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Title: With Steyn and De Wet

Author: Philip Pienaar

Release Date: March 1, 2005 [EBook #15224]

Language: English

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WITH STEYN AND DE WET

BY

PHILIP PIENAAR

OF THE TRANSVAAL TELEGRAPH SERVICE

METHUEN & CO.

36 ESSEX STREET W.C.

LONDON

1902

CONTENTS

THOMAR

THE ELEVENTH OF OCTOBER

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

COLENSO

PLATRAND

SPION KOP

GLORIOUS WAR

PIETERS' HEIGHTS

GLENCOE

THE FREE STATE

LINDLEY TO HEILBRON

VELD INCIDENTS

TAPPING THE WIRES

I MEET DE WET

ROODEWAL

OFF TO THE TRANSVAAL

ARRESTED AS SPIES

IN THE MOUNTAINS

THROUGH THE CORDON

SKIRMISHES

WE ENTER POTCHEFSTROOM

DE WET ONCE MORE

END OF THE REGULAR WAR

WITH STEYN AND DE WET

THOMAR

Here in the quiet old convent of Thomar, the Convento de Christo, the strife of the past months seems like a dream. Wandering through the long corridors, with their bare, empty apartments, gazing by the hour on paintings faded and torn, the work of long dead and forgotten masters, dwelling on marvels of ancient architecture, resting the eyes on peaceful landscapes and hearing the sweet murmur of falling waters, the scenes of war seem distant and remote.

The heart but so lately harrowed by the devouring emotions of anger, hate, and the lust of blood, now soothed by the sympathy of the kindly Portuguese, is lulled into harmony with the surrounding scenes of peace and beauty. Only the thought of our ravaged country, struggling still for dear life, though forced upon her knees, brings back the claims of duty and the yearning to be up and doing, to enter once more the ranks of the foemen and strike another blow for liberty.

Hopeless! Yet where is the Boer—prisoner, exile, or renegade—even he!—who does not dream by nights he feels once more the free veld air upon his brow, lives again the wild night rides beneath twinkling stars? He feels once more his noble steed bound beneath him, grips again his comrade's welcoming hand, and wakens with a bitter sigh.

Some consolation, then, to recall blows already struck, and duty fairly done.

THE ELEVENTH OF OCTOBER

When war appeared inevitable the spirit of the Boers rose to support them in their hour of trial, and only sentiments of patriotism and defiance were felt and expressed. Joy at the opportunity of proving once and for ever their ability to defend themselves and consequent right to independence, regret for friendships about to be severed—these were the chief emotions of the younger generation. The elder thought of past wrongs, long cherished, and silently took down the rifle from behind the door.

The women, ever strong in national spirit, lent the aid of their encouragements and prayers. Sons wept that they were too young to accompany their fathers on commando.

Yet there came a moment when for the space of a minute a mighty shadow seemed to brood over the land, and the cold chill of coming evil struck the nation as if from the clouds. A message had been despatched from Pretoria to every corner of the country. One word only: War!

The blow had fallen. Nothing could avert a sanguinary struggle. Well the burghers knew the overwhelming strength of the foe, but they went blithely forth to meet their fate, strong in a sincere confidence in Providence. If the worst came to the worst, well, 'twere better to have fought and lost, than never to have fought at all!

Of all the branches of the Transvaal Civil Service there was not one that stood higher in the public estimation at that moment, nor one that distinguished itself more during the war, than that to which I had the honour to belong—the Department of Telegraphs. Equipped with the most up-to-date instruments, composed almost equally of picked men from England and Holland and of well-trained young Colonials and Transvaalers, under an energetic chief, our department proved itself, both before and during the war, second to none, and, the Afrikander portion at least, worthy of the confidence of the Government.

I had just been transferred from Johannesburg to Pilgrimsrest, a quaint little one-street village near the Portuguese frontier, one of the oldest alluvial diggings of the early days, and now the centre of an important mining district. Here we heard that our commandoes had invaded the enemy's territory in every direction, and news of the preliminary engagements was awaited with breathless interest. The male inhabitants of the village often spent entire nights under the verandah of the telegraph office, and the importance of the telegraphist suddenly grew almost too great to bear with becoming modesty.

One Sunday morning, however, the office wore a deserted look. The Dutch inhabitants were engaged in courteously escorting those of British birth or sympathies over the border, and I was alone. After a long interval of silence the instrument began ticking off a message—

Elandslaagte—flight—lancers!

