we saw in mid-stream a cart that had stuck fast. A woman was standing
in the water pushing at the back, while a girl held the reins. A few of our
men jumped down from their horses and soon succeeded in getting the cart to
the other side. But we could not stay to help the poor women and children.
We rode on, inquiring everywhere after the trolleys and the commissariat.
These were higher up on the other side of the river, so we had to cross once
more, this time in the dark, at the risk of our lives.
Two little girls were drowned that
evening, and the wheel of a waggon had passed over a girl's body. It had
been better if the women had stayed at home and depended on the mercy of the
enemy. They should not have undertaken this terrible journey. A woman cannot
flee from place to place like a man, and life in a 'refugee'(?) camp would
have been better; she should bear her sorrow bravely at home. And this was
only the beginning of the misery. If they had remained at home, they might
have saved their homes, but now the enemy was sure to destroy and burn the
deserted farms.
During the day, when the flight was
still a novelty, the women and girls were cheerful enough, but who can
describe their heartache and misery during their enforced journey on the
rainy nights? I do not know how all those waggons and cattle got through the
swollen river that night. Twenty paces from where I lay a waggon was being
inspanned; I heard the voices of men and women. An old man was talking. He
threatened to off-load all the women on the first available place, as he had
never in his life had so much trouble. A small boy and a Kaffir had their
turn also; the boy was on horseback and led, or rather dragged, another
horse that refused to move. He had to collect the cattle, which seemed to me
almost an impossible task in the dark, among the many horses of the
burghers. When he had found Kindermeid, Witlies had disappeared, and when
Witlies was found, then Vaalpens was missing again. Kindermeid, a gray ox,
was the most troublesome. Repeatedly it passed by me, followed by the boy
dragging the unwilling horse. Then the boy exclaimed in sad, shrill tones,
'See how the mare jibs!' When his father angrily asked, 'Have you found
Kindermeid now?' he answered, 'Yes, father, but now Vaalpens is missing; the
mare jibs so, I can't get the cattle together!' When he had found them all
and the rumbling of their waggon was dying away in the distance, I still
heard him complain of the unwilling mare, in his sad, shrill little voice.
It was a small episode in my life that I shall not easily forget. This was
the last I saw of the flight of the women, for we had to stay behind to
fight as we were retreating. Later on I heard many sad tales about it, which
I cannot repeat in this little book of mine.
The poor women and children were
indeed to be pitied, but we had no sympathy with the men who fled in the
winter with their cattle to the Boschveld, and now sought our protection,
though they had never fought themselves. The flight with the cattle was
necessary, as the enemy would otherwise have exterminated them, but many of
the men took advantage of the necessity, and sometimes three or four strong,
sturdy men went with one waggon, where one man would have been ample.
