The Boers, taken by surprise, were unsteady and panic-struckAn incident during the siege of Mafeking, when the British had sapped their way to within eighty yards of the Boer position.
The Boers, taken by surprise, were unsteady and panic-struckAn incident during the siege of Mafeking, when the British had sapped their way to within eighty yards of the Boer position.
The Boers, taken by surprise, were unsteady and panic-struck
An incident during the siege of Mafeking, when the British had sapped their way to within eighty yards of the Boer position.
Shortly after this bill of butchery had been presented the Boer General sent an emissary to Colonel Baden-Powell.
“Commandant Snyman presents his compliments, and desires to know if, to save further bloodshed, the English would now surrender.”
Baden-Powell is a great actor; he never smiled as he replied:
“Tell the Commandant, with my compliments, that we have not yet begun.”
But a few days later the Boers were seen to be very active on the veldt about three miles from the town, and the rumour spread that they had sent to Pretoria for siege guns. The townsfolk stood in groups and discussed the new peril.
About noon next day the red flag flew from head-quarters. Presently a great cloud of smoke rose on the skyline; then came a rush of air, a roar as of some great bird flying, a terrific concussion, and then flying fragments of steel buried themselves in distant buildings, creating a sense of terror throughout the town.
“Mafeking is doomed!” was the general cry that afternoon; those alone who had dug themselves deep pits were fairly comfortable in their minds. The second shot of the big Creusot gun wrecked the rear of the Mafeking Hotel, and the force of the explosion hurled the war correspondent of theChronicleupon a pile of wood. Next day more than 200 shells were thrown into Mafeking, which was saved by its mud walls; where bricks would have been shattered and shaken, these walls only threw out a cloud of dust.
As the Boers began to construct trenches round the city, Captain Fitzclarence was ordered to make a midnightsortie. Shortly after eleven o’clock the little party started on their perilous expedition; they crept on over the veldt in extended order, noiseless as possible, nearer and nearer to the Boer entrenchments. Those who watched them felt the weirdness of the scene—the deep silence, the mysterious noises of the veldt, the shadows caused by the bush. Now they were within a few yards; as they fixed bayonets they rushed forward with a cheer. Then figures showed in the Boer position; shots rang out, horses neighed and stampeded in fright. The Boers, taken by surprise, were unsteady and panic-struck; not many in the first trenches resisted long and stubbornly. Captain Fitzclarence, a splendid swordsman, laid four Boers who faced him on the ground; his men pursued with the bayonet.
Botha said next day that they thought a thousand men had been hurled against them, and the Boers in the other trenches fired as fast as they could at anything they could see or not see, many of the bullets going as far as the town.
This useless firing went on for a long time. When the attacking party arrived at the town again, they found they had lost only six men, eleven wounded, and two taken prisoners. Next day the Boers fired no gun until evening, and had plenty to do in collecting their wounded.
Several such night attacks were made in order to check the Boers’ advance. After six weeks of siege, Colonel Baden-Powell said in a published order: “Provisions are not yet scarce, danger is purely incidental, and everything in the garden is lovely.” He was always trying to cheer up his little garrison with humorous speeches and funny doings, with concerts and dances and theatrical entertainments. It was the knowledge of what he had done to keep up the spirits of his men and the spirits of Englishmen at home which caused such a frenzy of delight when Mafeking was finally relieved. What seemed a madnessof joy was a sure instinct in the nation. It is true that Mafeking, through the foresight of Julius Weil, the contractor, possessed immense stocks of food; but as to its defences, dummy camps and dummy earthworks built to affright the Boers would not have availed unless the loyalty and bravery of the colonists had been equal to the severest strain. There was a wild desire to spike “Big Ben,” but the Creusot was hedged round by barbed wire, guarded by mines, and flanked by Nordenfeldt guns. It seemed wearisome work, week after week, to find the Boers standing away four or five miles, while from their places of safety they launched their shells. Sometimes in the night Baden-Powell would go forth alone, and creep or stand and examine and ferret out the plans of the enemy. Often, as he returned, he would startle some dozing sentry, even as the great Napoleon, who once found a sentry asleep, and shouldered his musket until the fellow awoke with a start. “I will not tell, but don’t do it again!”
Seven weary weeks have passed, and Mafeking still endures the straits of a siege and the terrors of a bombardment. The Boers have summoned to their aid the finest guns from their arsenal in Pretoria to breach and pound the earthworks; they pour shot and shell into the little town: but everybody is living below ground now.
But they have bethought them of a new engine of terror and death. All was dark outside, the good folk in Mafeking were going to bed in peace, when a deafening roar shook the town to its foundation of rock; a lurid glow of blood-red fire lit up square and street and veldt, while pattering down on roofs of corrugated iron dropped a hailstorm of sand and stones, and twigs broken from many trees. The frightened folk ran out to see what had happened, and they saw a huge column of fire and smoke rising from the ground to the north of Mafeking. Afterthe great roar of explosion came a weird silence and then the rattle of falling fragments on roof after roof; and then the cry of terror, the shriek of those who had been aroused from sleep to face the great trumpet-call of the Day of Judgment: for this they imagined that awful phenomenon to portend.
It was not until the morning that they knew what had caused the alarm. About half a mile up the line the ground was rent and torn; the rails were bent and scattered and flung about as by an earthquake.
On inquiry, they found that the Boers had filled a trolley with dynamite, and were to impel it forwards towards Mafeking. They lit the time-fuse, and proceeded to push the trolley up a slight incline. A few yards further, and it would reach the down incline, and would run merrily into town without need of further aid from muscle of man.
But they gave over pushing a little too soon; the trolley began to run back, and it was so dark they did not realize it until it had gathered way; then they called to one another, and some pushed, but others remembered the time-fuse, and stood aloof with their mouths open.
Very soon the time-fuse met the charge, and the dynamite hastened to work all the evil it could, regardless of friend or foe.
Piet Cronje was in command of the Boers now; he was vexed by this unlucky accident, but threatened to send to Pretoria for dynamite guns, just to make this absurd veldt-city jump and squeal. Cronje was willing to ride up and storm Mafeking, but the idle braggarts who formed the greater part of his army dared not face the steel; yet there was more than one lady in the trenches able and ready to use her rifle. The natives had suffered more from shell-fire than the whites. It is not easy to impress the Kaffir mind with the peril of a bursting shell; though the Kaffir may have helped to build bomb-proofshelters for Europeans, yet for himself and his family he thinks a dug-out pit too costly, and will lie about under a tarpaulin or behind a wooden box, until the inevitable explosion some day sends him and his family into the air in fragments.
