On the Heels of De Wet

T >> The Intelligence Officer >> On the Heels of De Wet

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

_G._ "I don't think that your information is worth much. What can that
boy know about it? He has been gulled by all the old wives' fables on
the line of march."

_B._ "Well, sir, leaving De Wet out of the question--I have been
promised a convoy at Strydenburg, and I have yet to pick up my
brigade. A squadron of the 21st Dragoon Guards and the whole of the
Mount Nelson Light Horse, which Plumer has not assimilated, is now
straining every nerve to catch me up."

_G._ "When do you meet your convoy, and how far behind you are your
details?"

(Now the brigadier had invented the convoy on the spur of the moment.
It was true that he had been promised a convoy, but that promise had
not indicated Strydenburg as the rendezvous. But seeing that he had
scored a point he turned at once to the Intelligence officer.)

_B._ "When is our convoy due at Strydenburg?"

_Intelligence Officer._ "Possibly to-morrow evening, sir. The day
after to-morrow at the latest." (Luckily the Intelligence officer had
been following the conversation, and the answer came glibly enough.)

_G._ "H'm, that places another complexion upon it. But it is suicidal,
reckless, to allow convoys to meander about the veldt in this
inconsequent manner. What about your details?"

(The brigadier having struck a "lead," had wasted no time in figuring
out his estimates.)

_B._ "Well, sir, I would suggest that you let me halt here for to-day.
My details are just one day behind me now. They will catch me up
to-morrow. In the meantime I will send a strong patrol--a
reconnaissance rather--into Strydenburg, starting this afternoon, pick
up the convoy, after which I will join you at any point you may
select. I shall then be a useful fighting body; now I am only a gun
escort!"

_G._ "Yes, yes; it would be dangerous for either you or your details
to be wandering about in this disturbed country alone. _I_ agree with
you, Colonel; but you must allow that in view of the present
circumstances it would be inadvisable for us to be caught in detail."

One cannot blind oneself to the fact that all this is very childish.
But then the man who undertakes life in the army must be prepared to
be a schoolboy to the end of his service. It ill becomes a brigadier
or any officer wearing his Majesty's uniform--as the expression
goes--to practise small deceits even to bring about a situation
calculated to be for the public convenience. Yet what other course was
open to the brigadier! For reasons which are evident from his
conversation, his senior had determined not to recognise him as an
independent force, but to hug him until all danger real or imaginary
was past. It is the trammels of discipline such as this that breaks
the hearts of the stalwarts in our service, and racks the national
war-chest to the bottom. Can you blame the brigadier, alive to the
pressing exigency of the situation, when, having exhausted the
man-to-man arguments of common reason, he descended to the practice of
a subterfuge to defeat the purpose of a man whose only object appeared
to be to satisfy his own personal peace of mind? Yet we doubt if the
senior was conscious of the futility of his direction. He had one
object in view. He was possessed with the single desire to avoid
disaster. In its limited sense his action was laudable enough; but
what would the owner of a racehorse say to the jockey who, after
having ridden a sound horse in a race, volunteered the information
that he had never extended his mount out of consideration for its
sinews? The care of the jockey is parallel to that of fifty per cent
of the men who have led columns in this war--except that there has
been no judge in the box to balance the merits of each case. The judge
has been far away in Pretoria, and the jockey has furnished his own
estimate of the running....

So the New Cavalry Brigade remained out-spanned by the mud-holes,
while the other column passed through it and bore away in search of
the Prieska Road. The rearguard of the moving force was brought up by
a Colonial corps, which had originally been raised in Natal by the
brigadier of the New Cavalry Brigade. Of course the _personnel_ in the
ranks had long since changed. Changed, be it said with regret, for the
worse. But there was still remaining a small percentage of the
original stock--stock that had been second to none. As the rearguard
passed through, a great burly corporal cantered to the packing-case
table at which the staff of the New Cavalry Brigade had just settled
down to lunch, shouting, "Say, where is the ole man?"

