Kitabı oku: «The Romance of Modern Sieges», sayfa 19

“Three or four Kaffirs were shepherding each ox, ‘getting a move’ on him by persuasion or fist-law. Sometimes one ox would be restive and ‘moo’ to his mates, or gallop wildly hither and thither; but always the persistent, ubiquitous Kaffir kept in touch with his beast, talking to him softly like a man and a brother, and guiding him the way he should go. And all this time the Boers were snoring not 300 yards off, sentry and all, very probably. But it would not do to count upon their negligence; any indiscreet noise might awake a trenchful of Mauser-armed men, and bring upon us a volley of death.

“When we had got the cattle well out of earshot of the Boer lines, the Kaffirs urged on the oxen by running up and pinching them, but without uttering a sound. As we drew near to the native stadt, a great number of natives who had been lying concealed in the veldt rose up to help their friends drive the raided cattle into the enclosure, and the sergeant went to head-quarters with the report of twenty-four head of cattle safely housed.”

The besieged had persevered in their “dug-outs” until May, 1900, being weary and sometimes sick, faint with poor food, and hopes blighted. They had been asked by Lord Roberts to endure a little longer; Kimberley had been relieved, and their turn would come soon.

Meanwhile, President Kruger’s nephew, Commandant Eloff, had come into the Boer camp with men who had once served as troopers at Mafeking, and who knew much about the fortifications. Eloff made a skilful attack upon the town on the 12th of May, and was successful in capturing a fort, Colonel Hore, and twenty-three men. This attack had been urgent, because news had reached the Boers that the British relief column had reached Vryburg on the 10th of May, and Vryburg is only ninety-six miles south of Mafeking. During the fight Mr. J. A. Hamilton, not knowing that the fort had been taken, thought that he would ride across to see Colonel Hore. It was a short ride from where he was – only a few hundred yards. The bullets whistled near his head, and he scampered across the open to reach cover. It was a bad light, and smoke was drifting about, but he saw men standing about the head-quarters or sitting on the stoep facing the town. As he rode his horse was struck, and swerved violently; some one seized his bridle and shouted “Surrender!” They were Boers, and amongst them were Germans, Italians, and Frenchmen. Many speaking at once, they ordered him to hold up his hands, give up his revolver, get off his horse.

“We had better all take cover, I think,” said Hamilton, as English bullets were falling rather near them.

Then they took him within the walls. But he had not yet obeyed any of their orders.

“Will you hold your hands up?” said one Boer, thrusting a rifle into his ribs with a grin.

“With pleasure, under the circumstances,” he replied, trying to smile.

“Will you kindly hand over that revolver?” said another.

“What! and hold my hands up at the same time?”

They were dull; they did not see the joke, but shouted, “Get off!”

Some one unstrapped the girths, and Mr. Hamilton rolled to the ground. It was only then that he saw his horse had been shot in the shoulder, and he asked them to put the poor beast out of his pain.

“No, no! Your men will do that soon enough,” said they.

The poor animal stood quietly looking at him, as he says, with a sad, pathetic, inquiring look in his eyes, as if he were asking, “What can you do for me? I assure you my shoulder gives me awful pain.”

Hamilton was taken inside the fort and made prisoner. When, later in the day, he came out, he found his poor horse lying with his throat cut and seven bullet-wounds in his body.

There were thirty-three prisoners crowded in a small, ill-ventilated store-room, and they grew very hungry. As dusk settled down they began to hear echoes of desperate fighting outside. Bullets came through the wall and roofing, splintering window and door; through the grating of the windows they could see limping figures scurry and scramble; they heard voices cursing them and urging Eloff to handcuff and march the prisoners across the line of fire as a screen for them in their retreat. Then the firing died down, and the Boers seemed to have rallied; then came a fresh outburst of heavy firing, and then a sudden silence. Eloff rushed to the door.

“Where is Colonel Hore?”

“Here!”

“Sir, if you can induce the town to cease fire, we will surrender.”

It was quite unexpected, this turn of events. No one spoke. Then Eloff said:

“I give myself up as a hostage. Get them to cease fire.”

The prisoners went out, waved handkerchiefs, shouted, “Surrender! Cease fire, boys.”

When this was done sixty-seven Boers laid down their rifles, and the prisoners stacked them up in their late prison.

Commandant Eloff was now a prisoner instead of being master of Mafeking; his partial success he owed to his own dash and gallantry, his failure to the half-hearted support of General Snyman. He dined at head-quarters, and a bottle of champagne was opened to console him and distinguish this day of surprises.