An Amazon at MafekingMrs. Davies, the lady sharpshooter, in the British trenches.
An Amazon at MafekingMrs. Davies, the lady sharpshooter, in the British trenches.
An Amazon at Mafeking
Mrs. Davies, the lady sharpshooter, in the British trenches.
One such victim was heard to murmur feebly as they put him on the stretcher, “Boss, boss, me hurt very.” They bear pain very stoically, and turn their brown pathetic eyes on those who come to help them, much as a faithful hound will look in his master’s face for sympathy when in the agony of death. There were so many shells that missed human life that the people grew careless and ventured out too often.
Late in November a local wheelwright thought he would extract the charge from a Boer shell which had not exploded. The good man used a steel drill. For a time all went well, and his two companions bent over to watch the operation; then came a hideous row, a smell, a smoke, and the wheelwright, with both his comrades, was hurled into space.
The Boers had not spared the hospital or the convent. The poor Sisters had had a fearful time; the children’s dormitory was in ruins, and their home riddled with holes. Still the brave Sisters stuck to their post, comforted the dying, nursed the sick, and set an example of holy heroism. Here is an extract from a letter describing a scene with the Kaffirs:
“It is amusing to take a walk into the stadt, the place of rocks, and watch the humours of the Kaffirs, some 8,000 in number. Now and then they hold a meeting, when their attire is a funny mixture of savagery and semi-civilization. You come upon a man wearing a fine pair of check trousers, and nothing else, but mighty proud of his check; another will wear nothing but a coat, with the sleeves tied round his neck; some wear hats adorned withan ostrich feather, and a small loin-cloth. My black friend was such a swell among them that he wore one of my waistcoats, a loin-cloth, and a pair of tennis shoes. He wore the waistcoat in order to disport a silver chain, to which was attached an old watch that refused to go. But it was a very valuable ornament to Setsedi, and won him great influence in the kraal. Yet when my friend Setsedi wanted to know the time of day, if he was alone, he just glanced at the shadow of a tree; or if in company, he lugged out his non-ticker, and made believe to consult it in conjunction with the sun. The sun might be wrong—that was the impression he wished to create—and it was perhaps more prudent to correct solar time by this relic of Ludgate Circus. Thus Setsedi, like other prominent politicians, did not disdain to play upon the credulity of his compatriots.
“Sometimes on a Sunday afternoon, when the Boers were keeping the Sabbath and no shells were flying around, the children of the veldt would begin a dance. They formed into groups of forty or fifty, and began with hand-clapping, jumping, and stamping of bare feet. The old crones came capering round, grinning and shrieking delight in high voices apt to crack for age. From stamping the young girls passed on to swaying bodies, every limb vibrating with rising emotion, as they flung out sinewy arms with languorous movement; then more wild grew the dance, more loud the cries of the dancers, as they threw themselves into striking postures, glided, shifted, retreated, laughed, or cried.
“I had been watching them for some time when Setsedi came up to me and said:
“‘Baas, I go now to mark some cows for to-night; will you come?’
“‘What! has the big white chief given you leave to make a raid?’ I asked.
“‘Yes, Marenna—yes; we are to go out to-night, and bring in a herd from beyond the brickfields yonder—if we can.’
“‘And you go now, this afternoon, to mark them down, and spy out the ground?’
“He smiled, showing a set of splendid teeth, pulled out his watch, hit it back and front with his knuckles till it rattled to the very centre of the works, spat carefully, and replied with some pride:
“‘We brought in twenty oxen last week; the chief very pleased with us, and gave us a nice share, Marenna.’
“Setsedi addressed me thus when he was pleased with himself and the universe: Marenna means sir.
“‘Well, Setsedi,’ said I, ‘if I can get leave, I would like to go out with you to-night. May I bring my boy, Malasata?’
“The idea of my asking his permission gave Setsedi such a lift up in his own opinion of himself that he actually reflected with his chin in the air before he finally gave his royal assent to my proposition.
“Time and place were settled, and I went back to the club for a wash. These black chaps, if they don’t help us much in fighting, have proved themselves very useful in providing us now and then with rich, juicy beef from the Boer herds that stray about the veldt. When I went home and told Malasata he was to accompany me to-night on a cattle-raiding foray, like a true Kaffir, he concealed his delight, and only said, ‘Ā-hă, Ā-hă, Unkos!’ but he could not prevent his great brown eyes from sparkling with pleasure. When it was pitch-dark we started—about a score of us—and crept along silently past the outposts, word having been passed that the raiders were to go and come with a Kaffir password or countersign.
“Most of the Kaffirs were stark naked, the better to evade the grasp of any Boer who might clutch at them.A sergeant had been told off to accompany them; he and I were the only white men out that night. After an hour’s careful climbing and crawling, stopping to listen and feel the wind, the better to gauge our direction, Setsedi came close to my ear and whispered:
“‘We can smell them, Baas; plenty good smell. You and sergeant stay here; sit down, wait a bit; boots too much hullabaloo; too loud talkee!’
“It was disappointing, but we quite saw the need of this caution, and we neither of us saw the necessity of walking barefoot upon a stony veldt; so we sat down in the black silence, and waited. Yet it was not so silent as it seemed: we could hear the bull-frogs croaking a mile away in the river-bed, and sometimes a distant tinkle of a cow-bell came to us on the soft breeze, or a meercat rustled in the grass after a partridge. In about half an hour we heard something; was it a reed-buck? Then came the falling of a stone, the crackling of a stick as it broke under their tread; then we rose and walked towards our black friends.
“Three or four Kaffirs were shepherding each ox, ‘getting a move’ on him by persuasion or fist-law. Sometimes one ox would be restive and ‘moo’ to his mates, or gallop wildly hither and thither; but always the persistent, ubiquitous Kaffir kept in touch with his beast, talking to him softly like a man and a brother, and guiding him the way he should go. And all this time the Boers were snoring not 300 yards off, sentry and all, very probably. But it would not do to count upon their negligence; any indiscreet noise might awake a trenchful of Mauser-armed men, and bring upon us a volley of death.
“When we had got the cattle well out of earshot of the Boer lines, the Kaffirs urged on the oxen by running up and pinching them, but without uttering a sound. As we drew near to the native stadt, a great number of nativeswho had been lying concealed in the veldt rose up to help their friends drive the raided cattle into the enclosure, and the sergeant went to head-quarters with the report of twenty-four head of cattle safely housed.”