The brigadier rose with a smile.

_Corporal._ "I heard that you were here, sir, and I couldn't go by
without speaking. Lord, what a sight for sore eyes it is to see you
again!--if there were only more like you. (_Then extending his hand._)
Come, sir, put your hand right here--it is a good day's work to have
again shaken hands with a man." And then the corporal was off in a
cloud of dust. But it had been an interesting and instructive
incident. Without a doubt the man was Yankee; but he had served all
through the Natal campaign, from Willow Grange to Bergendal, and his
honest appreciation of his old chief almost brought tears to our eyes,
and was of more value than all the ribbon and tinsel that a crowned
head can bestow.

"That," said the brigadier, "is one of the finest men, amongst many
fine men, whom I have enlisted. I was recruiting for my 'push' down in
Durban. I used to go and get the fellows off the ships as they came
in. That fellow came over with a man who was running a cargo of mules.
I well remember when I broached the subject to him. His answer was
characteristic: 'Say, colonel, what do you want us for? Is it for a
straight scrapping with Boers, or is it to meander about as a town
garrison?' 'If you join me you shall be "scrapping" in a week from
to-day.' 'Will you give me your hand on that, colonel?' I acquiesced,
and straightway was able to enlist practically the whole ship's
company--and I never want to command a better lot. Did I ever tell you
about the Boer spies? Well, in the early days of recruiting in Natal
several Dutch agents were enlisted. They were paid by the Transvaal to
enlist in British corps. When we got to Mooi River one of these men
was discovered--recognised as an ex-Pretorian detective. That corporal
came to me and volunteered some advice. 'You prove him a spy, colonel,
and then turn him over to us: you won't have any more spies after
that.' I had the suspect up. There was not a shadow of doubt about his
identity, so I just said to the sergeant-major, 'This man is your
property--the fair name of the corps is in your keeping; there's a
convenient donga over there!' I never saw the man again, nor did I ask
what happened to him; but this I do know, that on the self-same
evening five men came to me and asked to be allowed to resign. They
came with faces as white as the coat of that mare over there. 'Yes,' I
said as I looked at them, 'you may go. You leave for the good of all
concerned, yourselves included.' And since that day I was never
troubled by the enlisting of Dutch agents."...

"The best laid schemes o' mice and men
Gang aft a-gley,"

and the dust of the column moving towards the Prieska Road was still
hanging over the horizon when a staff-officer came galloping back to
the New Cavalry Brigade. He brought written instructions to the
brigadier which nullified for ever the Strydenburg scheme. "The G.O.C.
directs the O.C. the New Cavalry Brigade to remain halted until he is
joined by such details as are following him along the Britstown Road.
As it is essential that the pass over Minie Kloof should be kept clear
pending the arrival of the aforementioned details, the G.O.C. directs
that the proposed reconnaissance to Strydenburg be abandoned, and the
troops which would have been used for the reconnaissance be sent to
hold Minie Kloof. As soon as the New Cavalry Brigade is complete, it
will follow with all speed upon the direct road to Prieska. Under no
circumstances are other arrangements to be made."

The occasion was not opportune for an expression of the brigadier's
feelings, but his silence was eloquent. There was no hope for it: it
was a written order from a senior, and we had no choice but to obey.

