We stayed fully three weeks at
Tafelkop. I was appointed commissary of the Krugersdorp commando, and rode
round to all the farms to procure the needful for our commando. As General
De la Rey had been camping close by at Rietfontein for some time, there was
not much left to commandeer, unless we deprived the women whose husbands
were in the veld of the necessaries of life.
Our lager was moved from Tafelkop to
Rietpan, from whence a few hundred of our horsemen started with some guns
and a few trolleys for Groot Kafferkraal, in Hartbeestfontein district.
General De la Rey had come over to organize the expedition in person, and
accompanied General Kemp. I went with a man called Jooste to the
neighbourhood of Lichtenberg and Klein Kafferkraal to commandeer cattle.
There I heard many tales of the enemy's behaviour as they passed through a
week before.
For some reason or other the houses
there had not been burnt, perhaps owing to the verbal negotiation between
Botha and Kitchener. I know of only one house that was burned down there.
That was the finest house in the neighbourhood and belonged to Willem Basson.
Mrs. Basson herself told me how it happened. Her husband had fled with the
cattle when the enemy came along. The soldiers asked her for money. They
said such a fine house must contain a great deal of money, and when she
refused they became most impertinent. The finding of a packet of dynamite in
the coach-house afforded a fine excuse. The dynamite was used by Basson for
the making of wells. On finding the packet they shouted 'Hurrah!' and rushed
off with it to the camp close to the house. They came back after a while and
stormed the house, smashing the windows with stones. Truly a heroic storming
of a fortress held by women! They destroyed everything in the house, and the
women and children were obliged to flee to Mrs. Scheffers at Klein
Kafferkraal, where I met them.
We know of many cases of cruelty and
violence, cases that have roused us to a passion of hatred.
I do not believe that the cases of
violence, which are not spoken of because of the horror, are tolerated by
the military authorities, who are probably ignorant of them. One can
understand that the worst were committed by isolated patrols who could give
free vent to their evil passions. We cannot always hold the chief officers
responsible for acts committed by individual soldiers, neither are our
officers responsible for the unlawful acts of individuals on our side. But
if the English, with their national pride and obstinacy, deny these acts of
violence, we can give them sufficient proof of more cases than one.
I was not present when the
Krugersdorpers attacked Babington's force near Lensdenplaats, in the
neighbourhood of Groot Kafferkraal. But the following morning, when they
were retreating, I joined them with some cattle, and was present at the
Battle of Stompies. The night before the battle I heard De la Rey's order
given to Kemp to march his men at four o'clock the following morning in the
direction of the enemy. He was told to retreat fighting, in case the enemy
attacked, so as to give our reinforcements an opportunity of attacking in
the rear. Kemp ordered the lager, or, rather, the few waggons, to retire to
Bodenstein's farm the following morning.
While we were busy inspanning we
heard the enemy's bomb-Maxim, and before the waggons had forded the
dangerous drift of the donga near Bodenstein's farm the bullets flew over
our heads from the bult behind us. The women fled into the house and the
burghers retreated as fast as they could. The enemy had surrounded us in the
night, and each burgher had to do his utmost to escape from out of the
half-circle. The few who stayed behind to defend the guns were soon obliged
to fly after the rest, and to abandon one gun still on the other side of the
drift. The others might have been saved if the women's lager had not impeded
their flight by obstructing the way.
We retreated to Vetpan. Those of the
burghers who retreated more to the right in the direction of Stompies were
the best off, as the right wing of the enemy had to be on its guard not to
enter the wood there. The enemy fired at us from horseback to enhance our
panic, which was clever of them, as it was impossible for us to turn in any
direction. My horse was overworked, and had changed its pace into a heavy
gallop, a sure sign that it would not last much longer. When I looked round,
I saw a few khakies riding on ahead, making our burghers 'hands-up.'
Fortunately, someone released a spare horse; I mounted it without a saddle
and made good my escape, but was incapable of riding for several days after.
Our men made no attempt to check the
enemy's progress. They all fled, each one bent on saving himself. A Boer, if
once he flies, is not easily turned aside. But it must be remembered that
our horses were terribly overworked. They had to live on nothing but grass,
and very little of that. We all also recognised the impossibility of
checking the enemy, as we ran the risk of shooting our own men and women; so
our only chance lay in flight.
The horses of the enemy were soon
'done up,' and they had to satisfy themselves with our guns--two large ones
that we had taken from them at Colenso, a damaged bomb-Maxim and several
smaller ones. They took 136 prisoners, among whom were Lieutenant Odendaal,
32 artillerists, 13 burghers, and for the rest women and children and some
big, full-grown cowardly men who were in the habit of fleeing with the women
and children. The greater part of the women's lager fell into their hands.
The few waggons of Generals Smuts and Kemp that they captured were of no
importance. Jooste and Malherbe were also taken prisoners.
I rode with General De la Rey to
Tafelkop, where our lager was stationed. In a week's time I was back again
at Stompies. I had been there scarcely an hour, when the tidings came that
the enemy were camped on Willem Basson's farm. The following morning before
daybreak I was on my way to Rietfontein. There, too, I had been only about
an hour, when another column came down upon me from the direction of
Ventersdorp. I fled to Tivee Buffelgeschiet with two boiled mealies and a
piece of meat in my hands. Before I reached that farm, half an hour's ride,
my horse was done up. I crept behind an ant-hill and prepared to defend
myself against four scouts who seemed to be coming straight towards me.