The besieged had persevered in their “dug-outs” until May, 1900, being weary and sometimes sick, faint with poor food, and hopes blighted. They had been asked by Lord Roberts to endure a little longer; Kimberley had been relieved, and their turn would come soon.
Meanwhile, President Kruger’s nephew, Commandant Eloff, had come into the Boer camp with men who had once served as troopers at Mafeking, and who knew much about the fortifications. Eloff made a skilful attack upon the town on the 12th of May, and was successful in capturing a fort, Colonel Hore, and twenty-three men. This attack had been urgent, because news had reached the Boers that the British relief column had reached Vryburg on the 10th of May, and Vryburg is only ninety-six miles south of Mafeking. During the fight Mr. J. A. Hamilton, not knowing that the fort had been taken, thought that he would ride across to see Colonel Hore. It was a short ride from where he was—only a few hundred yards. The bullets whistled near his head, and he scampered across the open to reach cover. It was a bad light, and smoke was drifting about, but he saw men standing about the head-quarters or sitting on the stoep facing the town. As he rode his horse was struck, and swerved violently; some one seized his bridle and shouted “Surrender!” They were Boers, and amongst them were Germans, Italians, and Frenchmen. Many speaking at once, they ordered him to hold up his hands, give up his revolver, get off his horse.
“We had better all take cover, I think,” said Hamilton, as English bullets were falling rather near them.
Then they took him within the walls. But he had not yet obeyed any of their orders.
“Will you hold your hands up?” said one Boer, thrusting a rifle into his ribs with a grin.
“With pleasure, under the circumstances,” he replied, trying to smile.
“Will you kindly hand over that revolver?” said another.
“What! and hold my hands up at the same time?”
They were dull; they did not see the joke, but shouted, “Get off!”
Some one unstrapped the girths, and Mr. Hamilton rolled to the ground. It was only then that he saw his horse had been shot in the shoulder, and he asked them to put the poor beast out of his pain.
“No, no! Your men will do that soon enough,” said they.
The poor animal stood quietly looking at him, as he says, with a sad, pathetic, inquiring look in his eyes, as if he were asking, “What can you do for me? I assure you my shoulder gives me awful pain.”
Hamilton was taken inside the fort and made prisoner. When, later in the day, he came out, he found his poor horse lying with his throat cut and seven bullet-wounds in his body.
There were thirty-three prisoners crowded in a small, ill-ventilated store-room, and they grew very hungry. As dusk settled down they began to hear echoes of desperate fighting outside. Bullets came through the wall and roofing, splintering window and door; through the grating of the windows they could see limping figures scurry and scramble; they heard voices cursing them and urging Eloff to handcuff and march the prisoners across the line of fire as a screen for them in their retreat. Then the firing died down, and the Boers seemed to have rallied; then came a fresh outburst of heavy firing, and then a sudden silence. Eloff rushed to the door.
“Where is Colonel Hore?”
“Here!”
“Sir, if you can induce the town to cease fire, we will surrender.”
It was quite unexpected, this turn of events. No one spoke. Then Eloff said:
“I give myself up as a hostage. Get them to cease fire.”
The prisoners went out, waved handkerchiefs, shouted, “Surrender! Cease fire, boys.”
When this was done sixty-seven Boers laid down their rifles, and the prisoners stacked them up in their late prison.
Commandant Eloff was now a prisoner instead of being master of Mafeking; his partial success he owed to his own dash and gallantry, his failure to the half-hearted support of General Snyman. He dined at head-quarters, and a bottle of champagne was opened to console him and distinguish this day of surprises.
On the 16th of May there was great excitement in the town; the great activity in the Boer laagers, the clouds of dust rising in the south, all showed that something new and strange was coming. News had come of General Mahon having joined Colonel Plumer a few miles up the river. “When will they come?” everybody was asking. About half-past two General Mahon’s guns were heard, and the smoke of the bursting shells could be seen in the north-west.
In the town people were taking things very calmly. Had they not enjoyed this siege now for seven months, when it had been expected to last three weeks at the most? They were playing off the final match in the billiard tournament at the club. Then came a hubbub, and Major Pansera galloped by with the guns to get a parting shot at the retiring Boers.
Then fell the dusk, and the guns came back. Everybody went to dinner very elated and happy. “By noon to-morrow we shall be relieved,” they said.
It was now about seven o’clock; the moon was shining brightly in the square.
“Hello! what’s this? Who are you, then?”
There were eight mounted men sitting on horseback outside the head-quarters office.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” asked a man in the crowd.
“We are under Major Karie Davis with a despatch from General Mahon.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, we’ve come to relieve you fellows; but you don’t seem to care much whether you are relieved or not.”
Then the news travelled round the town; a great crowd gathered, and round after round of cheers broke out. The troopers were surrounded by enthusiastic citizens, cross-questioned, congratulated, slapped on the back, shaken by the hand, and offered—coffee!
Major Davis came out and called for cheers for the garrison; then all fell to hallooing of such anthems as “Rule Britannia” and “God save the Queen.”
Then the troopers of the Imperial Light Horse were taken in to supper.
About two in the morning the troops entered Mafeking—not quite 2,000 men; but when the townsfolk, hearing the noise, ran out into the starry, moonlit night, they saw such a host of horses, mules, and bullocks, such a line of waggons and camp-followers, and such a beautiful battery of bright Royal Horse and Canadian Artillery and Maxims that life seemed worth living at last. Those who did not laugh quietly went home and cried for joy. They had earned their day of delight.
Mafeking had endured 1,498 shells from the 100-poundCreusot; besides this, they had had to dodge 21,000 odd shells of smaller calibre. Men who saw Ladysmith said that the ruin at Mafeking was far greater.
Lord Roberts had, with his wonted generosity, sent a mob of prime bullocks and a convoy of other luxuries. So when the Queen’s birthday came, as it soon did, the town made merry and were very thankful.
England was thankful too, for although it was only a little town on the veldt, every eye at home had been upon the brave defenders who, out of so little material, had produced so grand a defence.
It is not too much to say that Colonel Baden-Powell and his gallant company had not only kept the flag flying; they had done far more: they had kept up the spirits of a nation beginning to be humiliated by defeat after defeat, when most of the nations of Europe were jeering at her, and wishing for her downfall. But God gave us victory in the end.
In part from J. A. Hamilton’s “Siege of Mafeking,” by kind permission of Messrs. Methuen and Co.