It is said by some that Christian de Wet is the best general that the
war produced from the ranks of our enemy. It is not our present
intention to debate upon this subject; but this much can be said with
confidence, that he has been the most fortunate of leaders. On every
occasion in which he has been hard pressed, when to all intents and
purposes he has found himself at the end of his tether, the pendulum
of fortune has favoured him in its swing. Often enough he has saved
his skin through the culpable stupidity of his pursuers. But even when
he has almost been cornered by the very best of leaders and men that
the British Empire can produce, the law of chances has stood by him. A
meddling contradictory telegram from headquarters, a thunderstorm or a
swollen river, has times without number saved the slippery commandant
at the eleventh hour. Take the present instance. It subsequently
proved that if the brigadier had, as he intended, moved upon
Strydenburg, and arrived there on the same day that he was directed by
his superior officer to stand fast and hold the Minie Kloof, he would
have arrived at his goal practically simultaneously with the guerilla
chieftain. The New Cavalry Brigade would have borne down upon the
little Karoo hamlet, fresh and in the full spirit of men new to war
and "spoiling for the fight"; men just sufficiently blooded in their
preliminary skirmish to have confidence both in themselves and in
their general, and--and this is the exasperating nature of the
story--while the British troopers would have ridden robustly into
battle, De Wet and his following were in no condition to receive them.
Unprepared for the arrival of fresh troops, spoiled of guns, train,
and ammunition, kicked and harried by the gallant Plumer's tenacity,
riddled and torn by Nanton's armoured trains, harassed by Heneker and
Crabbe, panting for rest, they would have been no match for
blood-seeking dragoons and a Horse Artillery battery that had been
studying range-finding in South Africa ever since the battle of
Magersfontein. All we can do is to shrug our shoulders and say, "The
pity of it!" while we pay the extra twopence in the income-tax which
our confidence in effete leaders, and disinclination to recognise, and
make soldiers recognise, that our army is a national institution, has
cost us.

It so happens that in war the rank and file know little of what is
taking place, and, one is inclined to add, care less. Consequently
those in the brigade who had no knowledge of the state of affairs
existing with regard to Strydenburg were delighted at the prospect of
a halt. At this period of the campaign halts were rare, and men looked
to them in much the same spirit as the average house-holder in England
looks to a spring cleaning, since, provided there is water, an "off
afternoon" will allow of a little of the cleanliness which hard
trekking renders impossible. The Dragoon Guards had not been long
enough in the country to feel the necessity of a thorough overhaul of
their linen. But the Horse gunners were old soldiers, and as soon as
the intended halt became common knowledge the men stripped the shirts
off their backs and indulged in the luxury of sand-baths where water
was not available. This may appear a simple operation, but those who
have campaigned long upon the veldt will know that a change of clothes
exposes not the least of "the horrors of war."

But, halted or moving, there is no cessation of trouble and anxiety
for the staff of any unit engaged in active service, and when the
brigadier issued his orders to meet the instructions of his superior
officer, his acting staff-officer discovered that the column was two
troops short. One troop had been missing ever since the first day out
from Richmond Road, the other had lost itself that morning in Minie
Kloof. This may sound absurd, but it is not an isolated incident; and
if we are to believe the evidence of those who marched with the "Grand
Army" into Bloemfontein, it was not a matter then of troops that were
missing, but fifty per cent of the whole army, and so badly missing
that it took the quartermaster-general's department a fortnight of
solid labour to definitely find them. The inexperienced youth could
get no help from his brigadier. Since the arrival of the message from
the main column that officer had not been approachable. But with the
aid of the good-natured gunner major and the opportune return of the
troop which had been detached in the morning, as the brigadier had
surmised, on a wild-goose chase after a mirage, it was possible to
apportion some sort of a force capable of holding a salient in Minie
Kloof without totally denuding the camp of adequate fighting strength.
But it is on occasions such as these, when isolated detachments are
scattered broadcast, that disaster is courted. Luckily it is only once
in a hundred times that the enemy has been in a position to accept the
free gifts offered to them.

FOOTNOTES:

[30] Christian de Wet

VIII.

STILL POTTERING.

