THE HUMOROUS SIDE OF THE CAMPAIGN.War is grim and fearsome and horrid as we know, or rather as we are being continually told, but nobody seems to have noticed that there is a humorous side to it, and sometimes the spectre Death wears the cap and bells. Up to the present the campaign has not been without its little amusing incidents. In the camp they have been quite numerous, and even on the battlefield itself they have not been unfrequent. The story of a private at Paardeberg who lay behind one of those ever-to-be-blessed antheaps, and contemplating a shattered tibia, exclaimed, addressing the injured member, "Well, you ain't done me badly after all. You 'elped to carry me 'ere, and now you've got me a life pension and free baccy from the parson," has the merit of being true. One cannot refrain a smile at the soliloquy of another private who wished to exhibit a bullet-riddled helmet to his friends at home. He was firing from behind a big boulder on which he placed his helmet. The inevitable shower of bullets followed, but, as has been so oftenthe case with Boer marksmen, not a single one touched the helmet, but one "fetched" its owner in the shoulder, whereupon he took the helmet from its exposed position, and, looking at his bleeding shoulder, remarked, "that comes of cursed pride and nothing else."The removal of all badges of rank from officers has been the source of many amusing mistakes. On the march from Poplar Grove here, it is related that a certain general officer was returning to camp after a terribly hard, dusty, dry day. A subaltern of the A.S.C. sat under his canvas awning, and thus addressed this distinguished general, "Now look here, if this happens again I'm d—d if I don't report you. For the last two hours you have been away, and heaven knows what the mules are up to." It is true it was dusk, but that was hardly a sufficient excuse for mistaking General —— for a conductor. "I say, old cocky," was the remark made once by a captain to a full colonel, "hadn't you better see about getting some grub?" Apologies followed, of course.Then who can resist laughing at the tale of woe unfolded by one of our most distinguished correspondents who dined one night with the —— Guards and slept in the tent of his host? The next morning he walked into the mess hut and sat down to breakfast. But imagine the trembling horror which seized hold of him when he looked round at his hosts of the night before and failed to recognise a single one of them. Was it a failure of memory, or was it incipient paralysis of the brain?—it could not, of course, have been the whisky. And so he sat in a bath of hot and cold perspiration, thinking that the blow which had sooften attacked and destroyed fine intellects had reached his. But sudden as a straw is whisked past the drowning man by the fast current, so there passed through his brain one ray of hope. He remembered the name of his host, and turning quickly to his neighbour, fearing lest his brain might again fail him and he should forget the name, asked, "Where is ——?" The answer was a relief and yet a horror, "—— is having breakfast in the mess tent of his battalion,"—and, pointing through the door, "there it is over there." It was with slow, sobered steps that our correspondent left the table and made his way to the hut of his host. He had made what, after all, was not an uncommon error, and had mistaken the S—— Guards' hut for that of the C—— Guards.
THE HUMOROUS SIDE OF THE CAMPAIGN.
War is grim and fearsome and horrid as we know, or rather as we are being continually told, but nobody seems to have noticed that there is a humorous side to it, and sometimes the spectre Death wears the cap and bells. Up to the present the campaign has not been without its little amusing incidents. In the camp they have been quite numerous, and even on the battlefield itself they have not been unfrequent. The story of a private at Paardeberg who lay behind one of those ever-to-be-blessed antheaps, and contemplating a shattered tibia, exclaimed, addressing the injured member, "Well, you ain't done me badly after all. You 'elped to carry me 'ere, and now you've got me a life pension and free baccy from the parson," has the merit of being true. One cannot refrain a smile at the soliloquy of another private who wished to exhibit a bullet-riddled helmet to his friends at home. He was firing from behind a big boulder on which he placed his helmet. The inevitable shower of bullets followed, but, as has been so oftenthe case with Boer marksmen, not a single one touched the helmet, but one "fetched" its owner in the shoulder, whereupon he took the helmet from its exposed position, and, looking at his bleeding shoulder, remarked, "that comes of cursed pride and nothing else."
The removal of all badges of rank from officers has been the source of many amusing mistakes. On the march from Poplar Grove here, it is related that a certain general officer was returning to camp after a terribly hard, dusty, dry day. A subaltern of the A.S.C. sat under his canvas awning, and thus addressed this distinguished general, "Now look here, if this happens again I'm d—d if I don't report you. For the last two hours you have been away, and heaven knows what the mules are up to." It is true it was dusk, but that was hardly a sufficient excuse for mistaking General —— for a conductor. "I say, old cocky," was the remark made once by a captain to a full colonel, "hadn't you better see about getting some grub?" Apologies followed, of course.
Then who can resist laughing at the tale of woe unfolded by one of our most distinguished correspondents who dined one night with the —— Guards and slept in the tent of his host? The next morning he walked into the mess hut and sat down to breakfast. But imagine the trembling horror which seized hold of him when he looked round at his hosts of the night before and failed to recognise a single one of them. Was it a failure of memory, or was it incipient paralysis of the brain?—it could not, of course, have been the whisky. And so he sat in a bath of hot and cold perspiration, thinking that the blow which had sooften attacked and destroyed fine intellects had reached his. But sudden as a straw is whisked past the drowning man by the fast current, so there passed through his brain one ray of hope. He remembered the name of his host, and turning quickly to his neighbour, fearing lest his brain might again fail him and he should forget the name, asked, "Where is ——?" The answer was a relief and yet a horror, "—— is having breakfast in the mess tent of his battalion,"—and, pointing through the door, "there it is over there." It was with slow, sobered steps that our correspondent left the table and made his way to the hut of his host. He had made what, after all, was not an uncommon error, and had mistaken the S—— Guards' hut for that of the C—— Guards.
Mr. Arthur Barlow has resigned his position as Editor ofThe Friend.
Original contributions and correspondence are invited from all ranks of the Field Force.
As in all probability the territory hitherto known as the O.F.S. will in the near future be designated by a different title, the Committee of Management offer a prize of £5 for the best suggestion for renaming this country.