The diamond-mines—Cecil Rhodes comes in—Streets barricaded—Colonel Kekewich sends out the armoured train—Water got from the De Beers Company’s mines—A job lot of shells—De Beers can make shells too—Milner’s message—Beef or horse?—Long Cecil—Labram killed—Shelter down the mines—A capture of dainties—Major Rodger’s adventures—General French comes to the rescue—Outposts astonished to see Lancers and New Zealanders.
Kimberley is the second largest town in Cape Colony, and is the great diamond-mining district, having a population of about 25,000 whites. Mr. Cecil Rhodes was the Chairman of the De Beers Mines Company, which pays over a million a year in wages.
Kimberley could not at first believe war to be possible between the Dutch and English, though they saw the regular troops putting up earthworks and loopholed forts all round the town. Next a Town Guard was formed to man the forts, while the 600 regulars and artillery were to be camped in a central position ready for emergencies. Cecil Rhodes arrived the last day the railway was open, and began at once to raise a regiment at his own expense—the Kimberley Light Horse. All the streets were blocked with barricades and barbed wires to prevent the Boers rushing in. The main streets had a narrow opening left in the centre guarded by volunteers, who had orders to let none pass without asigned permit. Rhodes used to ride far out on the veldt, dressed in white flannel trousers, though the Boers hated him, and would dearly have liked to pot him at a safe distance.
Colonel Kekewich was in command—a man of Devon, and very popular with his men. On the 24th of October they had their first taste of fighting, when a patrol came across a force of Boers who were out with the object of raiding the De Beers’ cattle. Kekewich, from his conning-tower, could see his men in difficulties, and sent out the armoured train, and the Boers were speedily dispersed. There were many wounded on both sides, and the Mauser bullet was found to be able to drill a neat hole through bone and muscle, in some cases without doing so much damage as the old bullets of lower velocity in earlier wars.
At the beginning of the siege it was feared that water might fail, but in three weeks the De Beers Company had contrived to supply the town with water from an underground stream in one of their mines.
The bombardment began on the 7th of November, and, as at Mafeking, did not do much damage, for the shells, being fired from Spytfontein, four miles away, and being a “job lot” supplied to the Transvaal Government, did not often reach the houses, and often forgot to burst. So that, it is said, an Irish policeman, hearing a shell explode in the street near him, remarked calmly to himself: “The blazes! and what will they be playing at next?”
But by the 11th the Boers had brought their guns nearer, had found the range, and were becoming a positive nuisance to quiet citizens.
Sunday was a day of rest and no shelling took place, but on other days it began at daylight, and, with pauses for meals and a siesta, continued till nine or ten o’clockat night. As usual, there were extraordinary escapes. One shell just missed the dining-room of the Queen’s Hotel, where a large company were at dinner, and, choosing the pantry close beside it, killed two cats. Luckily there was time between the sound of the gun and the arrival of the shell to get into cover.
The De Beers Company, having many clever engineers and artisans, soon began to make their own shells, which had “With C. J. R.’s Compts.” stamped upon them—rather a grim jest when they did arrive.
On the 28th November Colonel Scott Turner, who commanded the mounted men, was killed in a sortie. He was a very brave, but rather reckless, officer, and was shot dead close to the Boer fort.
Sometimes our own men would go out alone, spying and sniping, and in many cases they were shot by their own comrades by mistake.
By December the milk-farms outside the town had been looted, and fresh milk began to be very scarce; even tinned milk could not be bought without a doctor’s order, countersigned by the military officer who was in charge of the stores. The result was that many young children died.
At Christmas Sir Alfred Milner sent a message to Kimberley, wishing them aluckyChristmas. This gave the garrison matter for thought, and the townsfolk wondered if England had forgotten their existence.
Those who could spent some time and care on their gardens, for they tried to find a nice change from wurzels to beet, and even beans and lettuce. For scurvy, the consequence of eating too much meat without green stuff, had already threatened the town. Those who wanted food had to go to the market hall and fetch it, showing a ticket which mentioned how many persons were to be supplied. When horse-flesh first began to beused by the officers, Colonel Peakman, presiding at mess, said cheerfully: “Gentlemen, very sorry we can’t supply you all with beef to-day. Beef this end, very nice joint of horse the other end. Please try it.” But the officers all applied for beef, as the Colonel had feared they would.
Then suddenly, when all had finished, he banged his hand on the table, and said: “By Jove! I see I have made a mistake in the joints. This is the capital joint of horse which I am carving! Dear! dear! I wanted so to taste the horse, but—what! not so bad after all? Then you will forgive me, I am sure, for being so stupid.”
All the same, some of them thought that the Colonel had made the mistake on purpose, just to get them past the barrier of prejudice.
Towards the end of January the bombardment grew more severe; the shells came from many quarters, and some were shrapnel, which caused many wounds. The new gun made by the De Beers Company did its best to reply, but it was only one against eight or nine. The Boers confessed that they directed their fire to the centre of the town, where there were mostly only women and children, for the men were away from home in the forts or behind the earthworks. The townsfolk tried to improve their shell-proof places, but most of them were deadly holes, hot and stuffy beyond description, but that made by Mr. Rhodes around the Public Gardens was far superior to the rest. The De Beers gun was named “Long Cecil,” after Mr. Rhodes, and was about 10 feet long; it threw a shell weighing 28 pounds. When it was first fired, the great question was, “Will it burst?”
But the Boers were surprised, when they sat at breakfast in a safe spot, to hear shells dropping around like ripe apples. That breakfast was left unfinished, as an intercepted letter informed the garrison.
However, the Boers soon placed a bigger gun nearKimberley, and shells began to fall in the market-place very freely.
In February the garrison had a great loss. The last shell of that day fell into the Grand Hotel and killed George Labram, the De Beers chief engineer. It was Labram who had arranged for the new water-supply, who had made the new shells, and planned “Long Cecil.” He was to Kimberley what Kondrachenko was to the Russians at Port Arthur—a man of many inventions, an American, ready at all points. He had just gone upstairs to wash before dinner, when a shell entered and cut him to ribbons, so that he died instantly. A servant of the hotel was in his room at the time, and was not touched.
Towards the middle of February notices signed by Cecil Rhodes were posted up all over the town to the effect that women and children should take shelter in the two big mines. So very soon the streets were full of people running to the mines with babies, blankets, bread, and bedding. The crowd was so great that it took from 5.30 p.m. to midnight to lower them all down the shafts. Kimberley mine took more than 1,000, the De Beers mine 1,500, and all were lowered without a single accident.