On the 16th of May there was great excitement in the town; the great activity in the Boer laagers, the clouds of dust rising in the south, all showed that something new and strange was coming. News had come of General Mahon having joined Colonel Plumer a few miles up the river. “When will they come?” everybody was asking. About half-past two General Mahon’s guns were heard, and the smoke of the bursting shells could be seen in the north-west.

In the town people were taking things very calmly. Had they not enjoyed this siege now for seven months, when it had been expected to last three weeks at the most? They were playing off the final match in the billiard tournament at the club. Then came a hubbub, and Major Pansera galloped by with the guns to get a parting shot at the retiring Boers.

Then fell the dusk, and the guns came back. Everybody went to dinner very elated and happy. “By noon to-morrow we shall be relieved,” they said.

It was now about seven o’clock; the moon was shining brightly in the square.

“Hello! what’s this? Who are you, then?”

There were eight mounted men sitting on horseback outside the head-quarters office.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” asked a man in the crowd.

“We are under Major Karie Davis with a despatch from General Mahon.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, we’ve come to relieve you fellows; but you don’t seem to care much whether you are relieved or not.”

Then the news travelled round the town; a great crowd gathered, and round after round of cheers broke out. The troopers were surrounded by enthusiastic citizens, cross-questioned, congratulated, slapped on the back, shaken by the hand, and offered – coffee!

Major Davis came out and called for cheers for the garrison; then all fell to hallooing of such anthems as “Rule Britannia” and “God save the Queen.”

Then the troopers of the Imperial Light Horse were taken in to supper.

About two in the morning the troops entered Mafeking – not quite 2,000 men; but when the townsfolk, hearing the noise, ran out into the starry, moonlit night, they saw such a host of horses, mules, and bullocks, such a line of waggons and camp-followers, and such a beautiful battery of bright Royal Horse and Canadian Artillery and Maxims that life seemed worth living at last. Those who did not laugh quietly went home and cried for joy. They had earned their day of delight.

Mafeking had endured 1,498 shells from the 100-pound Creusot; besides this, they had had to dodge 21,000 odd shells of smaller calibre. Men who saw Ladysmith said that the ruin at Mafeking was far greater.

Lord Roberts had, with his wonted generosity, sent a mob of prime bullocks and a convoy of other luxuries. So when the Queen’s birthday came, as it soon did, the town made merry and were very thankful.

England was thankful too, for although it was only a little town on the veldt, every eye at home had been upon the brave defenders who, out of so little material, had produced so grand a defence.

It is not too much to say that Colonel Baden-Powell and his gallant company had not only kept the flag flying; they had done far more: they had kept up the spirits of a nation beginning to be humiliated by defeat after defeat, when most of the nations of Europe were jeering at her, and wishing for her downfall. But God gave us victory in the end.

In part from J. A. Hamilton’s “Siege of Mafeking,” by kind permission of Messrs. Methuen and Co.

CHAPTER XXIV
THE SIEGE OF KIMBERLEY (1899-1900)

The diamond-mines – Cecil Rhodes comes in – Streets barricaded – Colonel Kekewich sends out the armoured train – Water got from the De Beers Company’s mines – A job lot of shells – De Beers can make shells too – Milner’s message – Beef or horse? – Long Cecil – Labram killed – Shelter down the mines – A capture of dainties – Major Rodger’s adventures – General French comes to the rescue – Outposts astonished to see Lancers and New Zealanders.

Kimberley is the second largest town in Cape Colony, and is the great diamond-mining district, having a population of about 25,000 whites. Mr. Cecil Rhodes was the Chairman of the De Beers Mines Company, which pays over a million a year in wages.

Kimberley could not at first believe war to be possible between the Dutch and English, though they saw the regular troops putting up earthworks and loopholed forts all round the town. Next a Town Guard was formed to man the forts, while the 600 regulars and artillery were to be camped in a central position ready for emergencies. Cecil Rhodes arrived the last day the railway was open, and began at once to raise a regiment at his own expense – the Kimberley Light Horse. All the streets were blocked with barricades and barbed wires to prevent the Boers rushing in. The main streets had a narrow opening left in the centre guarded by volunteers, who had orders to let none pass without a signed permit. Rhodes used to ride far out on the veldt, dressed in white flannel trousers, though the Boers hated him, and would dearly have liked to pot him at a safe distance.

Colonel Kekewich was in command – a man of Devon, and very popular with his men. On the 24th of October they had their first taste of fighting, when a patrol came across a force of Boers who were out with the object of raiding the De Beers’ cattle. Kekewich, from his conning-tower, could see his men in difficulties, and sent out the armoured train, and the Boers were speedily dispersed. There were many wounded on both sides, and the Mauser bullet was found to be able to drill a neat hole through bone and muscle, in some cases without doing so much damage as the old bullets of lower velocity in earlier wars.