On the afternoon of Monday, the 26th February, the 6-in. howitzers bombarded Gen. Cronje's laagerat Paardeberg with Lyddite shells. The effect of the salvos viewed from a distance of 3,000 yards was terrific. What the occupants of the laager felt cannot be told, for the reason that no truthful account is obtainable. The explosions in appearance were not unlike the great dynamite explosion in Johannesburg in 1896, only the great cloud of smoke was greenish-yellow instead of grey. An air of expectancy pervaded the British camp, every one knowing that the morrow was Majuba Day, and it was thought that something decisive would be done. Early next morning, about 3 o'clock, the silence of the night was broken by the softened spit-puff sound of the Mauser rifle, and immediately after the firing became a fierce fusillade, the sharp crack of the Lee-Metford joining in. The crackling concert lasted about an hour, rising and falling with sudden acute crises like a passage of Wagner's music. Bullets were falling around the camp at distances up to 3,000 yards, from the Boer laager, and it was evident that the firing was wild.
At first streak of dawn a ride to the advanced trenches of the Canadians on the river bank enabled one to learn the wherefore of the night's disturbance. The ambulance waggons were already proceeding quickly up the south bank of the river. A pontoon ferry was plying from bank to bank bringing across wounded Canadians, nearly all suffering from bullet wounds, but some few had by accident been struck by the bayonet.
The Canadians occupied trenches on the both banks of the river, and were within about 500 yards of the enemy. On their left—that is some distance north of the river—were the Gordons, and furtherto the south the Shropshires. The orders were that the four companies of Canadians on the north bank should advance under cover of the darkness and try to gain the enemy's trenches, or at least get nearer. They advanced in two lines of two companies each, the front line having bayonets fixed and the second carrying rifles slung with picks and shovels in their hands to dig an advanced trench, should it be thought advisable to go right to the trenches.
When the Canadians left the Gordons were to occupy the left of their trenches, and the Shropshires placed in advance in a position to command the Boers, should they rise in their trenches to fire on the Canadians. They were told to hold their fire until the Mausers first spoke. The Canadians and Gordons were not to fire at all. The operation was one requiring coolness, nerve, and pluck, and the Canadians did it magnificently. They advanced as quietly as possible about 400 yards, and then halted, the order being conveyed by pressure of the hand from one to another. Every one thought that the second line would now dig the trench, but another pressure ordered a further advance. Five paces had been covered when Mauser bullets hissed past, and the men, as ordered, fell flat, just in time to avoid the terrific fire that was immediately poured from the Boer trenches. A minute or two elapsed, and the order came to retire. Not a shot was fired by the Canadians, and they quietly crept back, gaining their trenches with comparatively little loss. Meanwhile the Shropshire men, who had carefully taken the range and direction before dark, opened fire on the Boers, and at the end of an hour put them to silence. A bugle sounded "cease fire,"and all was still again. That morning (Majuba Day) Cronje surrendered.
The British troops under my command having entered the Orange Free State, I feel it my duty to make known to all Burghers the cause of our coming, as well as to do all in my power to put an end to the devastation caused by this war, so that should they continue the war the inhabitants of the Orange Free State may not do so ignorantly, but with full knowledge of their responsibility before God for the lives lost in the campaign.
Before the war began the British Government, which had always desired and cultivated peace and friendship with the people of the Orange Free State, gave a solemn assurance to President Steyn that if the Orange Free State remained neutral its territory would not be invaded, and its independence would be at all times fully respected by Her Majesty's Government.
In spite of that declaration the Government of the Orange Free State was guilty of a wanton and unjustifiable invasion of British territory.
The British Government believes that this act of aggression was not committed with the general approval and free will of a people with whom it has lived in complete amity for so many years. It believes that the responsibility rests wholly with the Government of the Orange Free State, acting, not in the interests of the country, but under mischievousinfluences from without. The British Government, therefore, wishes the people of the Orange Free State to understand that it bears them no ill-will, and, so far as is compatible with the successful conduct of the war and the re-establishment of peace in South Africa, it is anxious to preserve them from the evils brought upon them by the wrongful action of their Government.
I therefore warn all Burghers to desist from any further hostility towards Her Majesty's Government and the troops under my command, and I undertake that any of them who may so desist and who are found staying in their homes and quietly pursuing their ordinary occupations will not be made to suffer in their persons or property on account of their having taken up arms in obedience to the order of their Government. Those, however, who oppose the forces under my command, or furnish the enemy with supplies or information, will be dealt with according to the customs of war.
Requisitions for food, forage, fuel, or shelter, made on the authority of the officers in command of Her Majesty's troops, must be at once complied with; but everything will be paid for on the spot, prices being regulated by the local market rates. If the inhabitants of any district refuse to comply with the demands made upon them the supplies will be taken by force, a full receipt being given.
Should any inhabitant of the country consider that he or any member of his household has been unjustly treated by any officer, soldier, or civilian attached to the British Army he should submit his complaint, either personally or in writing, to my Headquarters or to the Headquarters of the nearestGeneral Officer. Should the complaint on enquiry be substantiated, redress will be given.
Orders have been issued by me prohibiting soldiers from entering private houses or molesting the civil population on any pretext whatever, and every precaution has been taken against injury to property on the part of any person belonging to, or connected with, the Army.
Roberts,Field Marshal,Commanding-in-Chief, South Africa.
Also a Kipling Poem, a Bogus Love-letter, and other Novelties.
(Edited by the War Correspondents with Lord Roberts' Force.)
The above was hereafter to be the wording of the full title of the new paper. It was again of the small size, necessitated by the infirm and petty possibilities of the dust-heap in which it was produced.
In this second number appeared a verse of a poem by Rudyard Kipling, who, unknown to us and unsuspected by himself, was soon to be so closely connected with our enterprise. As soon as we agreed to take control of the new paper, Mr. Landon had wired the news to Mr. Kipling, then in Capetown, with a request for a contribution for the first number. The fact that the poetic reply reached Bloemfontein twenty-four hours later was a matter of delight and surprise to all of us, for the chained lightning of the wired highway of correspondence loses its chief characteristic of speed where the military make first use of it in time of war.