One day some natives came in with a story that the Boers had deserted the fort Alexandersfontein. Spies were sent out to investigate, and reported it to be a fact, so some of the Town Guard, with help from the Lancashires, sallied out and took possession of the fort. A few Boers who had been left there were wounded or taken prisoners.
“We will wait a bit in this fort, boys, to see what will turn up,” said the Captain; and in a short time they saw four waggons coming up, which were driven unsuspiciously right into his hands. Other waggons followed, all full of most delicious dainties for Boer stomachs, but likely to be received in starving Kimberleywith greater enthusiasm—such things as poultry, grain, butter, fresh vegetables, and bacon. The waggons were drawn by fat bullocks—a sight for mirth and jollity.
In the afternoon the poor Boers knew what they had missed, and some very spiteful bullets were sent across for several hours.
Major Rodger had sent some men to spy out the country, and was waiting for their return. Presently he saw two men advancing towards him, and thinking they were his own men he rode up to them. On drawing near he saw they were Boers. His main body of men were far behind, and he realized that if he galloped away he would be shot, so he quietly walked his horse up to them. One of the Boers said: “Who are you?” “Only one of the fighting-men from Kimberley,” the Major replied. They did not draw their revolvers, they did not cry “Hands up!” and seize him by the collar—no, all they did was to utter a brief swear, turn their horses’ heads, and scamper over the veldt as fast as they could, stooping over the pommel to avoid the Major’s fire. But half a mile away they hit upon some of their own comrades, fired a few volleys, broke the Major’s arm, and retired.
Major Rodger, however, had not done his day’s work, and never told his men he had been shot until they returned to Kimberley in the evening. So much for a Kimberley volunteer!
Meanwhile, the little folks and the women deep down in the mine—some 1,500 feet—were busy devouring sandwiches of corned-beef and horse, and buckets of tea and coffee, with condensed milk, were lowered down too. The large chamber cut out of the rock was lit with electric light, and was not very hot, though it was crammed with children, many of whom were lying on rugs or blankets; they lay so thick on the floor that walking amongst them was the feat of an acrobat. Butthey were safe down there! No ghastly sights of mangled limbs met their gaze, no whizz of deadly shell, no scream of pain reached them there. It was worth something to have escaped the horrors of a siege, and to feel no nervous tremors, no cowardly panic, no dull despair.
Meanwhile Lord Roberts had not forgotten Kimberley. A force of some 5,000 sabres, led by General French, with two batteries of Horse Artillery, had galloped in the dead of night to the Modder River. Here a small Boer force fled from before them, and ever on through the quivering heat rode Hussars, Dragoons, and Lancers, until both men and horses fell out exhausted on the veldt. On the third day they came close to some kopjes, or hills, on which Boers were posted, who stared in amazement at the sight of the 9th Lancers sweeping in open order round the base of the hills. A hundred miles they had ridden with scant food and scanter water, so that the Boers might have been still more surprised to see many a trooper walking by his tired steed, and even carrying the saddle.
Dr. Conan Doyle tells us that “a skirmish was in progress on the 15th of February between a party of the Kimberley Light Horse and some Boers, when a new body of horsemen, unrecognized by either side, appeared upon the plain, and opened fire upon the enemy. One of the strangers rode up to the Kimberley patrol, and said:
“‘What the dickens does K.L.H. mean on your shoulder-strap?’
“‘It means Kimberley Light Horse. Who are you?’
“‘I am one of the New Zealanders.’”
How puzzled that member of the Kimberley force must have been—a New Zealander out on the African veldt!
Soon the little clouds of dust on the horizon drewhundreds of townsfolk to the earthworks, and as the glint of spear-head and scabbard flashed out of the cloud, and the besieged garrison knew their troubles were over, men waved their hats and shouted, and tearful, laughing ladies flocked round the first men who rode in, and nearly pulled them out of the saddle. Then they set to and hauled the rest out of the mines, finishing that job well by midnight.
For 124 days Kimberley had been besieged. The Boers had never once attacked the town, though not more than 550 mounted men were latterly available for offensive work; these, with the Town Guard, Lancashires, and Kimberley Rifles, made a total of 3,764. Colonel Kekewich might well look radiantly happy; he had administered everything with strict justice, and had earned the respect and admiration of all, while Cecil Rhodes and the De Beers officials had magnificently met and countered every difficulty with generous skill and unflagging energy.
Ladysmith—Humours of the shell—TheLyretries to be funny—Attack on Long Tom—A brave bugler—Practical jokes—The black postman—A big trek—Last shots—Some one comes—Saved at last.
Ladysmith, where Sir George White and his men detained the Boers so long, is a scattered town lying on a lake-like plain, and surrounded by an amphitheatre of rocky hills. To the north-west was Pepworth Hill, where the Boer Long Tom was placed; north-east of the town, and four miles away, was Unbulwana: here the Boers had dragged a large siege-gun.
South of the town the Klip River runs close under the hills, and here many caves were dug as hiding-places for the residents. There were many women and children there all day long. On the 3rd of November the wires were cut; Ladysmith was isolated and besieged. On the next day it was discussed whether General Joubert’s proposal should be accepted—that the civilians, women, and children should go out and form a camp five miles off under the white flag. Archdeacon Barker got up, and said: “Our women and children shall stay with the men under the Union Jack, and those who would do them harm may come to them at their peril.”
The meeting cheered the tall, white-haired priest, and agreed thereto.
The townsfolk soon got used to shell-fire, but they spent most of the day by the river in their cool caves. There was a Dr. Starke, a visitor from Torquay, who used to go about with a fishing-rod, and spend hours by the river—a kindly man, who one day found a cat mewing piteously at a deserted house, and, making friends with it, used to carry it about with him. This gentleman, having the cat in his arms, was standing near the door of the Royal Hotel talking to Mr. McHugh, when a shell came through the roof, passed through two bedrooms, and whizzed out at the front-door, catching the poor doctor just above the knees. His friend escaped without a scratch. Dr. Starke had always tried to avoid the peril of shells, and they used to banter him on his over-anxiety. It is strange how many hits and how many misses are in the nature of a surprise.
Late in November a shell entered a room in which a little child was sleeping, and knocked one of the walls of the bedroom clean out. In the cloud of dust and smoke the parents heard the cry of the little babe, rushed in, and found her absolutely untouched, while 20 yards away a splinter of the same shell killed a man of the Natal Police. At the same house later in the evening two friends called to congratulate the mother; they were being shown two pet rabbits, when a splinter of a shell came in and cut in two one of the rabbits.