At the beginning of the siege it was feared that water might fail, but in three weeks the De Beers Company had contrived to supply the town with water from an underground stream in one of their mines.

The bombardment began on the 7th of November, and, as at Mafeking, did not do much damage, for the shells, being fired from Spytfontein, four miles away, and being a “job lot” supplied to the Transvaal Government, did not often reach the houses, and often forgot to burst. So that, it is said, an Irish policeman, hearing a shell explode in the street near him, remarked calmly to himself: “The blazes! and what will they be playing at next?”

But by the 11th the Boers had brought their guns nearer, had found the range, and were becoming a positive nuisance to quiet citizens.

Sunday was a day of rest and no shelling took place, but on other days it began at daylight, and, with pauses for meals and a siesta, continued till nine or ten o’clock at night. As usual, there were extraordinary escapes. One shell just missed the dining-room of the Queen’s Hotel, where a large company were at dinner, and, choosing the pantry close beside it, killed two cats. Luckily there was time between the sound of the gun and the arrival of the shell to get into cover.

The De Beers Company, having many clever engineers and artisans, soon began to make their own shells, which had “With C. J. R.’s Compts.” stamped upon them – rather a grim jest when they did arrive.

On the 28th November Colonel Scott Turner, who commanded the mounted men, was killed in a sortie. He was a very brave, but rather reckless, officer, and was shot dead close to the Boer fort.

Sometimes our own men would go out alone, spying and sniping, and in many cases they were shot by their own comrades by mistake.

By December the milk-farms outside the town had been looted, and fresh milk began to be very scarce; even tinned milk could not be bought without a doctor’s order, countersigned by the military officer who was in charge of the stores. The result was that many young children died.

At Christmas Sir Alfred Milner sent a message to Kimberley, wishing them a lucky Christmas. This gave the garrison matter for thought, and the townsfolk wondered if England had forgotten their existence.

Those who could spent some time and care on their gardens, for they tried to find a nice change from wurzels to beet, and even beans and lettuce. For scurvy, the consequence of eating too much meat without green stuff, had already threatened the town. Those who wanted food had to go to the market hall and fetch it, showing a ticket which mentioned how many persons were to be supplied. When horse-flesh first began to be used by the officers, Colonel Peakman, presiding at mess, said cheerfully: “Gentlemen, very sorry we can’t supply you all with beef to-day. Beef this end, very nice joint of horse the other end. Please try it.” But the officers all applied for beef, as the Colonel had feared they would.

Then suddenly, when all had finished, he banged his hand on the table, and said: “By Jove! I see I have made a mistake in the joints. This is the capital joint of horse which I am carving! Dear! dear! I wanted so to taste the horse, but – what! not so bad after all? Then you will forgive me, I am sure, for being so stupid.”

All the same, some of them thought that the Colonel had made the mistake on purpose, just to get them past the barrier of prejudice.

Towards the end of January the bombardment grew more severe; the shells came from many quarters, and some were shrapnel, which caused many wounds. The new gun made by the De Beers Company did its best to reply, but it was only one against eight or nine. The Boers confessed that they directed their fire to the centre of the town, where there were mostly only women and children, for the men were away from home in the forts or behind the earthworks. The townsfolk tried to improve their shell-proof places, but most of them were deadly holes, hot and stuffy beyond description, but that made by Mr. Rhodes around the Public Gardens was far superior to the rest. The De Beers gun was named “Long Cecil,” after Mr. Rhodes, and was about 10 feet long; it threw a shell weighing 28 pounds. When it was first fired, the great question was, “Will it burst?”

But the Boers were surprised, when they sat at breakfast in a safe spot, to hear shells dropping around like ripe apples. That breakfast was left unfinished, as an intercepted letter informed the garrison.

However, the Boers soon placed a bigger gun near Kimberley, and shells began to fall in the market-place very freely.

In February the garrison had a great loss. The last shell of that day fell into the Grand Hotel and killed George Labram, the De Beers chief engineer. It was Labram who had arranged for the new water-supply, who had made the new shells, and planned “Long Cecil.” He was to Kimberley what Kondrachenko was to the Russians at Port Arthur – a man of many inventions, an American, ready at all points. He had just gone upstairs to wash before dinner, when a shell entered and cut him to ribbons, so that he died instantly. A servant of the hotel was in his room at the time, and was not touched.