I should not like even to imagine the disgust withwhich some of the lower order of censors, at terminal and junctional points, viewed this bit of poetry as it crawled along and they were called upon to approve it, perhaps, as "unseditious matter not calculated to give information to the enemy." But then I do not like to think of that breed of censors under any circumstances. It wrinkles my temper.
Mr. Landon's journalistic enterprise not only turned the eyes of all the Kipling collectors of the world upon our newspaper, but, because our printers left the date line "March 16" unaltered on an inside page of this number of the 17th, that issue became a curio among our readers. On the next day copies of the first hundred papers, which were issued before the mistake was noticed, fetched five shillings each. Within a month their price was twenty-five shillings. But that is only a twentieth part of what an odd and not specially distinguished number ofThe Friendsold for at a bazaar in London last summer (1900).
Mr. Landon wrote a notable and brilliant editorial on "The Collapse of the Rebellion"; General Smith-Dorrien replied to the remarks about the Canadians at Paardeberg in the previous day's issue; Lord Roberts's congratulation to the Army was published in this number; and there also appeared my "love letter to Miss Bloemfontein."
As this love-correspondence attracted great interest then and was peculiar in its commencement, continuation, and end, I will tell, briefly, what the facts are concerning it. I was invalided and confined to my bedroom in the Free State Hotel, and, being advertised as a contributor, bethought me that it would be a graceful and pleasant thing to act as spokesman forthe army in praising the pretty town, and acknowledging the gratitude we felt to the people for their friendly behaviour to us conquerors.
I did not know at that time that the town was a pestilential, bacillus-soaked headquarters for disease, or that far too many of those who smiled upon us hated us bitterly, and were even then engaged in encouraging the Boers, conveying information to them, and sneaking out at night to fight with the enemy or to snipe our outposts. In a word, though I had studied the Boer more closely and longer than any other London correspondent, I had not measured the breadth and depth of his contempt for truth, honour, and fair play. Therefore I wrote the letter to Miss Bloemfontein which, with certain other contributions to that day's paper, is herewith republished.
On this day the advertisements for what were then called "lost" horses already numbered three, and, already, we published a communication headed "Loot News" in which was stated the fact that the horse-stealing had become so bold that a horse had actually been taken from in front of the Club.
"Please note the following," the reporter wrote, "Section I, clause 1, of the newly promulgated constitution of the city without a Steyn—A man may kill a man and live, but a man who steals a horse may not live." Whether there will occur an opportunity in this book to explain how the neighbourhood of the Boers affected the moral atmosphere and demoralised our earlier views of property rights, especially in horse-ownership, I cannot yet say, but whenever the tale is told it will be discovered to be extraordinary.
THE FRIEND.(Edited by the War Correspondents with Lord Roberts' Force.)
BLOEMFONTEIN, SATURDAY, MARCH 17, 1900.
Oh! Terence dear, and did you hearThe news that's going round?The Shamrock's Erin's badge by law,Where'er her sons be found.From Bobsfontein to Ballyhack'Tis ordered by the Queen,We've won our right in open fightThe wearing of the Green.
Oh! Terence dear, and did you hearThe news that's going round?The Shamrock's Erin's badge by law,Where'er her sons be found.
From Bobsfontein to Ballyhack'Tis ordered by the Queen,We've won our right in open fightThe wearing of the Green.
Absent-minded beggars please note following intimations displayed at the Club House, Market Square:—
Taken from a boy in front of the Club on 15th inst., about 7 p.m., a bay gelding, about thirteen hands, star on forehead, white patch on top lip, tick marks on hind quarters, long tail trimmed square, branded R G off forehoof. A 15 near forehoof.
Will the gentleman who took a brown ponybymistakefrom a boy at the door of this Club-house on March 15 kindly return it to manager?
Also please note following:—
Section I, clause I, of newly-promulgated constitution of the City without a Steyn—A man may kill a man and live, but a man that steals a horse may not live.
The official Headquarters of Field-Marshal Lord Roberts and his staff are at the Residency.
Come, little Miss Bloemfontein, sit down beside me and let me hold your dimpled hand and look into those eyes which have caught the wonderful blue of these heavens, and the tints of your gardens and your bowery streets. I think our whole army likes you, you belle of the Boer aristocracy. You certainly change your lovers easily and lightly, but soldiers are reported not to mind a little coquetry when they are far from home. You have tripped out to meet us so enticingly, you have so led us into your bower with your warm little hand, and you have spoken so kindly to us, that we dislike to think you were quite the same to your earlier beaux in their homespun suits, their flapping hats, and their lavish indulgence in whiskers and beards, which, as you must know, are the cheapest of luxuries—prodigalitiesin which misers indulge to make a show and save a barber's bill.
You might have been hateful to us and we could not have blamed you, for we came too nearly, as certain other soldiers came to the Sabine sisterhood, with blood in our eyes and weapons in hand, fancying that you would cling to your old love, and never dreaming that he would run away and leave you unprotected in this placid and pretty little boudoir that you have set up here. You won't forget that little episode, will you, Miss Bloemfontein? And you did take note, didn't you, my dear, that when we found you deserted, all forlorn, we changed from lion to lamb, from blustering warrior to soft-spoken wooer? We spoke no harsh word to your people and did their goods no violence. Even now, we stand aside in our own place, crowding none of your servitors, but smiling back the smiles you bathe us in, and breathing our admiration softly—for you are a pretty miss and gentle—and we are not so stupid as to fail to see that you are no Boadicea, but a lover of peace and concord, if ever one has lived on earth since the Muses took to the clouds. Sweetness of loving sighs its soft song of delight in every breeze that rustles the leaves of your tree-garlands. Domesticity asserts its command, by your order, in the aspect of every cottage in your park-like nest. Homely comfort radiates from the hearths and the faces of all who live under your delightful rule.