One day a Natal Mounted Rifleman was lying in his tent, stretched himself, yawned, and turned over. At that instant a shell struck the spot where he had just been lying, made a hole in the ground, and burst. The tent was blown away from its ropes, his pillow and clothes were tossed into the air. Poor fellow! his comrades ran towards him, and found him sitting up, pale, but unharmed. They could hardly believe their senses. “Why, man, you ought to have been blown to smithereens!” Another day a trooper of the 18th Hussars was rolled over, horse and all, yet neither of them suffered any severe injury.
December came, and by then the poor women were looking harassed and worn: so many grievous sights, so many perils to try and avoid, so many losses to weep over.
Some of the correspondents brought out a local paper, theLadysmith Lyre, to enliven the spirits of the dull and timid and sick. The news may be sampled by the following extracts:
“November 14.—General French has twice been seen in Ladysmith disguised as a Kaffir. His force is entrenched behind Bulwen. Hurrah!
“November 20.—H.M.S.Powerfulran aground in attempting to come up Klip River; feared total loss. [Klip River is 2 feet deep in parts.]
“November 21.—We hear on good authority that the gunner of Long Tom is Dreyfus.
“November 26.—Boers broke Sabbath firing on our bathing parties. Believed so infuriated by sight of people washing that they quite forgot it was Sunday.”
TheLadysmith Lyrehad come out three times before December.
On the 7th of December, at 10 p.m., 400 men, who had volunteered for the task, were ordered to turn out, carrying rifles and revolvers only, and to make no noise. A small party of Engineers were to be with them. Their object was to destroy Long Tom, which was now removed from Pepworth to Lombard’s Kop, on the north-east. They started when the moon went down on a fine starlight night. By a quarter to two a.m. they were close to the foot of Lombard’s Kop, but the Boer pickets had not been alarmed. General Hunter, who led them, explained how 100 of the Imperial Light Horse and 100 of theCarbineers would steal up the mountain and take the Boer guns, while 200 of the Border Mounted (on foot) would go round the hill to protect their comrades from a flank attack. The Engineers, carrying gun-cotton and tools, followed close after the storming party. As our men were creeping quietly up the hill on hands and knees, amazed that there were no outposts, a sudden challenge rang out behind them: “Wis kom dar?”
Had the Boer sentry been dreaming in the drowsy night?
“Wis (pronounced ve) kom dar? Wis kom dar?” he impatiently shouted. Our men sat down on the slope above him, grinning to themselves, and made no answer.
“Wis kom dar?” He was getting angry and frightened this time, by the tone of it.
“Take that fellow in the wind with the butt of a rifle, and stop his mouth.”
Then the Boer knew who they were, and yelled to his comrades for help; then they heard him say to his after-rider: “Bring my peart—my horse!” and he was safely off!
Further up the hill a shrill voice shouted: “Martinas, Carl Joubert, der Rovinek!” (the Red-neck). At this our men clambered up like goats, while a volley was fired, and bullets whizzed over their heads.
“Stick to me, guides!” shouted General Hunter.
As they neared the top Colonel Edwards, of the volunteers, shouted: “Now then, boys, fix bayonets, and give them a taste of the steel.” This was meant for the Dutchmen to hear, for there was not a bayonet amongst the assaulting party.
The Boers do not like cold steel, and they were heard slithering and stumbling down the other side of the mountain. Now they were up on the top. There stood Long Tom pointing at high heaven, loaded ready, andlaid to a range of 8,000 yards, or over four miles. Not a Boer was to be seen or heard anywhere.
Quickly the Engineers got to work. Some removed the breech-block, others filled the barrel with gun-cotton, plugged both muzzle and breech, and ran a pretty necklace of gun-cotton round the dainty ribs of the barrel. Long Tom was looking quite unconscious of their attentions, and shone in the starlight.
He had been set on solid masonry, was mounted on high iron wheels, and a short railway line had been laid down for purposes of locomotion. A thick bomb-proof arch was built over him, and huge pyramids of shells were piled up round about him. A Howitzer and a field-gun, which stood close by, were then destroyed, and a Maxim was reserved to be brought away.
In about twenty minutes the Engineers announced that they were ready.
Like goats they had swarmed about him, and now it was Long Tom’s turn to say “Baa!”
The firing fuse was attached. “Keep back! keep back!”
There was heard a dull roar from the monster, and the whole mountain flared out with a flash as if of lightning.
“Had the gun-cotton done its work?” They ran back to inspect.
“Barrel rent, sir; part of the muzzle torn away.” Long Tom has fired his last shot. The ladies of Ladysmith will be very thankful for this small favour. The men came back, most of them carrying small trophies.
Down they scrambled; no barbed wire, no impediments. Who would have thought that these English would stir out o’ night? Had they no desire to sleep and rest? But when they got down they found some had been wounded. Major Henderson had been twice hit—thumb almost torn away, and a couple of slugsin his thigh. Yet he had never halted, and was the first to tackle the gun. A few privates were also hit, but only one so seriously as to be left behind in care of a surgeon.
Great rejoicing at breakfast, and congratulations from Sir George White.
But the time wore on, and sickness came—far worse and more fatal than shell-fire. There were hundreds of fever patients in the hospital outside at Intombi Spruit.
Fever—typhoid, enteric—and no stimulants, no jellies, no beef-tea!
The only luxury was a small ration of tinned milk. Scores of convalescents died of sheer starvation. The doctors were overworked, and they, too, broke down.
No wonder that many in the garrison chafed at inaction, found fault with their superiors, and asked bitterly: “Are we to stay here till we rot?”
By New Year’s Eve Ladysmith had endured some 8,000 rounds of shell; many buildings had been hit half a dozen times. On New Year’s Day an officer of the Lancers was sleeping in his house, when a shell exploded and buried him in a heap of timber. When they pulled the mess off him, he sat up, rubbed the dust out of his eyes, and asked, “What o’clock is it?” He was unhurt.
There was a small bugler of the 5th Lancers who was the envy of every boy in the town. This boy was in the battle at Elands Laagte, and when a regiment seemed wavering he sounded the call, the advance, the charge. The result was that that regiment faced the music, and did valiantly. A General rode up to the bugler after the fight, and took his name, saying: “You are a plucky boy. I shall report you!”