Then came the list of the fallen. Name after name of well-known men fell like lead upon the ear. Finally my colleague at the other end gently signalled that of my uncle, followed by the sympathetic remark: Sorry, old man.

I could write no more. What, my uncle dead! General Kock, Major Hall, Advocate Coster—all dead! It seemed impossible. We could not understand it, this first initiation of ours into war's horrible reality.

Within a week reinforcements were despatched from our district. I obtained a few weeks' leave of absence and accompanied them.

We were an interesting band. Two hundred strong, we counted among our number farmers, clerks, schoolmasters, students, and a publican. My mess consisted of a Colonial, an Irishman, a Hollander, a German, a Boer, and a Jew. It must not be imagined, however, that we were a cosmopolitan crowd, for the remaining hundred and ninety-four were nearly all true Boers, mostly of the backwoods type, extremely conservative, and inclined to be rather condescending in their attitude towards the clean-shaven town-dwellers. The almost universal respect inspired by a beard or a paunch is a poor tribute to human discernment.

Every mess possessed one or two ox-waggons, loaded with a tent, portmanteaux, trunks, foodstuffs, and ammunition. We made about twenty miles daily, passing through Lydenburg, Machadodorp, Carolina, and Ermelo, and reached Volksrust on the fourteenth day. During the march we learnt that heavy fighting had taken place in Natal, Dundee being taken and Ladysmith invested, and a strong commando had actually made a reconnaissance as far down as Estcourt.

General Joubert, who had bruised himself in the saddle during the latter expedition, was now recruiting his health here in Volksrust. I went to see him, and found him installed in a railway carriage, and looking very old and worn. I showed him a telegram instructing me to apply to him for a special passport enabling me to return when my leave expired.

He said, Others want leave to go home; you ask for leave to come to the front. But your time is so short, it is hardly worth while. Still, I am glad to see such a spirit among you young people.

Turning to his secretary, he ordered the passport to be made out. This was done in pencil on the back of my telegram. The general signed, handed me the document, and shook my hand. I thanked him, and left, highly gratified.

We entrained that afternoon, slept in the carriages at Newcastle, reached Ladysmith, or rather our station nearest Ladysmith, the following day, disentrained, rode into camp, reported ourselves for duty, and went on outpost the same night.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Our chief concern was whether we, as novices, would bear ourselves well in our first engagement. Speaking to an old campaigner on the subject, he said—

Tell me candidly, how do you feel?

Well, rather nervous.

Ah! Now, I can tell you a man who feels nervous before a fight is all right, because he has some idea of what he is going to meet. It is the reckless recruit that often proves a coward. He fancies it a mere bagatelle, and finds out his mistake too late.

This rather encouraged us, for, to tell the truth, we felt anything but reckless.

One evening about twenty of us were sent off to keep watch in a Kafir kraal near the town. In one of the huts we found a Kafir lying sick, and too weak to rise. He told us the former outpost had always brought him something to eat, but now they had not come for some days, and he had begun to think himself doomed to die of starvation, or, worse still, of thirst. We soon made up a collection of biscuits and cold tea, and I am happy to say that henceforth the poor creature's wants were daily supplied.

A rather peculiar adventure befell us here a few days later. The sun had already set when we reached the spot where we were to stand guard during the night. We dismounted, and two men went forward on foot to reconnoitre. After a while they returned with the startling news that the enemy was approaching in force. They were sent forward again to make sure, and again returned, saying there could be no doubt about the matter.

We heard the rumble of an approaching train, the march of cavalry, and saw the glint of arms between the trees!

This was definite enough. A man was instantly despatched to alarm the main laager, while the rest of us followed leisurely. We were about half-way back when the messenger returned with an additional twenty-five men and an order that we were instantly to return to our post; if in possession of the enemy, to retake and hold it until relieved.

A very tall order, and more than one man uttered the belief that discretion was the better part of valour, and that there was no humour in attacking numberless Britons with fifty men. We braced up our nerves, however, retraced our steps, and presently reached the vicinity of the kraal. Two men crept up close and came back to say the place was full of English. Leaving the horses in charge of a few men, we crept forward and surrounded the kraal. Each sought a suitable shelter and laid himself down to await the dawn. It was now about midnight. The next four hours passed very slowly, lying there in the cold and with the expectation of a desperate struggle in the morning. We thought how brave we were, and how sorry our general would be when he heard how we had all been shot down to a man, and how in after years this night attack of ours would rank with the charge of the Light Brigade. We hoped Chamberlain would die soon after