I never anywhere saw a prettier or a more astonishing scene than I witnessed in your market-square on the second night of the stay, which we hope you will invite us to prolong to eternity. Wesent a few greasy and stained melodists with pipes and drums to play in the square, partly to show you that we had dethroned Mars and substituted Pan in the best niche in our hearts, and partly to set our own pleasure tripping to gay tunes. And lo! out you came with your maidens and their lovers, your old men and matrons, and the children within your gates. And we all forgot that we had quarrelled with your cast-off favourite, that each of us had shed the other's blood, and that we had come to you with an anger that we supposed you matched within your own fair bosom. Your people and ours touched elbows and laughed and sang together. For one I was amazed. Of all the sharp contrasts of strife I know of none so bold and strong as that scene when it was compared with the scenes of only a few days back at Paardeberg and Driefontein.
It was your magic, your witchery, your tact that brought it about, you South African beauty. Without these helps we never could have enjoyed that evening as we did, and that evening was the bridge that spanned the gulf between the angry past and the happy future in our lives, little miss.
Draw closer, Miss Bloemfontein. Let our arms touch, and the thrill of ardent friendship vivify our new relation. You do like us British, don't you, dear? You don't have to be British yourself, you know. You can stay on being Dutch and piously Presbyterian and all the rest. We will respect whatever you admire, and we will promise to make you richer, freer, happier and even more beautiful—with the ripened charms of a long-assured content, if only you will let your chief predikant publish the banns next Sunday—or sooner, if you will.
Julian Ralph.
A recent experience of Mr. Bennet Burleigh and his colleague, Mr. Percy Bullen, of theDaily Telegraph, affords a fitting illustration of the dangers to which those attached to Field Forces are exposed. These two gentlemen left Poplar Grove last Saturday with the object of reaching General Kelly-Kenny's column, which had preceded them by several hours travelling along the high road running almost parallel with the Modder River. Near Abrahamskraal they caught sight of the central division fighting the Boers along the kopjes lying to the right. Mr. Burleigh, who was travelling in a Cape cart drawn by four horses, stepped down to survey matters, and while looking through his glasses along the high road he saw a party of Boers digging trenches. Some of them wore khaki, others were dressed in a style of the country, which betrayed their identity to the experienced eye. It was decided to return by the same road, further progress being obviously very hazardous, as the enemy was within a distance of 500 yards. The two carts occupied by the correspondents had barely turned round when a shower of bullets was sent in their direction, several striking Mr. Burleigh's vehicle, and others falling immediately in front of Mr. Bullen. A desperate race followed over a distance of several miles, in the course of which a convoy of several mule waggons was met. The officer in charge ordered the convoy to return immediately, and his instructions were quickly followed. Meantime a messenger was sent across to the central division to ask for assistance, as the Boers, though a considerable distance behind, were still shooting. By dint of hard work and muchlashing of horses and mules, every one got safely away, but one of Mr. Bullen's team fell a victim to the enemy's fire. Fortunately the shot came from across the river, and the remaining animal, though sorely tried by the boulders and sluits of a bad road over which the whole of the convoy and escort had likewise proceeded at a break-neck pace, was able to pull the cart out upon the veldt and so elude further damage. By this time some of Rimington's scouts appeared, and one of the number kindly lent the correspondent his horse, by means of which he was able to rejoin his colleague at Poplar Grove, where the entire party passed the night. It was an exciting chase extending over several miles, and the safety of the correspondents and convoy was largely due to the zeal of the native drivers, who worked as if life as well as liberty depended on the result. The huge column of dust thrown up by the carts and horses was sufficient to baffle even the most expert riflemen, and the Boers who pursued were certainly not good shots even at close quarters. In order to assist his flight Mr. Bullen jettisoned a large quantity of horse fodder, whereas his experienced colleague, Mr. Burleigh, arrived in camp with all his goods intact, including a live sheep. It transpired subsequently that the messenger despatched for assistance, as well as two others who followed him, were captured. The correspondents state that the skill displayed by their drivers in avoiding the huge boulders which lined the high road, and especially in descending and ascending the banks of a very precipitous sluit with a twelve feet dip, was a most creditable performance, reminding one of the wonderful exercises of our artillery drivers at the Islington Military Tournament.
BLOEMFONTEIN,March17, 1900.
To the Editor of"The Friend."
Dear Sir,—I have read your account of "The Canadians on Majuba Day" in your issue of yesterday. It is correct up to a certain point, but the last part of it is quite erroneous.
In justice to this gallant corps, and to the Company of Royal Engineers who were with them, I trust you will publish this letter—which recounts what actually happened from the moment the Royal Canadians advanced from the trench, 550 yards from the enemy, until they established themselves and made a new trench within 93 yards of the Boer trenches.
At 2.15 a.m. (on the 27th February), the Royal Canadians with 240 men in the front rank, the latter with rifles slung and entrenching tools, and about 30 officers and men, Royal Engineers under Lieut.-Colonel Kincaid forming the right of the rear rank of the Canadians, moved steadily from the trench, shoulder to shoulder in the dark night, feeling their way through the bushes, and keeping touch by the right.
At 2.50 a.m. they were met by a terrific fire from the enemy's trench, now only 60 yards in front of them.
The line was forced to fall back, but only a very small distance, the right of it under Captains Stairs and Macdonell, Royal Canadians, some twenty yards,where they lay down in the open and returned a steady fire—mostly volleys—for the next one and a half hours; the left had had to fall back rather further.
Under cover of these two Captains, Lieutenant-Colonel Kincaid and his R.E. officer and men, and the Canadian working party in that part of the line constructed trenches in spite of the galling fire, and by daylight had completed a most admirable work which gave grand cover against fire in all threatened directions, and was so well traversed with banks and sand-bags that not a single casualty occurred after it was occupied.
As day dawned a ruined house was noticed on the opposite bank of the river, from which this work could be enfiladed, and a party from the reserve was sent up the left bank to occupy it.
To cover the early morning attack as soon as the fire opened at 2.50 a.m., the Shropshires, in order to hold the enemy in the main laager, engaged them with long-range volleys, whilst the Gordons remained partly in the open and partly in the most advanced flank trench, which latter they lengthened and enlarged, ready to move forward in support.
Shortly after daylight a white flag was flying in the Boer trench, which was 93 yards from our newly-constructed trench, and soon the Boers came trooping into our line. They stated that they had no orders from General Cronje to surrender, but that they heard he intended to give in on the 28th February.