Towards the middle of February notices signed by Cecil Rhodes were posted up all over the town to the effect that women and children should take shelter in the two big mines. So very soon the streets were full of people running to the mines with babies, blankets, bread, and bedding. The crowd was so great that it took from 5.30 p.m. to midnight to lower them all down the shafts. Kimberley mine took more than 1,000, the De Beers mine 1,500, and all were lowered without a single accident.

One day some natives came in with a story that the Boers had deserted the fort Alexandersfontein. Spies were sent out to investigate, and reported it to be a fact, so some of the Town Guard, with help from the Lancashires, sallied out and took possession of the fort. A few Boers who had been left there were wounded or taken prisoners.

“We will wait a bit in this fort, boys, to see what will turn up,” said the Captain; and in a short time they saw four waggons coming up, which were driven unsuspiciously right into his hands. Other waggons followed, all full of most delicious dainties for Boer stomachs, but likely to be received in starving Kimberley with greater enthusiasm – such things as poultry, grain, butter, fresh vegetables, and bacon. The waggons were drawn by fat bullocks – a sight for mirth and jollity.

In the afternoon the poor Boers knew what they had missed, and some very spiteful bullets were sent across for several hours.

Major Rodger had sent some men to spy out the country, and was waiting for their return. Presently he saw two men advancing towards him, and thinking they were his own men he rode up to them. On drawing near he saw they were Boers. His main body of men were far behind, and he realized that if he galloped away he would be shot, so he quietly walked his horse up to them. One of the Boers said: “Who are you?” “Only one of the fighting-men from Kimberley,” the Major replied. They did not draw their revolvers, they did not cry “Hands up!” and seize him by the collar – no, all they did was to utter a brief swear, turn their horses’ heads, and scamper over the veldt as fast as they could, stooping over the pommel to avoid the Major’s fire. But half a mile away they hit upon some of their own comrades, fired a few volleys, broke the Major’s arm, and retired.

Major Rodger, however, had not done his day’s work, and never told his men he had been shot until they returned to Kimberley in the evening. So much for a Kimberley volunteer!

Meanwhile, the little folks and the women deep down in the mine – some 1,500 feet – were busy devouring sandwiches of corned-beef and horse, and buckets of tea and coffee, with condensed milk, were lowered down too. The large chamber cut out of the rock was lit with electric light, and was not very hot, though it was crammed with children, many of whom were lying on rugs or blankets; they lay so thick on the floor that walking amongst them was the feat of an acrobat. But they were safe down there! No ghastly sights of mangled limbs met their gaze, no whizz of deadly shell, no scream of pain reached them there. It was worth something to have escaped the horrors of a siege, and to feel no nervous tremors, no cowardly panic, no dull despair.

Meanwhile Lord Roberts had not forgotten Kimberley. A force of some 5,000 sabres, led by General French, with two batteries of Horse Artillery, had galloped in the dead of night to the Modder River. Here a small Boer force fled from before them, and ever on through the quivering heat rode Hussars, Dragoons, and Lancers, until both men and horses fell out exhausted on the veldt. On the third day they came close to some kopjes, or hills, on which Boers were posted, who stared in amazement at the sight of the 9th Lancers sweeping in open order round the base of the hills. A hundred miles they had ridden with scant food and scanter water, so that the Boers might have been still more surprised to see many a trooper walking by his tired steed, and even carrying the saddle.

Dr. Conan Doyle tells us that “a skirmish was in progress on the 15th of February between a party of the Kimberley Light Horse and some Boers, when a new body of horsemen, unrecognized by either side, appeared upon the plain, and opened fire upon the enemy. One of the strangers rode up to the Kimberley patrol, and said:

“‘What the dickens does K.L.H. mean on your shoulder-strap?’

“‘It means Kimberley Light Horse. Who are you?’

“‘I am one of the New Zealanders.’”

How puzzled that member of the Kimberley force must have been – a New Zealander out on the African veldt!

Soon the little clouds of dust on the horizon drew hundreds of townsfolk to the earthworks, and as the glint of spear-head and scabbard flashed out of the cloud, and the besieged garrison knew their troubles were over, men waved their hats and shouted, and tearful, laughing ladies flocked round the first men who rode in, and nearly pulled them out of the saddle. Then they set to and hauled the rest out of the mines, finishing that job well by midnight.

For 124 days Kimberley had been besieged. The Boers had never once attacked the town, though not more than 550 mounted men were latterly available for offensive work; these, with the Town Guard, Lancashires, and Kimberley Rifles, made a total of 3,764. Colonel Kekewich might well look radiantly happy; he had administered everything with strict justice, and had earned the respect and admiration of all, while Cecil Rhodes and the De Beers officials had magnificently met and countered every difficulty with generous skill and unflagging energy.