To the delight of the men and disgust of the brigadier, day broke
without bringing any further orders to the New Cavalry Brigade. So it
remained halted in the great open prairie which fringes the Beer Vlei.
It may also be conjectured that De Wet and his following, as they were
stripping the adjacent little township of Strydenburg, learned with
satisfaction that the British columns, which lay round him like the
spokes of a wheel to the axle, were as immobile as usual--Plumer from
the force of circumstances, the others for the reasons set down in the
preceding chapter. But the cunning guerilla had no intention of
dallying at Strydenburg. It was not part of his strategy to spend two
consecutive days in any one spot unless bent upon the reduction of a
garrison. Even British column commanders at times have been known to
shake off their lethargy. He just remained in the town long enough to
replenish his quartermaster's stores department and to take over the
fresh ponies which Hertzog had collected for him, and then moved north
in three columns, trusting to pass between the spokes of the imaginary
wheel before Plumer had collected himself. Brand, with a thin hedge of
Free Staters and rebels, was left as a decoy to cover Strydenburg,
while the three columns made for Marks Drift in the loop of the Orange
River, south-west of Kimberley. And as De Wet put the first day's plan
of these movements into progress, the New Cavalry Brigade, by order,
remained halted, covering the entrance to the pass at Minie Kloof.

The men, however, were delighted. For the first time for many weeks
they were able to turn round and attend to their own personal comfort,
to change their under-clothes and to sort their kits. The soldier man
on service loves to sort his kit. The very fact that he is able to
shake out his modest bag to the bottom spells "holiday," and in
latter-day trekking holidays for the men were rare. But even holidays
can bring their heart-burnings, and about the breakfast-hour a howl of
despair went up from the Horse Artillery lines. A casual stroll
through the ankle-deep heather to Freddy's quarters repaid those
sightseers who had energy enough to be interested in camp excitements.
The horse-gunner major had long felt annoyance at the turnout of his
Kaffir boys and teamsters. The predominant attribute of the Kaffir is
vanity, an attribute which he possesses in common with all savages and
most white men. The reason for this vanity we will not pursue, as we
have nothing to do with the ethics of masculine conceit: it is
sufficient for this history that it exists. Vanity has caused the
Kaffirs of South Africa to acquire about fifty per cent of the British
army tunics which have landed in that continent. Thomas Atkins, as a
rule, is not over-blessed with money, consequently he cannot resist
the temptation of the five golden sovereigns which the Kaffir is
prepared to give for any scarlet tunic which is not in the last stage
of decay. The transfer of uniform came to such a pitch that an army
order was issued on the subject. Not that an army order was sufficient
to stay the general traffic in British uniforms, but it furnished such
right-minded soldiers as the horse-gunner major with the "cue" which
they required. Freddy's Kaffirs had struck a new and green regiment,
and being themselves near the end of a six months' contract, they were
"full of money." Consequently at Britstown, where money had possessed
extra fascinations for the British soldier, the "boys" attached to the
battery had been able to lay in a very complete outfit in Line
regimentals. The halt gave Freddy his opportunity, and he had every
kit laid bare. The revelation was wonderful. There was not a driver or
_voor looper_ who had not his scarlet jerkin. Many, indeed, had two,
to say nothing of forage-caps, field-service caps, dragoon overalls,
and gunner slacks. The Kaffirs had at first looked upon the kit
inspection as a joke. But they lapsed into a puzzled silence when they
saw their belongings cast upon a common heap. Their great white eyes
grew bigger and bigger, and their repulsive lips wider and wider
apart, until, when the last bag had been ransacked, the torch was
applied to the pile of clothing. Then they realised the blasting of
all their hopes, and with one accord they gave vent to the despairing
yell which had attracted the attention of the camp. They became like
men possessed. Smiting themselves heavily upon the head with their
fists, they went through the paroxysms of negroid lamentation. One
could almost feel for them, great bronzed children that they are. They
had worked hard for months, shared the privations and dangers of war
with the white men, in order that they might return to their kraals
bedecked as they thought in all the glory of the white man's clothes.
To them the Utopia of life would have been their homecoming. The
admiration of chattering women, the acclamation of piccaninies, and
the hideous smile of their paramount chief as they humbly presented
him with a battered helmet in a semi-decayed state of pipe-clay
finish. But Freddy was no philanthropist when the honour of the
uniform which his family had worn for two centuries was at stake. And
he was right. The dignity of the King's uniform is precious before all
philanthropy: "These brutes in Gunner Uniform--never! They may keep
their kharki; but I will not have our uniform outraged in my battery,
whatever other people may think!"