The result, however, of this gallant operation was that General Cronje altered his date one day earlier.
Your account says that our losses were comparativelysmall; so they were for the results gained, and considering the heavy fire which continued for nearly two hours at 80 yards' range. They only amounted to 45 casualties in the Brigade—thus, 12 N.C.O.'s and men Royal Canadians killed, 30 N.C.O.'s and men Royal Canadians wounded, and 3 officers wounded, Major Pelletier and Lieut. Armstrong, Royal Canadians, and Lieut. Atchison, King's Shropshire Light Infantry—a fold in the ground exactly covered the spot where the party was working, hence the absence of casualties in the Royal Engineers, and the slight losses in the working party of Royal Canadians.
Yours faithfully,
H. L. Smith-Dorrien,Major-General, Commanding 19th Brigade.
(We are glad to be able to supplement our contributor's account of the gallant action of the 27th by General Smith-Dorrien's categorical letter, which supplies details which could hardly be obtained accurately at second-hand.—Eds. Friend).
While scouting at Makouw's Drift, two troopers of Rimington's Guides were fired on from a small kopje at close range. One had his horse shot, and the other, young Ewan Christian, son of Mr. H. B. Christian, of Port Elizabeth, rode back to bring him away. As he was bending down to help his comrade up behind he was himself fatally shot, the bullet passing through his back and out through his chest. He rolled off his horse and told his comrade tomount and ride away. Shortly afterwards Major Rimington and more men came up and heard the last words of the dying hero: "Tell my old governor I died game." On retiring the party were under a hot fire, several horses, including that of Major Rimington, being shot. Mr. Christian was buried with military honours.
A Strange Editorial Adventure—Lord Roberts's New Government under Way—The Sin of Horse Theft.
Once, far along the Grand Canal in China, where the people were all afraid or hostile at the first sight of me, a beautiful girl of sixteen or seventeen ran along the bank of the canal after my boat, beckoning to me and to Mr. Weldon, the artist, who was with me, to disembark and visit her home. She was out walking with her mother. There was no doubt when one considered how far from any big town she was, and the fact that she was large-footed and willing to be seen of men, that she was a poor peasant girl, a farmer's daughter, either curious to see us strange men, or anxious to prove herself a Christian convert and to repay the hospitality and kindness she had received at the hands of Christian missionaries.
That was what I thought, at any rate, and in that view I told of the happening inHarper's Magazine. At once a cry arose, in the companies of men I met and even in some newspapers as well, against my introducing sorisquea subject in my account of my adventures. Until then I had no idea how prone toevil-thinking is the world, how anxious to twist impurity out of innocence even though it required violence to do it.
Once again, and here, I am going to tell of an incident equally sweet to memory and the reflection of wholesome minds; equally delicate in the perfume of innocence which it exhales. After the second issue ofThe Friend, Sunday gave us a day of rest. We had known and seen no women for months. They were to us as our homes were, as civilisation itself was—mere memories, vague and shadowy, beside the substantial realities of fighting, marching, thirsting, and going hungry in the company of men—of men by the tens of thousands, but of no women.
There was in Bloemfontein a very blond young woman of sixteen who served behind the counter of a shop in the main street—a slight, sunny-haired, blue-eyed miss, sparkling with fun and excited by the novelty of waiting upon British soldiers and living in the middle of what had changed from a dead-and-alive Boer village to a great armed British camp. The soldiers had noticed her as well. Generals and colonels compared notes of what gossip she and they had exchanged, and sent their friends to the shop to see her. The appearance of a few unattractive women among the soldiers in the village streets had made a mild sensation; but the discovery of a fair-haired, rosy-cheeked girl of English blood was the talk of the camp.
Julian Ralph.
Julian Ralph.
Among the first men in Bloemfontein and the first to make the acquaintance of this maiden was Mr. Gwynne, ofThe Friend. Foreseeing Sunday, and scenting a chance to revive the best memories ofcivilised life, he proposed to gather two army friends if she would invite two of her feminine friends for a drive and a luncheon on the veldt on Sunday. He invited James Barnes, the talented American correspondent, and myself. In two Cape carts we called for the young ladies at their homes. They proved to be the very blond young woman, a fourteen-year-old friend, and a little girl of ten or eleven years of age.
I confess that I never would have asked mere children upon such an outing; but it is equally true that I could not have experienced either the same or as great and peculiar pleasure with others of older growth. They were frank and free, and merry as grigs. They came as near to having us killed or captured by the Boers as I wanted to be, and from them we learned most interesting and valuable information about the enemy and about the town as it was before we captured it. We proposed to visit the home of one of the girls, a farm which the girls said was "quite close." It proved to be miles beyond the British outposts in a country that seemed to us to be uncomfortably peopled with Boers and which proved afterwards to have been alive with them. Of the danger to us which lay in such a situation the girls took no account. They had been born there. They had seen nothing of war, and did not understand it. The Boers were their lifelong neighbours. And, in a word, they were going to visit friends and to have fun, and nothing else entered their minds.
When we were miles away and among some very suggestive little kopjes we discovered that our friends had lost their way and that we were adrift on the veldt. Boers dashed up to the crests of the hills, saw us anddisappeared. Boers were on every hand. Why we were not gobbled up and sent to Pretoria none of us can explain. Eventually, with only one mishap—the overturning of one of the carts—which seemed for a moment more terrible than capture by the enemy—we reached the farm-house, and aided by several tiny boys and the farmer and his wife, spent a happy hour and a half. We made our way back to Bloemfontein in the evening, and within a day or two Colonels Crabbe and Codrington and Captain Trotter were wounded and the Honourable Edward Lygon was killed, at the Glen—a rifle shot from where we had picnicked!
The adventures and hairbreadth escapes in war are apt to take only three or four well-ordered forms. This adventure was in no way like those of the stereotyped kinds.