For this boy, after sounding the charge, had drawn his revolver, rode into the thick of the fight on his Colonel’s flank, and shot three Boers one after the other.
Scores of officers gave the boy a sovereign for his pluck, and he wore his cap all through the siege in a very swagger fashion.
Some of the regiments had their pet dogs in Ladysmith.
When the King’s Royals went into action their regimental dog went with them. He had never been out of the fighting line, and had never had a scratch, but seemed to enjoy the fun of barking and looking back, saying, “Come on—faster!”
There was another, a little red mongrel, who insisted on seeing every phase of warfare; he had lost a leg in India—it was so smashed up that the doctor had to cut it off. There he was, pottering about on three legs, full of inquisitive ardour, and when not engaged on sanitary inspection work, always to the front when the guns were at it. This was the Hussars’ dog.
The Boers were fond of playing practical jokes. On Christmas Day they had fired a shell containing a plum-pudding into the artillery camp. On the hundred and first day of the siege one of the Boers on Bulwana Hill called up the signallers at Cæsar’s Camp, and flashed the message, “A hundred and one, not out.”
The Manchesters flashed back: “Ladysmith still batting.”
“What is the use of shelling these Britishers?” once said a Boer artilleryman. “They just go on playing cricket. Look yonder!”
Ah! but that was in the early days of the siege, when they had some strength in them. Later, after having short rations of horse-flesh, they could hardly creep from hill to hill.
Another day a heliograph message came: “How do you like horse-meat?”
“Fine,” was the answer, “When the horses are finished we shall eat baked Boer!”
It became very difficult to get letters through the Boer pickets; they had so many ways of trapping the native runners. The Kaffir paths were watched; bell-wires were doubled—one placed close to the ground, the other at the height of a man’s head. When the Kaffir touched one of these an electric bell rang on one of the kopjes, or hills, and swarms of guards swooped down to intercept him. But the Kaffir, being paid £15 a journey, did his best too.
He left the outer line of our pickets at dusk, and flitted away silently to the nearest native kraal; he handed in the letters to the black chief, and wandered on empty-handed towards General Buller’s camp. Meanwhile a simple Kaffir girl would pass the Boer camp, calabash on head, going to fetch water from the spring in the early morning. The letters were in the empty water-vessel!
She put them under a stone by the spring, and another maiden would come from the other side, and take them on in her calabash or mealie-jar.
At last the native runner would call for them and carry the letters to the English lines.
On the 6th of January a determined attack was made by the pick of the Boers upon Cæsar’s Camp. Our pickets in Buller’s relieving army could hear the sound of the guns, muffled by distance; officers and men gathered in groups on the hill-sides and listened intently to the long low growl of the rifle. Then came a helio message from Sir George White to General Clery: “Attacked on every side.” The nervous strain on these men, condemned to inaction after each new failure to cross the Tugela and fight their way into Ladysmith, became almost insupportable. They sat outside the big camp, gazing on Bulwana with telescopes and field-glasses, hardly daring to utter their thoughts. A second helio was flashedacross: “Enemy everywhere repulsed; fighting continues.” Then tongues were once more loosened, and hope arose as the distant firing sank to a sullen minute-gun. But half an hour later the booming of big guns on Bulwana was renewed, and away to the west arose a fierce rifle fire. “Attack renewed; enemy reinforced,” winked the helio from the top of Convent Hill, and again a dumb despair fell on the watchers. “Very hard pressed,” came the third message, firing our soldiers with indignant rage, as they thought of the poor part they had hitherto taken in relieving Ladysmith. But at length the heroism of the Devons, the Imperial Light Horse, and others of the Ladysmith garrison beat back the Boers’ desperate assault.
The Devons had climbed up the hill late in the afternoon to avenge their fallen comrades. They had charged straight up the hill in a line, but a deadly fire at short range brought down dozens of them as they rushed the top. However, there was no wavering in the Devons, but they pressed forward at the double with the steel advanced, and only a few Boers waited for that disagreeable operation in war. There was a terrific hailstorm going on as Colonel Park halted his men just below the crest: it was a moment to try the nerves of the strongest. Once over that lip of hillside and a fiercer storm than hail would meet them in the face, and call many of them to their last account. No wonder many a hand went for the water-bottle, and little nervous tricks of foot and hand betrayed the tension of the moment.
“Now then, Devons, get ready!” The men gripped their rifles in the old way of drill, quick and altogether, brows were knit, teeth set, and away they went into the jaws of death.
“Steady, Devons, steady!” No need to bid them besteady. They bore down upon the Boers with dogged and irresistible force, and the Boers turned and ran. Many an English officer fell that day, and several doctors were wounded while doing their duty.
The Boers who fought most fiercely were the old Dopper Boers, who nursed a bitter hatred for all Englishmen. These men would refuse all kind help even when lying hurt. They were suspected sometimes of cruelty to our wounded; for more than one of our men was found covered with bruises, as though he had been kicked or beaten to death. But these things were exceptional, and such conduct was confined to the most ignorant and uncivilized of the old Boers.
Many of the wounded lay where they fell for twenty-four hours and more. The Kaffir boys as they dug the long shallow graves would hum a low refrain; above wheeled the vultures, looking down upon the slain. The Boers confessed that it was the worst day they had ever had, and five days after the battle they were still searching for their dead. Our dead numbered about 150.
The Imperial Light Horse, containing many young Englishmen in their ranks, greatly distinguished themselves. The Brigadier commanding in the fight wrote to their chief officer: “No one realizes more clearly than I do that your men were the backbone of the defence during that day’s long fighting.” But sickness carried off far more than rifle or cannon. The Imperial Light Horse, who came to Ladysmith 475 strong, were now reduced to 150; the Devons, from 984 had gone down to 480.
As Majuba Day was coming near the messages brought by the runners became more hopeful: “All going well,” “Cronje is surrounded.”
But time after time came the news of Buller’s failure on the Tugela, and with every piece of ill news camereduced rations at Ladysmith. The artillery horses were nearly all eaten, the cavalry horses too; those that remained were too weak even to raise a trot. Would Buller ever cut his way through? The garrison were beginning to despond. If they had to fight a fierce battle again like that at Cæsar’s Camp a few weeks ago, when the pick of the Boer forces tried to take it by storm, would they not reel and faint for very want of food? Then, when all looked dark, and the far-off sound of Buller’s guns seemed to be dying away in another failure, something happened.