Suddenly, however, they turned off in the direction of their main-guard,
because, as I afterwards heard, they were threatened by eight of our scouts.
But the khakies were nearing me, and
I was obliged to lead my horse into a mealie-veld and to lie down full
length in the rain. They did not appear, however, and I concluded that they
had camped at Rietfontein, so I walked my horse to the farm of Mrs. Jansen,
one of the few hospitable women in that sparsely inhabited country. She
hastily informed me that the khakies had been there.
The eight burghers soon returned,
among them a young man who was nursing a wounded man on the farm. In the
night we went into the veld with a small brother of his, who rode a mule,
and returned in the morning to watch the enemy's movements from the roof of
the house. My horse was so ill with horse-sickness that it shook under me.
The enemy suddenly appeared on the long bult (hill) along which I had come
the day before. I carried my saddle into the house and fled into the veld.
From behind an ant-hill I watched the enemy shooting my poor sick horse.
They passed by me several times, but at last I was discovered, and had to
give up my beloved Mauser without a chance of defending myself. My two
companions escaped. This happened on April 3, 1901.
Fortunately, I fell into the hands
of decent khakies who did not insist on examining my old veld-shoes that I
was using as a money-box, so I was able to keep my precious four pounds.
They took from me only a few trifles by way of curiosities, and said I was
sure to be robbed of them sooner or later by the soldiers in the camp. I was
told that I could congratulate myself that I was made prisoner, as many
columns were coming down upon us from all directions, so that we would be
obliged to surrender that very day. I answered that the war had given
sufficient proof that their expectations were not always realized.
When the officers of the guard were
told that I was taken under arms, a curt order was given to 'Let him walk.'
When I protested and pointed out that I was a prisoner of war and not a
criminal, I was treated with consideration as an ordinary soldier. I was
taken by Babington's force.
The following day the waggon lager
arrived at Tafelkop, and the cavalry that had been sent on to capture our
lager joined the camp _minus_ any prisoners. When the enemy's lager arrived
at Potchefstroom a week later, it brought along seventeen or eighteen
'hands-uppers,' one ambulance doctor, several families, and one prisoner of
war. Six of the 'hands-uppers' told me that the whole month we were camped
at Tafelkop they had hidden from us in their bedrooms so as not to be
obliged to break their oath of neutrality.
I came across an old acquaintance of
mine in the lager--Phister, who had served under Commandant Boshoff. I knew
that he had been wounded in the leg at the Battle of Stompies and taken by
our men to Rietpan. On the trek from Ventersdorp to Potchefstroom I
discovered him lying on his back in the blazing sun on an open trolley, near
to Potchefstroom; he shouted to me that he had had nothing to eat during the
whole of the eighteen hours' trek.
In Potchefstroom our trolley, with
the twelve 'hands-uppers,' the ambulance doctor, and myself, was sent in the
direction of the prison. People came towards us from all directions. Some
women called out to us: 'Why were you so stupid as to let yourselves be
caught?' Others inquired, weeping, after husbands and sons.
When we got to the prison I alone
was detained, and had the disagreeable experience of being locked up. The
ambulance doctor was dismissed, as he was 'Not guilty'; and the
'hands-uppers' were taken to the refugee camp.
The treatment that the prisoners of
war receive varies, and depends very much on the prisoners themselves and on
the men into whose hands they fall. I was allowed to see my mother and
sister, who obtained a pass to come from Pretoria to see me. But I have seen
the guards roughly send away weeping women who were begging to be allowed a
few words only with their dear ones.
At Elandsfontein Station the
Transvaal colours worn by some of the prisoners of war were taken away by
force. On the long journey to Ladysmith we were packed like herrings in open
trucks, with insufficient covering for the cold nights.
The Ladysmith camp contained chiefly
burghers who had been 'tamed' by the enemy, and were ready to take the oath
of allegiance. They were well treated.
On April 3 I was taken prisoner, and
on May 6 I was on board the _Manila_, together with 490 other prisoners of
war, on our way to India.
The burghers, accustomed to a free,
independent life, suffered horribly from want of space and insufficient and
bad food. They could not get over the idea of having to appear twice daily
for the roll-call, although there was no escape possible. But their sense of
humour did not suffer.
Our burghers acknowledge that
travelling is an education in itself, but they one and all prefer travelling
as free men--first or second class--and they even prefer the high walls and
limited space of the fortress to being a prisoner-of-war passenger on board
the steamer.
The long, galvanized-iron bungalows
in which we live here have zinc roofs to guard against the heat of the
tropical sun, but at any rate the wind can blow through the openings on
either side. The burghers are kept alive and in pretty good health by an
extremely temperate manner of life. Once a week they are taken by a strong
guard for a walk an hour beyond the fort. They never get out on parole. As
far as we are concerned, they might even take cannon along with them to
guard us, if only they would take us out oftener.
Here, too, the moral tone of the
burghers is kept up by religious services, and by the great devotion of the
Rev. Mr. Viljoen, clergyman of Reitz, in the Orange Free State, who is a
fellow-prisoner of ours. The gaiety is kept up by sports and by the
companionship of many children. The sorrow is enhanced by the presence of
many gray-headed old men and by sad and heart-breaking tidings. 'Guard, is
there any news this morning?'
We are grieving with the grief of
the exile, but we are waiting patiently, and hoping still that a dove will
bring us a branch with our colours--Orange, green, red, white and blue:
peace and independence.