Monday came, and, with it, the third number ofThe Friend. It was now of the enlarged size, which it retained to the end—a sheet 19 inches wide by 32 inches in length. We continued to do the editorial work in the old dustbin, as at first, but we had discovered that theExpressworks were more modern and capable of turning out a paper of the size we preferred. TheExpressworks were two blocks away from our little den, in a side street behind the main thoroughfare of the town. They belonged to Frau Borckenhagen, but had been seized by order of Lord Roberts and sealed up. The printing office and engine and press rooms were afterward made over to us, the bindery was used by the military, and only the office of the departed editor, whence had proceeded the most mischievous reflections of Krugerism and the policy of the insidious Afrikander Bond, remained sealed. Frau Borckenhagensent her agents to the military to ask leave to recover some of her husband's private papers. By this means she showed us that, like all other Boers, she put the very lowest valuation upon our intelligence. But in this case she only succeeded in turning the attention of the military to her husband's papers without getting the shading of a degree nearer to the possession of what must have been—and I think I have heard, really proved—of the utmost interest to us.
However, we were able by using the commandeered property of the Boer frau, to produce a newspaper of pretentious size and considerable importance.
The Friendnow began to bristle with proclamations, and their number appeared to be doubled because each one was repeated in the Taal language under the heading "Proclamatie." In one "I, Frederick Sleigh Baron Roberts of Kandahar, K.P., G.C.B., G.C.S.I., G.C.I.E., V.C., Field Marshal and Commanding-in-Chief the British forces in South Africa, appoint George Anosi Falck Administrator of the Civil Posts and Telegraphs in such portions of the Orange Free State as have been or may hereafter be occupied by British troops."
Another proclamation related to bills of exchange and promissory notes; and a third, by General Pretyman, appointed James Allison Collins as "Landdrost of Bloemfontein to administer the ordinary civil and criminal laws." In this proclamation the landdrost's court was ordered to resume its work on Monday, March 19th. A district surgeon, clerk, receiver, and second clerk to the landdrost's court were also appointed.
General Pretyman extended his original marketproclamation so that it established the ruling prices of cattle, meat, breadstuffs, and groceries. In the Field Marshal's proclamation as translated into the Taal, Lord Roberts was declared to be "Ik (I), Frederick Sleigh Baron Roberts van Kandahar, K.P., G.C.B., G.C.S.I., G.C.I.E., V.C., Veld-maarschalk, Opperbevelhebber van de Britsche Krijgsmachten in Zuid-Afrika."
In a notice to the Army we said that our chief aim was to make the paper welcome to and supported by all ranks, and we invited all in the Army to write for us. It is true that when, in the previous day's issue we published a poetic contribution by a kind friend, who was the first to come to our assistance; we did not precisely encourage others to follow his example. On the contrary, we accompanied the verses with the remark to the writer, "Your verses are execrable. See for yourself in print." But this was merely one of the many interesting peculiarities of the paper. We published the fact that Miss Elliott, daughter of the General Manager of the Cape Government Railways, arrived with her father by special train on the previous night, and was the first lady to cross the Free State border and to visit Bloemfontein. The editorial of the day was by Mr. Buxton, and was entitled "Uitlander or Rebel, Subject or Burgher."
The most notable article was called "The Confession of a Horse-stealer," and was written by one of the editors. In the same number another member of the editorial quartette wrote a strong little article calling attention to the prevalence and brazenness of horse thieves, and deploring the facts in earnest and indignant language. I was now at work at a desk inthe editorial room, and was forced to act as judge between the outraged virtue of my colleague who detested horse-stealing and the pained surprise of my other colleague who (shall I say pretended or) confessed in writing that he was an expert at the crime.
"Surely you agree with me that this thing has got to stop?" said the one editor.
"Surely you will not allow such canting nonsense to go into the paper?" said the other, "especially where the entire army has become adept at the practice of looting Boer horses or exchanging worn-out steeds for the fresher ones of friends."
Being a born diplomat I agreed with both my colleagues, praised both their articles, and voted that both should ornament the columns ofThe Friend.
I was in a position to behave with this impartiality. My character and reputation at home forced me to the side of the indignant moralist, and yet, on the other hand, certain episodes in my recent experience inclined me to view the confessions of the horse-stealer with leniency. More than once I had been forced to choose between walking for days in the enemy's country or utilising horses that had been abandoned by the Boers. If I were again placed in such a position I would surrender myself a prisoner to the Boers rather than touch even a little thing like a horse that did not belong to me. I have had time to reflect, and I see how weak I was; but at that time I was in the Boer country where stealing is called "commandeering," and seems a trifling thing, rather creditable if practised successfully and with a high hand. In justification of my course in commending the high, moral view of my other colleague, I couldsay with pride that the horses I had taken were both dead, and with them also disappeared the former stain upon my character.
The happy combination of these points in common with both my colleagues, enabled me to publish both their articles and bring them back to the friendliest terms. So successful was I that we allowed our feelings to carry us beyond the bounds of reason—that is to say, we agreed to go to the Club and take a drink. It was a thing which no intelligent man would lightly agree to do. The only liquid refreshments then obtainable at the Club were enteric germs in water, gin, vermouth, and port wine. It required an occasion of the first importance to induce any of us to go to the Club, which was always as crowded as an egg is with meat. All day, and until late in the evening, the principal apartment barely afforded standing room. The porch was equally well filled, and horses in dozens were tethered before the house. It was the social exchange and rendezvous of the officers of something like 80,000 men, and I can hardly believe that anywhere in the world was there a club-house so constantly crowded.
THE FRIEND.(Edited by the War Correspondents with Lord Roberts' Force.)
BLOEMFONTEIN, MONDAY, MARCH 19, 1900.
Whereas it is deemed expedient and necessary for the welfare of the Orange Free State that Postaland Telegraph Services shall be resumed in the aforesaid Republic, as far as circumstances permit,Now therefore
I,Frederick Sleigh Baron Roberts of Khandahar, K.P., G.C.B., G.C.S.I., G.C.I.E., V.C., Field Marshal and Commanding-in-Chief of the British Forces in South Africa, do hereby nominate and appoint David George Anosi Falck Administrator of the Civil Posts and Telegraphs in such portions of the Orange Free State as have been, or may hereafter be occupied by British troops. And I do hereby order that the Postal and Telegraph services shall be resumed in the portions of the aforesaid Republic already referred to, from the nineteenth day of March, 1900, under the existing Laws and Conventions of the Orange Free State, subject to such alterations as may from time to time be notified.