The native question throughout the war has furnished an interesting
study. It cannot be claimed that, under the circumstances existing in
South Africa, good will result from this tremendous struggle for
existence and paramountcy between two white races. It must always be
remembered that South Africa will, similarly with India, be held by
the dominant white race with the sword. It is not for us to trace here
what troubles may be in store for the white races in the far future.
The situation in the present and near future appears unsatisfactory
enough. The untutored mind of the Ethiopian does not appreciate the
finer ethics of social intercourse and the equality of mankind.
Freedom to his reasoning means independence; to possess independence,
to the semi-savage, is a proof of power. The inherent vanity of the
aboriginal then finds scope, and the nation which cringed and quailed
under the sjambok of the Boer will be the first to rebel against the
equity of the Briton. And what have we done during these long months
of military occupation to counteract the evil effects of war. Nothing:
Briton-like we have selected to work upon exterior lines. We have
lived in the present, secure for the future. Who has attempted to
follow the train of thought which has been uppermost in the native
mind? Yet it would have been simple enough to have analysed their
minds. Will it not have been somewhat of this kind?--"The Boers were
few and the British were many. Yet it has taken the British months to
stamp out the Boers who were few. Moreover, we have done all the
scouting for the British--without us they themselves could have done
nothing. Also of what value are the British soldiers? They are paid
30s. a-month. We--and we are black men--are paid by the British L3 and
L4 a-month. Therefore we must be twice or three times as good as the
British soldiers! And look how the British treat us. How different to
the treatment we received at the hands of the Boers. The British must
be afraid of us!" And in the abstract this reasoning is sound. We do
treat the native as if we were afraid of him. We do treat him so that
he might justly compare himself favourably with the British soldier.
We take it for granted that this illiterate black son of the south
will know, as we do, all the troubles and standards of the labour
market: will discern the reason, which to us is obvious, of his
princely pay. But this is where our crass stupidity overtakes us. The
native does not arrive at his conclusions through the same channel of
thought as we do ourselves. How could he? And as we only use him to
suit our own convenience, and remain reckless of the interpretation
which he places upon our actions, we shall only have ourselves to
blame, when, having pandered to the inherent vanity of the black, we
suddenly find him at our throats. Not that we believe that the natives
are sufficiently advanced to render our hold in the country insecure.
But they have been pampered by us enough to make them imagine vain
things, and vain imaginings may result at no distant period in a
repetition of that rapine, pillage, and massacre of isolated white
settlements, which has ever furnished the saddest stones in the cairn
of our great Empire.

As the sun rose it brought news from the Prieska Road. The helio
twinkled out another message from the general: "Good water at
Rietvlei, four miles on. Move on to Rietvlei, form your brigade there,
and await orders from me." Almost at the same moment the helio from
the summit of Minie Kloof called us up. "Have brought along two
squadrons of the Mount Nelson Light Horse and a troop of the 21st
King's Dragoon Guards. Pushing on as fast as possible"--signed,
"Brigade-Major New Cavalry Brigade."