Men on outpost duty upon the hills round Ladysmith saw what seemed to them to be a long white snake crawling over the veldt. Officers seized their glasses, and started with an ejaculation of surprise, for what they saw was a long sinuous line of white-tilted waggons. “It’s the Boers coming away from the Tugela! By Jove! it’s a great trek!” Yes, the enemy were in full retreat at last; Buller had hammered them in so many places, and now at last he had succeeded.
There they came, waggon after waggon, in endless succession, as it seemed. Verily, it was a retreat of an army, for there were thousands of horsemen too, riding at a hand gallop, singly or in clusters, a continuous stream of moving figures coming round the corner of End Hill and then riding north behind Telegraph Hill. They were seeking their railway base.
But, though they rode fast in retreat, there was no confusion; the Boers know how to trek, and they do it well.
Oh! that we had had some horses, good strong horses, to gallop our guns in their direction. But the horses were all either eaten or too weak to trot. Those who looked to Bulwana Hill saw a strange black tripod being erected above the big Boer gun: they were going to takethe gun away. The gunners of thePowerfulsaw the tripod too. They set to work to try and prevent that work from being accomplished; both the 4·7’s were in action, and made the red earth fly near the Boer redoubt.
The third shell burst upon the summit of the hill. The many clusters of men who were watching waited breathlessly for the white smoke to clear away, and when it cleared there was no tripod to be seen! Then an exultant shout rose up from hill-side and from spruit; some in their excitement danced and sang and shook hands and laughed. They were weak for want of food, and had not the usual English restraint. Then a great hailstorm came drifting by, and there was a rush into the town to tell the glad news.
What a Babel of talk there was at dinner that evening! Why, some officers were so hopeful now that they ventured to predict that by to-morrow some of Buller’s men would be in Ladysmith.
The dinner of horse-flesh was progressing merrily when all at once a strange clattering of shoes outside awoke attention. They listened in the mess-room, and heard eager voices, cries of men and boys as they hurried past. One went to the window and shouted: “What’s the row?”
“Buller’s troopers are in sight; they have been seen riding across the flats!”
What! Then they all jumped up, and the youngest and strongest fared forth with the hurrying crowd towards the nearest river-drift.
On reaching this they saw across the river and the flat ground beyond, riding down a little ridge, a column of horsemen trotting towards them. Horsemen at full trot! Then they could not be any of their men, for their horses could not trot to save their lives.
The evening sun shone upon their full kit, and no onecould doubt that it was the relief column at last! God be thanked!
Now they had pulled up, and were welcomed by some officers of Sir George White’s staff. Meanwhile the motley crowd grew, at first too dazed to cheer or shout, but rather moist about the eyes. Malays were there in their red fezes, coolies in many-coloured turbans, and white-clad Indians, dhoolie-bearers, grinning a silent welcome. But the most excited and the noisiest in all that throng were the Kaffir boys and Zulus, the Basutos and Bechuanas. They felt no cold reserve strangle their expressions of delight, but danced and shouted and leapt like madmen, showing gleaming white teeth and sparkling eyes.
As they drew near the town they met many of the sick and wounded who had hobbled out, in their great joy, to receive the relievers, and who tried to wave their caps and say Hurrah! with the rest—a piteous sight of wan faces and poor shrunk shanks!
And the men of the Relief Column—so brown and well they looked—were feeling in their pockets for tobacco to distribute round, for the spectacle they saw of white-faced, feeble-kneed invalids smote them to the heart. They had never realized until at this moment all that the defenders of Ladysmith had suffered for England.
They rode in slowly, two by two, Dundonald and Gough and Mackenzie of Natal at the head of the column. All through the main street they rode, nodding to a friend here and a friend there, for the Imperial Light Horse had many friends in Ladysmith.
There were wild cheers half choked by emotion, and the little ones were hoisted on shoulder to be able to see the strong men who had come to save them. Then in the twilight came Sir George White and his staff to welcome the rescue party. As the leaders shook handsthe excitement and joy of relief broke forth again. Men bit their lips as if nothing was happening, but women and children cried and laughed and cried again. All in their heart, many in their voices, were thanking God for this timely deliverance. And then they fell to and cheered Sir George White: just then his patient heroism and kindly grip of power appealed to them. And some who had not wept before cried now when they looked on the old soldier, sitting so erect and proud in his saddle, with all the heavy cloud of care suddenly removed from his brow and the light of joy and gratitude shining through wet eyes. Twice—aye, thrice—he tried to speak, but the tears were in his throat and he could not utter his thoughts. Then the cheers came again, and gave him time to pull himself together.
He lifted his bowed head and thanked them for all their loyal help, soldiers and civilians alike, and then finished by one solemn phrase that touched all hearts: “Thank God, we kept the old flag flying!”
Why, the very Zulus caught the enthusiasm and leapt high into the air, waving bare arms aloft and shouting the old war-cry of Cetewayo and his savageimpis. That night there were long stories to be told in the camp of the Relief Column.
Mr. Winston Spencer Churchill, M.P., wrote his story down of how they rode into Ladysmith: “Never shall I forget that ride. The evening was deliciously cool. My horse was strong and fresh, for I had changed him at midday. The ground was rough with many stones, but we cared little for that—onward, wildly, recklessly, up and down hill, over the boulders, through the scrub. We turned the shoulder of a hill, and there before us lay the tin houses and dark trees we had come so far to see and save. The British guns on Cæsar’s Camp were firing steadily in spite of the twilight. What was happening? Never mind, we were nearly through the dangerous ground. Now we were all on the flat. Brigadier, staff, and troops let their horses go. We raced through the thorn-bushes by Intombi Spruit. Suddenly there was a challenge: ‘Halt! Who goes there?’ ‘The Ladysmith Relief Column.’ And thereat, from out of trenches and rifle-pits artfully concealed in the scrub a score of tattered men came running, cheering feebly, and some were crying. In the half-light they looked ghastly pale and thin, but the tall, strong colonial horsemen, standing up in their stirrups, raised a loud resounding cheer, for then we knew we had reached the Ladysmith picket-line.”
One word more on Sir Ian Hamilton, one of the greatest of our soldiers. It was he who held command on Cæsar’s Hill during those desperate seventeen hours of fighting. Spare, tall, quiet, smiling, he had the masterful manner of the born soldier, who fights and makes no fuss about it, and draws the soldiers after him in the forlornest of hopes by the magic of his sympathy and valour. Valour without sympathy, ability without the devotion of your men, can do little; but when both are united, steel and lead cannot prevail against them.