Given under my hand at Bloemfontein this Seventeenth Day of March, 1900.
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.
Roberts,Field-Marshal,Commanding-in-Chief British Forces, South Africa.
ARMY ORDERS—SOUTH AFRICA.
Army Headquarters,Government House,Bloemfontein,March15, 1900.
It being desirable and in the interest of both the British Government and the inhabitants of thiscountry that all residents should be assured that, so long as they remain peaceably disposed, their civil rights and property will be respected, it is strictly forbidden that any private property should be compulsorily taken possession of by other than the authorised Supply Officers.
All articles required by the troops must be obtained and paid for in the ordinary way, and no trespassing or interference with the inhabitants will be permitted.
These instructions apply to detached bodies of troops as well as to the Force generally, and it is especially the duty of all officers to put a stop to all attempts to infringe them.
By order,
J. W.Kelly,A.-G. for C. of Staff.
ARMY ORDERS—SOUTH AFRICA.
Bloemfontein,March14, 1900.
It affords the Field Marshal Commanding-in-Chief the greatest pleasure in congratulating the Army in South Africa on the various events that have occurred during the past few weeks, and he would specially offer his sincere thanks to that portion of the Army which, under his immediate command, has taken part in the operations resulting yesterday in the capture of Bloemfontein.
On the 12th February this force crossed the boundary which divided the Orange Free State from British territory. Three days later Kimberley was relieved. On the 15th day the bulk of the Boer Army in this State, under one of their most trustedgenerals, were made prisoners. On the 17th day the news of the relief of Ladysmith was received, and on the 13th March, 29 days from the commencement of the operations, the capital of the Orange Free State was occupied.
This is a record of which any army may well be proud—a record which could not have been achieved except by earnest, well-disciplined men, determined to do their duty and to surmount whatever difficulties or dangers might be encountered.
Exposed to extreme heat by day, bivouacking under heavy rain, marching long distances (not infrequently with reduced rations), the endurance, cheerfulness, and gallantry displayed by all ranks are beyond praise, and Lord Roberts feels sure that neither Her Majesty the Queen nor the British nation will be unmindful of the effort made by this force to uphold the honour of their country.
The Field Marshal desires especially to refer to the fortitude and heroic spirit with which the wounded have borne their sufferings. Owing to the great extent of country over which modern battles have to be fought, it is not always possible to afford immediate aid to those who are struck down; many hours have, indeed, at times, elapsed before the wounded could be attended to, but not a word of murmur or complaint has been uttered; the anxiety of all, when succour came, was that their comrades should be cared for first.
In assuring every officer and man how much he appreciates their efforts in the past, Lord Roberts is confident that, in the future, they will continue to show the same resolution and soldierly qualities,and to lay down their lives, if need be (as so many brave men have already done), in order to ensure that the war in South Africa may be brought to a satisfactory conclusion.
By order,
(Sd.)W. F.Kelly,Major-General,Deputy-Adjutant-General, for Chief of Staff.
ARMY ORDERS—SOUTH AFRICA.
Army Headquarters,Government House,Bloemfontein,March16, 1900.
The Field Marshal Commanding-in-Chief has great pleasure in publishing the following telegrams which have been received:—
(a) From Her Majesty the Queen: "Accept my warmest congratulations for yourself and those under you on your great success. Trust all wounded doing well."—V. R.
(b) From His Excellency the High Commissioner: "In a spirit of deep thankfulness I congratulate you and your gallant Army on the rapidity and completeness of success which has attended the recent operations—crowned by the occupation of the enemy's capital."—Milner.
(c) From the Rear Admiral Commanding-in-Chief, Simonstown: "My personal and Navy's heartiest congratulations on your success."—Admiral.
(d) From Chairman of the London County Council: "On behalf of Metropolis, whence many of your brave soldiers have been drawn, I congratulate your Lordship's having gloriously reacheda point which brings you one step nearer towards final success and peace."—Dickinson, Chairman of the London County Council.
(e) From the Lord Provost of Glasgow: "The Corporation of Glasgow in Council assembled offer you and Her Majesty's troops under your command their hearty congratulations on the success of your operations, culminating in your occupation in the Capital of the Free State, and their earnest hope for a speedy termination of the War."—Lord Provost.
Referring to Army Order (of March 11, 1900), it is notified for information that Her Majesty orders that all Irishmen, whether serving in Irish Regiments or not, shall be allowed to wear the Shamrock on St. Patrick's Day.
By order,
W. Kelly,Major-General,Deputy-Adjutant-General.
The first hundred copies of our last issue—Saturday, March 17, were, by accident, wrongly dated under the title on the front page.
The Editors are willing to pay Five Shillings each for a few clean copies of this portion of the issue.
(N.B.—This article is privileged. The Provost Marshal cannot, therefore, take proceedings against the author.)
When somewhere about the beginning of December I arrived at Modder River, I think Imay say I was as honest as the generality of mankind. I do not remember any incident in my early childhood and youth which could in any way have been cited as a proof that I had predatory instincts. At home I never stole, at schools I never stole, at Colleges I never stole, and during several years of wandering about the face of the globe I never stole. But since I accompanied Lord Roberts' force from Enslin to Bloemfontein I have stolen freely, and I as freely admit it. Why? Ah, the answer to that question involves deep ethical considerations, and cannot be answered right off. Let me tell my tale, and I fancy that I shall receive the sympathy of most members of the force, and even the Provost Marshal will no longer pine to hang me.