The brigadier appeared completely uninterested. He received the
information of his coming reinforcement and the general's latest
orders without comment, and having eaten his breakfast, returned to
his tent. For the time being the brigade had become a cipher. The only
really satisfied person in the camp seemed to be the Intelligence
officer, who saw in the arrival of the real brigade-major an end to
the multiform duties which had been thrust upon him. The brigade stood
fast, and presently, riding out of an almost opaque pillar of dust,
the brigade-major and his detached command came meandering into camp.
The arrival of the reinforcement moved the camp to interest. Much had
been heard of the Mount Nelson Light Horse, which had been specially
raised against Lord Kitchener's demand for more mounted men. The Mount
Nelson Light Horse rode into camp. The gunners, who had turned out _en
masse_ to welcome their comrades, just put their hands in their
breeches pockets and turned away with the single interjection, "Good
heavens!" The dragoons, who were younger soldiers and less versed in
veldt lore than the gunners, essayed a cheer. A fitful answer came
back from the dusty arrivals--it might have been compared with the
foreign cackle by which the clients of a Soho boarding-house give
voice to their admiration of the tune of the dinner-gong. The
brigadier came out of his tent and stood in the open, bareheaded and
in his shirt-sleeves. Soldier without ribbons--frank, open, and
gallant English gentleman. His expert eye ran down the ragged ranks
of his newly acquired legion. He had commanded Colonials during the
hardest fighting in Natal. The Dragoons might not be judges, but
nothing escaped his time-tested eye. He caught each detail, the
Semitic outline of half the profiles, the nervous saddlepoise of the
twice-attested Peruvian, the hang-dog look of the few true men among
the ranks, who shrank that a soldier should find them in their present
associations. The brigadier's moustache ill hid the working of his
mouth. Then the ludicrous setting of the scene appealed to his
light-hearted nature, and, laughing heartily, he turned to his staff
with the single comment, "Gadzooks! they conspire against the fame of
my fair name. There is only one place in the wide world that I can
lead that 'push' to, and its name is Stellenbosch!"

But if the Mount Nelson Light Horse couldn't fight, they could talk.
They were full of second-hand blood. Had not a troop of theirs been
captured by De Wet, had not their men and officer witnessed De Wet's
cold-blooded outrage upon a British officer! All this was news to the
New Cavalry Brigade, and in view of a popular desire to lionise De
Wet, it will not be ill-advised to put the history of his action upon
record. We will not refer to the cruel murder of Morgenthal,
precedented in modern history by the murder of Macnaghten by Ackbar
Khan, or the pitiless treatment of the prisoners taken at Dewetsdorp
in December 1900. To us this one incident is sufficient. When De Wet
crossed to the south of the Orange River in the vicinity of Norval's
Pont the troops which Lyttelton set in operation against him from
Colesberg were too late to head him, and in the course of his
doubling--and De Wet broke back with considerable skill--he captured a
small proportion of his pursuers. These men having been pilfered of
much of their wearing apparel, including boots, could only with the
greatest difficulty keep pace with the rapid movements of their
captors. It must be remembered that the sleuth-hound, Plumer, was on
De Wet's trail, and the Boers had no time to waste if they were to
evade him. There came a time when the half-starved, almost naked, and
footsore prisoners could move no more. All the food that they had been
given was in live kind,--sheep that they had to kill, quarter, and
dress themselves. Cooking was out of the question, as the elements
were against them, even if they had possessed the necessary
appliances. Half-way through an exhausting march--flight would perhaps
better describe the nature of the movement--these wretched prisoners
lay down, and refused to move another foot. The threats and chiding of
their escort were in vain. Then some one rode forward and informed De
Wet. The guerilla captain galloped back to the tail of the column,
and, worked up into a paroxysm of rage, demanded the senior officer
amongst the British prisoners. A tall English gentleman stepped
forward.[31] In a moment the guerilla's arm was raised, and the cruel
sjambok of rhinoceros-hide fell across the Englishman's face, leaving
a great blue weal. The arm was raised for a second blow; but the
Englishman, prisoner though he was, and though his life hung in the
balance, closed with his brutal captor. Other Boers, doubtless feeling
the sting of the blow as keenly as the recipient, separated the pair
before the unarmed Englishman found the ruffian's throat. But the
blow had been struck,--an unarmed prisoner of officer rank had been
chastised, an act of savagery fit to rank with the cold-blooded murder
of an envoy. Yet the day will doubtless come when ignorant English
people will vie with each other to do honour to the man who struck the
miscreant blow. They will be persons ignorant of the feeling which
permeated the army in South Africa. As the news spread round the camp,
by common consent it was agreed that De Wet should never be handed up
alive if it fell to the lot of the New Cavalry Brigade to bring him to
his knees.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15