When I left Enslin I was the proud possessor of three fine saddle-horses and two decrepit-looking but sturdy cart-horses. Now I have to hire a man to repeat daily to me the number of my riding-horses, and I drive about Bloemfontein with a spanking team. I am aware that this confession will make the Provost Marshal's hair stand straight on his head; but let him have a little patience. Let him think what a glorious thing it is to find the one horse-thief in the army. I calculate that about 5,000 horses have illicitly changed hands during the advance from Modder River, and yet I have never found a man who has not most indignantly denied the merest, slenderest imputation of being concerned in a horse "transaction." Therefore—the army is honest, and there is only one horse-thief in it. The honour of the force is saved, and I am the only culprit. This is centralisation with a vengeance, and no longer need the Provost Marshalsend his myrmidons galloping far and wide in search of horse-thieves. When next he hears of the loss of a horse, let him come to me—the only thief. I will let him know my address when Martial Law is replaced by the ordinary procedure of justice.
But let me recount, to what, I hope, will be a sympathetic public, how I fell from honesty into the blackest depths of dishonesty. At Jakobsdal, Messieurs les Boers shot my finest horse. I was grieved naturally, and hurt too, that a poor non-combatant should have been treated so cavalierly. But "à la guerre comme à la guerre," I whispered to myself, and hoped for better luck next time. I followed the force from Jacobsdal to Klipkraal and Paardeberg, and at the last-named camp I awoke one morning to find my sturdy black pony had been taken quietly from under my very nose. I raved and stamped and swore at the loss. My sympathetic black boy tried to console me. "If master like," he said, "I go catch another horse." But so high and pure was my morality at that time that I almost thrashed him on the spot for daring to make such a suggestion. I walked away disconsolate, and sought a friend whose ribboned breast showed that he had seen service in every quarter of the globe. His answer to my request was short and simple. "Go and see whether he is picketed with —— Horse" (wild rhinoceri will not drag from me the name of that gallant regiment of M.I.). I went, and there conspicuously displayed in the front rank of the tethered horses was my black pony. I did not hesitate, but, blessing the members of —— Horse for so kindly caring for my poor wandering pony, I began to untie the ream of the halter. But the watchful eyeof one of the men was open, and I was startled to hear a noise at my side say, "Well, upon my soul, this beats cock-fighting. You come to the wrong shop if you think you can steal a horse fromthisregiment," and he roughly took the ream out of my hand.
I protested. "The horse is mine," I said, "I'd know him anywhere." "Get on," was the answer, "he belongs to my captain. Why, look at the brand." And, sure enough, on my poor pony's quarters were three big letters which represented, I suppose, his initials.
But I was in no way cast down. To go and explain to the officer that a little mistake had occurred was, after all, quite an easy matter, and I approached the gentleman who was sitting under a mimosa bush having breakfast. I explained the matter to him, and asked permission to lead my property home. But the captain roared with laughter. "Lead my horse home?" he shouted in another burst of laughter. "I like that. Why, do you know that the dam of that horse belonged to my Uncle Jim? He was the first man in that part of the country. Why," and again he laughed, "I remember when that black pony of mine was foaled. It was the 7th, no—the 10th of October. I remember quite well, for three weeks after we had a big garden party and all the ladies fell in love with the little beggar because he ate bread and butter from their hands and was the greediest beggar you ever saw after chocolate creams. Why, damme, if I didn't take that pony home again, I believe my old governor would cut me off with a shilling."
I stood aghast. What a fool, what a sanguinaryfool I was to go and make such a mistake. My apologies were ample, humble and profuse. But as I passed the horse-lines again I could not help thinking how singularly like my lost pony was the animal which, as a foal, so amused the ladies at the garden party.
And then I did the foolishest thing I ever did in all my life. I bought a new horse. Twenty-four hours afterwards it was claimed by four different officers, and I narrowly escaped hanging at the hands of the Provost Marshal, who at once ordered me to return the animal to its rightful owner. I gave it up to the four claimants, and let them decide among themselves the question of ownership.
And now I had but one pony left—and I guarded it as the apple of my eye. But again the Fates were against me, and it went off—I do not for a moment suggest that it was taken off. Again I tried ——'s Horse and all the Regular and Irregular Corps in the force, and was indignantly rebuked for daring to look for a stray horse in their lines. And so I was reduced to walking to and fro at Paardeberg Camp. But one fine afternoon, returning across the huge endless plain, I was nearly ridden down by a subaltern, and as I glanced at the reckless rider I saw that he was ridingmypony. I shouted and yelled to him to stop, which he did.
"You are riding my pony," said I.
"I'm not," was the laconic answer.
"But I'm sure of it."
"So am I."
"Well, you're wrong this time. That pony is mine. I've had him for three months and I know him as well as I know my own boots."
But there was never a blush on the face of the subaltern. The pony he rode was, he admitted, of a very common type as regards colour and height. And he discussed at great length the difficulty of recognising horses. He told us that one of the greatest horse-dealers in London failed to recognise a horse that he had himself ridden a whole year. And then he drowned me in dates. The pony he was riding was bought for the remount of December 13th, kept at Stellenbosch till January 4th, arrived at De Aar on January 6th, was used there by a staff officer who did not like him and sent him up to Orange River on February 1st. On February 5th he became the property of the subaltern, who appeared to have tethered the beast at night to his waist, so positive was he that "he had never lost sight of the pony since."
What could I say? I couldn't call him a liar, for he was a tall, well-made subaltern, and he might have knocked me down, so I let him ride my pony away, and I trudged home to my camp beside the river.
Early next morning I collected all the servants and I addressed them as follows: "I have not got a single riding-horse left, and I want some; go and get some."
It was a laconic speech, but wonderfully effective. By five o'clock that afternoon three grand beasts were standing under the shelter of the river bank close to my camp, undergoing the different processes of hogging, tail-cutting, dyeing and other forms of transformation used by horse-stealers. In ten days I could have mounted a whole troop of cavalry. I will confess that I was a bit frightened,when, at five o'clock one morning, they brought me two magnificent chargers, for I recognised them as the property of the Commander-in-Chief. But although I delayed His Excellency's departure to Kimberley for an hour, I succeeded in sending them back to his lines unperceived.
I now possess a splendid stud of saddle-horses. I find it so difficult to feed them all, however, that it is my intention to offer them for sale next Wednesday. The conditions of sale are the usual ones, but it is to be distinctly understood that if any person dares to claim one of the animals as his own he will be turned out of the enclosure with ignominy.